Page 2 of A Baron's Disguised Lady
Sarum Lacy House was the ancient seat of the Barons of Sarum, tracing its foundations to the Norman Conquest. Archie had inherited the title from his father six years previously, and since then, he had his sister had managed the estate as a joint enterprise. The thought of losing her was unimaginable, and Archie had believed the two of them would grow old together, sharing in life’s joy and sorrows.
“Your mother asked me to lay a place for you in the dining room, My Lord. A little soup, perhaps? Some cheese?” asked Hargreaves, the butler, as Archie came down the hallway, finding him standing stiffly at the dining room door.
Hargreaves had been with the family since before Archie was born. He was fiercely loyal, and Archie knew he—along with all the servants—would mourn the loss of his sister as well.
“Thank you, Hargreaves. Some soup will suffice,” Archie said, and the butler opened the dining room door for him.
The east wing was the most ancient part of the house. Once a fortified dwelling, it had served the family well during the civil war, and in times of persecution against the Catholic population. The house was a maze of corridors and locked rooms. There were no less than three priest holes, though the days of hiding visiting clergy for days at a time were mercifully over.
Now, the house seemed unnecessarily large and cut off, hidden away in the depths of the English countryside, and surrounded on all sides by a vast estate, made up of tracts of woodland and remote farms.
Hargreaves had lit candles around the room, and there was a fire in the hearth, but still, it felt cold. The single place setting at the large table, watched over by portraits of Archie’s long-dead ancestors on the paneled walls above, only served as a reminder of how it would be when Gwendolene was gone.
“One moment, My Lord. I’ll bring the soup,” the butler said, retreating from the room.
Archie looked down at the place setting. The soup spoon was at a slight angle, and the napkin folded hastily. He rearranged it to his liking, angling the cutlery to precise terms, and straightening the napkin. Archie was a stickler for doing things properly.
His clothes and appearance were always neat and tidy, and he ordered his surroundings in the right way. Nothing was allowed to be out of place. Satisfied with his rearrangements, he sat down at the table with a sigh. But while he could order himself, and his environment, he felt powerless to bring order to the sad circumstances he found himself in.
He could do nothing for his sister. He could not make her better, and in that, he felt a failure. A wind whistled around the house,and through the window, Archie could see it was snowing again. The house could be cut off for weeks at a time in the winter, and Archie could not help but wonder as to the practicalities of what would happen if the worst was to be realized.
“Carrying the coffin through the snow,”he murmured to himself, shaking his head at the very idea of it.
Hargreaves now brought the soup, but despite knowing he was hungry, Archie did not feel so. He picked up his spoon, taking a few mouthfuls as the butler stood stiffly behind him. But having toyed with the soup for some time, he put his spoon down and sighed.
“What’s the use of it?” he exclaimed, pulling his napkin off and tossing it to one side.
“My Lord?” the butler asked, stepping forward, and Archie rose to his feet.
“All this? She’s going to die. And there’s nothing I can do about it,” Archie exclaimed.
He was not usually given to such emotional outbursts, but now he felt quite overwhelmed by the prospect of losing his sister, not knowing how he would cope without her. She had been his constant companion since childhood, his best friend, his closest confidant…
“My Lord, you’re doing all you can. No one could do more. Your loyalty to your sister is… admirable,” Hargreaves said, but Archie shook his head.
“But it’s not going to help her, is it?” he replied.
But before the butler could reply, the sound of footsteps in the hallway caused Archie to look up, his heart skipping a beat. There was an urgency in the approach, and the dining room door now opened, revealing the anxious face of Marie.
“Come quickly, My Lord. Your sister doesn’t have much time,” she said.
Archie ran from the dining room, clattering up the stairs, and bursting into his sister’s bedroom. He found her writhing on the bed, moaning in pain, as their mother stood powerless at her side.
“We don’t know what happened. She was sleeping peacefully and now…” the dowager said, as Archie hurried to his sister’s side.
“Gwendolene? I’m here. It’s me, Archie,” Archie said, kneeling at the bedside as his sister groaned.
“Oh… the pain… Archie, the pain. Make the pain go away,” she said, as he clutched at her hand.
“I wish I could. Oh… more than anything, I wish I could. If I could take your pain, Gwendolene, I’d gladly do so. My poor sister. Is there nothing you can do for her?” he asked, turning to Marie, who shook her head.
“There’s no hope of getting a doctor now, and even if we could, I don’t think there’s anything more to be done,” she said.
Archie was now seized with desperation. There was nothing more he could do, and it seemed inevitable she would slip away. He would have given anything—his entire fortune—to save her. But he was powerless, and tears now welled up in his eyes, running down his cheeks, as he sobbed at his sister’s side.
“Oh, Gwendolene. I’m so sorry, I did all I could, but it wasn’t enough,” he moaned.
He had his hand clasped in hers, and now she gripped him with a weak but determined hold.
