Page 51 of A Baron's Disguised Lady
“Is that so?” Lavinia replied, not looking up from her own diary, in which she was now writing down the events of the day.
It interested her to look back over the years. To see what she had done, and thought, and felt, on the same day the year before, and the year before that. Three years ago, she had apparently spent the day polishing brass, and waiting for her mistress and a “Miss Goyle, whose name should have been gargoyle,” she read, smiling at the vague memory she had of a haughty looking woman who took four sugars in her tea.
“Mr. Hargreaves thinks it was something to do with Miss Gwendolene—her death,” Daisy continued.
“Perhaps, yes,” Lavinia said, still writing in her diary.
She was describing the wildflower meadows, and Titania’s bank, smiling to herself at the memory of the morning she had spent in Archie’s company. It had been a delight, and while the doctor had brought with him unpleasant news, it did feel as though they were now a step closer to discovering the truth as to what had happened to Gwendolene.
“What do you think?” Daisy asked, and Lavinia looked up at her and smiled.
“I think we’d all be best not asking questions, Daisy. It’s their business, not ours,” she said, and Daisy blushed.
“I’m sorry… I was just curious, that’s all,” she said, and Lavinia nodded.
“Itiscurious. The whole thing—poor Gwendolene, and the baron and his mother. I feel so sorry for them, but it’s not for us to pry,” she said.
Lavinia did not want a casual word from Daisy to give the murderer cause for alarm. If itwasone of the servants, it was best for them to think they had got away with it, and that no suspicion was to fall on them—for now.
“No, of course. It’s just… well, when it’s someone so young, you can’t help but wonder. Young ladies don’t just die, do they?” she said, and Lavinia shook her head.
“Fortunately, not, Daisy. Gwendolene’s death was a terrible tragedy. And whatever the circumstances, we need to remember… well, we need to remember her. I wish I’d known her myself, though I feel I do. Her presence is everywhere here,” she said, and Daisy nodded.
“They all talk about what a sweet person she was—the other servants, I mean. Mr. Hargreaves almost sheds a tear when he talks about her,” she said, and Lavinia nodded.
“I can see you were all very upset about it,” she said, finishing the last sentence in her diary and closing it for the night.
Daisy nodded, and Lavinia finished getting ready for bed, saying goodnight to her maid before placing a candle on her bedside table to read by. She was reading a volume of poetry she had found in the library—romantic ballads of knights on horseback and fair princesses trapped in towers, waiting to be rescued. It was all rather far-fetched, but reminded her of the estate itself—a magical world, one into which she could disappear.
But not forever,Lavinia reminded herself, yawning as she set the book aside and snuffed out her candle.
The house was quiet and still, and Lavinia could hear an owl hooting outside. She had it in mind to rise early—not to meet Archie in the gardens—but to walk to the churchyard and visit Gwendolene’s grave. She was curious about her—curious to know her better, as strange as that might seem, and now Lavinia pulled the blankets over her, closing her eyes as sleep came over her.
***
“Lavinia? Are you there, Lavinia?” a voice called out.
Lavinia looked up. She was in a forest glade, surrounded by wildflowers, the trees above covered in blossom, falling like snowflakes, white and pink, all around her. The sky was blue, and sunlight filled the glade with a delightful warmth.
“I’m here, yes,” Lavinia replied, though she did not know where “here” was.
It was the most beautiful garden she had ever seen, the air sweetly perfumed, filled with butterflies flapping in the gentle breeze, and the sound of birdsong, like a chorus or choir, wafting gently on the breeze.
“Lavinia? Are you there?” the voice called out again.
Lavinia rose to her feet, surprised to find herself dressed in a white, flowing robe—like nothing she ever wore or owned. She looked around her for the source of the voice, but there was no one, only its repetition once again.
“I’m here, but where are you?” she said, trying to see beyond the confines of the glade, where a pearly white light, like a halo, encompassed her surroundings.
“Lavinia? Are you there?” the voice asked, and now the words echoed around her, so that Lavinia could not tell from which direction they were coming.
“Yes… please, let me see you. I’m here, in the forest glade,” Lavinia called out.
She was not afraid of the voice. It had a strange familiarity to it, as though she should know who the speaker was and be able to recognize them. Lavinia tried to step forward, but her feet seemed anchored to the ground, and she was unable to move, shielding her eyes as the light grew brighter.
“Lavinia? Lavinia?” the voice repeated, and Lavinia raised her hand, trying to shield her eyes as now a figure appeared in the glade.
“Who… who are you?” Lavinia asked, but she knew who it was, and now the figure stepped forward, the very image of Lavinia herself.
