The Light in the Darkness by Ellen Fisher Read Free Book Online Page B

years ago,” Catherine explained as several slaves brought heated water up and poured it into a massive oaken tub in front of the fireplace, where a fire now roared. “He—well, you may as well know. He worshipped her. As you might have guessed from the fact that he has never allowed anyone into this chamber. Even he never comes in here. He sealed off this room from the rest of the house after she died. If only he could shut the door on his memories as easily as he did the door to this chamber, he would be happier. But he cannot seem to forget her, no matter how many years pass.”
    Jenny glanced around timidly. In the center of the chamber sat a small round table, the sort at which a lady might paint watercolors. She wondered if the unknown Diana had painted landscapes at that table. On one side of the room were two large windows with dark blue curtains and wood-slatted Venetian blinds. Between them stood an immense mahogany clothespress, fully six and a half feet tall, and next to each window was a carved chair upholstered in the same dark blue damask-patterned wool. On the wide planks of the floor lay a brightly hued blue-and-red woven rug, called a list. Across the room stood a tall canopy bed with short, curving legs terminating in ball-and-claw feet. Near the bed was a linen-draped twilight, or dressing table. Atop the table a looking glass leaned against the wall, flanked by two silver candlesticks of ornate classicaldesign. Nearby stood a stand that held a porcelain basin and jar for washing, and a walnut desk completed the furnishings in the chamber.
    The chamber was far grander than the loft she had slept in at the tavern, and the wide mahogany bed with its wool covering and plump feather pillows looked infinitely more comfortable than the pallet and straw-filled mattress she was accustomed to, yet the dust and cobwebs that covered everything depressed her. Clearly nothing had been disturbed for many years, almost as though the ghost of Grey’s first wife still haunted this room. Jenny felt that she might prefer the stables, after all.
    In her quiet voice, she asked, “ ’Ow did she die?”
    “She was murdered,” Catherine said flatly, and Jenny felt a tremor run through her as she remembered Carey’s warnings. Her apprehension quieted somewhat as Catherine continued. “We never found out who the murderer was. It was a small loss, so far as I was concerned, but Grey was inconsolable. I think he wished he had died with her. It was then that he started to drink so heavily. Over the years, instead of letting her fade from his mind, he has built up her memory so that he recalls a goddess instead of a mortal woman.”
    “Ye did not like ’er” Jenny observed. It was a statement, not a question, and Catherine raised her eyebrows, both at the girl’s unexpected perceptiveness and the fact that the child was actually daring to speak without stammering.
    “No, I did not,” she admitted. Jenny pulled her eyes away from the impressive furniture and looked at her, her dirty face implying the question she did not dare to ask, and Catherine shrugged.
    “I suppose I was jealous,” she volunteered. “Grey and I were very close then—we never argued then as we do now—and I suppose I resented how completely absorbed he was in another person. I was still very young, and he had become like a parent to me after our father and mother died. Furthermore—” She paused for a long moment. “I did not think she was good for him. She was haughty.Caustic. I must admit, however, she returned my hostility in full. Perhaps I am somewhat haughty myself.”
    Jenny glanced at her somewhat nervously, wondering if Catherine would resent her as well. Probably not, she decided. Grey was hardly obsessed with her, as he had apparently been with his first wife. For that matter, it scarcely seemed that he cared whether she lived or died. Surely Catherine could not resent her presence at Greyhaven.
    Catherine dismissed this history