I came before the great doubles doors of the estate's main building, for the first time eyeing the detail. It was an imposing sort of portal: twilight blue with patterns embossed in its design. It faintly looked like some ancient, dead language, and the hook-like handle gave the impression of a gangly hand reaching out from within.
Pushing these thoughts from my mind, I waited only long enough for the song to end, savoring the fading notes as they clung to the air. Once it had passed, however, I wasted no time and reached forth, grasping metal knocker and rapped it upon the plate beneath until I was confident I'd been heard.
The silence that followed was definite and distinct, and stuck in my might so much so that I felt the need to take a step back and check my garments for wrinkles for no other reason than to fill the void with ambient noise.
All the while that I waited, I could feel my heart thumping in my chest in anticipation, and I clutched the letter to my chest in a vain effort to still it.
The doors parted, and I felt my body seize. There, as pale and gaunt as a corpse stolen from a wake, stood the man that had haunted my canvas. The very same watcher who had observed me in my panic-stricken state as I all but fled the grounds on my first day, now a perfect mirror to the individual that even yet still sat in my living room and clothed with a draped sheet.
Only his attire was slightly different: his suit was a much deeper black, and he sported a white ascot, which shrouded his neck and ever-so-slightly touched the underside of his chin as his gaze fell down on me. It was a simple, plain addition that would not be so notable if it were anyone else, yet to me, it was jarring, making him suddenly seem less like a phantom and more like flesh and blood.
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He cleared his throat, and only then did I realize I had been staring at the anomaly of his garment for longer than any woman should care to admit.
At first, this was all he deigned to utter, and peered out at me expectantly from the door.
My curiosity got the better of me, and my gaze tried to wander past him and into the hall beyond, to no avail. He was like a wall between me and the other side.
"May I help…?" he said in a low, hollow voice that reminded me of a tolling bell.
"Oh, I—…" I started, but for some reason, the few words I had prepared on my short jaunt to the door failed to leave my throat. He squinted slightly, giving me a look that I couldn't quite identify, and then realization seemed to fall over his countenance.
"Miss Cleyne, isn't it?" he asked, his voice sounding more crisp as if the cold mistrust he'd greeted me with had melted away with recognition. I nodded, and he asked a follow-up question: "Is there a problem with your deliveries?"
"Oh, no—" I caught myself, "I mean yes, there is."
I had to will that hand that was clutching the letter from my chest, offering it to him.
I swallowed, then continued, "This one. The address has been smudged somewhat. I'm afraid I can't quite make it out."
He took it and turned it over in his hands, inspecting its exterior. After a moment, he glanced back at me with yet another look, and I could feel my heart sink in my chest. This was, after all, Lady Eizenstrauss's butler, and by that measure, no doubt he was quite familiar with her handwriting. If so, he could just as easily decipher the error himself and point me on my way.
Though I tried to hide my apprehension, I suspect he read it easily enough from my demeanor, for his mouth twisted into a knowing smile and his eyes squinted knowingly. I knew right away that he'd seen through my ruse.
Yet to my surprise, he stepped back into the room and opened the door, gesturing for me to enter.
"Let us ask my mistress, shall we?"
I felt my chest swell, gave him an appreciative smile, and stepped into the parlor. And as I crossed the threshold of that darkened passage, I faintly felt as though I had left the world I knew, and embarked into the unknown beyond.
