I traced the outline of the room, taking in the grandiose size. It was not my first time in a noble's estate, but somehow felt like it was. Like any good parlor should have been, this room was meant to be warm and inviting, yet austere and refined. The lacquered red wood accents matched beautifully with the tan walls, and white lace curtains fell like dressed over the tall windows, allowing the moonlight to stream in, but not the eyes of onlookers.

  However unkempt the yard might have been, the interior of the abode exceeded it in faultlessness. Every surface gleamed as if it had been cleaned mere moments ago, and a distinctly cinnamon flavor clung to my nostrils as I came to stand in the midst of the room.

  Presently, the butler came to stand near me, offering to take my coat. Not so very long ago, being in this man's presence had all but terrified me, to the point where even the merest thought of him would have made me shiver. Yet now he seemed like any other domestic, and I humored him, peeling off the jacket.

  As I gave up the article, I was taken somewhat by the strange change in how I viewed him. The portrait I'd painted was that of a cold, distant individual who would've looked more at home in a coffin than walking around, his lips turned sour and his eyes lacking the spark of life.

  Yet the man who now stood before me—and whom I was very sure was the same individual—was no so. Rather, he seemed to exude a sense of regal dignity and self-assuredness. He took my coat with the greatest care, and hung it up reverently on a rock nearby the entrance. His movements were stiff, but confident, perhaps even practiced, making him seem very much at home in his profession.

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  That a simple change of clothes would brook such a change in my attitude was curious to me, but I tried to set the thought aside. After all, the butler was one thing, but it was the lady of the house that I had come to see.

  "I'll let the Lady know you'd like an audience," he said, coming back over to me, passing, and then turning to face me. He gestured to a small bench nearby. "Please, feel free to have a seat."

  "Thank you," I replied, tearing my wandering eyes from the room around me to meet his gaze.

  Fluent though I was in highborn etiquette, I found I had a difficult time containing my inquisitive mind, especially in such as place as the house of a reclusive eccentric that Dobbs had painted Lady Eizenstrauss to be. I felt the need to study everything around me in hopes that I might turn up some clue as to understanding her.

  He nodded, and so did I. Yet as he turned to leave, the motion elicited a curious sound. A sort of metallic chink, like someone pulling on a thick chain.

  I glanced back, watching him as he left. He did not appear to sport a pocket watch, least so far that I could see, or anything else made of metal for that matter. Even if he had, it had been a heavy sound, and not something made by an object so easy to hide. What, then, had I heard?

  I heard the sound again several times as he mounted the staircase that led up to the second floor, but still noted nothing, and once he disappeared from sight, I stood and walked to where he had been, hoping to learn more.

  Search as I may, however, I could not discover the sound's origin, and at length, busied myself by inspecting the paintings and decorum that sit within the room instead.