Chapter Seventeen
April 12th, 1807
Devonshire
When Merry was a child, it had sometimes seemed that her birthday would never dawn. She had the same feeling now, as if time crept past at glacial speed. She stared at the walnut and gold spring-clock on her mantelpiece, and watched the minute hand move another grudging increment. Distantly, the great longcase clock in the entrance hall struck five times.
Another hour gone. Was Barnaby still alive?
Merry took up her chamberstick, let herself out of her room, and hurried down the dark, silent corridor. The servants weren’t yet up.
She quietly opened the door to the blue bedchamber. A fire burned in the grate and candles blazed in the sconces.
The servants weren’t awake, but Marcus was, sitting vigil at Barnaby’s bedside. He looked drawn a
