Westminster 1822

Grey Clouds

Agrona walked into the Marques' study with a silver tray of breakfast. The old man turned his chair to oversee the front of the Castle. His eyes looked cloudier, like a dangerous storm was knitting itself together in his mind each passing day, preparing to destroy everything in its path.

‘I’ve brought your breakfast, Sir.’ Agrona said.

The Marques' bony finger pointed at the table, his gaze never leaving the window.

‘She will be okay, right Agrona?’ He said.

‘Of course she will Sir. You know you raised wonderful girls!’ Agrona beamed.

‘Do you think she’ll get along with her husband?’

Agrona nodded, a hint of doubt formed in her heart. Emily was charming but she wasn’t the socialite her sister was. Agrona feared of what would become of her life. She would make an excellent Mother. Emily had a heart packed with love aching to be released.

‘I suffered too much chasing that girl around these grounds for a stuck up young Lord to lay his hands on her.’ The Marques rubbed his face.

‘He certainly doesn’t look the type.’ Agrona gasped, remembering Elton chase after Emily after the scandal in the dining room.

‘His Father was I can tell I that Agrona.’

‘You worry too much about the young girl. Emily’s stronger than you think. She’s braved a life under this roof, she’s gone up against Furlong's wrath more than a hundred times and come out of it. Heavens knows many others haven’t.’

‘I thought this place would be her Abbey too. Did I make a mistake Agrona?’ The Marques mumbled, his mind whisking him away to years gone by. To decisions that altered the course of his life. If only he could have thought more in decisive moments.

Agrona shook her head, her hands neatly folded in front of her. ‘Of course you didn’t. I know you don’t regret a single moment spent with her.’

The door clicked and Ella pushed the doors in and strolled to her Father’s desk. She’d changed her sunshine dress and stepped into a baby pink gown with matching gloves. Ella’s gaze went to the top of Agrona's head to the bottom of her grey dress.

‘I would like the room to speak to my Father, Agrona.’ Ella said.

Agrona nodded and bowed before casting a worried glance at the old man still staring at the window. Thunder clouds weaved together, a storm was rolling in.

The Marques wished he could have disappeared as easily as Agrona. He shut his eyes then turned to look at his youngest daughter’s pampered and pale face, lips red as the blood in a monster’s teeth, eyes as enchanting as the sound of a harp. Heart as cold as an ice paved road to the unknown.

‘Ella if this is about your betrothal to Lord Harris then you might as well leave with Agrona. We have nothing to discuss. I will not go back on my word.’

Ella giggled. ‘Oh, Father. I have not come to change your mind. I see you’re hell-bent on your decision. If you’re intent on damning me to a life of low class and mockery, oh then so be it!’ Ella placed the back of her hand on her forehead and turned the other way.

‘Ella...’ The Marques sighed.

‘As I said. I accept your conditions.’ Ella nodded. ‘I understand our engagement balls are in less than a fortnight. I would like to throw a party before then. Ladies only of course. Countess Lucia will be invited of course, you know of her love for Westminster.’

Ella’s heels clicked against the floor. The Marques was not positive about where the direction of the conversation.

‘My soon to be Mother in Law shall be in attendance as well. I was thinking to myself dear Father that soon Emily and I shall be leaving Westminster for a while of course. So, I came up with a brilliant idea why not have a memorial for the women that made Westminster the Castle it is.’

The Marques swallowed, he leaned back in the chair as his daughter went on. His heart beat faster with each of her scheming words.

‘I found lovely oil paintings in the attic of Mother and grand mother but alas Father there were none of Lady— Goodness what is Emily’s Mother’s name—’

‘Ella!’ The Marques slammed his gentle hand on the hard wooden desk. Ella didn’t even flinch.

‘Oh, Father don’t hurt yourself. I simply want to know what became of all the paintings of your first bride. Considering you loved her more than your second wife I’d assume you would have her portraits hidden somewhere. I would like to display our Mother’s portraits to the society, to show their grace and elegance.’ Ella grinned, the colour on her Father’s face had diminished.

‘I do not know what became of them. There shall be no tea party. Your ball is in less than three days.’ He struggled to his feet. His words were final.

He grabbed his cane and limped out of the study.

‘What ever did you do to your first wife, Father?’

***

Emily attempted to heave herself up. Her head pounded the tapping on the carriage wasn’t helping her. Glass lay at her feet and on her dress. Emily massaged her shoulder and groaned. The carriage lay on its side, rain poured in through the busted window.

‘Hello? Coachman! Oh footman!’ Emily yelled as she rattled the door.

‘Hello! Sir is anyone there?!’ The thunderous rain drowned out Emily’s voice.

Her hair was wet and her body was quaking as she battled to unjam the door. Emily stretched her body to the other end of the small carriage and pulled her leg to her chest and thrust her leg forward, smashing the door.

Emily climbed out of the carriage, the horse had been separated from the carriage, the road had become a muddy river.

‘Is anyone there?’ Emily called.

She slipped and nearly mingled with the mud.

‘Over here! Please help me!’ Lighting blazed the sky followed by thunder that nearly drowned out the cries of a helpless victim.

‘Where are you?’ Emily walked round the carriage, the proud Bentley family emblem was torn and discarded. She discovered the coachman laying on his back, partly buried in mud.

Emily rushed to him. She slid and landed on her kneed. She gripped his hand.

‘I can’t stand. I think I broke my leg.’ He said.

‘How far are we from Bentley Castle?’

‘A few minutes. I sent the footman to find help hours ago. I hope he didn’t succumb to his injuries.’

Lighting flashed above them. Emily gasped and ducked. She positioned herself next to the wounded coachman. She never released his trembling hand.

‘Don’t worry everything will be fine. I’m sure they are on their way back.’ Emily brushed wet hair out of her eyes.

Rain beat on their skins like sticks on drums.

‘No, my lady. Go before you catch your death in this weather.’

‘I won’t leave you alone.’ Emily said. ‘Help will find us both.’ She added.

Moments later the cry of a horse altered them both. Followed by boots hitting the ground. Emily threw her hand to her chest.

‘Help! We’re over here!’ She yelled.

‘Emily!’ A man shouted.

‘Elton!’