Episode 7
1316 Words
Locked Things, Living Things
Hyacinth couldn’t sleep.
She kept tossing and turning. The blanket kept falling off the bed. Her room felt too pink. Too soft. Too strange. It wasn’t home, and worse, it wasn’t even hers. Not with that man sleeping in the room across the hallway, refusing to speak unless it was to correct or accuse.
She sat up and sighed.
Why did he look so angry?
She stood and wore her robe, her slippers sliding lightly against the wooden floor as she tiptoed into the hallway. All was quiet except for the soft creaks of old wood and the distant sound of the clock chiming four times.
She passed the room again.
The one with the secret.
The one she kept walking by every day but never dared to open.
She went in and walked towards the locked door.
She placed her hand on the doorknob again.
Still locked.
Typical. Just like him.
“Whatever is in there… must be something you don’t want to remember,” she whispered. “Or maybe you don’t want me to see.”
She turned away and walked back to her room, determined to get answers.
The next morning came slowly. Hyacinth barely noticed when Patricia walked into her room. She sat in front of the mirror, brushing her hair with little focus.
“My lady, your husband is asking for you,” Patricia said cautiously.
Hyacinth frowned. “Since when does Edger ask for anyone?”
“He’s in the drawing room with someone. Dressed in navy blue. Looks official.”
Hyacinth stood immediately. “Is it the Queen’s messenger?”
“No. But he doesn’t look like someone you keep waiting.”
Hyacinth tied her robe and made her way downstairs.
In the drawing room, Edger stood talking to a tall, broad-shouldered man. He had a scar on his chin and a posture that screamed war and trouble. His uniform was sharp, and he held a leather satchel like it held everyone’s secrets.
Lady Guinevere sat in the corner, her legs crossed neatly as always, sipping tea with a blank expression.
“You’re awake,” Edger said without looking at her.
“I am,” she replied flatly.
“This is Captain Radley. He’s... a friend of the family.”
“I see,” she said, nodding at the captain.
Captain Radley bowed politely. “You must be the new duchess. Your face reminds me of your mother. I met her once, years ago. She was a vision.”
Hyacinth froze.
“You knew my mother?”
“Only briefly. I remember her voice. Gentle. But firm.”
He smiled softly.
Hyacinth looked away.
They all sat and made small talk over tea. She hardly spoke. Every time Edger opened his mouth, she studied him closely. He was calm. Reserved. Polite even. Like nothing had happened last night. Like he hadn’t almost raised his voice when she walked in late.
Maybe he had nothing to hide.
Or maybe… he was just that good at hiding.
Later that afternoon, she took a long walk in the garden. The sky was grey and the wind dry, the kind of weather that made you want to wrap your secrets around you like a shawl.
She sat by the fountain and picked up a small rock, tossing it into the water.
“He makes no sense,” she mumbled.
“Talking to yourself again?”
She turned. Harold.
“Don’t sneak up on me,” she said.
“Didn’t know I needed permission to walk through my own family garden,” he said smiling.
They sat together on the edge of the fountain.
“What are you really doing here, Harold?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Thought I’d check on my sister-in-law. You’ve been quiet lately.”
“I’m not exactly in the mood for entertaining.”
“Well, good. I didn’t come to be entertained. I came to ask how you are.”
She looked at him for a long moment.
“I’m confused.”
“About Edger?”
“Yes.”
Harold leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
“He’s complicated,” he said. “But he’s not cruel. He’s… just scared.”
“Scared of what?”
“Of trusting anyone again.”
Hyacinth looked down at her hands. “I want to know more about him. About before. About what changed him.”
Harold sat up straight. “You mean the room.”
She nodded slowly.
“I remember when he stopped going in there. It was right after Father died. He stopped laughing. Stopped reading. He locked the room and no one’s seen it open since.”
“Do you know what’s in there?”
Harold shook his head. “I was only eight. He was sixteen. I just remember a lot of shouting. And silence after that.”
Hyacinth stared off into the trees.
“Do you think he’ll ever let me in?”
Harold looked at her.
“I think you’re the first person he might want to let in.”
Dinner was quiet.
They ate in silence, silverware tapping against plates. Lady Guinevere spoke once or twice about the Queen’s recent ball, but Edger remained mute, his eyes focused on the table.
When they stood, Hyacinth followed him into the hallway.
“Edger—can we talk?”
He didn’t turn. “Come.”
She followed him into his study. The door clicked shut behind them.
The room smelled of old books and ink. His desk was piled with letters and half-finished drawings. There was a warmth to it. Not like her pink prison upstairs.
She sat. He remained standing.
“I owe you an apology,” she said slowly.
“For disappearing the other night.”
He didn’t respond.
“I had my reasons.”
“You lied to me,” he finally said.
“I did.”
“Why?”
“Because you lie too.”
That caught his attention.
“You hide behind silence, Edger. You lock rooms. You lock your heart. You think just because you’ve been hurt, you have the right to keep others at a distance.”
His jaw clenched.
“And maybe I do,” he said.
“No, you don’t. Because I didn’t ask to be your wife, but I became her. And I won’t be kept in the dark in a house that’s now mine too.”
He looked away.
She stood.
“Who are you when you’re not pretending to be cold?” she asked softly.
He turned back toward her, walking slowly until he stood right in front of her.
“I don’t know,” he whispered.
She looked up at him. “Then let me help you find him.”
He leaned closer. His breath was warm against her cheek.
“There are things I haven’t told you,” he said.
“I know.”
He gently brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered.
“I’ll open the room.”
Her eyes widened. “When?”
“When I’m ready.”
“That’s not good enough anymore, Edger,” she whispered. “Because I’m already here. I’m already yours.”
He stepped back slightly.
“Then stay.”
And with that, he left the study—closing the door behind him.
Hyacinth stood in the room, alone.
Her hands trembled. Her chest ached with something she didn’t quite understand.
He said he’d open the room. He didn’t say when.
He said “stay.”
But he didn’t say why.
She pressed her palm against the window and looked outside. The sky was turning purple. Stars were peeking through the clouds.
For the first time since arriving, she felt like she was getting closer to something. Maybe not the truth. But a pi
ece of it.
And that was enough—for now.
- Writer
