When Christabel awoke, her head was throbbing. For a moment, she wondered where she was. In her dreams she had been back at home, her father still alive. She had a faint recollection of Hannah helping undress and putting her into bed, but beyond that was a blur. The room was dark, it was already nightfall and she had been asleep for several hours. Her dreams had been vividly real and she could have sworn that she had felt Charles's hands upon her; cool fingertips running over her naked skin, slipping into the moist recesses of her sex. But it was only a dream, how could it have been anything else?
She would miss Charles and the feel of his body against hers. Even thinking about him now, on the day of his burial, caused a dull ache between her legs. Charles had been well proportioned and a satisfying lover. On her wedding night she had been shocked by his size; it was the first time she had ever seen a man naked. She had sat hesitantly on the edge of the bed in her virginal white lace nightgown, waiting for him.
Christabel's hand moved automatically to her breast as she cupped her firm flesh beneath the silk of her nightgown, her nipple hard and erect beneath her touch. Closing her eyes, she imagined it was Charles's touch. On that first night he had removed her nightgown in an instant, so eager to be inside her that there were had been no time for pleasantries. His hand had been rough and firm on her breasts, squeezing the soft flesh until she had shouted out in a mixture of both pleasure and pain, then moving to caress her body. Never had she felt so much emotion; it was as if she had lived for the very first time. He had removed his own clothing within seconds and her eyes had widened at the size of his manhood; his great member standing erect and ready for invasion.
Opening her legs, he had pushed his hand up to her thighs; she had been so wet and his touch like electricity upon her flesh. It had hurt at first, but once she had gotten used to the size and fullness of him, it had only been pleasure. How she had ached for him; for that magnificent shaft to enter her. She could almost feel it now as Charles pushed at her entrance; the tiny gap forced open by his girth. There had been pain at first - Charles had not been gentle, his lust had overtaken his actions and he had thrust his member deep within, causing her to cry out. Only when he had buried his full length inside her tight cavern did he pause; his hot flesh throbbing inside her and waiting for release.
Christabel was breathing hard as her hand left her breast and slide down her body onto the mound at the apex of her thighs. "Oh Charles," she whispered, imagining him taking her as she almost climaxed just thinking about him.
A noise outside the bedroom door brought her back to reality. Today was not a day of arousal, it was a day of mourning. Weeks and weeks of wearing black hung heavily before her, but she knew that Charles would have sympathized with her.
Slipping out of the bed, she crossed the shadowy room and over to the window to look outside. It had been raining. The gas lamps had been lit along the crescent and their reflection glistened in the tiny pools and puddles of water that had collected on the pavement below. The carriages had departed and she felt a short stab of relief – the guests had gone home. The memories of the day drifted slowly back. She thought of poor Charles, cold and damp in his grave and Arthur Chadwick’s words returned to her. What if there was more to her husband’s death than she had first assumed; suppose it hadn’t been an accident after all? Edward and Anne had been quick in making themselves feel at home and the two brothers hadn’t seemed particularly close.
What was she thinking? Arthur Chadwick was a drunken fool, and Edward had been right to dismiss him. She hadn’t known about the requests for money and it didn’t sound like something Charles would do, but then what did she know of his affairs, or even of his life before she had met him? He had been a private man and they had talked little of the past.
Christabel rubbed at her temples; it was all too confusing to think about it now. Her stomach growled, reminding her that she still hadn’t eaten; a gnawing ache in her abdomen. She was sure to find some leavings in the kitchen. There was no need to wake Hannah; she could fend for herself for once.
Slipping on her robe she lit one of the small lamps by the side of her bed and carried it carefully across the bedroom, onto the landing, and down the great staircase. The house was different at night; quiet and watchful. Everything was silent except for the old grandfather clock that ticked steadily at the foot of the stairs.
Crossing the hall, she opened the door leading down to the lower staircase and kitchen. She paused when she heard the sound of voices. Mrs. Hudson and Stephens were still awake and talking quietly below. It wouldn’t do for the servants to see her in her night attire and she almost closed the door again, but stopped abruptly at the mention Charles’ name.
“I tell you Mrs. Hudson, there is more to Lord Montgomery’s death than meets the eye. I have been in this family for over forty years and have known Charles Montgomery since he was a boy. There was nothing wrong with the man; he was as strong as an ox. There have been some ill goings on Mrs. Hudson, make no mistake, but what can be done?”
There was a pause in the conversation whilst Mrs. Hudson reflected on Stephens’ words. The death of Lord Montgomery had hit her hard and she struggled to keep her emotion at bay. “Surely not Mr. Stephens, it was an accident by all accounts and either way, who would do such a thing?”
“Well that’s the thing Mrs. Hudson, whom indeed?”
The door at the top of the stairs squeaked as Christabel tried to close it. She had heard enough and wanted to retreat back upstairs to her bedroom.
“Who’s there?” The voices below stopped, pausing to listen at the sudden sound. Christabel wanted to turn back and run for the safety of her room, but Stephens would be at the top of the stairs before she had fled across the hallway. Despite his age, he was quite agile and how would she explain running away like that? There was only one thing to do, she would just have to bluff her way through the situation.
Opening the door wide, she walked carefully down the steps. The pair stood up as Christabel entered the kitchen. The fire had been lit and the room was cozy; a bottle of Charles’ favorite brandy stood half empty on the scrubbed kitchen table, along with two glasses filled part way with the amber liquid. Christabel looked away and pretended not to notice. After all, it had been a long day.
“Sorry to disturb you both. I was looking for something to eat; some cold leavings from today’s meal perhaps?” Mrs. Hudson nodded without speaking and walked to the pantry to fetch her mistress a plate of food.
“I’ll bring up a tray to your room, madam. Will that be all?” She was being dismissed by Stephens and knew it. This wasn’t her territory and it was clear that they didn’t like her invading their space and wanted rid of her as soon as possible.
“I’m sorry to disturb you so late.”
Stephens held the door back open for her. “I would advise you madam to return up to your room or you will catch your death of cold dressed only in your night wear. I will bring the tray up shortly.”
Christabel pulled the dressing gown tightly around her. It was difficult to be dignified dressed in her nightgown and rob. She suddenly felt like a child. There was a silence as she headed back up the stairs. They would wait until she was out of sight before they started talking again. Christabel felt weary. Now she had no doubt something terrible had happened to Charles, but what?
The late meal that was eventually brought up to her room consisted of little more than cold meat and bread, but she dared not argue or ask for anything else. The pair were too formidable and she, in turn, too afraid to speak up. Suddenly the night had turned menacing around her and the shadows that lurked in the room were now dark and evil. The once quiet house seemed noisy, as if every creak and groan of the house was bemoaning the fate of Charles Montgomery.
She slept very little, and when she did her dreams were dark and full of images of the grave. Charles appeared to her at the foot of the bed, his face somber and racked in pain. Opening his mouth as if to speak to her, a maggot crawled from between his lips, followed by another, and yet another, until his whole face was crawling with the white bugs. Waking with a start she sat up in terror, her heart thumping hard within her chest.
Something was not right, yet she wondered what she could do about it? By this time tomorrow she might not even have a home, let alone a husband! It was the one day she had been dreading; even more than the funeral. Charles’s will was due to be read and with it, her fate for the future sealed.