Have you heard the saying that if you listen well enough, you can hear nature whispering tidbits of wisdom and warning? The soft chant of the grass, the sigh of the wind, the swish of tree limbs, all imparting ageless knowledge to those with a trained bent ear.

Yes...well...you do not have to strain your ears half as much to hear the whisperings of the inhabitants of a lord's manor.

It is morning. But I am still lost in the hours of the last night, trapped as I was, between my body's ache for sleep and my mind's propensity to hash a mystery to a pulp.

You cannot make much sense from pulp. But it never does stop me from trying.

A sliver of sunlight this morning was my mind's clue to finally be quiet. I slept some but am now awakened to the sounds of Ulra, the elderly maid that I met last night, and another, building a fire in the hearth.

The unknown maid whispers, "Is our new lady as beautiful as the rumors say?"

I was about to sit up, but this stills me. I clench the cover tighter to my chin, hoping she won't be so bold as to come peer at me. And it would hardly do well to rise and say in jest, "Well, am I?"

Though I smile a bit at the thought of startling them. Better to fake sleep, I decide.

"That she is," Ulra says. "Ready the kettle, Natli. I'll return to make her tea soon."

Water, from I assume a jug they brought with them, gently pours into another pot. I hear the kettle's handle clink on the hook above the fire. More water pours into the bowl by the window.

The whispers begin again.

"Ulra, what's to be done about the cook disappearing?"

"Lord Vane will likely promote the assistant cook. Leave a rag and a towel by the wash basin."

"Yes. But...his room...have you seen it? Everything's strewn about, like a horrible struggle took place." Natli's whisper rises a pitch, "Lem heard some awful sounds last night."

"Hush. Cook made himself some enemies and I suspect the master was near to firing him anyhow, but it won't do to entertain any silly notions. Let's be off," Ulra says, and I hear their dresses rustle as they rise and their boots scuffle across the stone floor.

The door latches shut and my room is silent once again. Except for my mind which is working furiously, though with difficultly, through the details of their odd exchange. If my brain could be heard I'm afraid it would sound like an old rusty cog on a forgotten well, screeching and clanking in turn to pull up nothing more than a paltry half pail of muddy water.

This much I know is true: Ulra's words hold much sense. My father always said loose lips are as useful as a dried up milking cow.

My unease comes from knowing something more than Ulra and Natli do. My unease comes from knowing what this Lem does.

Once again, I find myself wondering about the whimpers I heard. And just what was Lord Vane concealing in his cloak? A word almost takes shape but I push it hastily away. How ridiculous, I chide myself.

I remember the tales of cruelty that billowed and clung steadfast to the last lord of the manor, my Lord Vane's great uncle. Cruel lords are not uncommon.

Three years ago when Lord Vane took his departed uncle's place, the rumors attached to him were far more sparse. As expected from one not raised as a boy among our village and farmlands. They were also of a gentler merit. I find myself hoping they are not misguided.

I rise and quickly wash with the rag and bowl of warmed water they so kindly prepared. Then I dress, not wanting help for something I'd done myself every day for years. I imagine this sparks your curiosity. What is a simple village girl doing wed to a lord? If you will have patience with me, I will tell you in time. However, what little I know is as bewildering to me as I expect it to be to you.

Ulra peeks in to see if I am awake and proceeds to make me tea. It is like nothing I have ever tasted, a fusion of herbs, mint, and berries, rich and sweet. But like all teas, leaves my tongue rolling with a bitter taste.

"I'll take you around the manor this morning, Lady Vane, and acquaint you with the rooms."

I about choke on that unfamiliar title, but she continues:

"My lord has asked to show you the stables himself."

He must have heard about my love of horses, perhaps in negotiations with my father. Meetings of which I knew nothing about until the deal had been struck.

I can only imagine the many magnificent beasts from faraway places he must have. I have never seen a pure white horse, and secretly hope he has one.

We set out through the cold, drafty halls while Ulra interjects the names of rooms along the way. A morsel of family history added here and there. Names of ancestors dropped like ripe plums, but I choose to leave them where she dropped them and do not ask much. These names hold little meaning to me, other than the part they played in ghost stories around the village fire. I gawk inwardly at how well their painted portraits add to the horror of the tales I'd heard.

I almost trip on my own feet when I realize someday my own image may hang in these halls. My own horror tale may be spun like black silk and told to startled village children.

The manor is spacious, both tall and wide, with winding staircases. The stones were mostly gathered locally, in hues of earthen browns, golds, and grays. They do not do well in reflecting light but rather suffocate it. As such, the halls and rooms the servants are working in are lit by oil lamps, even at this late morning hour. 

For the tenth time, I marvel at how I prefer the hemmed in coziness of my old cottage to anything so grand. For the tenth time, I scold myself for it.

We reach an exit to the outside. I see rows of hedges and draping vines over arbors. Half of spring spent has ensured most of the bushes are laden with blooms.

"Would you mind walking the span of the garden by yourself, my lady?" Ulra asks, but I can tell she is already sure of my response, "I will inform Lord Vane you are out here. His business should be finished soon and he will join you shortly."

"Not at all! Thank you for showing me around, Ulra."

Mind? Hardly! I am antsy to reach those rare shafts of sunlight, hoping it will permanently chase away the varying chill and dread I've felt since yesterday.

For a short time, it works. I play a game of identifying the flowers and herbs growing about the garden. I know so few of them, so it turns instead into a game of ogling all the new and pretty things.

But thoughts invade and they are far less pleasant than roses and lilies. What are flowers to midnight cries, a missing servant, and a lord who cloaks a secret?

And who am I that he would choose me, a poor and simple girl? Somewhere in my father's line were nobles, but I believed this to be bled out through a string of common marriages. I have nothing to give but myself.

I can hardly understand any of it.

I beat myself inwardly for pulling my hand back from him at the last moment. I cannot tell you exactly what I was thinking. It happened so naturally. If I had to pinpoint a reason it would probably be my sordid thoughts which I have been unable to resurrect from Sheol since yesterday.

Do all new brides feel this way? Anxious, unsure?

We head toward the garden exit and I see a large building with paddocks and gates. As guilty as I feel, guilt makes way for excitement enough to lend me a timid smile.

I almost walk into Lord Vane. He has stopped on the path and as I come next to him, he barely hides a look of shock.

"I just remembered...ah...we cannot go to the stables quite yet. There's...something...that isn't quite ready. I- I completely forgot. I must beg your forgiveness, Charis." He looks to me apologetically.

"That is fine. Another time then." I imagine I fail at hiding my disappointment, but I try anyhow.

"But I must ask you wait for me to see the stables. I would like to show you them myself."

"Certainly, Lord Vane...Gavriel."

"Lord Vane Gavriel? That's a mouthful, Charis."

I am quickly learning his crooked grin is a weapon. My heart dances every which way for a few beats and I look away hoping my cheeks haven't flooded with crimson blush. Why did I think him not handsome?

He chuckles, possibly at my discomfort, but then turns slightly away. I wonder if he does this for my sake as my cheeks cool and return to their normal color.

"Instead, how about we see the library?" I can read hope in his eyes that this offering will suffice.

I nod my approval and follow him once more. This time toward the manor.

And I promise you, I am giving my utmost effort to not entertain any wild notion on what would be so secretive in the stables. Or, if it has anything to do with the missing cook. Or, the midnight cries.

Really. I am trying my best. Absolutely trying.

~Chapter 4 End~

Thank you for your time reading this!
I am not one for writing long chapters and lengthy descriptions, but I hope you feel somewhat transported to the manor and are enjoying the moments spent with Lord Vane and Charis.
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