The Mistress of Trevelyan by Jennifer St Giles

more sinister. Darkness had fallen, and the window at the end of the corridor reflected a shadowy image of myself as I drew closer to my room.
    I had never been given to flights of fancy, and I despised myself now for the shiver inching its way down my spine. I closed my eyes to give myself a thorough dressing-down.
    Just because I'd managed to change my station in life didn't mean I should lose hold of my practicality. Both my awareness of Benedict Trevelyan as a man and these silly notions that I was being watched had to stop. Thus chastised, I opened my eyes and nearly fell on my face as I missed a step. Behind me, reflected in the window, stood a black-haired woman in a white gown. Crying out, I swung around and thought I saw the fleeing edge of a gown move from sight around the corner. I grabbed up my skirts and dashed toward the disappearing woman, heedless of the noise my thudding steps made.
    Turning the corner, I bumped into Dobbs. Unfortunately, the towels he carried like a Leaning Tower of Pisa in front of him went flying. He stood there in the hall, his eyes bulging with outrage and his wispy hair sticking out in tufts.
    "Miss Lovell," he said through clenched teeth, "is there a bloody fire?"
    "No, just walking briskly. It is good for my constitution," I said, collecting the towels and stacking them again. Stuffing them into his arms, I gave him a sunny smile. "You should watch where you're going."
    "Me watch!"
    "Yes, you could harm yourself," I said, then left him gasping like a fish out of water.
    The scent of roses lingered about me, but I wasn't about to ask Dobbs again about the mysterious woman. I'd yet to meet Katherine Trevelyan, and I wondered why she or anyone else would wish to frighten me.
    Were I a woman given to such notions as haunting ghosts, I might have been tempted to flee as my hired driver had fled into the morning mists.
    Returning to my room, I firmly shut the door behind me and twisted the key in the lock, determined to put the incident from my mind. Something I had no trouble doing, for I found a shocking display before me.
    A small fire had been lit in the hearth, its welcoming warmth chasing away any dampness sweeping in from the bay. The bed had been turned down, the rich coverlets neatly folded back in a queenly invitation to rest, and a reading light had been lit for my pleasure. I stood stunned. My toiling days as a laundress had always been followed by more work to address personal needs—laundry, cleaning, and cooking. During my mother's illness, I'd nursed her as well as tending to our laundry business and our own needs. Her last days were still a blur of exhaustion from which I was only now recovering.
    Blinking back emotion brought on by memories and the care Benedict Trevelyan's servants had bestowed upon me, I readied myself for bed. But instead of crawling into the luxury awaiting me, I wandered over to the windows and peered into the night. Before me, in the distance below, lay the twinkling lights of the city as I'd never before seen them. From the heights of Trevelyan Hill, looking down at the city was like looking down upon the stars instead of up. It was a strange sensation and not a comfortable one, so I did not linger. I collected an encyclopedia and settled beneath the covers, intent on planning lessons, but the day's events and revelations took precedent over the blurring words on the page. And one among those incidents called upon my heart—Justin and Robert's resentment and bewilderment over their mother's death.
    The thought of children only five and seven and without the gentle, loving touch of their mother hit a painful chord inside me, and I knew I would not sleep unless I went and checked on them. Sliding from the bed and donning my robe and slippers, I quietly went through a connecting door to the schoolroom and entered the nursery.
    The moment I stepped into the room, I smelled sandalwood. His scent. My breath caught on the tantalizing aroma. I stopped just