Death of a Duchess, Nellie Steele [non fiction books to read .txt] 📗

“When is your birthday, Lenora?”

“October 31,” I informed him, surprised by the question.

“All Hallows’ Eve?”

My eyes struggled to remain open as I answered. “Mmm, yes,” I responded, sleep filling my voice, “another reason my mother considered me a wicked child.” With that, I drifted off to a dreamless sleep.

Chapter 12

Over one month passed with no disturbances from Annie. Though she stayed in my room for the entirety of my bedrest, she beckoned to me no more. Even after Dr. MacAndrews freed me from my chambers, Annie only appeared to me on limited occasions and did nothing more than gaze at me from afar. If I approached her, despite Robert’s objections over me “chasing after her,” she disappeared. Simply vanished into thin air, leaving behind no trace.

On a few occasions, I ventured to the ill-fated tower, though never entered it. Despite my courageous façade, I remained spooked by the incident, and unwilling to explore my frightened feelings even within my own heart. Robert had the door removed, and the window boarded to prevent against any future incidents in which someone could be harmed. On my first visit there, after my near-fatal experience, I hovered a few steps down from the doorway.

My stomach somersaulted as I recalled the events that occurred on the previous occasion when I had entered that room. I shut my eyes as tears threatened. Finding myself unable to go any further, I descended the staircase and traversed the halls to my own tower. Odd how this tower could wrap me in comfort while the other could cause such angst.

It was the solace of my tower room that I sought on this early March afternoon. As February came to a close, my mind ceased being able to hold my past at bay. I dwelled upon it, as I always did at this time of the year.

It was the tenth of March when I’d arrived at the orphanage. A child of seven, I had lived at the Daughters of Charity convent from just before I had turned six. During my time at the convent, I’d helped clean and cook and took part in daily prayers. Despite being a small child, playing was forbidden. The nuns, aware of my odd ability, did their level best to keep me contained and solitary.

The older nuns were the only women I assisted. They kept me from any of the younger nuns, afraid I may poison them with my bizarre capability. “You’ll lead people astray, Lenora,” one of the older nuns warned on several occasions.

Though they never were cruel, the portion of my childhood spent there lacked any warmth or normalcy other children experienced. I longed for my mother, as I received no maternal care here. I yearned to run through my former back yard, the wind blowing through my hair, or swing on the wooden swing hanging from the large oak tree there. Instead, for most of the daylight hours, I was confined to my windowless room. Permitted no light in an attempt to prevent me from spotting any specters, I sat alone in a dark room for most daylight hours.

The treatment did little to stop my visions of those departed, who could visit whether or not enough light was available. I did not mind their visits. They were often the only normal interactions I had.

During the night, the nuns locked me in my room, claiming it to be for my own protection. In reality, I discovered through overheard conversations that they feared the disturbances that may occur overnight should I rise from my bed and roam the halls.

After three months of this treatment, I managed to pilfer an old hairpin from one of the older nuns. I hid it in my pocket and, after the lights had been put out in the convent, I approached my locked door and attempted to pick the lock.

On that first night, the lock defeated me. It took me over a week to master opening my lock. The first time I did, I remained in my room, surprised by my own ability to triumph in my diabolical scheme to escape my confinement. As morning approached, the notion occurred to me that I should attempt to relock my door, so my hijinks went unnoticed.

I pushed the hairpin into the lock and fiddled with it until the knob no longer turned when I tried it. Satisfied with my work, I crept back into bed and slid under the covers after hiding my new tool under my mattress.

I spent the next thirteen months using my hairpin to escape nightly from my room. I traversed the halls, ventured outside into the courtyard garden, and even crept into the tiny chapel once or twice. During summer months, I enjoyed laying in the grass and stargazing. Especially exciting were the nights with a full moon. The moonlight basked the plants in the garden in its glowing white light, making them appear magical.

As my nocturnal excursions continued, I would sleep during the day while locked away in the dark. After dinner, I would count the hours until silence fell over the convent. I’d then slip from my bed, unlock my door and spend hours entertaining myself with games I made up, fantastical stories of knights and princesses and, of course, interacting with those lost souls who would visit me.

One day before 10 March, I sneaked from my room as usual as quietness fell over the convent. I crept down the hall away from the cells. As I rounded the corner into the hall leading to the courtyard, I picked up my pace. My bare feet slapped against the cold floor as I skipped along. Despite the chilliness still in the air, I preferred to stay barefooted until I reached the courtyard.

I made it halfway down the hall before my lighthearted scampering ground to a halt. I stood motionless, every muscle tense as I stared at the end of the hall. My eyes went wide, and