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

her arms up as though cradling a baby. My eyes shot wide, and I leapt from the bed. “Is it Samuel? Has something happened?” I shouted, dashing to the door.

My hurried canter surprisingly produced no complaints from my ankle. I surmised the fear for my child trumped any pain I may have felt.

Before I reached the doorway, Annie blocked my path. She shook her head at me. “Stand aside!” I demanded.

Annie repeated her head shake. “Annie!” I exclaimed, my voice raising to a fever pitch. “If something has happened to Samuel, I must go to him!”

Annie shook her head a third time. “NO!” her voice boomed, reverberating through the room and knocking me onto my backside. Fury burned through me as I lay on the floor.

I struggled to stand and by the time I regained my posture, Annie resumed rocking the invisible baby with her arms. Fresh tears spilled onto her cheeks again. I ignored her, grasping the door’s handle and pulling. The door was stuck fast.

Steadying myself, I pulled with all my might. The door did not budge. I whipped around to face Annie. “Open this door at once!” I ordered.

Annie ignored me, traversing across the room and sitting on the chaise. As she sunk onto the seat, she doubled over in sobs. She clutched at her dress and rubbed her belly.

The gesture made me pause. Perhaps her actions did not refer to Samuel.

“Annie, what troubles you? It is not Samuel, is it?”

Annie continued her actions, oblivious to my question. I approached her. As I tread closer to the chaise, only then did I notice a figure in the corner of the room. Lit only by the flames of the dying fire in the fireplace, the man hid in the shadows. A log shifted in the fireplace, causing a flame to leap higher, illuminating his face. I gasped as I recognized Edwin.

As if on cue, Annie spun to face him. Edwin shrunk further back into the shadows, shriveling away from her gaze. Annie opened her mouth and an ear-splitting shriek emerged. I clasped my hands over my ears and squeezed my eyes shut, hoping the raucous sound would soon cease. “Stop, STOP!” I cried.

My entire body shook, but I refused to open my eyes or loosen the grasp on my ears. My body shook again. This time I risked a glance, popping my eyes open to find Ella standing over me.

“Wake up, Your Grace!” she called.

My brow furrowed, and I glanced around the room. No one else greeted me.

“Your Grace?” Ella questioned. Worry etched her face.

I sat up, still searching the space. “I am all right, Sinclair,” I assured her. “Though…” My voice trailed off as I struggled to the realization that what I had experienced was a dream.

“What is it, Your Grace?” Ella inquired.

“Annie…” I paused. “Has Mr. Fletcher left? Is Samuel well?”

The crease in Ella’s brow deepened as I fired questions at her. “Mr. Fletcher? Yes, I believe so. Yes, Samuel is quite well. I checked with Nanny Browne before bringing your supper. Your Grace, are you quite well?”

“What?” I questioned, my mind distracted, still processing the events. “Yes, yes, I am quite well.”

“Shall I fetch the doctor?” Ella queried.

“No, Sinclair,” I assured her, regaining my composure. “I suffered only a disturbing dream.”

“A dream, Your Grace? Was it very frightening?”

“Yes,” I admitted. “It disturbed me and continues to.”

“Perhaps I ought to fetch a toddy for your nerves,” Ella suggested. “Or request a sleeping tonic so you are not troubled by it tonight?”

I shook my head at her. “That will not be necessary.”

“You seem terribly distraught, Your Grace,” Ella answered, wringing her hands.

“No,” I disagreed. “Not distraught, disturbed.”

“Disturbed sounds far worse, Your Grace. Should I inform His Grace?”

“No,” I countered. “Something about the dream will not leave me. But what?” I asked myself.

Ella shrugged in response.

“Oh, I am sorry, Sinclair. Please, sit. Let us eat. Perhaps then my mind can come to some conclusion about why I received this message.”

Ella relaxed into the chair near my bed, taking up her tray to eat. “Message?” she questioned.

“Yes. The dream concerned Annie. And Edwin, oddly. What could it mean?”

“Perhaps nothing,” Ella suggested. “When I had a nightmare as a child, my mother assured me of that. ‘Dreams are tricky things’ she told me. They mean everything and nothing.”

I considered the statement, disagreeing that this particular dream meant nothing. “I cannot shake the experience,” I answered.

“What in particular disturbs you?” Ella asked.

I reflected on the dream as I swallowed the mouthful of stew. With a sigh, I admitted, “I am not certain. The dream was bizarre, as most are, but I cannot shake the concept that it contains a message. I awoke on the bed and heard a woman sobbing. I turned and found Annie sitting on the edge of my bed, weeping. I questioned her and she made a motion indicating a child.” I repeated the motion Annie made. “I immediately leapt to the conclusion that something had happened to Samuel. I jumped from the bed and rushed to the door.” I shook my head and rolled my eyes at my own stupidity. “I should have realized then it was a dream. My ankle gave me no pain.”

“Was Samuel well?” Ella asked.

“I never made it to the nursery. Annie prevented me from reaching the door. She shouted at me and I fell to the floor. When I regained my footing, I found the door shut tight. I insisted she let me out, but she ignored me. She returned to her weeping and cradling the imaginary baby. Then she began pawing at her dress.

“I approached her to console her, then I noticed Edwin in the corner. He hid in the shadows. Annie noticed him and began to shriek. It was then that you woke me.”

Ella pursed her lips in thought. “Perhaps your mind is burdened by your accident.”

“No,” I insisted. “There is some message. I am missing something. My mind is attempting to piece this together. But what connects Annie,