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

to my side. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself to go to sleep. My efforts were not rewarded and within moments I surrendered to a sleepless night. I scooted to sitting as I allowed my mind to roam through the endless forest of questions.

Thoughts tumbled through my mind before it centered on one question: had I stumbled upon the reason for Annie’s suicide? Had the attack on her drove her to such desperate lengths? Was there more?

The child Annie showed me, the child she carried in her womb when she died, was this child the product of the attack? Did this add to her anguish? Four months, I recalled. Dr. MacAndrews said she had been four months along when she died. She had lived with the aftermath of her attack for four months. Why had she then chosen to take extreme action? Was she unable to continue to live with the memory? Did she grow more despondent with each passing day? Did she learn of the child then? Was this knowledge what drove her over the edge?

Another question loomed in my mind. Who was the guilty party? Who committed such an abhorrent act?

I had chosen to say nothing to Robert yet. I could not. Not until I obtained more information. I could not inform Robert of the perverse assault on his beloved Annie and the resulting child, if my assumption proved correct on that front, without confirming the identity of the attacker. I could not burden him with that information without first possessing all the facts.

I vowed to seek out Annie at the first opportunity and pursue answers. I considered climbing from my bed and sneaking from the room to find her. I feared awakening Ella and did not wish to disturb her rest. Nor did I wish to endure the inevitable tongue-lashing I would receive from her if caught.

Instead, I bided my time, watching the sun crest the moors and dissipate the morning fog after hours of darkness. Ella entered the room as the sky turned from red to orange. “Good morning, Your Grace,” she greeted me.

“Good morning, Sinclair,” I said, already climbing from bed. “Did you sleep well?”

“I did. You should have woken me. I have slept far later than I intended!”

I smiled at her. “I do not mind. I am pleased you were able to rest so well on your makeshift bed.”

“Mr. Buchanan shall have my head if he learns of my late rising!”

“Then we shall make sure he does not learn of it!” I promised.

“And did you sleep, Your Grace?” Ella inquired as she helped me dress for the day.

With a sigh I admitted, “Not after we spoke last.”

Ella paused. “Oh, I disturbed you. My apologies, Your Grace!”

“No, the fault is not yours. It is my own mind’s fault.”

Ella shook her head as she brushed my hair. “I am sorry you did not rest, Your Grace.”

I dreaded breakfast this morning, uncertain I could maintain the charade with Robert. I managed to get through the meal and assure Robert of my well-being and ability to host the dinner party this evening.

After breakfast, I visited Samuel. I spent longer than I expected there. I found myself unable to tear myself from my son. Holding him in my arms soothed me. Though I lamented Annie’s situation further. Some devil tainted the miracle of life for her.

I also did not yearn for my next task. I planned to seek Annie out. The confidence I possessed in the wee hours of the morning had dwindled. I no longer wished to pursue my inquiry. I avoided it as long as I could.

As the morning hours waned, I pushed myself to relinquish Samuel to Nanny Browne for his feeding. With a wistful glance, I forced myself to depart from the nursery and traversed the halls to the fated tower.

I stood at the bottom of the curving stairway, staring upward. My last visit here ricocheted through my mind. It cut at me like a knife, bringing fresh tears to my eyes. Twice I experienced peril in this room.

With a sigh, I forced my foot to climb the first stair. I must continue. I must find answers. I repeated the words aloud to myself as I climbed a second stair. My pulse raced and my heart thudded in my chest as the doorless entrance came into view.

As I reached the landing outside the room, I swallowed hard. My throat was parched and my mouth dry. I vacillated on my decision to enter. Perhaps I should inform Ella. No, I should not involve her. I did not wish any harm to come to her, physical or emotional. Still, perhaps someone should know I am here.

With a deep inhale, I set my shoulders and firmed my resolve. My dithering only delayed the inevitable. I must take this step. I must confront Annie. Whether I informed someone or not, I would still need to enter this room.

With solidified courage, I stepped through the doorway into the ill-fated tower room. My breath caught in my throat as I entered the room. I held my breath for a few moments as I gazed around. Memories of my last ordeal here flooded back to me in detail. I shuddered as I recalled the horrible sensation and fear I experienced.

“Annie?” I called out in a hushed and shaky voice. “Annie, are you here?”

Nothing stirred. “Annie,” I called again, courage bolstering my voice. “We must speak.”

Still nothing. So, I continued, hoping to draw her out. “I understand now. I understand the emotions you experienced. I understand what drove you to take your own life.”

The last comment garnered the reaction I sought. Annie materialized across the room. She paced back and forth, her fists balled.

“Annie,” I soothed, “can you tell me who attacked you?”

She ignored me, continuing her agitated march from wall to wall. “Please, Annie,” I entreated, “I must know. I do not wish to tell Robert without knowing all the facts. He will certainly wish to know who harmed you.”