Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

T he introductions began as soon as Margaret stepped through the castle doors. The servants lined up in a neat row in the entrance hall, their faces solemn and stiff as though carved from the very stone of the castle itself.

“This is Margaret, Duchess of Giltford,” Giltford announced, his voice carrying authority but little warmth. He turned to her briefly, his tone softer but no less distant. “Duchess, these are the members of my household.”

Margaret’s gaze swept over the gathered staff. Their countenances were as devoid of life as the castle itself, their heads bowed, their eyes lowered in deference. She forced a smile, though it felt painfully out of place amidst the oppressive atmosphere. “It is a pleasure to meet you all,” she said, her voice quiet yet steady.

No one replied, not even the faintest murmur of acknowledgment. The butler gave the smallest inclination of his head, but it was the only response Margaret received. The others remained unmoving, their silence heavy and uncomfortable.

The air felt colder, and Margaret swallowed hard, trying not to think of what her future would look like in such a joyless place.

“No need to make any elaborate preparations for dinner,” Giltford said suddenly, his tone as brisk as ever. “I shan’t be joining you. Your meal will be brought up to your chambers once it’s time.”

Before Margaret could muster a response, he gestured to a severe-looking woman standing at the end of the line. “Mrs. Hallewell will show you to your chambers.”

The housekeeper stepped forward, her movements precise but devoid of any warmth or grace. Her grey hair was pulled back into a severe bun, and her pale complexion, devoid of any color, made her appear as lifeless as the rest of the castle.

“This way, Your Grace,” Mrs. Hallewell said, her voice clipped and monotone. It was the first—and only—sentence she spoke as they began their procession through the darkened hallways.

The hallways stretched endlessly, the flickering candlelight casting long, ominous shadows against the cold stone walls. Margaret felt each step weigh heavier, her apprehension growing with every turn. The housekeeper’s footsteps echoed dully, and her silence was so absolute it seemed to swallow any attempt Margaret might have made at conversation.

The journey felt like an eternity before they finally reached her chambers. Mrs. Hallewell opened the heavy wooden door, revealing a room as somber as the rest of the castle. The curtains were drawn tightly shut, blocking out what little light the evening might have offered. The furniture was dark, ornate, and oppressive, and the chill in the air made Margaret shiver.

“As you do not seem in possession of a lady’s maid, shall I inquire for someone suitable to fill the position?” Mrs. Hallewell’s voice broke the silence at last, though her words felt more like a pronouncement than a genuine question.

Margaret nodded numbly, her attention still fixed on the dreary surroundings. “Thank you,” she managed.

“In the meantime, I shall help you settle in for the night,” the housekeeper added, leaving no room for Margaret to politely decline.

Margaret felt a twinge of unease but said nothing as Mrs. Hallewell moved efficiently about the room, lighting candles and pulling out the essentials for the evening. Every motion felt mechanical, lacking the warmth or care Margaret had known in her uncle’s household. The atmosphere grew more stifling with every moment, the silence so oppressive Margaret thought she might choke on it.

When her meal arrived, it was grand—roasted pheasant, buttered vegetables, and a decadent tart—but it only served to highlight her solitude. The table was set impeccably, yet Margaret ate alone, her appetite failing her despite the rich fare. The grandeur of the meal felt almost mocking in the silence.

She tried to distract herself, imagining the lively banter that might have filled the room in another life, perhaps in her uncle’s household. Peggy recalled one evening, days before she married Morgan:

“Peggy, dear, you’ve barely touched your food. You’ll waste away if you keep this up,” Petunia said with exasperation in her tone. “And no Duchess worth her salt can lead without a proper meal.”

Margaret smiled, recalling how Petunia always balanced practicality with genuine care. “I was simply saving room for dessert,” she teased.

“Dessert!” Anna interjected, a sly grin spreading across her face. “Is that what we’re calling it now? Or are you just practicing the art of subtlety for your new role?”

Margaret huffed in mock indignation. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, you do,” Anna replied with a laugh. “Soon you’ll be so poised and composed that we’ll hardly recognize you. Won’t we, Uncle Sebastian?”

Sebastian, always quick to defuse their playful sparring, chuckled as he reached for another slice of bread. “I doubt even a Duchess’s title can strip Margaret of her charm—or her tendency to arrange dinner plates into castles.” His eyes twinkled with amusement. “Do you remember that, Peggy? Your elaborate fortresses made of gravy boats and soup tureens?”

“Uncle!” Margaret exclaimed, feigning outrage, though the warmth in her voice betrayed her affection. “I was a child!”

“Yes, but even then, you were determined to command your little kingdom,” he said with a wink. “Good practice, I’d say.”

Petunia leaned back, her expression softening as she observed Margaret. “You’ll manage, Peggy, I’m sure of it,” she said, her tone a mixture of encouragement and pragmatism. “Though a Duchess is expected to do much more than merely grace a table.”

“And what does that mean, Aunt?” Margaret asked, though her voice was light, her curiosity genuine.

“It means,” Petunia said, gesturing slightly with her fork, “that you’ll need to find your footing quickly. A household is not unlike a small kingdom, and its success depends entirely on its ruler.”

Anna snorted, breaking the momentary seriousness. “Well, if that’s the case, Margaret had better eat something. You can’t rule a kingdom on an empty stomach.”

Laughter rippled around the table, and Peggy joined in, warmth spreading through her chest as she looked at the faces of her family.

The memory dissolved, and here, there were no voices to fill the void, no teasing remarks or shared smiles. There was only silence.

How I miss them , Margaret thought, her chest tightening as she forced herself to take another bite. The food, though exquisitely prepared, felt heavy and tasteless on her tongue, as though it too bore the weight of the castle’s gloom.

Eventually, Mrs. Hallewell removed the all but untouched dishes with an almost imperceptible glance of disapproval and left Margaret to her own devices. Margaret climbed into the vast, empty bed, her fingers clutching the thick coverlet as she stared at the ceiling.

The question lingered in her mind, heavy and unspoken. Would Giltford join her?

She lay in silence, waiting, her thoughts a storm of uncertainty and unease as the cold walls of the castle seemed to close in around her. Her thoughts were a tangled mess, and no amount of turning on the pillow seemed to bring her closer to comfort. The oppressive silence of the castle pressed heavily upon her, and the cold sheets only amplified the emptiness she felt. After what seemed an eternity of torment, she could bear it no longer.

With a sharp exhale, she sat upright and swung her legs over the side of the bed, her feet brushing against the chilly floor. Her heart raced as she glanced toward the door, debating her decision. He won’t come, she told herself firmly. There was no point waiting, no reason to let her anxiety fester in this desolate room.

She reached for her dressing gown and slipped it over her nightclothes, fastening the sash with trembling fingers. Taking a lone candle from the bedside table, she lit it with careful precision and stepped toward the door. The castle’s hallways stretched endlessly before her, quiet and foreboding. The faint flicker of the flame cast dancing shadows on the stone walls, doing little to ease her growing unease.

Margaret wandered for what felt like ages, her bare feet making soft sounds against the cold floor as she opened one door after another. Each room was an empty disappointment. A drawing room, a dining room, a darkened gallery—but no library. Surely a castle of this magnitude would not lack such a simple necessity. Her patience began to wane, irritation bubbling beneath the surface as she tightened her grip on the candleholder.

She rounded another corner, her frustration mounting, when she suddenly collided with something solid. A sharp gasp escaped her lips, and her candle sputtered before going out entirely, plunging her into complete darkness.

“Did you need anything, Your Grace?” came a voice, calm and dispassionate, from the shadows.

Margaret froze, her breath catching in her throat. Mrs. Hallewell. Of course. The woman’s presence was as unnerving as it was inexplicable. Margaret’s fingers tightened around the now-useless candle, her heart thudding in her chest.

“I—” she began, her voice wavering slightly. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Silence stretched between them, and Margaret felt the weight of the housekeeper’s unseen gaze. Finally, Mrs. Hallewell spoke, her tone devoid of judgment yet offering no warmth. “Shall I fetch something to aid your rest?”

“No, that won’t be necessary,” Margaret replied quickly, forcing steadiness into her voice. “I was simply looking for the library.”

“Ah,” Mrs. Hallewell said after a pause. “The library is not in this wing. I will help you familiarize yourself with the manor tomorrow, if you wish. ”

Margaret hesitated, the thought of continuing her search alone battling with the unsettling prospect of wandering through the castle at Mrs. Hallewell’s side. “That would be... appreciated,” she said at last, though her voice lacked conviction.

Mrs. Hallewell stepped closer, her shadowy figure barely discernible in the darkness. “Follow me, Your Grace.”

Gradually, Peggy’s eyes adjusted to the inky darkness, and she could just discern Mrs. Hallewell’s silhouette. The housekeeper stood unnervingly still, her form outlined faintly by the dim light spilling from a distant sconce. It struck Peggy that the woman was still dressed in her uniform, her cap and apron as precise as they had been hours earlier. A chill crept down Peggy’s spine at the thought. Did Mrs. Hallewell ever retire to bed? If she even sleeps at all, the afterthought whispered, and the notion made her shiver anew. Or perhaps it was simply the housekeeper’s eerie presence that unsettled her so.

“I—I was just looking for the library,” Peggy managed to say, her voice quieter than she intended. She straightened her shoulders, attempting to inject some confidence into her tone. “Could you point me in its direction?”

For a moment, silence reigned. The housekeeper’s lack of response hung in the air, pressing down on Peggy until she nearly repeated herself. At last, Mrs. Hallewell spoke, her voice low and measured, but somehow carrying an unsettling weight. “It is quite late. For your safety, I advise you refrain from wandering the halls and remain in your chambers, Your Grace.”

Peggy blinked, her lips parting as if to protest, but the words caught in her throat. There was something final in the woman’s tone, a quiet authority that left no room for argument. She clutched her extinguished candle tighter, the smooth brass cool against her clammy palms.

“I see,” she said finally, the words barely more than a whisper. “Thank you for your concern.”

Mrs. Hallewell said nothing further, merely inclining her head—a gesture Peggy could only guess at in the darkness—before turning and disappearing into the shadows as silently as she had appeared.

Peggy lingered for a moment, her heart hammering against her ribs. The oppressive quiet of the hallway seemed to grow louder, wrapping around her like a suffocating blanket. She had no choice but to retreat. With trembling fingers, she felt her way back toward her chambers, every creak of the floorboards beneath her feet sending a shiver through her.

When she finally reached the safety of her room, Peggy closed the door behind her with a shaky breath. She leaned against it, her body quaking as she tried to collect herself. The dim light of her bedside candle offered little comfort, casting long, flickering shadows that danced eerily along the walls.

“Am I truly living with human beings?” she murmured to herself, her voice breaking the silence of the room. The thought echoed in her mind as her gaze swept over the darkened space. The castle was not merely lifeless—it seemed devoid of humanity entirely.

Her eyes fell upon her escritoire, where the small pouch Petunia had given her earlier lay idly beside a folded piece of parchment.

The sight stirred an odd combination of emotions within her—amusement at her aunt’s peculiar gesture, but also a faint, prickling sense of unease.

Peggy stepped toward the desk, her fingers hovering over the pouch as though it might hold answers to the strange, stifling weight of the household.