Page 2 of Unseen

But it was late, and everyone was asleep. The house remained silent.

The latch of the door clicked so loudly that my heart beat faster for a moment, humming in my throat. But still there was no movement in the house, and I ventured into the long, dark hallway, pulling the door closed behind me.

The thick Persian rug underfoot muffled the sound of my bare feet as I crept back to my room. Cold bit at my legs, a draft wafting through the cracks of this old house. I passed two doorways, almost back to my own room, when the hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and my heartbeat roared in my ears.

I’d heard a breath.

Ghostly, and distant. But I had heard it. I was sure.

Someone was watching me from the end of the hallway.

I froze in place for what felt like a year. My feet went numb, from cold and panic, while sweat beaded on my upper lip. A million excuses ran through my head, ready to explain what I was doing up and about on this cold Autumn night. Any coy insistence that it had been nothing but a matrimonial urge for coupling would swiftly be met with Acton’s valet being woken to clean away the evidence, leading to the discovery of his lifeless body.

And I wasn’t sure how in Heaven’s name I was going to explainthat.

The seconds slipped by, and no more ghostly breaths sounded in the darkness. Slowly, ever so slowly, I dared to turn around, staring and staring into the abyss of night. My eyes played tricks on me, and the shadows seemed to pool and dance, forming the silhouette of a person. With my heart in my throat, my strained eyes dared a blink, and the shadows fell. No one was there. I was alone, no one but the judging glares of Acton’s ancestors regarding me from the walls.

My breath stuttered out of my lungs, and I hurried on tiptoe back to my room. All was dark, and my bed was as I had left it. I flopped down in the linens, my heart still pounding in my chest.

But it was over. It was finally over.

Tomorrow would bring with it a new dawn, a new life. I would, of course, play my role as the grieving widow perfectly. I had already prepared the letter to Acton’s son and only child, Azriel, and had delighted far too much in the task. While tomorrow I would insist that I had to tell Azriel myself, out of nothing but love for my stepson, no one would know that I wrung nothing but pleasure from writing out those lines.

I hated Azriel almost as much as I hated Acton.

But amidst stoic tears, I would task them with finding my rogue of a stepson, and have the letter hand delivered to him. My final act as his stepmother.

Glorious.

I was finally free of this cursed family. I would take my widow’s dowry, and be free of them all, living out my life in peace somewhere in the countryside. The weight of the past three years washed off me as I fell into a sound and dreamlesssleep, far too peaceful for a woman who had just murdered her husband.

But I was finally free. The rest, it did not matter.

Grief is,as opposed to death, a noisy business indeed. The louder one’s mourning, the less anyone would dare question just how much you hated the departed. And so it was on that morning, the first morning of my new life. I was awoken by the sound of hurried footsteps, sobs and calls for “Fetch the doctor!”, which quickly turned into, “Fetch the priest!”

Oh yes, the servants were doing a marvelous job convincing the entire neighbourhood that a veritable saint had passed through the gates of heaven.

I stretched and yawned, waiting for my maid to come rushing in to wake me. The next act was about to begin, and I was determined to play my part as well as I had played the dutiful, doting wife. I rolled onto my side, feigning sleep, counting down the seconds until Mary came rushing in. Which she did, sniffling and pausing by my bedside. She took a deep breath, then a warm hand touched my shoulder.

“Madam. Madam, you must wake up.”

I frowned, blinking at her slowly, and rubbing my eyes. “Mary? Is it morning already?”

“Madam, please. You must wake up now.”

I blinked and widened my eyes, looking up at her. “Mary? Whatever is the matter?”

She didn’t respond, shaking her head and biting her lips together.

I sat up, grasping her hand. “Mary? God, what has happened?”

“I’m so sorry, madam,” she whimpered, tears rolling down her round cheeks.

“Stop it! You’re scaring me!” I impressed myself with the waver in my voice as I swung my legs over the side of the bed, and clasped both of Mary’s hands firmly in my own. “Tell me! What is wrong? Where is-” I stopped short, and looked over my shoulder at the hustle and bustle in the corridor, as though noticing it for the first time. With all the finesse of a highly trained performer, I slowly turned back to Mary, the practiced look of disbelieving horror on my face. “Where is Acton?”

Mary burst into high-pitched sobs, and I jumped from the bed, racing across the room in nothing but my nightgown, out into the hallway and past all the servants.

My god, I was stunning.

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