Story...Part 4

         As Wexley sauntered back to his rooms, he contemplated two things. One…an ostracized young woman had been murdered on his own land and two… there were too many damned people in his sanctuary!

Dear Lord, how had it come to this? He had simply come home to the country to enjoy a bit of fresh air and quiet. In lieu of a break from the fast pace of London, Thomas found that he had the worst nightmare of a house party on his hands of recent history. What had begun as a simple invite of a few intimate friends for a fortnight before the winter months quickly permeated all things lush and verdant, had quickly turned itself into a scandal of epic proportions.

Only two evenings gone he had been enjoying a rather agreeable game of billiards with his comrades with not a care before him other than the impending parliamentary obligations. Had it been only 48 hours? It was more a lifetime ago than such a short interval of time. Time was indeed relative. But even such a lovely evening had been a sort of veil that thinly covered a greater and troubling assemblage of people.

As he made his way to his apartments and called for his valet to help with his evening ablutions he again speculated how the simple invite of a country party amongst a few intimate friends had become fraught with bitter jealous mates and wives, and now what could only be deemed, well, murder?

He was a simple man with a quiet pride in his lands and parliamentary duties.  With a great sigh, he tugged at his cravat and promptly fell in his chair at his writing desk to pen an unwanted letter to his mother, the intimidating and frankly, frightening, Lady Wexley, Viscountess of Whitcombe.

…

As Anne crisply and efficiently made her way down the corridor to Miss Hernshaw’s quarters, she made a quick deposit of Hastings in his own small, but cozy accommodations not far from the servants’ quarters. As she attempted to smooth the tangled mess Hastings had caused of her pinafore with his rather inappropriate display of ill manners by presuming to row with the master’s companion.  She gingerly turned the knob and stepped into Miss Hernshaw’s room only to find her pacing the floors and anxiously biting at her nails in a most unladylike manner. Although Anne found this show of human emotions silently endearing, she softly cleared her throat, drawing Sophie’s eye to her disapproving eye.

“Yes, I know! I know! No need to berate me on the havoc I wreak on my poor nails, but honestly Anne. A coroner and a magistrate, all in the matter of a day…all while I am detained in these oppressively small chamber!” Sophie exclaimed with obvious ire.

“Small you call them! My but you are spoiled. When did you become so high in the instep I ask you?” Anne felt compelled to query as she fretted over such a telling statement. It seemed society was having its impact on her demeanor.  In an attempt to detract from her present concerns, Anne relayed that Hastings had a grand romp and was now happily ensconced in his own domain and shared her own version of the earlier events that had take place. As she knew they would, Hastings antics amused Sophie out of her stupor and soon the two women were enjoying themselves immensely. Anyone who was witness to this contented repast as they had supper brought to Miss Hernshaw’s rooms, would immediately discern how much the two young ladies cared for one another.

To be continued…