“Your Grace!” A footman stood in the doorway. “I am so sorry to have kept you. We did not see you arrive with the storm.”
“You may apologize once we are inside,” Adrian barked.
“Of course.” The footman stepped to the side and waved them in.
Adrian put his head down and stormed into the foyer, a sigh of relief to leave the storm in his rear. He shook his head, dispensing the water from his matted hair, and then he flicked his arms to do the same with his coat.
“Thank God,” Rupert sighed as the door closed behind him. “That was…” He trailed off as he looked about the foyer, his expression one of deep confusion. “In this instance, perhaps the storm would be preferable?”
The inside of Delacout Manor was as dreary a sight as Adrian had seen. There were no lamps lit. The curtains were drawn closed. And a staleness hung in the air that could be felt as if it was trying to suffocate them. Listening for a moment, the storm outside was the only sound that came to them, a sense that the manor was empty of life, a place to be avoided at all costs.
“Forgive the state of Lord Delacourt’s home,” the footman apologized. “This past month has been a rather sorrowful affair, as you can imagine. Lord Delacourt has been in mourning, and as a consequence, he has not had the time or the inclination to care after the residence.”
“And what have you been doing all this time?” Adrian said.
“All that we can,” the footman answered with a deep sigh. “And while I do not wish to speak ill of my master, perhaps once you see him yourself, you will understand a little better.”
Adrian caught Rupert looking at him, once again, with that same question he’d been asking all day.
Perhaps he was right, and coming here was a bad idea…
“Stay here,” Adrian told Rupert. “I will see to Lord Delacourt on my own.”
“Sounds like a party worth missing,” Rupert said with a bitter chuckle.
“If you will allow me to show His Grace to Lord Delacourt’s quarters, I will return shortly after,” the footman said to Rupert. “At which point I will happily provide you with someplace warm to wait. If it pleases you.”
“Oh, do not trouble yourself with my comfort.” Rupert waved him away. “I’ll be right here, waiting like a good dog.”
With that said, the footman indicated for Adrian to follow him up the stairs and then down the hall. As with the foyer, the rest of the manor was cloaked in misery and darkness, cobwebs found in corners, dust settled on benchtops and skirting boards. Fewcandles were lit, every room passed had its curtains closed, and the floorboards creaked as if crying out in warning.
A prickle ran up Adrian’s spine as he followed the footman down the long hallway. Something was undoubtedly wrong here, and Adrian wondered if he was about to make things worse.
Nonetheless, when the footman came to a stop outside a set of intricately carved double doors, Adrian conceded that he had come too far to turn back now. And once more, he confirmed within himself that this had to be done. Once it was, he would be free to cut himself off from Ophelia and Harriet entirely, returning to his old ways…
“While it is not typical, Lord Delacourt has asked that you be brought to his personal chambers,” the footman explained.
“Lord Delacourt is sick?” Adrian asked.
“Not in that way,” the footman sighed, appearing truly saddened. “He is, however…” He allowed his shoulders to fall. “Since the passing of Lady Delacourt, he has not been well. Not once has he left his bedroom, Your Grace, and I fear that such a time might still be months away.”
“Truly?” Adrian frowned as he remembered the little that he had been told of Lord and Lady Delacourt’s relationship. “The man is still in mourning?”
“Oh yes,” the footman said. “But I will speak no further to it, for it is not my place to do so. I only ask that you do not broach any topic that might upset him further.”
“I will do my best.”
“Thank you.” The footman knocked on the door and then gently opened it. “My lord, His Grace is here to see you.”
There was no answer from within, just darkness and that same smell that sat thick throughout the rest of the manor. Regardless, the footman opened the doors further and stepped back, beckoning Adrian inside.
Adrian hesitated, not sure what he would find, while certain it would make what he was there to do all the more difficult.
With no choice, knowing such things had to be done, Adrian took a deep breath and entered the personal chambers of Lord Delacourt. Once inside, the doors swung shut, and Adrian started in horror at what he found.
Adrian was used to self-pity. He had lived in isolation his entire life. And he knew what it was like to want to be left alone, even presenting an air of aggression about it so that nobody would think that his mind might be changed. But what he found in Lord Delacort’s room was beyond even his understanding of true loneliness.
The room was dark, nearly pitch-black. The smell was stale, as if fresh air had not entered the room in decades. Clothes lay strewn everywhere he looked. Empty plates – and many with untouched food—sat on every chair and table in sight. And finally, there was the body that lay tucked underneath the covers of the bed, a rattled breathing coming from it, followed by what almost sounded like weeping.