Read Flight From Blithmore for Free Online Page B

song.”
    “I
turned into a lousy—!”
    “Ruther!”
Maggie shouted from a window. “If you don’t quiet yourself right now, I will
beat you with my broom!”
    Ruther
fell silent instantly, as did many of the animals in the barn and stable.
Isabelle tried not to laugh, but her chest rose and fell spasmodically. “I love
your sister.”
    “She
means what she says.”
    “But
I love you more.”
    “Good,”
Henry breathed back into her ear.
    “I’ve
known since I was a girl that I’m happiest when I’m with you.”
    She
could feel Henry’s smile against her cheek in response to her words. They stood
up together, and Isabelle leaned forward so her tall frame could complete the
distance between her lips and Henry’s.
    “I’ll
see you soon,” she said over her shoulder as she passed back through the hedge.
“Tomorrow, if I can manage it.”
    Just
as they said goodbye, Ruther stumbled into the backyard, raised his flask high,
and tripped onto the grass. He quickly got up and raised his hands to show that
he was fine.
    “So
when’s the big day?” he asked.

 
     
     
     
    Six -
    Death at the Manor
     
     
    In
Isabelle’s youth , Lady Oslan had been a tall, slender, majestic
being whose principle endeavor had been to put her family into the center of
Richterton’s social circles. However, when Isabelle turned ten, her mother’s
health took a sharp, unexplainable turn, and over the last nine years, the
elegant woman had gradually wilted into a fragile, aged invalid who slept more
than twelve hours on a normal day. Most mornings, Isabelle read to her mother
from a book of stories handed down through the family, spoke about her plans
for the future, or brushed her mother’s silver hairs out of her face when a
strong draft blew through a window. It was imperative that Lady Oslan have
someone in the home within earshot at all times, and since Lord Oslan wouldn’t
answer her summons, Isabelle and Norbin bore the responsibility together.
    For
three days after Henry’s disastrous meeting with Lord Oslan, Isabelle and Henry
met in the secrecy of night. She spent the rest of the time in her mother’s
room trying to raise the frail woman’s spirits, but her efforts were futile.
Lady Oslan’s condition continued to deteriorate.
    On
the fourth day, Isabelle simply had to get out of the manor. Hearing from
Norbin that her father intended to eat lunch with one of his few friends, Isabelle
sent a message to Henry telling him to expect her around noon. Norbin would
ring a bell from the back door if Lord Oslan came home earlier than expected.
    She
and Henry focused their meal conversation on places they wanted to visit,
pretending as though they might go on a very long vacation. Isabelle was
reluctant to return home, but the sky threatened a rainstorm. Their picnic
lunch went well over an hour, but was still much shorter than she would have
liked. She left promising Henry that she’d try to visit him again before she
retired for the evening, and returned home wearing a smile stuck to her face.
Norbin was in the kitchen scrubbing dishes and watching her with a pleased
expression on his face.
    “Do
you need help?” she asked him.
    “I’ve
told you before, Master Henry wouldn’t like it if I let you. Your hands are too
well-made, Miss Isabelle. Oh, and before I forget. A letter from Master James
arrived today.”
    Isabelle
was about to comment when she heard her mother’s bell ringing upstairs.
    “Excuse
me, Miss—”
    “No,
Norbin.” Isabelle dried her hands and flattened her dress. “I’ll see to her.”
The ringing became more urgent as Isabelle reached the stairs, so she quickened
her pace to Lady Oslan’s room.
    Her
mother’s colorless, quaking hand clutched the bell tightly, her lids were
closed, making her face appear even more sallow without the natural color of
her eyes. Profuse sweat dampened her face and hair, plastering it to her scalp
and cheeks.
    “Mother,
what’s the matter?” She rushed to