Distraughtful Thoughts (2)

She could almost see it now as she summoned images from her memory. There was once a wrinkled eye unsightly looking maid with a large mole who could chatter all day with the younger Miss Pedigree. Together they were two cackling hounds, always finding something to whisper and gossip about.

She did not remember how the gossipmongering ladies' conversation began, but she knew it started first with a mutter.

'On a cool and dark night, not too late in the day for the owl to caw, not too early for rooster to rue. Naymath Sutherton is said to have taken a stroll through the manor's south corridor. As she went about, she was singing with that lovely voice of hers an awful tune;

'Never be sad, never be mad, if I'm taken too quickly or run too soon, after all my body was meant to be ruined. Said the old, old, hag. Life is too short, and life is too early. Could I not be immortal, am I not worthy? Said the old, old, hag. If only my God would have mercy, or let me take his place in his stead, for even I to end painful suffering could work much more swift and curtly. Said the old, old, hag.'

Again and again, she sang her songs. After hour after hour, every ear could hear it, that is until she stopped and busted the windows in the entire hall, only with bare hands and a rock. They all fought to stop her, servants, her husband, and even her only two sons, but who could refuse a woman who claimed to have tasted the flesh of heaven? And who could stop her from jumping to most grisly of death—-'

BAM!

Erin jumped, turning her head to the windows where a burst of wind caused a tree branch to smack the glass.

Nature. It was just nature. She had to reassure herself as she placed a hand over her startled heart.

She was better than letting her nerves get the best of her, and like most momentary delusions that are sudden arising and unexplainable, in the end they were always nothing more imagined.

Exhaling hot breath, she released her necklace and rubbed her arm with a frown.

"Heaven. I must take the alternative way more often," she said, finally making her way down a flight of stairs. 

Sometimes she wondered how her father was able to continue living in a place where he knew his mother jumped to her death and his father murdered in his sleep by a mistress. The stories she had heard growing up were horrible enough to hear, but living through them? Anya always said, 'do not make your father out to be cruel, he is simply rational.' 

Of course, Erin disagreed with the sentiment, but she did think on it. Naymath Sutherton. The Sutherton curse. Maids always joked that the Sutherton manor was a manor inhabited by ghosts. She had seen the portraits of Naymath Sutherton. In the right shadow and setting, Naymath could look like Sabina. Not enough to be similar, but enough for an eerie reflection for a brief moment. 

Her father never liked that. 

Yet the manor servants had their fun with the idea. 

Pushing away memories of superstitions, she moved quickly, the cool frigid air nipping her skin, making goosebumps; the light, thin, lacey evening dress she was wearing did little to keep her warm. 

She would have changed, but there was nothing to change into. Her mother had control and monopoly on her wardrobe. It was only the responsibility she truly dedicated time specifically for her daughter. She suspected it was because as a Sutherton, she had to look the part. Appearances. Always appearances.

So, in thin or tight pretty frilly dresses she remained.

Breathing out sharply, she scratched the shoulder of her dress, the fabric irritated her. Indeed, everything irritated her. Whatever happened the night Sabina came to their manor, Erin felt that something was wrong. She couldn't let it sit. 

Her footsteps slowed as she approached the doors to her father's study.

She had to talk to him.

She gripped the candelabra, trying to ignore the sweaty feeling suddenly wetting her palms.

Gathering all of her strength, she raised her fist, managing only to weakly tap the door. "Lord Sutherton?" Her voice came out meeker than she intended. She was squeaking like a mouse.

Knock. Knock.

Silence.

She swallowed again, her mouth suddenly turning dry.

Knock. Knock.

Once more, she lightly made two light taps on the door.

Silence.

The dark mahogany wood stared back at her, its height imposing over her and the golden lion shaped doorknobs pouncing at her.

Her eyes settled on the doors once more.

She had to try, she thought. 

She took a deep breath and tried the doorknob.

It was unlocked.

Slowly and carefully, she churned the doorknob and tugged the doors open.

"Lord Sutherton?" she softly said with a weak tongue. "Lord Sutherton?" She swung her candlelight around, illuminating a small corner of the darkened room.

She caught sight of a man's silhouette, and she approached him without a thought.

"Lord---Father." She swallowed. "It's quite dark in here. I almost didn't recognize you." She peaked around the darkness. "The door was open. I figured it would be alright if I-I came in because I have something I would like to talk to you about. It's about mother." She gripped the candlelight and closed in the distance.

"Father?" Her tongue was caught in her mouth. She reached out, her free hand hesitantly landing on the silhouette's shoulder.

The figure turned to face her slowly. The small range of the candle light revealing an unfamiliar face.