I am here at Drakesheath Hall, and have been so for the past month. I am not jumping at shadows. I am not trembling in fear, nor have I been menaced by anything more terrifying than a mouse in the pantry. To my surprise I have spent my days doing perfectly ordinary things, such as decorating for the holiday season. Cosgrove and I, along with help from Mrs. Blatand and Cidwm, have been decking the halls. We have been saving the tree for last though, in hopes of surprising Lady Amalie. She has gone upstairs for a nap and we are working like bees to have everything finished when she comes downstairs.

I confess I was quite alarmed when Cosgrove returned from the Halloween fete with the Lady on his arm, pale and trembling. He did not share with me exactly what had happened, but only told me to start packing up in the morning, as we would be staying at the great house from now on. “But I don’t want to go there,” I had cried. I know it is rather silly of me, but I was filled with an absolute dread of that building ever since the first time I saw it, peering balefully from the mists that seem to shroud these lands in both foul and fair weather.

Lady Amalie was more forthcoming with details and told me that she had learned that she was kin to Lord Drakesheath, though the families has split from one another in the distant past such that the memory of the blood ties that bound them had all but completely faded into the landscape of history. She did her best to reassure me that I had nothing to fear, but I was half expecting to be confronted by a hunchback like Richard III. But – thankfully – I was not. Lord Drakesheath is a perfectly ordinary gentleman, and he looks after my Lady as is right and proper. He takes care to see that she doesn’t catch cold, and when I am not scolding her to look after her health, he is.

I am almost beginning to feel at ease here, and have stopped clinging so closely to my mistress’ skirts, like a timid child. She still does require me to act as interpreter from time to time, but she seems to have formed a close bond with her baronial cousin and – like Cosgrove – he appears to have the ability to discern what she is trying to communicate without her having to resort to writing it down. I am also trying to help with some of the household duties until a proper staff can be brought on again. I understand from Melopeme that both the butler and the housekeeper were dismissed on the night of the party, although for what reason, she would not say. But I draw the line at scrubbing the floors. I am a lady’s maid, after all!

“You’d best watch out for that gardener.” The rasp of Cosgrove’s voice returned my mind to present matters. “He’s been hanging mistletoe over every doorway in this house.”

That brought a grin to my face. “I see. Well, I will take care that I am not caught unawares.” At least not too many times!, I thought, although I did not voice that thought aloud. It was good to feel like a normal person again. The village had an oppressive atmosphere about it, which seemed to have lightened over the past fortnight as Christmas approaches.

“You know, I never thought I would ever see you decorating a Christmas tree, Cosgrove,” I said as I made a few last adjustments to a garland and stepped back to admire our handiwork. These days, I am even brave enough to venture to tease him.

“Pah!” came the reply, topped off with a scowl. “I’m only doing this to make the Lady smile. And besides, you are too short to put the decorations on the top branches.”

“I see. Well, if you wish that to be your excuse, then I guess I shall have to accept it – “

“Keep your voice down. Lord Drakesheath has a guest. And besides…here she comes!”

We peeked ‘round the tree to see Lady Amalie hovering on the threshold of the second floor landing, hands clasped over her heart as she took in the efforts of our labor. We were treated to a rare sight indeed, for happiness painted her cheeks in a delicate hue that would shame the finest of roses; it strung a garland of stars in her eyes. A genuine smile was on her lips and she came scampering down the stairs like a child. She carefully looked over every sugarplum and sparkle, smiling all the more. It was good to see her happy, for she is so often melancholy.

“When she gets a little older, she will make the men weep,” Cosgrove muttered, shaking his head and crossing his arms over his thin chest.

“That is, if you ever let any of them near her,” I muttered, as my mistress came and took my arm, eagerly pulling around the tree to inspect every shining bauble and demanding, in her way, to know where Lord Victor had been hiding all of this.