Several weeks passed with no sign of them returning until one bitterly cold evening when the light reappeared. Churning with anxiety that Blythe might see it too, she watched the lantern’s procession through the skeletal tree branches, its reflection joining with the moon’s to dance over the lake. A swift rush of anger filled her with determination to take matters into her own hands. The time had come to confront them. Her habit of reading late meant she had not yet undressed. Johnson might be awake; she could take him along for moral support. Donning her cape and gloves, she hurried along the corridor. As she headed for the stairs leading to the wing that housed Johnson’s room, she saw Blythe’s door standing ajar. She pushed it open and stepped inside. “Blythe?” The bed was empty, the covers thrown back. It was most unlike Blythe to rise during the night, even to go to the lavatory. Vanessa hurried to check, but she wasn’t there. Fear stilled her breath as she rushed to the window.
What do You think about The Folly At Falconbridge Hall?
