Free Murder At Rudhall Manor by Anya Wylde

light ricochet in joy, and a
particularly sharp beam smacked Lucy in the eye and dragged her out of her
gloomy thoughts.
    She flung aside the sheets and frowned. The light streaming
in through the window seemed different today. Was it brighter?
    Her toes curled in protest as she padded barefoot on the
cold stone floor towards the window and peeked out. It was as if a white carpet
had unrolled while she had slept and covered the whole of Blackwell.
    She breathed in sharply and flung open the window. It was
still snowing, and with childish glee, she thrust her arm out letting the tiny
white flakes melt on her skin. Happiness surged through her.
    If Blackwell could look pretty, then anything in the world
was possible.
    She felt as if the snow melting on her arm was seeping into
her veins restoring her good humour.
    She lifted her chin vowing to fight with all her might.
    They thought she had killed the old man did they? She would
prove them all wrong. Aunt Sedley in that strangely vivid dream had been right.
She must investigate….
    "I told you she has gone daft."
    Lucy yanked her hand back and turned to face the speaker.
    A young boy of ten with a mop of shocking red hair stood
eyeing her warily from the door. An angelic nine year old girl with the same
red hair stood by his side.
    "Pat, Hepsy," Lucy greeted in surprise.
    The two children quickly stepped back, their expressions
akin to a pair of frightened geese.
    "Only someone daft would have killed him," Pat
breathed into Hepsy's ear.
    Hepsy cocked her head to the side considering Lucy.
"Batty," she finally agreed. "She was sticking her head out of
the window in this weather."
    "Wants to catch her death," Pat replied grimly.
    Lucy slammed the window closed and turned back to the
children. "My dears, I can hear you. I may be daft, but I am certainly not
deaf."
    Hepsy skittered back with a squeak. Pat bravely stood his
ground.
    They both regarded Lucy like she was a curiosity in the
British Museum.
    Pat finally broke the silence. "Will they take you
away, Miss Trotter?"
    At Lucy's raised eyebrow, he clarified. "People who
punish murderers."
    Lucy edged her way carefully around the room so as not to
frighten the children and sat on her bed. "I did not kill him," she
said directing a bright open look at them.
    "But if they do take you away," Pat insisted,
"they will imprison you in a dark cold place, won’t they?"
    Lucy nodded uncomfortably. "They shouldn't, but they
might."
    "That dark place will have rats that bite," Hepsy
whispered.
    Lucy tugged at the high neck of her nightgown. "Rats
and mice," she agreed. She could feel the brightness in her dimming a
little.
    "Then they will take you to a place much like our
square here and put a noose around your neck and tighten it," Pat
continued.
    A bead of sweat formed on Lucy's forehead.
    "Will it hurt?" Hepsy asked.
    Lucy gulped wondering how to change the topic. The two
children seemed to be enjoying this morbid talk. They were eyeing her in
fascination. "Would you like a present?" she desperately blurted out.
    At once tiny feet scuttled into the room. Prospective
presents, Lucy noted, was an excellent way of banishing fears.
    Two hopeful faces looked at her.
    "A gift each in return for the beautiful brooch that
you presented to me last night," She held out her hands and they leapt
back a foot. She dropped her hands but kept the smile. "I wanted to thank
you. I loved your gift. It was thoughtful." She paused, her eyes narrowed
to slits. "Does Lady Sedley know you are here?"
    "No, she is still asleep," Pat said sitting down
at the end of her bed.
    Lucy frowned. Surely Lady Sedley would not allow the
children to visit her, not if she thought Lucy had killed her husband. She
turned to Hepsy who was still standing a few feet away from her and gazing at
her with wide, unblinking eyes. "Why are you staring at me, Miss
Gardiner?"
    "Will you kill us too, Miss Trotter?" Hepsy asked,
more curious than frightened.
    "Perhaps, Miss Gardiner,"