Alexander-Fyn-Sanguinarian

Evangeline with sad eyes. “You’re off to marry the Raven, and there’s nothing to be done about it. Off to a dank, dark castle in the middle of nowhere to live with God-knows-who.”
    Evangeline allowed herself to be led out into the narrow hall and up the stairs to her bedroom where she emptied the remains of the coal scuttle into the pitiful fire.
    “I’ll go up to the attic in a minute and get down the trunks,” Mrs.
    Brackett said. “It’s a bloody good job that one packed his own, because if he’d asked me, I’d have taken a pair of scissors to every last shirt and pair of britches in his wardrobe. Is this the first he’s mentioned about you getting wed, Miss Evie?”
    “Yes, the very first.” Evangeline pulled her clothes from the wardrobe and chest of drawers. A couple of gowns, two skirts, two blouses, patched and stitched undergarments, and nightgowns years old. “Perhaps when he sees my sad trousseau he’ll change his mind and not want me.”
    “Perhaps he’ll buy you some new clothes.” The housekeeper attempted to smile. “Once you’re his wife it’ll be his duty to look after you, Miss Evie.”
    “He could be a miser as well as a murderer.” Evangeline tried to smile back.
    “He couldn’t be a worse miser than that old cur down there,” Mrs.
    Brackett stated. “He ought to be hanged.”
    Evangeline squared her shoulders and raised her chin. “I could run away. We both could.”
    Mrs. Brackett sat down on the side of the bed and began to fold 14
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    Evangeline’s lace-edged pantaloons. “Where would we go without a sou between us, lamb? Your uncle’s washed his hands of you already and I’ve been given my marching orders. I’ll be out on the street if you don’t take me with you.”
    Evangeline dropped the blouse she was folding and came around the bed to where the housekeeper sat looking downcast, tears making her pale eyes glisten. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Brackett, I’ll take care of you.” She hugged the other woman tightly and was reminded of when she was a little girl and always thought that hugging Mrs. Brackett was like hugging a great old oak tree, solid and very wide. The only affection she had received from the day her parents had died had been from this common, middle-aged woman.
    With an enormous handkerchief pulled from her apron pocket, Mrs. Brackett dabbed at her eyes. “Poor dear.” She hugged Evangeline back. “Let’s get your clothes all packed and then we’ll do mine and, while we’re at it, we’ll think of what might be done.”

    * * * *

    Wimpole Street lay dark and deserted, the pavements slick from a recent downpour. Evangeline stood outside shivering, looking for the carriage, when the clatter of horses’ hooves on the cobbles up the street drew her attention. A carriage drawn by two jet-black mares stopped at the door.
    “Miss Rutledge?” the driver called out in a heavy Yorkshire accent.
    “I am she,” Evangeline confirmed.
    “I’m from Castle Haven, Miss. His lordship sent me to fetch you.
    Will you be traveling alone?”
    “I will be bringing a companion.” Evangeline glanced at the carriage to see if his lordship had deigned to come and bring her home himself, but the blinds were drawn and the interior lamp was not lit.
    “Shall I come inside and get your trunks, Miss, or will the butler Sanguinarian 15
    bring them down?”
    “We have no butler. I should be obliged if you would assist us.
    There are only two small trunks, but the stairs are quite steep.”
    “Very good, Miss.” The driver, a robust, red-faced man in his fifties climbed down from his seat, smiling at Evangeline. “I’m Hodder, Miss.” He offered a small bow. “Is it true you’re to marry Lord Ravenscroft?”
    “It is.” She was comforted by how ordinary the man looked.
    “You poor lass.” He shook his head and marched ahead of her into the house.
    Between the driver’s reaction to the news of her marriage and the sight of the black carriage, its windows heavily draped in black silk curtains, her apprehension mounted. The coat of arms on the door consisted of two ravens facing each other, feathers gleaming black against a gold background. The eyes were yellow. The thought of climbing inside the carriage, even with the carriage lamps lit and the company of Mrs. Brackett, seemed something she could not accomplish.
    “This is ridiculous,” she said aloud. “How dangerous can the man be? It’s only his carriage sitting there, for