Shawn arrived at the tradesman’s entrance at Drakesheath Hall and found the walk taken over by a flock of ravens. Someone had pitched out the leftovers from breakfast, and the birds were feasting on the scraps. “Bugger off!“ He snorted and stomped his foot, causing the birds to take to the air. He reached out and pulled on the bellrope. He waited for the space of several minutes, but no one came.

He swore again and glanced over his shoulder to see that the ravens were again clustered on the walk, but this time they were all watching him. He hated those birds. The Hall was infested with them, and they were found all over the grounds. Poisoned food had been put out on numerous occasions to rid the place of its unwanted feathered guests, but not one dead raven had ever been found. The dark young man frowned as several pairs of black eyes stared at him with a preternatural intelligence. He snarled at the birds, and without waiting for someone to come to the door, opened it and barged inside.

“Where the hell did everyone go,” he muttered to himself as his steps carried him through the hallways and into the great kitchen. A fire was smoldering in the fireplace, and the scent of cooking meat hung tantalizingly in the air. He bellowed for the Cook or one of the maids to come and fix him something to eat, but got no response. Annoyed that he had arrived with his precious purloined letter, and no one was there to greet him, he rummaged through the kitchen. He helped himself to several pieces of freshly sliced meat and a hunk of an elegant looking cake that his mother most certainly did not bake for him. Doubtless, it was to be served at dinner that evening, but Shawn didn’t care. It was her fault for not being around to guard it.

Finally, one of the little maids dashed by – oh, what was her name, Prudence or something like that, for all of Erzsebet’s girls looked the same to him – and told him that the prodigal son, Felix Godwinson, had returned to the Hall. His Lordliness had not seen fit to announce that he was coming, and therefore set the whole house on its ear.

Oh ho ho ho, Edmund’s really going to welcome him with open arms, Shawn smirked to himself as he thought of the aggrieved look on the butler’s face.

“Shawn! You sorry, worthless – “ A stream of invective announced the arrival of the Cook. She bore down on her offspring like HMS Victory at the Battle of Trafalgar, shaking her ample fist at him. “Damn you boy! That cake was for Master Felix!”

“Oh, sod off, Mother,” Shawn replied, completely unperturbed. “Like I give a damn about any of those Godwinson brats. I’ve come to see Erzsebet. Do you know where she is?”

“I expect she’s getting Master Felix’s rooms ready for him,” Cook replied with a snort. “Descended upon us like a whirlwind, he did, full of demands and orders. He was always like that. The baby of the lot and spoiled to boot. What do you want to see Erzsebet about anyway?”

“I’ve come with news…news of a little blackbird that’s come to roost in Drakesheath. Remember that lady and her tribe of strange servants that arrived at the Cross and Cowl a few nights ago? Well, I managed to trick her dumb cluck of a maid into giving me a letter that was intended for none other than the eyes of Victor Godwinson himself.” Shawn laughed. “Apparently she didn’t get the message that the Baron’s gone looney and hasn’t been seen for ages.” It wasn’t common knowledge outside the village that the Lord of Drakesheath Hall was missing, for Edmund was quite good at keeping up appearances.

“Really? It’s for the Baron? What does it say?”

“Fetch me a candle and we’ll find out!”

The Cook brought a candle and together, she and her son carefully softened the wax seal that held the edges of the paper together. Shawn popped the seal off with his knife and set it aside to be reattached later. They spread the letter out before them and read it…

“Cor! She’s a Delbeath!” Cook’s eyes were as wide as her best charger plates. “Well that’s sure to stir up some old ghosts around here. I can’t believe a Delbeath has returned to Drakesheath. They’re a cursed clan!”

“No more than the Godwinsons,” replied Shawn, who tended to be less superstitious than his mother. “It appears that her father the Earl and the Baron knew each other and she’s inquiring after his health.”

“I wonder if she’ll come calling at the Hall,” said his mother.

“Probably. That’s the way of the gentry. I heard from Old Pete that a letter with her name on it was found in the pocket of a MP named Whittington, who went mad and murdered his family in their beds. I’ve asked for a copy of this London paper, for I want to know what this mysterious letter says. I think it could be useful to us, for I’m willing to bet that this Lady Amalie came here to hide from the authorities. Judging by the number of trunks that she brought with her, our little refugee is very rich. She would pay handsomely not to have her secret revealed to the police.”

“Always scheming, aren’t you?” smirked his mother.

“Of course. I think Edmund would be most interested to know of this as well. Where is that stiff-rumped butler anyway?”

“He’s gone to the Abbey, I think. He’ll be back soon enough.”

“Fine, I’ll give the letter to Erzsebet and she can give it to him when he comes back. Help me reseal it, and do not let on to a soul that we know what its contents are.”