The room was empty, save the boxes. Yet even those were out of place. His wasn’t the only one that had tumbled. Another leaned yawning against the south wall, cobwebs tangling the inside. A third box had snapped in two when it struck one lying on the floor. Shards of stone littered the cobble and his feet left prints in the dust. The stairs groaned and creaked as Eldrian crept up them. He walked close to the wall as some of the boards looked ready to disintegrate from rot or age. Motes of dust danced in the sunlight that streamed down. Apart from the noises he made himself, the manor had an eldritch silence to it. The rooms were all in place, only the contents were wrong. The wallpaper in the parlor above punishment was peeling anyplace it hadn’t been stripped to the boards already. Dust coated every surface and cobwebs every nook. The windows were smeared in oily grit but through them Eldrian could just make out the garden. What remained of it, at least. The ground stood bare of. He could see how the poor young woman was eaten up with guilt, and he shared her horror at what she had done. But the Count was older and wiser than Emma. He knew that nobody is beyond redemption. If only he could make her see this! The pain of seeing such a lovely person being destroyed was far worse than that of losing her.The icon that Emma had touched in the Blue Room was now in the rebuilt monastery on the family's former estate. He had flown back to Russia especially to return the ancient and holy relic to the monastery personally. It had been the only one of his great grandfather's treasures that the hard-headed and mercenary old rogue had not sold. Even that died in the wool entrepreneurial capitalist had possessed some sense of the holy.The Abbot and the Count were walking in the grounds and talking. Alexander had decided to stay for a while - a long while, maybe for ever. Although he had been born and educated in England and had always thought of himself as one hundred per.
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