Picking out a matching pair of cut-glass brandy bells that were a wedding present from someone-or-other, I pour two generous measures. I sip at one to calm my butterflies then, when the butterflies keep fluttering, top up both glasses by a bit. Then a bit more.
But when I go through to the lounge, my Master’s not there, and the lounge is in darkness save for the flicker from the hearth.
Instead, a beam of light slants into the hall from the door of his office. Padding through, I find him crouched over his desk, reading a file.
“Master? I brought your brandy.”
“Thank you, Elizabeth.” He smiles, accepting the glass, but then, “Why don’t you go to bed? There’s some work I must do.”
“So late?”
“While it’s quiet and I won’t be disturbed.”
*****
I wake to the subdued light of my bedside lamp. The book I was reading has fallen open on my chest. Beside me, the bed is empty and cold, the blankets untouched.
What’s he doing?