Chapter Four
It was raining steadily in the morning. Edward ate breakfast alone in the gloomy breakfast parlor. Afterwards, he wandered the ground floor. Creed Hall was echoingly empty, as if it had been abandoned. The only footsteps were his own. Strickland’s study was cold and dark, as were the drawing room and library. Small fires lay unlit in the grates.
Edward frowned as he looked around. The curtains were faded, the carpet threadbare, the chairs in need of reupholstering. Surely this shabbiness was more than a dislike of spending money? Was Arthur Strickland under the hatches?
He rang the bell to have the fire and candles lit in the library, and stood at the window looking out over the sodden landscape while these tasks were done. Then he fished Chérie’s confession from his pocket
