Chapter 9When he knocked at the door of Alan’s guest chamber, no one answered, but the door was unlocked; Arthur sighed and balanced broth and biscuits and tea, and nudged it open.
The room lay dim and hushed, luxurious hangings and furniture turned to silken watery grey in the swirl of storm light and tiny artificial lantern glow. The heavier curtains were drawn back, leaving a waft of weightless material over rain-drenched windowpanes; the bed itself gathered up shadows and light in its carved pale wooden posts. Gilman had indeed left a bottle of laudanum, though it sat apparently untouched on the nightstand. Someone’d taken away the earlier teacup, and Arthur’s heart turned over with mute emotion at that.
Alan did not wake as he came in, though blond hair caught the light of Arthur’s
