Two Postludes as Prologue
“Beginnings [are] always built on endings. . . .”
(Eliot Pattison, Water Touching Stone)
Mid-morning Thursday, 10 June 1858
She was in the scullery finishing the breakfast dishes when it happened. There was a heavy thud upstairs, and she first assumed that someone was at the front door. But suddenly, a panicky feeling roiled her innards. Shouldn’t have left him.
Jane Weatherburn ran the twenty-five feet from the scullery to the stairwell, then up to the ground floor. She paused, ever so briefly, by the foyer. Nobody was knocking at the front door. She turned and ran up another dogleg flight in the stairwell that connected the basement with all the upper stories and the garret. She glanced left when she reached the landing on the first floor. The dining room was empty. She opened the door to the morning room, where she found him.
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