They were obviously coming from the East Wing. Freddie her worthless son, as usual, holding one of his late dinner parties. She tutted, squinting at her heavy gold watch - two AM. Disgraceful - didn't they have homes to go to? Almost an insomniac, she never went to bed before two to three AM. Nurse Phillipa retired hours earlier, as she had to be on call at six AM in case her ladyship required a cup of tea. Julia should've been in bed hours ago, but then Freddie needed her to hostess dinner parties, unless he had yet another fancy woman. After Cecilia's demise, he never married again. He should have, if not for his daughter's sake, motherless at eighteen months. She had tried to help, but she wasn't a baby person. Even with her own children, she always had servants and nannies. She rarely saw Freddie or his sister. She searched in her mind, for her daughter's name; was it Barbara ... no? She bit her lip ... Alfhildr ... no - horrible name. She shook her head at the vision of her infant daughter, playing on the lawns, the sun shining on her pale blond curls.
What do You think about Death Marks (The Symbolist)?
