Someone had carried a large bunch of flowers inside and arranged them with care in a wide Limoges bowl atop a delicate mahogany side table. The blooms imparted a delightful perfume that reminded Hester of her mother’s own garden in Malmesbury. It was the first day that she had descended downstairs since her attack at the shop four days prior. The first three days, she had kept to her room, sleeping a great deal and recuperating from the blow which Mr. Stroud had so ruthlessly delivered. But this morning, she’d awoken to discover that both the dizziness and headaches which had plagued her had all but disappeared. Mrs. Lytton, no doubt at her employer’s encouragement, had tried to dissuade her from leaving the comforts of the handsomely appointed room, but Hester had insisted, arguing that continued idleness would do her recovery more harm than good. The housekeeper had finally acknowledged Hester’s determination and allowed her to descend into the main spaces of the house.
