There’s a clock on the mantel.
It’s made of a dark, lacquered wood
And the face is, in places, obscured
By the flickering reflections
Of the fireplace.

I’ve been watching it.
It’s one of those old-fashioned clocks—
You know the ones, no second hand—
And it changes so slowly, it seems
To drag time.

Rachel’s lounged on the settee.
She’s holding up the book she plucked
At random from the walls,
But she hasn’t turned a page
In twelve ticks.

[i]I’m sure they shan’t be many minutes more.
With any luck, we’ll leave by six o’clock.[/i]

I glance at Lady Walpole.
Her words distract me, and when I turn back
I find that the clock has moved,
Bringing us one eventless step
Closer to six.

The Colonel starts to snore.
His armchair is closer to the fire
And he’s spread all over it,
His head lolling to the left,
As limp and lifeless

As the Lady isn’t.
Rachel just sighs and lays down the book
That she isn’t reading in resignation,
And I swear we share a sly smile
Before she speaks:

[i]How many times are you going to say that?
It’s boring enough being stuck in here this long.
Just give it a rest. They’ll be done when they’re ready.[/i]

Lady Walpole doesn’t gasp.
There’s something in her posture, though,
Yet another tension in her shoulders
That demands more notice than
A derisive snort.

Rachel groans instead.
She tosses her head backwards, arching
Her neck across the arm of the settee
And her hair hangs down, finally free
Of her eyes.

The Lady responds:
She sits up straighter, a feat I admit
I had thought impossible, and her eyes
Shoot daggers at the student sprawled
Across the cushions.

[i]My brother’s dead, Miss Harley. How can I
Relax? His killer’s on the loose. I know
That[/i] you [i]are bored, but can’t you please
Forgive a Lady’s outbursts just this once?[/i]

The Colonel shifts.
His head shakes and a grumbled moan
Escapes his loosened lips, and for
One moment our heads all move, eyes
Meeting on him.

We wait two ticks.
When it’s clear at last that the Colonel
Isn’t waking up, I catch Rachel moving
In the corner of my eye, her gaze now
Cast back, and cold,

Glaring at her aunt.
There’s a glimmer of anger shining
Just above the bags beneath her eyes
And, for a while, I’m worried she’ll
Wake the Colonel.

[i]You think I don’t know that my father was murdered?
What makes you think we’re not scared, just as you are?
Damn it, Aunt Catherine, I’m terrified, too, and
Your little ‘outbursts’ aren’t making things better.[/i]

She doesn’t quite shout.
She’s restrained enough to hold back
On volume, at least, though her diction
(In both senses) startles us all into
A short silence.

A log in the fire cracks.
The Colonel, somehow still asleep, snores
Loudly, his rattling exhalations almost drowning out
The thin hiss of the Lady’s seething breath
And the clock’s tick.

Then comes a whisper:                 [color=#cccccc][size=8][i]What the hell did you just say to me?[/i][/size][/color]
Rachel’s eyes widen, in guilt or in shock…
And I really should focus on the Lady, not Rachel,
Because you know the world is coming to an end
When the Lady’s composure breaks.

I should speak.
If I say something, anything, I could break
This silence that poisons the room
Like the Earl’s soup, and we, too
Are suffocated.

A tick from the mantel.
Only ten more minutes till the Lady’s latest
Assertion is falsified; only ten more ticks
Till the start of the third hour
Trapped in here.

[size=12][i]Sorry, Aunt Catherine. I shouldn’t have said that.[/i][/size]

She’s crying.
I don’t think, in all the years I’ve known her,
I’ve ever seen Rachel cry, but there’s
A single sliver of salty tear-track
Streaming down her cheek.

The Lady’s furious.
I think it’s all the tension, wrapped up
Like a spring wound too tight, and no
Apology will appease her now her
Brother is dead.

A knock at the door.
I look up, startled, but no-one else moves:
Rachel’s too frightened, the Lady’s too mad,
And the Colonel is still out for the count,
Snores croaking.

[i]Sorry to bother you all. D.I. Fallenby would like a word with each of you—he thinks we can get this all wrapped up within an hour.[/i]

The door closes,
But the tension still poisons the air,
And for the first time I wonder
If the money and mansions and murder
Were worth it.