24 Hours Later Part 1

Ernest Teucher woke to sunlight slanting across the foot of the bed.

The silence was the first thing that struck him. There were no early whistles from the marshalling yards, no rhythmic thump of carriage wheels over granite sets, and none of the muffled household commotion that usually drifted up from the lower halls of Oriel.

He opened his eyes. The ceiling overhead was ribbed with rough-hewn pine beams, chalked white between the joins, glowing soft and amber in the dawn.

Then he felt the slow, steady rise of breathing against his chest.

Ernest looked down. Dark hair lay tumbled across his linen shirt, fine strands catching the sun where Eleanor lay curled on her side, one arm slung loosely over his ribs.