The fire had settled into a low and steady burn, and the room was very quiet for something containing five people.
Cecilia had not moved from her position beside the table. She was aware, with the peripheral precision that extreme composure produces, of exactly where each of the four men stood: Van Drecht directly before her, six feet away; Ashford at his left shoulder, torch now angled slightly downward in a way he had not yet acknowledged; the two unnamed men behind them, positioned with the uncertain quality of persons who had arrived expecting a different kind of evening. She was also aware, without looking toward it, of the second door at the room's far end, which stood open a precise three inches and had not moved since she sat down.
She had arrived at Thornfield Abbey at half past nine.
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