Lydia frowned, slid ouf of bed, and turned up the gaslights, grabbing a candle from the bedside table and lighting it. Normally she did not mind the darkness, but these shadows felt dangerous and she knew she wasn't going to be able to sleep until her nervousness was soothed away with logic. It was odd -- though she kept hearing scraping at the windows, she really didn't think there had been anything close enough to scrape against it in the wind.<br/><br/>The music of the hurdygurdy was just as puzzling -- she'd heard such things as country fairs as a girl and in the streets in London, but never someplace like this. It sounded too close to be coming from the road and she couldn't think why someone would be playing that late, bu that seemed like the most likely explanation. Certainly, sounds seemed to carry oddly enough in this place that it was possible.