“A thing worth doing is worth taking your time to do well, m’dear.” Erasmus kissed her atop the head.
Had he not known they were centuries out of their time, Ras would have thought them newly wed and deeply in love. It was a comforting thing, to see them together. And it made him wonder how they had gone from disliking one another to standing for a portrait which declared nothing would never part them, in life or death.
There was a story there unlike any he had written or imagined. Whether or not the treasure was real.
Ras rather hoped he would have a story and an ending as happy as theirs appeared to be.
Chapter 14
Though Louisa waited for her aunt to question her more closely about her association with Mr. Grey, Aunt Penrith acted as though it was perfectly normal for a young woman to appear on the doorstep with a gentleman following at her heels. Their afternoon and evening were as peaceful as ever, allowing Louisa to slip back into contented thoughts of her walk up to the Drake Stone with Erasmus Grey.
She sat in the parlor, more books from her late-great-uncle’s study on the couch beside her. Louisa had decided she would look through all of his books that remotely touched upon the subject of King James, the Scottish border, and Northumberland. Perhaps she would find another note tucked inside pages, with a clue giving her another place to search.
Not that she truly expected to find anything, she supposed, but it was something to do.
“A letter has arrived for you.” Aunt Penrith stood in the doorway, sealed paper in hand.
Louisa rose to collect the paper, turning it from the unfamiliar seal to the address. The defined points to the letters, and the indent of the paper, spoke of her mother’s sharp personality and usual cutting remarks.
As it was the first letter from her mother since her arrival, Louisa ought to have wanted to open it and devour its contents. Instead, she hesitated. “Thank you, Aunt Penrith.” She turned it over again to peer at the wax seal.
Aunt Penrith shifted the shawl upon her shoulders. “I think I will nip into the kitchen and bring us back some refreshment. I will rejoin you in a moment. You sit back down and enjoy your letter.” Something about her aunt’s tone made Louisa realize the elderly woman had sensed her hesitation.
Left in private again, Louisa returned to her seat and broke the seal. She pulled in a deep breath before reading, fortifying herself against her mother’s words.
The letter was not as terrible as she had expected. Though it was hardly the sort of note a child would wish to receive from a faraway parent. Not once did her mother inquire after Louisa’s health. Instead she spent paragraphs exclaiming over parties, gossip, and her own delightful doings on the arm of her dear friend, Mrs. Shirley.
Only at the last, crammed into the corner of the paper, did Mrs. Banner ask her daughter a question.
…Have you endeared yourself to your father’s aunt? Your future comfort may depend upon her good opinion….
Then her mother signed her name in a series of swipes, the angles of each letter emphasizing the cool tone of her words.
Louisa folded up the missive and set it aside, letting her face fall into her hands. Nothing she did was ever good enough for her mother. Though daunting, it had been something of a relief to be apart from Mrs. Banner. The country air had not been the only thing lifting her spirits.
What did Mrs. Banner want of her daughter? Since Mr. Banner’s death, her mother had made it plain she expected Louisa to change their fortune for the better, through marriage. But nothing Louisa did to gain the attention of a gentleman had been good enough. She lacked connection and a large enough dowry to tempt anyone to marry her. In Harbottle, there were no gentlemen Louisa dared to even consider as subjects for matrimony. The Cunninghams were above her in status, and Ras—Mr. Grey, that is—was her friend.
That only left her to impress upon Aunt Penrith for their future—but for what? Her great-aunt was not a woman of wealth. She lived simply. Did Mrs. Banner mean that Louisa would have no home, no place at all, without Aunt Penrith’s charity?
Louisa rubbed at her temples, feeling a headache coming on.
Perhaps her mother meant for them to never be together again. It happened often enough. A poor family sent sons and daughters to relatives, or to sea, or to work as companions and teachers at boarding schools.
A rattle of china brought Louisa out of her thoughts. “Oh, Aunt, let me help you.” She rose and intercepted Aunt Penrith in the doorway, taking the tray of tea things to the little table by the window.
“Thank you. I am afraid I might have put more sandwiches on the tray than necessary.” Aunt Penrith clucked rather like a contented hen. “Back to your couch, dear. I will pour out and bring you a plate. You look pale. After you eat, I think you had better take a walk. You always return from your wandering with pink in your cheeks.”
Obeying, Louisa lowered herself back to the couch and began stacking books. “You take such good care of me, Aunt. I thought it was to be the other way around when I arrived.” She tucked her mother’s letter between two books, ashamed of how much it revealed about the woman who had raised her.
Another clink of cup to saucer preceded her aunt’s words. “Nonsense. Family looks after one another. I will see to your comfort, and in the winter when we are bottled up together in this house, you will thank me for making certain you enjoyed the country while you could.” She chuckled, then brought Louisa tea and a plate with sandwiches. “How is your mother?”
Louisa barely bit back a sigh. “She is well. It seems her friend is keeping Mother busy with social engagements. I think she is happy.” Mrs. Banner’s happiness greatly depended on her ability to see and be seen, after all.
“Excellent. You must write her back and tell her that you are happy, too.” Aunt Penrith sat across the room in her chair, a look of gentleness in her eyes. “You are happy here, are you not?”
“Yes, I am.” That answer rose easily to her lips. So easily, Louisa paused after speaking to check the honesty of her words. Yes. It was true. Thus far, she was happy.
Aunt Penrith nodded to the books at Louisa’s side. “What are you studying, child? No one reads so many books at once unless they are looking for answers on a particular topic.”
Louisa shifted her gaze to the neat stack of four books and her own notebook on top, where she might jot down any items of interest or note. “You will think me terribly silly, as Mr. Grey did.”
“Ah.” Her aunt nodded sagely. “The treasure of the old Harbottle Castle. I do not think you silly at all. My dear husband spent many an hour reading on the same subject, looking for clues.” She sipped at her tea, her eyes brightening with memories. “We walked all over the county, he and I, on fine days. When the weather was foul, we huddled by this very fire and speculated on the topic. Not all the time, mind you. When one takes up treasure-hunting, it ought to be more of a hobby than a full-time pursuit.”
A blush warmed Louisa’s cheeks. “I know. I promise I am not taking it too seriously. But the search has allowed me to discover interesting bits of Harbottle. Even if I do not unravel the mystery, the attempt is amusing.”
Aunt Penrith nodded her approval. “I do believe my husband kept a notebook of his findings. It will be in some of his things in my room. When you go on your walk, I will see if I can find it. You might enjoy looking through it.”
“Thank you, Aunt Penrith.” Louisa nibbled at her food, but in another moment ate with relish. Her aunt’s cook baked the most delicious bread, and somehow her cheeses were always rich. Before long, she had cleared her plate and had her tea. Then her aunt was bundling her up in a cloak and gloves to push her out the door.
“The weather promises to be fine today,” Aunt Penrith said, tying the ribbon beneath Louisa’s bonnet as though Louisa were a girl rather than a lady grown. “Mind the hour, but you needn’t be home too soon.”
It was a shame Aunt Penrith and her husband had never had children of their own. She would have bee
n an attentive mother, and a delightful grandmother.
“Thank you, Aunt.” Louisa, on impulse, bent to give her aunt a quick kiss upon the cheek. She darted away before her aunt could offer censure or any other reaction. Louisa’s own mother deplored physical shows of affection.
When Louisa looked back at the gate, her aunt waved with her usual enthusiasm, then went back inside the house.
Without thinking about which direction to go, Louisa turned left. Toward Havenwood.
Not that she expected to see Mr. Grey. He had things to do, no doubt, and might even have visitors to entertain since he was no longer hiding at the Lodge.
When the sound of the river grew louder, Louisa turned her attention to that side of the road, thinking of what Mr. Grey had said about the bend near the road being called the Devil’s Elbow. Louisa stopped and looked down the slope, through the trees, to the gurgling water. It was not at a dangerous level, and the river was wider than it was deep.
Would someone have thought to hide the treasure there, hoping the difficult twist of water would keep people away?
Louisa started down the slope to the riverbank, using small trees and limbs to steady herself. Once close to the water, she observed the current again. There was nothing sinister, that she could see, about the bend. The trees grew as normal, nearly into the river itself, and there were no large stones or dangerous tilts to the ground.
She started to walk along the bank, toward Havenwood still, when she caught sight of movement at the edge of the water. Something bulky and brown shifted and stirred, and her heart picked up speed.
Slowly, she approached the sopping wet object, half in and half out of the water. Then she realized it was a sack, the sort that one might fill with apples from the market. But apples didn’t wriggle like that.
Louisa lifted her skirts and picked her way across rocks and twigs with greater speed, then knelt in the muddy bank to pull the bag out. The moment she shifted it closer, a pathetic mewling began from inside.
“Oh, Heaven help me. What dreadful beast would do this?” she whispered. She pulled the sack into her lap and found the tightly knotted twine cinching up the bag. “It’s all right, little ones. I’m here.” The movement of the frantic kittens nearly sent the bundle tumbling out of her lap and back into the river.
She pulled it closer, then started tearing at the knot. She couldn’t get it loose with gloves on, so she pulled those off with her teeth and tossed them aside. Giving up, she tried to pull the bag open without undoing the twine, but to no avail. Her eyes teared up. “I’ll get you out.”
“Louisa?” a voice called from above. A familiar, comforting voice.
She looked up to see Mr. Grey at the top of the hill, sliding down a bit at a time. The bank was steeper above where she sat, and he was coming with haste rather than grace.
“Are you hurt?” he shouted before landing on the bank. He bent over her, his face pale.
“No.” Gratitude and hope strangled her voice. “But the kittens—I cannot free them.”
“Kittens?” Mr. Grey’s face regained color, and he took notice of the bundle she held. Without hesitation, he knelt in the mud across from her and pulled a penknife from his pocket. “Allow me, Miss Banner.”
She released the bundle to him. With his knife, it was the work of a moment to cut the twine and pull the sack open. He looked into it. “Ah, a bedraggled bunch of sea-farers, Miss Banner.”
She bent closer to him and looked into the bag, too. Four pairs of eyes stared up at her, and the mewling started again. “Sweet little things. Oh, I am so glad you came, Mr. Grey.” She looked up at him, then stilled when she realized their faces were less than a hand’s breadth apart.
He stared back, his blue eyes warm as a summer sky. “I happened to look down and saw you—I thought you had injured yourself, or fallen down the bank—”
“No, no. I came down purposefully.” She swallowed, then attempted to smile, though she felt a tremble in her breast.
He leaned closer. “I am most relieved.” Then his gaze fell to her mouth, and Louisa started to lean forward, too.
One kitten attempted to escape the bag, jumping atop one of his brothers or sisters and causing a scuffle full of squeaks.
Louisa looked down and laughed, somewhat shakily. “Poor little things. Whatever will we do with them?”
Mr. Grey cleared his throat and closed the bag, gripping the mouth of it in one hand. “I suppose the Lodge could always use more barn cats.”
“Do you mean to take possession of my kittens, sir?” Louisa asked, grinning at him. She had to move them away from that awkward moment, so he would not realize that she had nearly kissed him.
Ras’s heart had calmed down from his momentary panic—thinking Louisa had harmed herself somehow—only to race again when he had nearly pressed his lips to hers. Thankfully, she had not seemed to notice that near slip, nor his use of her Christian name. With the sack of kittens in one hand, and her hand in the other, he led the way back up the steep bank to the road.
He tried to keep the conversation light as they ascended. “I have no desire to take possession of all the kittens if you think any of them useful to your household.”
Her laughter made the last of his fear drift away with it. “I will need to speak to my aunt first, but I do not think she would mind a kitten. Only today, she was saying how important it is for us to keep entertained over winter.”
“That can be a long season in this part of England.” Ras reluctantly released her hand when they gained the road. “Perhaps we could take our little friends to your aunt now and see if she has a preference. You have two striped Toms, and two gray tabbies.”
“Poor little mites.” Louisa shuddered. “To think someone would drown them. And they are all so large and healthy.”
“I do not think this the work of a farmer with too many cats. A man would have done a better job of weighing the bag with stones.”
“Oh, that is horrid.” Louisa nudged him with her shoulder. “You cannot say you agree with this practice.”
Ras drew himself up. “Of course not. But I understand it. Too many mouths to feed can cause problems. If you have over-many cats and not enough vermin, the cats will turn to the livestock. Chicks and ducklings. Or they starve, and I would wager that starvation is far worse a fate.” He winced, not liking the conversation nor his own stance. “With winter coming, perhaps some child took it upon themselves to do a difficult thing.”
The woman at his side lowered her gaze to the road, her pace matching his as they walked to the Manse. “I have not seen poverty since coming here. I know it is not unique to larger towns. But I had imagined it would not be so harsh in the country.”
“Perhaps not. In some places. The parish here takes care of its own, but with the war and the return of soldiers, and changes in weather, most are only one poor crop from starvation and poverty.” This was not a subject for discussion with young ladies. Hardly any gentlemen he knew even touched upon such topics in their conversation. They had rather discuss all that was right with their own property than the possible failings of tenants and neighbors’ crops.
She drew her cloak tighter about herself. “I have always been a privileged gentleman’s daughter until recently. Even still, I am in a comfortable cottage instead of the poorhouse. I wish I knew a way to help, or even how to recognize those who are in need.”
In town, Ras donated funds to his parish and various societies promising to do good with his money. But what did one do in the country? Louisa had a point. He did not know his neighbors in Harbottle or Alwinton as he used to, nor the farmers and shepherds round about. Yet that corner of England, where his family’s property rested among the others, was as worthy of notice and aid as anywhere else.
They arrived at the Manse before Ras had come to a conclusion, but he tucked the thoughts away for examination at another time.
“My aunt will wonder that I left the house a second time and returned with you, Mr. Grey.” L
ouisa opened the gate for them both, her smile turning almost shy.
“I doubt it.” Ras stopped on the walk, looking down into Louisa’s warm brown gaze. “She will think I am a man of remarkably good sense, trailing after you in an attempt to win your attention.” Where the words had come from, or how they had blessedly come without a single stammer, he did not know.
Her smile softened, and a delightful pink blush stole over her cheeks.
She turned away, dropping her lashes. “You are most kind, sir.”
“It is the truth,” he promised quietly. He looked forward to every moment in her company and had been unable to wait for the coming dinner at the Manse to see her again.
I may be entirely besotted after all.
The door opened before she could look back or answer him again. There was her aunt, hands upon her cheeks. “Merciful heavens. Why are you both covered in mud? Is anyone hurt?”
Louisa hurried forward, soothing her aunt with reassurances, while Ras approached with the dripping sack full of kittens. Whichever little one stayed behind in the cottage would be a lucky creature indeed.
Chapter 15
The local people are as full of tales of the missing treasure as the woods are full of trees. Some say it is long gone, others that it was scattered throughout the kingdom, and still others insist the Scotts came and took it back. I have heard one aged farmer insist it is buried in the hills, in a druid tomb, protected by ghosts.
Whatever the truth may be, it is hidden well by legend and folklore.
Louisa turned a page in her great-uncle’s notebook, covering a yawn with her other hand. She lay curled up in her bed, a lamp burning on the table near her, and a small black-striped kitten purring against her chest. She supported her head with one hand, her elbow pressed into her pillow.
A Haunting at Havenwood (Seasons of Change Book 6) Page 14