by Kirsty Ferry
Fortunately, they were almost at the Hall and it was easy to change the subject. A red and black motorbike was parked diagonally across the drive and that meant only one thing. ‘Look! Cassie’s back. That was a short trip. D’you think she’s had a falling out with the latest boyfriend?’
‘Is she still with Tom?’ asked Elodie.
‘Kate’s brother? No. That was doomed to failure. Even Kate warned her that he’s a serial boyfriend. I think the latest one is called Sam.’
‘Oh, I can’t keep up.’
‘Me neither, usually. Let’s see what she says.’
Alex led the way into the Hall and shouted through the open door. ‘Cassie! We’re here!’
‘Who’s we?’ Cassie popped her head out of the lounge. ‘Elodie! Hello!’ She looked freshly scrubbed and smelt of bergamot shower gel – in contrast to Elodie, who thought she must look like something the cat dragged in.
’Hey Cassie. Sorry to spoil your evening. There was a slight incident at my cottage. I can’t sleep there tonight.’
‘You’re not spoiling it. Fire, flood or pestilence?’
‘Fire. Sort of. It’s been a weird old night.’
She was, she realised, dog-tired. The wine, the walk, the box, the fire and the asthma attack had drained her. The world started to go a little woozy and she wobbled her way into the lounge where she collapsed into a big, squashy armchair and, closing her eyes, rested her head against the back and tried to concentrate on breathing.
Alex’s voice floated above her as he squeezed her shoulder. ‘I’ll make some coffee. You sit there, don’t worry. Cassie, can you take this upstairs please?’
‘Sure!’ Cassie’s voice was cheerful, but Elodie didn’t have the energy to even smile in response. There was a sort of breeze and the smell of sun tan lotion and fabric conditioner that she associated with her overnight bag, and she assumed Alex had passed it over her head to his sister. Cassie’s footsteps trotted out of the room, followed by Alex’s, and she felt herself falling asleep. It wouldn’t do. It wouldn’t do at all, if she napped now. Would it?
She woke up about half an hour later. That was quite lucky – she could quite easily have napped the night away in the chair and she wondered, sleepily, what Alex would have done in that case. She shifted in the cosy armchair and opened her eyes.
Alex was sitting on the sofa and had the box on his knee. There was a pile of black sogginess to one side of him – the sofa looked none too respectable with that there – and he was holding a piece of charred paper in his hand, examining it with a magnifying glass.
‘Welcome back,’ he said. ‘I was going to give you another half hour then carry you upstairs. Do you want to have a look at this?’ Finally, he looked up at her and her heart broke just a little. He appeared worn out and confused. ‘There’s not much to see, but you might be interested in what there is.’
‘Hmmmph.’ She made a non-committal sort of sound and hauled herself out of the chair. Her chest still felt a little tight, but she was breathing more normally. The sleep must have helped. She went over to the sofa and sat near Alex, the pile of wet, mushy charred paper between them.
‘These are the contents of the box. Or what’s left of them anyway. The top ones are ruined – that’s the pile down there.’ He nodded to the blackened rubbish. ‘But this one was on the bottom. I don’t think the fire got to it properly and the water didn’t soak all the way through to it.’
‘It’s just as well the fire stayed in the box’ She shuddered to think of what might have happened to the cottage – and also, there was a chance that she might have been in the cottage at the same time as the fire. If it had spread and if she’d been in her bedroom asleep … It didn’t bear thinking about.
‘Indeed,’ replied Alex. ‘And this piece of paper I’m looking at has something written on it. I wonder if they were Georgiana’s letters?’
‘I think we can safely assume it was Georgiana’s box and Georgiana’s letters, even if Lucy hid it away. The key was in the tomb after all.’
‘That’s what I think. Do you want to have a look?’
‘Yes, please!’
‘Here. Be careful, it’s fragile.’
He passed the piece of paper over to her, along with the magnifying glass. She bent over it and squinted through the glass.
She could just make out some spidery, brownish coloured ink which may have, at one time, been black. The edges of the sheet were charred and breaking away in her hands, but there was something written in the centre that looked like ill, orry, ho he is.
‘Oh,’ said Elodie, ‘I wonder what it all said originally?’
Deep down, though, she knew exactly what it said. The writing was horribly similar to that poisonous little note she’d found under the floorboard in the attic.
You will be sorry. I know who he is.
Elodie put the letter on her knee, heedless of the ash and cinders that were dropping from the old paper. ‘And the rest have been destroyed. Am I correct?’
‘Sadly, yes.’ Alex reached over and took her hand. ‘They didn’t want us to read them. Something too private to share, perhaps?’
‘Maybe they were love letters,’ she said weakly. She would hazard a guess there were a few blackmail letters in there too, if that fragment was anything to go by. The letter she had found in the attic must have been pushed under the floorboard in a hurry to be stashed away later – either by Lucy or Georgiana. She no longer knew. Nasty notes saved from one sister to another – for whatever payback each one of them could take. The rash, silly decisions of argumentative siblings. It was dreadfully sad.
Elodie stared at the paper and at Alex’s hand on top of hers. If they were love letters, they would have given them both tender memories. It would have been the ideal time for them to slip back into the Georgian era – Ben holding Georgiana’s hand whilst they exchanged letters; but nothing. It was like a barrier had been put up. It had to be Lucy.
Please don’t tell.
The little voice that whispered in her ear was desperate.
Please don’t.
Elodie loosened her hand from Alex’s and rubbed her temples. ‘We were never meant to read these. We have to respect her privacy.’
She didn’t say whose privacy.
Elodie looked back at the sheet – and watched, helpless, as it curled in on itself from the edges and disintegrated completely, the pieces fluttering to the floor like tiny black snowflakes. And it was gone. Just like that.
She closed her eyes briefly and imagined a little girl with reddish blonde curls pushing the box into the crevice under the bridge. She imagined her dropping the key into a little purse and hurrying away back to the Hall, dreadfully sorry for what she’d done, blaming herself for what had happened.
Poor little thing. She was only ten.
‘I think it was Georgiana’s box of treasures,’ Elodie said flatly, ‘and I think we already guessed too much of what she was hiding. I don’t think there’s anything we need to pursue in here.’
Elodie stood up and brushed the ash off her knees. It hardly seemed wrong to do so, as the floor was covered with the flurry of black stuff anyway and it had added to the mess on the sofa. ‘I think I’m ready for bed now. It’s been too much today. I need some rest.’ She yawned. ‘Which room am I in?’
Thank you. Thank you!
Elodie was careful not to let Alex see any reaction at all. Whatever was in that box was not meant to be discovered. And she would destroy the note she had found, just as soon as it was practical.
I loved her. I did. I tried to help. I’m sorry.
‘How can you be so matter-of-fact?’ Alex asked, looking at the ash. ‘That paper just self-destructed!’
‘It happens.’ Elodie couldn’t deal with questions as well as a blackmailing eighteenth century pre-teen. ‘Now, where am I sleeping?’ She just wanted to be pointed towards her room and left alone. She remembered the lovely bathroom and the fresh scent of Cassie’s bergamot shower gel and f
or a milli-second wondered if she had time for a bath. Then she decided that falling asleep in the tub and being rescued from near-drowning by Alex was not really a good way of spending what little was left of the day. Although the idea of being in his arms was very pleasant indeed, and half-drowning didn’t seem too bad if that was the case. She shivered, remembering the squash courts last year. It had been terrifying, until he burst in the door and ran over to her. She still didn’t know how he’d known where to find her.
‘The pink room.’ Alex dragged his gaze away from the ash. ‘The spare one. It’s small, but it’s nice.’
‘Great.’ Elodie yawned again. The lounge was vaguely imploding around the edges of her vision and she knew she had approximately ten minutes left in her before she collapsed in a heap where she stood.
‘I’ll take you up.’ Alex stood up and captured her hand.
She gave it to him willingly. ‘Alex, can I ask you a question?’
‘Of course.’
‘How did you find me in the squash courts – that time?’
He paused and looked at her, then shook his head. ‘You know, I’m not really sure.’ He began leading her through one of the corridors, up the stairs and along to a door tucked into the corner of the wall. ‘I just somehow remembered something vital I needed out of the storage. And I started to run up there, like I had to break the world record. And then I found you. We were lucky.’ He squeezed her hand, as if he understood how it might have panned out. ‘Anyway, I’m pleased it happened that way. Look. You’re in here.’ He pushed the door open. Almost immediately, Elodie’s nose was filled with the smell of rose pot pourri … and cardboard. Lots and lots of cardboard.
‘What the—?’Alex snapped the light on and Elodie winced as the brightness attacked her retinas. She squinted past him and saw boxes and boxes of stuff piled up on the bed, on the floor, and all around the room. There was one little channel through the middle of it all, but no way she or anyone else could sleep on that bed.
Alex ripped open the nearest box and pulled some bubble wrap out. ‘Bottles of wine!’ The next box contained books. The next, dozens and dozens of quirky bits of stationery. ‘It’s all stock for the gift shop. I am going to kill Cassie. Seriously, I am going to murder her. Good Lord, when she said she’d directed people in with deliveries, it might have been nice if she’d told me where she’d directed them to! Ah, no – she said the spare room, didn’t she? She did – she did tell me.’ Alex swore roundly and stared at the mess in the room.
‘So where do you think my overnight case is?’ Elodie shuffled a couple of boxes of pocket money toys around, as if the case would magically reappear beneath some windmills and bouncy balls.
‘I told her to take it to the bedroom. There’s only her room and mine left to sleep in. I mean, she— Oh, no. She can’t have …’ Alex stared at her. ‘Elodie, I’m so sorry.’
‘What about?’
‘Let’s just say it won’t be in her room.’ He turned and took her by the shoulders. ‘I didn’t engineer this, I swear it.’
‘Ah, I see.’ Elodie smiled. Cassie was incorrigible.
‘Yes, I think we’d best check my room. I’m guessing there’s a pink overnight bag in there.’ He turned her around and pushed her gently out of the room. Along the corridor, past the bathroom and to another door – his room. There, on top of the very comfortable looking king size bed was Elodie’s overnight case.
‘Oh, thank goodness!’ She headed into the room like a homing pigeon. Five minutes and counting before she collapsed in a heap.
‘I’ll be downstairs if you need me,’ said Alex, starting to leave the room. ‘On the sofa.’
‘No, you won’t!’ Elodie turned to him. ‘You’re in here, Alex Aldrich. Right here. With me.’
‘Elodie!’
‘You can’t sleep on the sofa, it’s covered in crap. Please. Sleep here.’
And with that, she flung the case on the floor, heard it burst open and dropped onto the bed, on top of the duvet.
And Alex swore later that within a minute, she was fast asleep.
Chapter Eighteen
So what was he supposed to do? The most beautiful girl in the world was fast asleep on his bed; her hair was spread out on the pillow and her cheeks were flushed against the snow-white cases.
Alex looked at Elodie for a couple of minutes and scratched his head. The gentlemanly part of him said that he should leave her be; just walk out of the room, close the door and head downstairs to sleep on the sofa.
But the other part of him realised that she didn’t look very comfortable, so he pulled the duvet out from beneath her and up over her feet, in case they got cold. Because she had told him, last winter, that she loved her fluffy bed socks and her feet were usually like ice.
He stroked her hair back from her face and his heart twisted because she was truly the only person he’d ever really wanted and he couldn’t quite believe that she was actually here; even though, he acknowledged, it should have been under better circumstances.
He knew what she said before about the lounge being full of ash and the sofa being covered in the stuff was true. And it didn’t count as taking advantage of her, because she had already told him to stay in that room, with her, that night.
But it didn’t feel right stripping off – so instead, he lay down, fully clothed, next to her and made sure there was a decent gap between them – and, probably because he was bone tired himself, he fell asleep pretty quickly.
And it felt so right having her next to him, that when, sometime in the night, he half woke and she was snuggling up next to him and the moonlight was coming through the window, his heart felt like it was going to burst with joy and it was the most natural thing ever to pull her closer to him and go back to sleep holding her.
It was a little chilly when Elodie woke up. She wriggled her feet a bit further under the duvet and snuggled up closer to the warm body beside her. In her half-asleep state, she knew that the body smelled too good to be Piers (who was a man that, latterly, stank of cigar smoke, strong whisky and a horrible expensive cologne that made her itch). The person next to her smelled of the outdoors and wood smoke and citrus. And sage. Yes, there was a definite hint of sage there, which meant …
Elodie forced her eyes open and saw, in profile, Alex’s face, all angular and bathed in moonlight. And he was smiling, just a little. Her arm was flung over his chest and, although he was still wearing a shirt, she could feel the hard muscles underneath the fabric and the slow, regular breathing that told her he was dead to the world. It was a million miles away from their Prom Night debacle on the hay bales.
Her heart did a little flip-flop and for a moment, she tensed and wondered if she should leave her arm where it was or move it. She willed herself to take some deep breaths and relax, and then decided it would, indeed, be easier to leave her arm there – because her head was resting on Alex’s arm, which was curled around her, and his fingers were lying lightly on her shoulder.
She had the oddest image of a jigsaw – one of those that boasts ‘seamless click technology’ – where every piece is smoothly fitted into the next, so there could never be any doubt in the mind that the two pieces attached to one another were meant to be together.
She had never felt that about Piers and herself.
But Alex and her; well, they felt great together. And they fitted perfectly.
She butted her head further into the gap between his neck and his shoulder and closed her eyes again. This was fine, this was innocent. This was not the Prom Night. They were—
‘Hey there.’ His voice was sleepy and a little husky. It did funny things to her insides.
‘I thought you were asleep!’ she whispered. ‘Sorry.’ She felt herself blush and tried to move a little further away, embarrassed that he had caught her snuggling into him like that.
‘Are your feet warm enough?’ he asked, quite seriously.
She couldn’t help it, but she giggled. ‘Yes thanks. I can’t remembe
r pulling the duvet up at all.’
‘I did it. I remembered about the socks.’
Elodie smiled into the silvery night. ‘Well done.’
‘My pleasure.’
The bed creaked again as he turned over on his side to fully face her. ‘Are you okay? Is it all right for me to be here?’ He pulled his arm away from her neck and she felt a little bereft.
‘It’s fine,’ she said. ‘It’s fine.’
Hold me again, Alex. Please. I liked it.
‘Sure?’
‘I’m sure.’
Please. She was desperate for him to put his arm back and to pull her closer again.
‘That’s good then.’
He turned over again, and the cold night air washed over her.
‘Alex—’
‘Yes?’
‘Nothing. Sorry.’
She turned away as well and stared at the window.
‘You absolutely sure?’ His voice was low, and it seemed to have those undercurrents again.
‘No. I’m not sure.’
Alex lay with his back to Elodie and stared at the door, wide awake now. His heart was pounding and he had a sense that everything that had happened so far had been inexorably leading to this moment. It would be so easy to just turn over and take her in his arms properly. So easy to tell her exactly what he was thinking and exactly what he was feeling. So easy to—
There was a sound like a door banging shut from downstairs.
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake.’ Alex cursed under his breath, then sat bolt upright and slid himself off the bed.
‘What is it?’ Elodie sat up too.
‘The front door. It’s open. It mustn’t have caught properly on the latch. It does this sometimes. I won’t be a minute.
He ran out of the room and she heard his feet pounding down the staircase.
‘Okay,’ Elodie said into the empty room. But there was a little prickle of unease crawling up between her shoulder blades.
She glanced at the window again and watched the shadows move across the glass, then clambered out of bed and stood up. She walked over to the window, almost positive there was something out there – something unearthly. Her sixth sense was kicking in and she had long ago learned to trust it. Perhaps it was the ghostly horseman – or perhaps it wasn’t.