Such finery! What an artifact! Oliver’s mind was racing. The two of them were clearly very interested in it, and went on discussing it, and then…they kissed. They kissed!
Oliver blinked, and withdrew from the keyhole, feeling strange to have seen such a moment. Such a thing was not proper – the kissing or the spying – yet Oliver knew that the spying was the worse of the two.
What is going on with this woman? Who is she that the Duke has fallen for her, and a man threatens me over her? Is she some sort of criminal? A mastermind? Or is she a witch?
Oliver was trying hard to process all of these thoughts that burst into his head unceremoniously. What was he to do?
His primary task resurfaced. That spyglass is perfect, Oliver thought. Thomas is sure to notice it missing, and she will be the first place he turns to. Then he stopped for a moment. She or I, he thought. The both of us are likely candidates.
He shook his worries aside. He would do it tomorrow. There was no way to get away with it that night, not with the two of them in the room.
Tomorrow, he thought, I will frame her for theft, and be done with this business once and for all.
Chapter 31
Julian Bastable woke in the basement room with a grouch. He had been there for two nights, and he detested the lodgings. He had half of a mind to just go up to the house, grab Mary-Anne, and be done with it.
Yet, he knew that was a foolish idea. There was nothing practical about it. He had set a good plan into motion, one that would earn him his bride, and he had to patiently wait for it to come into fruition.
Julian found he suddenly had nothing to do during the days while he waited, and his coachman became anxious to depart, griping about lost fare opportunities.
“Two days and I haven’t been paid a cent,” the coachman went on. “I’ve got to be off, Mr. Bastable.”
“You would strand me here,” Julian protested. “Have you no heart?”
“Have you no coin?” the coachman pressed. “You’re the one with all the money, aren’t you?”
“Fine, be off then,” Julian waved him away, irritated. “I shall find a local resident when the time suits me.”
“No coin for the day spent waiting?” the coachman would not let up. “You are a cheap git, by all rights. I’ve got me a family to feed.”
“Well, who’s fault is that? Having a family? Be off then, sir,” Julian snapped back. “And don’t seek out my fare again.”
“With pleasure,” the coachman griped and banged his way out of the public house.
“No decency in an employee, anywhere you look,” Julian complained to himself. “Go on then man!”
The door banged closed, and Julian’s mood soured further.
“Ale for you, sir?”
“Fine then, on the tab,” Julian sneered. He had no intention of paying his tab. He had come to hate this place so thoroughly that he decided he would be dead before they got any more of his money.
He sat there and brooded over the betrayal of the coachman until that boy Oliver came through the door. The sight of the boy was a pleasant surprise. Possibly a sign that things were progressing.
“What news,” he whispered briskly. Oliver pulled out the chair and sat across from him, leaning out over the mug of ale to whisper back.
“I’ll do it today,” Oliver said. “When the old lady takes her afternoon nap, she’ll need setting down. Mr. Thomas will be bringing the Duke tea around then as well.”
“How will you do it?” Julian asked, drooling with anticipation.
“I saw them admiring a spyglass, a very valuable one,” Oliver went on. “I’ll get it out of its case, slip it into her trunk. Mr. Thomas will know it’s missing, it’s worth too much not to.”
“Them?” Julian pressed.
“Her and the Duke,” Oliver went on.
“What about them?”
“Well,” Oliver sucked in his breath. “I saw them kiss too.”
“You what?” Julian was incredulous, seething through his gritted teeth. So, you think you can hide in the arms of a Duke, little girl, do you? He thought. I shall show you, you cannot hide from me. Especially behind the likes of Neil Arnold. He is pathetic, and he will not stop me. In fact, he will give you to me, willingly, Julian formulated further intricacies to his plan.
“Well, that is interesting,” Julian hummed. “But the spyglass, what of it again?”
“It’s very valuable,” Oliver said again. “The cost of a ship, I heard him say.”
“And this will lead him to her?”
“It should,” Oliver replied. “Mr. Thomas doesn’t trust her, and for what it’s worth he’ll likely search everybody.”
“Good,” Julian sipped the ale. “Do you know of a carriage I can hire out of here? I have been betrayed by an inferior,” Julian delivered the last line with bitter distaste.
“All the coaches belong to the Duke, save straw wagons,” Oliver answered.
“All of them?” Julian despaired.
“Well, there is one,” Oliver confessed. “It belongs to Mr. Chase.”
“Mr. Chase?”
“He’s an old drunk,” Oliver went on. “Five years ago, there was a terrible accident.”
“Go on,” Julian was mesmerized. It was not only fascinating but a break from cabin fever.
“Mr. Chase was handling the ribbons on the Duke’s family coach, as it were at the time. I was young, maybe three and ten? Anyhow, the Duke’s parents and wife were killed. Mr. Chase was drunk. The horses got spooked. The carriage went over the gulch along the estate road. The Duke let Mr. Chase go, but he still owns a coach. Gets himself mighty foxed though. Lives behind the stable houses. I don’t think the Duke has the will to see him off the land.”
“Would you pass on a message for me then?” Julian said. “There’s another shilling in it for you.”
“Aye,” Oliver said.
“Tell him to have his ribbons ready by sunset. Tonight will be the night, dear boy, tonight!”
“How will you know when it’s done?” Oliver asked.
“Do not fret over me,” Julian replied. “Just have that Mr. Chase ready when necessary.”
“Fair enough.” Oliver rapped his knuckle on the table. “I’ll see you before you leave, for well—”
“Yes, yes,” Julian quipped, waving Oliver way with his hand. “You will have your sum when it is due.”
Julian watched the boy scurry out of the public house. If he had a tail, it would be tucked between his legs, Julian thought.
Julian drained his ale and lumbered back down to his basement room. Once there, he rummaged briefly through his small luggage.
There was one thing he needed, one serious item that he didn’t want to use, but would if he had to. He threw aside a pile of sashes, minding not to tear them, and located his query.
The pistol he had killed Lawrence Seton with smiled up at him, shining from the bottom of his trunk.
Julian grinned, reliving his triumph briefly, and then made sure to see it loaded, primed, and ready to fire.
Chapter 32
Mary-Anne felt as if she were levitating an inch off the ground at all times. Movement seemed easy, her feet light, and happiness welled deep within her. She was warm, excited, and alive.
She was also dusting picture frames, a task she found less than entertaining. She occupied herself mentally by reliving her walk through the house with the Duke. She had felt so special, so deserving of attention.
The fine things he showed her were fascinating to look at, but she had no great desire for wealth. She had seen it consume plenty of people throughout her life, and she had no need of it.
What had truly captivated her was the Duke’s gentle tone as he talked of his family history and his time abroad. He was completely enchanting, and so still she continued to delay the confrontation of reality. Things would not remain as they were. One way or another, they would change.
Mary-Anne was terrified of that change, for she did not know
what it would entail. She only knew that it would come, and so she distracted herself with daydreams while she dusted picture frames.
She took her chores into the next room and found herself in the northern drawing room. She smiled upon her entry, remembering the night before.
Mary-Anne drew near the high windows, beneath which sat the spyglass.
Outside, the trees were near all barren. The browns and grays of mulching leaves heaped around the distant treeline, and the sky hung low and dark. Winter was fast upon them, and she imagined how warm and comfortable the manor would be in those months.
She imagined all sorts of delicious preserves served by grand hearths, the blankets of snow surrounding the hill and sealing everyone in to be warm. She could practically smell the spiced tea and taste the preserved peaches.
After reminding herself that she was there to clean and not to look out on the countryside, she turned to the display cases. Yet, again she found herself admiring the spyglass, so gently set back in its display case.
Looking at the delicate instrument, Mary-Anne could practically feel the Duke’s gentle embrace. She could feel him kissing her softly in the moonlight, and her heart began to flutter at the memory.
How scandalous all of this is, she thought, kissing by the moonlight, hiding away our attractions. Where Mary-Anne had come from, such things were not so scandalous. When two people fell for each other, they were congratulated and lived a happy life, God willing.
Here, in this mansion, everything had been turned upside-down. They could not reveal their secret to anyone. It was wrong for the Duke to be seen kissing a woman who was not his wife. Especially if the woman was not a lady or one of the proper social standing.
Alas, Mary-Anne was not nobility. She was only a mute servant girl with a rush of feelings for royalty, and so they were forced to scurry about in the night, in secret. Mary-Anne knew this as an inevitable recipe for disaster or heartbreak. But at the moment, it was fun and exciting.
The door clicked open, and she turned to see Oliver coming in with a small hammer and nails.
“Oh hello,” he said, evidently startled to see her.
Mary-Anne waved hello and pointed to the hammer with an inquisitive look.
“Oh this,” Oliver held up the tools. “Got to patch the frame on one of those windows,” he pointed with the hammer to the windows behind Mary-Anne.
She glanced over them but saw no clear need for repairs. Then again, I am a seamstress, not a carpenter, she thought. She waved him in and gathered up her duster, as if to say, I’ll leave you to it.
Just then Mary-Anne heard the jingle of Phyllis’ bell, looking to lay down for her afternoon nap. Mary-Anne gave Oliver a parting gesture and hurried out of the room.
* * *
Oliver watched Mary-Anne leave the room. He had expected her to attend Phyllis’ nap a bit earlier and seeing her in the room had shocked him.
For a brief breath, he thought that he was outdone, tricked, set up or something of the like. But as she left the room, he realized that his nerves had made him paranoid.
Nobody suspects a thing, he thought, just get on with it.
Once he was sure no one was coming near to the room, he crossed fast to the display cases. Seeing the spyglass up close astonished him. It was even finer than he had imagined from his glimpse through the keyhole.
He considered then just taking the spyglass for himself, and eloping with Lucy as fast as possible. It would be too obvious, he thought, and my family would catch most of the blame, no doubt.
Oliver opened the clasp and removed the object carefully. It was heavy, and he feared dropping it, but still, he was able to stow it in his tunic. He stood and shut the case, glancing around nervously.
He was convinced that he would be caught. Something in him screamed that he was being watched, or that Mr. Thomas would walk in that instant.
Instead, nothing happened. Oliver stood there, feeling dumb and rash, the spyglass nestled against his stomach. He was alone. He was getting away with it.
He ducked back into the servant hall, practically running to the servant’s rooms.
He came to the door and realized that he was sweating. Calm down, he hissed within his head. Behave normally, you are allowed to be here, just go in and don’t be panting.
Oliver went through the door.
Inside he found two of the kitchen staff, idly chatting in a moment of free time. It was rare enough to find a moment during the day to sit down, so the two of them were distracted enough for Oliver’s purposes.
They gave him half of a nod as a courtesy, and he entered as if he were disheveled after some sort of project.
“Mr. Marton got you back up on that roof?” one asked, pausing a moment from their conversation.
“No, just working at the windows,” he replied, walking slowly through the room. Emily’s room was on the right, up ahead, two doors past his. She shared a space with Ruth, but both were upstairs with Phyllis.
“Good,” the other added. “There is a storm coming tonight, I can feel it brewing up in my bones sure as sunrise.”
“Storm then?” he called over his shoulder, advancing down the dormitory hallway. “Hope it won’t be a bad one.”
From this angle, he could be entering his room just as likely as another. They were seated at the table with their backs to him.
“Oh, it will be a hard one,” the half-hearted answer came as he slipped into Emily’s room. “Some real proper weather.”
He heard them chuckling with each other, and he scanned the room in a panic.
The mattress would do well enough. Better yet, the pillow. It would likely be discovered sooner. Most servants had a collection of personal effects in their rooms, but Emily had near to nothing. Her half of the room was depressingly stark in contrast to Ruth’s belongings.
Oliver placed the spyglass beneath Emily’s pillow, his heart filling with regret as he did so. Sorry for this, he thought, but my family is more important.
He stowed the stolen item and briskly walked back into the hallway. Just as before, he half expected one of the kitchen workers to be staring at him when he turned around. Caught directly in the act.
Just as before, nobody noticed his actions. He was getting away with it.
“Alright then,” he said to the kitchen staff. “See you for supper.”
“Take care then,” they answered. “Don’t go up on that roof. Remember, a storm is coming on.”
“A storm, yeah,” he chirped back, leaving the servant quarters, his task complete. There is a storm coming, of that I am sure.
Chapter 33
Julian prepared to leave. He picked through his luggage, selecting the sashes that he would have to leave behind. Finally, he had set himself up entirely. He wore a thick overcoat against the last of the autumn air, and beneath it his customary array of colorful sashes. Under it all, he tucked his pistol. This he repeatedly patted to make sure it was still there. It gave him an enormous level of emotional security.
Julian paced up those basement stairs for the last time.
“Going somewhere?” the tavern keeper asked. Julian had not gone anywhere, save between his room and the common room, for the duration of his stay.
“For a slight ramble,” Julian replied. “I think it best to take some air.”
“You may be right,” the tavern keeper nodded his approval, clearly checking to see if Julian was planning on leaving. He seemed to be satisfied by the lack of personally specific luggage.
“Well, wish me luck then,” Julian exclaimed, heading for the door with a bounce in his step.
“Good luck,” the tavern keeper replied, clearly unsure what the wishing him well was regarding.
Julian was in the finest of moods. Until recently he had been despairing in the basement of the dingy tavern. Now he had purpose again. A plan he had set in motion almost twenty years ago was about to come together. It would require a few more steps after tonight, but this would indeed prove the h
eart of the difficulty.
The walk up to the manor was a long one, and Julian had left in plenty of time. He had made himself as presentable as he could for an impromptu meeting with the Duke, and he took care not to spoil his appearance with sweat.
So, he took very small steps, moved very slowly, and inched his way up the road to the manor. Were it a well-traveled estate, perhaps someone may have offered him a ride in a passing coach. Alas, on the Rutland estate, traffic was kept at a minimum.
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