CATHERINE (Pride & Prejudice continued.... Book 2)

by Sue Barr

  Feeling a familiar thrum of excitement, he moved toward the picture and studied its frame. The left edge of the painting was a quarter of an inch further from the wall than the right edge. Following a hunch, he grasped the right edge of the painting and pulled. Quietly, the painting swung open like a small door and revealed a hollowed-out niche filled with packages and documents.

  The grandfather clock in the main hall chimed the hour three times and soon the junior servants would be starting their daily chores. He grabbed whatever documents were in the cubby hole and stuffed them into the satchel he’d brought. After returning the portrait to its original spot he snuffed out the candle and slipped through the study window into the bushes.

  Streaks of faint light had painted the sky with subdued hues of orange and yellow by the time he entered his room at the stable. He’d snag a few hours of sleep before returning to Creighton Castle to fix the fireplace. Later, after sorting through the papers, he’d return whatever was not incriminating. No need to alert Stanhope of his theft right away. The longer the Viscount thought his documents were safe, the more time George had to further set the trap.

  He congratulated himself on how easy this mission had been, almost too easy. It was only when his head hit the pillow and he had begun to drift into the hazy world of Morpheus did he remember he’d left the candle lamp on the fireplace mantle.

  Chapter Seven

  Dawn was but a few hours old when George finally quit the bed and opened the satchel. He quickly determined most documents were of no interest to him, with exception of a copy of Stanhope’s last will and testament, dated some twelve years prior. All properties and titular deeds went to the closest living heir, which was a daughter, Harriet. He thought back to the miniature of the young girl found with the bundle of letters addressed to the law firm in London. She must be his daughter and as George had never heard reference to any living child, he wondered why Stanhope hadn’t revised his will.

  About to close the ledger he noticed the edges of the spine were not lined up. He turned it back over in his hand and a quick perusal showed the inside flap had indeed been tampered with. Carefully, he picked at the corner and whatever glue used to reseal the page pulled away with ease. Inside, a thin vellum paper lay folded. His heart rate quickened at the evidence before him. Viscount Stanhope was not only a Lord for the realm of England, he was a distant cousin of Phillippe de Segur, one of Napoleon’s closest friends and aide de camp. Such troubling connections to Napoleon made Stanhope a dangerous man indeed. There was also another folded note.

  Scribbled across the top was, L’Angleterre comme une République Libre. What was Stanhope involved with that wanted England as a Free Republic? There followed a list of names. Not necessarily full nomenclatures, but acronyms, such as: Lord M, Sir R, etc., etc. In total five persons were indicated and underneath them were the initials P.W. - which had been crossed out - and S.P. written beside the blotted-out initials.

  He felt a chill shiver down his spine as he studied the initials P.W. followed by S.P. and a sense of dread filled his heart. If this what he thought, there was a greater conspiracy at large and if successful, would change the landscape of England forever. It was vital he brought these documents to Lord Grayson as soon as possible. He placed these two documents into his traveling bag. The ledger and rest of the papers he slid back into the satchel and after washing his face in cold water, dressed for his last day as a common laborer.

  “Good day, Mrs. ‘arris.”

  George arrived at Creighton Castle a few minutes after eight a.m. Greeted by the irate housekeeper, he removed his hat and gave her a polite nod.

  “You are expected to be about your duties by precisely seven a.m. Your wages will reflect this tardiness.”

  He clutched the hat a little tighter. If he were a working man, losing any amount of wage could be devastating. In keeping with his role, he bowed his head again.

  “Me chimney climber died last night. I ‘ad to pay respect to ‘is family,” he lied with a smoothness born from years of practice in the art of subterfuge.

  “Your hired help is of no concern to me, Mr. Bryant. Wages will be deducted. Now please attend your duties and advise John when you are finished.”

  “Aye, Mrs. ‘arris,” George mumbled, keeping his eyes on the floor.

  Her skirts flared slightly as she turned in a huff and once again her chatelaine and keys jangled with every step. A grin threatened to mar his image of humility. The fact she wore those keys like a prize worked to his advantage. It was patently obvious she wore them with pride, showcasing her position of authority. He likened them to tying a bell on a cat to warn the birds. Mrs. Harris announced her impending arrival to all the household staff who made sure they were diligent in their duties. That is, until she walked away.

  He shuffled to the parlor and John met him at the door to the study.

  “I’ll finish with the damper and be on my way.” He noticed John glaring into the room, a scowl on his face. “What’s bit your arse this morning?”

  “Mrs. Sheraton’s in there. I don’t like the way she looks at me.”

  “And ‘ow is that?” George asked, his eyebrow raised slightly at John’s comment.

  “Like she’s better ‘n the rest of us. All that fancy schoolin’ don’t count for nothin’ here.”

  George shrugged, not wishing to get into a discussion with the footman.

  “Well, I never met the woman, so I don’t got no problems wif ‘her.”

  He moved past John into the study and without looking at Mrs. Sheraton, who was busy dusting the bookshelves, approached the fireplace. The candle was not where he left it. He placed his bag by his feet and laid the drop cloth in front of the fireplace. Mrs. Sheraton continued dusting, moving close to the fireplace with each swipe.

  “You are late. Mrs. Harris has been in high dudgeon all morning,” she whispered.

  Assured that John had moved from the door, he risked a glance at Mrs. Sheraton.

  “Why is that?”

  “The Viscount returns late this afternoon. She wants this room spic and span.”

  “Watch the door for me. I have no time to waste.”

  He heard a small gasp from Mrs. Sheraton when he pulled the documents out of the bag, swung the portrait open and placed them inside. Satisfied they were arranged in the same order as he’d found them, he closed the portrait and began rolling up the drop cloth.

  “I left a candle on the mantlepiece. Have you seen it, or did Mrs. Harris discover it first?”

  “Pray do not worry, Lord Kerr. I told Mrs. Harris the candle was mine. That I must have forgotten it last night after cleaning around the fireplace.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Sheraton. Did she believe you? The last thing I wish to do is place you in danger.”

  “No need to thank me. I’ve given Mrs. Harris no cause to doubt my word, so far. As for being in danger… I know the Viscount’s a vile man and have no way to prove it. If it weren’t for the children I would have long left his employ.”

  Sadly, George understood exactly why she stayed. There weren’t many jobs that a genteel woman could perform and maintain her dignity. He’d seen the seedy side of life too much to pretend otherwise.

  “I have some things to clean up outside prior to leaving.”

  “I wouldn’t waste time, Lord Kerr. The longer you stay, the more dangerous it becomes.”

  “There may be footprints below the study window.”

  “Taken care of.”

  “You astound me, Mrs. Sheraton.”

  She laughed softly. “I had a younger brother who was forever slipping out of the house, escaping the ‘dour Mr. Power’, as you and your brothers liked to call him.”

  George gave a start at the familiar nickname he and his brothers had bestowed upon their father’s vicar.

  “We meant no disrespect−”

  “And none was taken,” she hastened to reassure him. “My father was difficult to live with at times, which was why Hamish l
onged to find his freedom. Because of that, I quickly learned the most efficient way to smooth out muddy footprints and remove debris from window sills.”

  “Once again, I cannot thank you enough.”

  “Quite the opposite. I should be thanking you. The fact you are providing refuge for my son has me forever in your debt.”

  When Stanhope realized his documents had been stolen, literally out from under his nose, he’d leave no stone unturned in finding out who aided the thief. It would take little digging to learn Mrs. Sheraton was the one who brought George into the house in the guise of a chimney sweep.

  “Mrs. Sheraton, I have a proposition…”

  He feared for her safety and before quitting Creighton Castle asked her to quietly pack up her stuff and flee to his estate. While waiting for her to arrive at Keswick Manor, he changed into his traveling clothes and made his way to the main house. There he spoke with the aging housekeeper, Mrs. Walbush about his plans to re-open the manor.

  “I’m so glad you stopped in, Lord George. It does my heart good to know this lovely house will be of use again and to see you as well.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Walbush. I have been neglectful, but it is high time I take up the reins and learn how to run an estate.”

  “God bless you, Lord George.”

  “If you require anything, advise Mr. Piper. As Mother’s steward he has the address of our solicitors and they can forward any funds required.”

  “When do want things at the ready, sir?”

  “After Lady Addlesworth’s Midsummer’s Ball. I shall arrive shortly thereafter.”

  Mrs. Walbush clasped her hands together. George noted her uncomfortable fidgeting.

  “Is there something you wish to discuss, Mrs. Walbush?”

  “Yes. I was about to write the Dowager Duchess about my decision, but seeing as you are here, I’ll give my notice to you then.”

  “Your notice!”

  “I’m not getting any younger, Lord George.” She treated him to rare smile. “I’ve been housekeeper of Keswick Manor nigh unto thirty years and was housemaid a good fifteen prior to that. These bones are weary and I’m afraid I won’t be able to keep up with the demands of a full house.”

  “You have been a loyal servant, Mrs. Walbush. Much of my childhood memories hinge around your dedication and care.” His mind turned over at a rapid rate at her announcement. “Have you anyone in mind as your replacement?”

  “Oh no, sir. I’d only made the decision a few weeks ago.”

  “Then I have a suggestion. There will be a Mrs. Sheraton arriving sometime today. She has been in the employ of Viscount Stanhope. Circumstances have arisen which have forced her to leave his establishment.”

  At Mrs. Walbushs’ pursed lips, he hastened to assure her.

  “There was nothing untoward with her character. She aided me in a risky endeavor and I fear for her safety. I offered her shelter and work here. Her son, Phillip is already working with Mr. Bryant in the stables.”

  “Oh yes, Phillip. Such a sweet boy.”

  “He is, and his mother is a good woman. I propose you take her under your wing and show her how Keswick Manor is run. When you retire, she can move into the role of housekeeper with ease.”

  “Is there anything else I should know about Mrs. Sheraton, M’Lord?”

  For a brief moment, George hesitated, but Mrs. Walbush had been a loyal employee for over forty-five years. If he couldn’t trust her, then he couldn’t trust anyone.

  “Her father was our vicar at Adborough Hall. If anyone – and I mean anyone other than me or my family – ask about Mrs. Sheraton, you are to say you have never seen her. That you do not know her and advise me directly at Kerr House in London. Her very life depends on your discretion.”

  Mrs. Walbushs’ eyebrows rose higher and higher with each word until they threatened to disappear completely under her mob cap. Just as quickly, her face smoothed and she stood a little straighter, shoulders back, chin jutted out with determination.

  “She will be safe here, Lord George. Might I make a suggestion we call her something besides Mrs. Sheraton. Perhaps something like Mrs. Nelson. This way, the maids or other staff won’t inadvertently ‘spill the beans’, so to speak.”

  “That is a wonderful suggestion.”

  “I’ll also tell them Mrs. Nelson is my great-niece from…”

  “Yorkshire, as that is where Adborough Hall is located.”

  “From Yorkshire then, and she worked for the former Duke as well as your brother, the current Duke. That should satisfy any curiosity about her sudden arrival.”

  “This should not prove too difficult, Mrs. Walbush, as Mrs. Sheraton has much knowledge of the area and can pull this off with ease. You will find her a quick study.”

  They spent a few more minutes discussing the housekeeper’s suite and how they could situate both children, if needed.

  “Phillip may choose to stay with Mr. Bryant, near the stables, but her daughter is still too young to be left alone.”

  “If she doesn’t take the housekeeper’s suite, there are some lovely cottages on the property and there’s always a young mother willing to look after another child to bring in extra money.” Mrs. Walbush suggested.

  “Excellent suggestion. I will leave this in your capable hands.”

  “Are you dining here tonight, sir?”

  “Yes, I will partake in a light supper tonight and break my fast at dawn. I want to get an early start back to London.”

  “Very good, My Lord. I’ll advise Cook.”

  Satisfied Mrs. Sheraton was safe, George took to his bedroom for much needed rest. it wouldn’t do to fall asleep upon Buttons. Early tomorrow morning he’d leave for Hertfordshire and Miss Catherine Bennet. In the midst of all the intrigue he’d found his thoughts straying to her at the oddest times and was anxious to see her again. To discover whether his distraction was but a passing fancy, or something more tangible.

  ***

  “What do you think, Mary? Should I wear the light-yellow bonnet, or the pink one?”

  Mary paused in the hall and came to the door of Kitty’s room. With mild horror, she surveyed the pile of clothes on her sister’s bed, threatening to topple over.

  “You have not begun to pack?”

  Kitty threw her hands in the air and flopped into the chair beside her bed.

  “No. I cannot make up my mind of what to wear tomorrow. I do not have anything appropriate. All my dresses, with the exception of the lovely gown I wore at Lizzy’s wedding, are sprigged muslin. We will look like country misses.”

  “That is because we are country misses.” Mary said in a soothing voice. “I believe you could wear a sack cloth dress and Lord Kerr would still be enamored. He did not even flinch when you were covered in mud and weeds.”

  “I am not worried about what Lord George thinks,” Kitty lied, looking down at her hands. If she told herself enough times to forget the way he made her feel, it would happen. “I have never been to London and do not want to be embarrassed.”

  “Mmm hmm,” Mary hummed. “I am not fooled by you any more, Catherine Bennet. You are in a dither over Lord Kerr and I do not know why you will not admit that. If he pursues you, will you accept a courtship from him?”

  “No!” Horrified, Kitty’s wide-eyed gaze flew up to her sister’s. “I could never accept a courtship from him.”

  “Why ever not?” Slack jawed, Mary could only stare.

  Too late, she realized she’d said more than intended. Tears pooled in her eyes and she willed them to not fall.

  “I am unworthy of his regard, and that is all I can say.”

  Mary came and kneeled beside the chair, taking her cold hands in her warm ones.

  “Kitty, you are not unworthy. You are a child of God and He is the only one that counts. You are worthy is His eyes.” She stood and released Kitty’s hands. “Pray about this sister. I do not know what your burden is, but I see it is a heavy one. If you cannot share them with me, then cast
your cares upon Him and He will lighten your load.”

  “Thank you, Mary. I already have. I also have a bad habit of picking that load back up after I finish praying.”

  “Silly girl. Well, I will add my prayers to yours and see if one of these days that dirty bag stays at the foot of the cross.” Mary moved toward the door and with a backward glance toward the pile of clothes, said, “Wear the yellow muslin and brown spencer. With your coloring, that dress looks most becoming. Pair it up with the matching bonnet and trim.”

  The next hour was spent packing her trunk and setting aside some things that needed mending. Her mood vacillated between excitement and dread, not abating until she descended to join Mama and Mary in the parlor. She’d reached the bottom stair when Papa came to the door of his book room. That he’d been waiting for her was evident.

  “Before you leave for Town, I must have a word with you.”

  She followed her father into his book room and waited as he paced to his desk. Papa was in an unfamiliar state of agitation.

  “We have never spoken of that terrible time and you need to know you were NOT responsible.” She knew exactly of what time he spoke of. “The fault lies with me. Do not let this stop you from accepting the affections of a decent man.”

  Her chest constricted and although she wanted to flee from the room, her feet were rooted to the floor while tears coursed down her cheeks. Papa came to where she stood, frozen, and drew her close. With a gentle hand he guided her head against his chest and simply held her as great sobs wracked her body. They stood in this attitude for several minutes before he began to pat her on the back.

  “There, there, child. Dry your face and fix your hair. The Lucas’ and Longs will be here shortly and your mother has gone to great trouble for your final meal before you leave.”

  “Yes, Papa.” Kitty swiped a hand across her cheeks, thankfully accepting the fine linen handkerchief her father handed to her. “I will do my best.”