by Hazel Hunter
“Of course.” Thorne suddenly liked the vicar's sister much more than he had expected to. “You are very kind.”
“As her cousin I can do no less.” She fussed with the cuffs of her sleeves before she glanced over at the entry to the hidden room. “My brother has often mentioned Meredith in his letters. She has suffered enough misfortune for three lifetimes.” In a quieter voice she said, “Your steward and I found the remains of her rig smashed all over the road. It looked quite deliberate; perhaps an effort to conceal the true cause of the accident.”
“Someone tampered with that rig before she set out,” he said, keeping his voice as low as hers. “I am convinced.”
“We should discuss this further before she is returned to her parents, if possible.” She looked up as Meredith emerged from the library, and then down at the title page of the book in her hands. “Voltaire, how interesting. A decidedly polemic radical, but then propriety rarely troubles the French. Have you chosen a book to read, Cousin?”
“No, I have found something else,” Meredith said, her eyes dancing with excitement. “I uncovered another hidden space, behind the shelves of the children’s books.”
Thorne and Lucetta followed her back to the spot, from which she had removed all of the books from the case. This revealed a panel of stained glass fashioned to resemble an open window.
Thorne bent over, and through the glass saw what Meredith had: a closet-size space filled entirely with more shelves of books.
“You’ve found a cache.” He straightened and looked at the empty case in front of it. “I cannot see how to get at it.”
“Allow me.” Lucetta stepped closer to run her fingers carefully along the sides of the case. She hesitated, and then pressed firmly on one spot, and an audible click sounded before the case began to swing out.
“How did you know to do that?” Meredith asked.
“I have seen work like this before in a few other country houses,” Lucetta said as she straightened. “I believe this may have been modeled after the work of Nicholas Owen.”
“Papa told me about him,” Meredith said. “He lived during the reign of Elizabeth the first, at least, until he was put to death.”
“He was a Jesuit as well as a carpenter, and something of a genius at creating secret passages and spaces.” Her cousin wrapped her arms around her waist as she studied the concealing shelves again. “Your ancestor must have wished that the right sort of person should find this particular cache. A feminine person, I should think.”
“Why make such an assumption?” Thorne asked. “Anyone might have found it.”
The older woman gave him a slightly sour smile. “How many grown men do you know favor reading children's books?”
He uttered a short laugh. “I see your point.”
“Governesses are generally not permitted to freely remove books from a library. They make any such requests of the lady of the house, that she might first approve their selection for the children.” Lucetta turned to Meredith. “Indeed, Cousin, I believe that he wished someone like you to find this.”
“I am not the lady of this house.” Meredith felt mortified that she had blurted that out, and quickly added, “What would be the purpose?”
“I cannot tell you.” Her cousin's expression grew shuttered. “All men hide their secrets.”
Thorne picked up a candle and held it closer to the opened panel. “It seems to be another collection of books.” He reached in through the small space and retrieved one volume, which he handed to Lucetta. She drew back and carried it closer to one of the lamps.
“These are not books, Colonel,” the older woman said. She showed him the pages inside, which were covered in elegant script. “They are journals.”
“Surely not?” Meredith sounded incredulous, and bent down to peer into the hidden panel before she looked up at Thorne. “They all do seem to have the same binding.”
“Can you make out the first entry in that one, Miss Branwen?” Thorne asked.
“It says here: ‘August seventh, morning,’” Lucetta said, reading from the first page. “’Construction continues today on the west wing. I escape it as often as I may, for the noise made by the masons is prodigious, and my tolerance decidedly not.’” She glanced up at Thorne. “It may have been written by Mr. Emerson Thorne himself, as the place was being built.”
“There are more than a hundred in there, I should think,” Meredith said. “How could one gentleman write so many?”
“He spent his final years as a widower, and a recluse,” Thorne reminded her. “Doubtless he intended them as a memoir.”
“He would not wish his most private thoughts to fall into just any hands, so he then concealed them.” Meredith caught her breath. “Colonel, these journals could contain all the secrets of Dredthorne Hall.”
“You are being overly romantic, Cousin,” Lucetta said sharply. “These may be nothing more than estate ledgers.”
At that moment a tendril of wind came through the window, and caught the pages of the open journal, turning them in a flurry.
Thorne felt the oddest sense of no longer being alone with the two women. “Perhaps we should delve into that subject tomorrow.”
Before they left the hidden library Meredith carefully replaced the books on the shelves concealing the stained-glass window.
“There.” She stood back to inspect her handiwork. “It is covered again, so only the three of us know it is there.”
“I will take its secrets to the grave,” Lucetta promised, her tone slightly mocking. “Colonel, I believe I will retire for the evening, if that is acceptable. I think Meredith should do the same.”
“Of course. Follow me.” Thorne set down the journal she had handed him and led them out of the room.
Meredith was glad to see that her cousin would have the bedchamber across from hers, and peeked inside to see a lovely old canopied bed draped in white lace. “It is a very handsome room.”
“Would you join me for a few minutes, cousin?” When she nodded, Meredith turned to Thorne. “Thank you for an interesting evening, Colonel.”
“My pleasure, Miss Branwen. Miss Starling.” Thorne gave Meredith a lingering look before he bowed and withdrew.
Sitting down beside the crackling fire in the bedchamber made Meredith sigh with pleasure. “I have never had such a good time as this. Can you believe we are the first ladies to visit Dredthorne Hall in fifty years? The house is a veritable treasure chest of wonders.”
Lightning flared outside, followed by an ominous boom of thunder that made the old glass panes rattle. Yet even that sound made the room feel even cozier. No matter how terrible the weather grew, the house protected them.
Why does no one else see what I do in Dredthorne Hall? Meredith realized she had said that out loud, and grimaced at her cousin. “I don’t understand why the villagers so dislike this house. I think it the loveliest of places.”
“No one can mistake your enthusiasm, my dear.” Lucetta sat down across for her and regarded her steadily. “You do know, however, that you should not have remained here alone with the colonel.”
“Yes, of course.” Meredith glanced at the window. “I would have walked home, Cousin, but for the storm. The colonel would not permit me leave.”
“I assumed as much. I only wish you had been driving by the parsonage, and then we might have avoided this entire situation.” She sighed. “Nevertheless, I believe with some slight alteration of the facts we can preserve your reputation. I will return with you to your home tomorrow. You will then tell your parents that we met on the road, and I came with you to Dredthorne to wait out the storm.”
“That is not the truth,” Meredith protested. “Nor should I wish to lie to my parents.”
“Do you wish to be ruined forever, or have the colonel forced to make an offer of marriage?” Lucetta demanded, her expression stern now. “If word of your escapade gets out, one of those two things will be the result.”
“My parents will tell n
o one,” Meredith insisted. “They know I would never behave improperly. Once I have explained about my injury and the colonel’s carriage being repaired, they will understand I could do nothing else.”
“What of your mother's friends, when she lets the truth slip to them? Or your father, when he comes here to demand that Thorne make an honest woman of you, as any man should?” Lucetta raised her brows. “What can be done about that? Would you repay Thorne’s kindness with the ruination of his character, or the loss of his freedom to choose a wife?”
“There is no reason for those things to be done.” Meredith wrapped her good arm over her sling. “I did nothing improper, Cousin. I was hurt, and the colonel helped me. That is the truth.”
“No one will care what actually occurred between you, my dear.” The older woman’s expression turned bitter. “Why do you think they call it keeping up appearances? Because everything is about how it appears. You have spent many hours alone in the company of a man you do not know. That is enough to ruin your name forever.”
“Very well.” Meredith stood up, unable to bear another moment of Lucetta’s harping on propriety. “I will not lie to my parents, but I will not dispute anything you say to them. Goodnight, Cousin.”
When she returned to her room Meredith was careful to first toe off her slippers before she walked across the slippery rug. One of the colonel's servants had lit the lamps and turned down the bed linens; all she had to do was remove her dress, and…
Meredith glanced down at her sling, and then tried to reach the buttons on the back of her gown with her good arm. She could not manage to free even one of them.
“Drat.” If only she dared utter some oaths. “Perhaps I will simply rip it off, and prance about in my underclothes.”
She sat down on the window seat and leaned her brow against the cold glass. Long ago she had learned to quell her temper, for to become angry over things she could not change served no purpose. Of course, she would not destroy the only dress she had to wear; she would return to her cousin's room to ask for her assistance. Or she might forego comfort and sleep in her gown, for she did not wish to speak to Lucetta again until her temper subsided.
How could she think that Papa would force the Colonel to offer for me?
Neither of Meredith’s parents ever spoke to her about the possibility of marriage. When she was younger her father had made it clear that she would not be presented at court or enjoy a season in the city. Both were too costly, and Lady Starling felt convinced that allowing her daughter to go to London would end in disaster or death. None of the eligible young men in the area had ever taken an interest in her; Meredith had trouble finding one willing even to dance with her at assemblies. Doubtless her parents assumed, as she did, that she would end a spinster.
While Meredith had always known she would never marry, she felt some curiosity about the intimate relationship between a husband and wife. She had tried twice to ask her mother about what happened after marriage. Both times Lady Starling had suffered an immediate onset of the headache that resulted in her retiring to her bedchamber.
The novels Meredith sometimes filched from her father's book room had provided only vague clues that involved the man coming to his wife’s room and sharing kisses and much embracing. After reading Desdemona's shocking death scene in Shakespeare's Othello, however, Meredith had resolved never to allow any man to enter her bedchamber in the night.
Should he come to her, Meredith thought Colonel Thorne would not attempt to strangle her. He would touch her with those clever hands of his, and gaze at her with his crystalline eyes, and then perhaps touch his lips to hers…and then she would surely swoon.
Disturbed by her own desires, Meredith went to the bed, and lay down on her side to avoid the discomfort of her gown’s buttons against her spine. Exhaustion suddenly swamped her, and she closed her eyes. She would rest for a moment, and then seek Lucetta’s assistance with her dress. Only for a moment…
An unsteady, heavy sound roused Meredith from a sound sleep. For a moment she thought she’d dreamt it, and then it came again. Gingerly she pushed herself up to look at the door. Had someone knocked? Was it morning? No, the window remained dark. “Hello?”
A muffled groan answered her.
Carefully she climbed off the bed and made her way to the door. When she opened it, she saw that no one stood outside. She leaned out to peruse the hall, but only shadows filled it. Then she heard the groaning again, more distant now, as if it came from the opposite side of the house. A particular loud thump made her flinch, and then everything fell silent.
“What are you doing?”
Meredith uttered a small cry as Lucetta came out of the darkness, her tall form wrapped in a pale coverlet. “Heavens, Cousin, you scared the wits out of me.”
“I am sorry for that.” The older woman’s dark hair hung in a long, thick braid that twitched as she glanced both ways down the hall. “Sounds from the wind tormenting a loose shutter woke me from my sleep.”
Was that what had caused the eerie noise? Meredith had thought the sound more like a voice of someone in torment. But she was being fanciful; she’d been half-asleep when she’d heard it.
“The same happened to me.” Meredith grimaced down at the wrinkled condition of her gown. “I must have fallen asleep before I could ask for your assistance with my buttons.”
“Come, then, and I will attend to them.” Lucetta urged her back into the room, closing the door firmly before she regarded the chair by the fireplace. “Perhaps I should sleep in here tonight.”
“I’m not a child for you to safeguard,” Meredith said, and immediately regretted the harsh protest when she saw pain in her cousin’s bleak expression. “Forgive me, I don’t mean to snap.”
“Why shouldn’t you? I’ve been treating you like a child all evening.” Her cousin went around her and began releasing her buttons. “It’s simply that…one should not wander in a strange house, particularly in the night. You may stumble across secrets that you never wished to find.”
Meredith suspected that Lucetta wasn’t referring to Dredthorne Hall now. The unsteadiness in her voice made all her own ire vanish. Once she had finished with the buttons she turned to face her. “If you truly want to stay, then of course you must. I will take the chair, and you the bed.”
“Nonsense. As you well reminded me, you are not a child.” The older woman helped her out of her gown and then forced a smile. “I will be just across the hall if you have need of me. Good-night, my dear.”
Something dreadful had happened to her cousin in London, Meredith suspected, to make her so fearful. But what could do that to a strong, purposeful woman like Lucetta?
Chapter 5
Breakfast at Dredthorne, Meredith discovered, proved as pleasing as dinner, with one unexpected, added delight—Colonel Thorne had it served on the garden terrace. While the flower beds had been cleared in preparation for the winter, fall leaves still adorned most of the trees. A few birds flitted about the branches as they chirped and sang. The sun embellished the ground with pale golden light, adding a subtle glow to the house’s weathered outer walls.
“What a marvelous notion to breakfast out here,” Meredith told the colonel and her cousin as she joined them. “How lovely it smells out here from the rain.”
“I thought you might approve.” Thorne, whose dark riding coat, buff leather breeches and dusty boots implied he had begun his morning on horseback, sat down across from her. “I have sent my stablemaster to hire suitable transport for you both. Miss Branwen, would you be so kind as to reassure Miss Starling’s parents as to her safe accommodations here at Dredthorne?”
“That was my plan, Colonel.” Lucetta gave Meredith a sideways glance. “I will explain everything, of course.”
“As you wish, Cousin.” She had agreed to do so last night, so she would have to keep her word, but she still disliked the entire scheme. To keep from showing her resentment she turned to inspect a platter of rice and fish being offered b
y the footman.
“I am curious, Colonel.” The older woman took a sip of her spiced tea before she nodded at the house. “What do you plan to do with the library Meredith found in your dining room?”
He frowned. “I have little time for reading. Once my steward sees to repairing the window, I will summon a bookseller to make an offer for the lot.”
“Not before you catalog the contents, surely,” Meredith protested. As his brows rose she quickly added, “Some of the editions could be very valuable, and do you not wish to first examine Mr. Emerson Thorne’s journals?”
“At present the house demands all my attention.” The colonel’s gaze shifted above her head, and his mouth thinned. “Over time a roof leak has caused flooring to rot in the servants’ quarters and in other rooms below them. I must assess the extent of the damage, and procure workmen to see to the repairs. The number of livable cottages remains inadequate, and my men cannot spend the winter sleeping in the stables.”
“Certainly not.” Lucetta looked as if she approved. “If you need recommendations for the workmen, my brother knows every man of worth in his parish. He would be happy to assist.”
They were talking as if the matter were decided, Meredith thought. “I catalogued our family library for my father last spring, Colonel. It does take time, but to know what you possess makes the effort worthwhile. I found several valuable first editions that belonged to my great-grandfather that Papa had never seen.”
Thorne’s stern expression softened. “If you truly wish to see it done, Miss Starling, perhaps you should undertake the work. You do have the necessary experience and knowledge, and you discovered the library. If you are agreeable, the task is yours.”
The prospect of returning to Dredthorne and spending more time within its walls made only one answer possible for Meredith. “I would be delighted, Colonel.”
“Then we must come to an amicable arrangement.” As Lucetta stiffened the colonel turned his bright blue gaze on her. “Miss Branwen, if you are not otherwise engaged, would you be willing to extend your services as chaperone to your cousin?”