Summerset Abbey

by Brown, T. J.

  The room had no doubt been the study of some austere kinsman from long past. It had been done in blues, long faded, with stern portraits of antecedents. She wondered which one had worked in the study and if he would disapprove of her presence. For surely it was a man who used the large, round desk in the center of the room and the inlaid filing cabinets on either side of the stone fireplace. The cold of the marble flooring seeped through her slippers and she hurriedly set her things on the desk and lit the fire she had already laid out, praying that the flume still worked.

  She’d cleaned the room a little yesterday, hoping the scent of beeswax would overcome the scent of dust and damp that hung over the room, but her efforts hadn’t even made a dent in it. On second thought, she rather liked it. She wondered what Nanny Iris would think of her room. She would probably say there weren’t enough books, but she would like the knickknacks from all over the world.

  The fire brought more light into the room, killing the last of the gloom and crackling cheerfully. After lighting a few more candles and placing them about the room, she looked about satisfied with her handiwork. Happier than she’d been in weeks, she took out her typewriter and set out her things on the desk. Now she had another secret—a secret place. Her own place where she could work and study in peace away from Prudence’s and Rowena’s prying eyes. Tonight, she wanted to organize her things and study her quarterlies. Perhaps if she worked really hard she could pass the entrance exams and go to college. Or something.

  Suddenly there was a loud creak from the hallway and Victoria froze. Seconds spun on forever as she strained to hear over the sound of her own racing heart. It was the fire. Or a timber settling. The house was over three hundred years old. All houses make noises.

  She glanced at the doorknob but couldn’t see a lock on it. It was fine. This was her home. Well, her family home anyway. Ghostly ancestors wouldn’t hurt her, she was blood.

  Don’t think about blood.

  Her breath started coming faster and she closed her eyes. If she didn’t calm down, she would have an episode and die here. How long would it take for them to find her body? No. Instead of concentrating on who or what was outside the door, she would concentrate on breathing. One, two, three. Tiny breath. One, two, three. Tiny breaths.

  “Victoria?”

  The scream ripped out of her chest shattered the still air. She opened her eyes to find Kit staring at her, horror written all over his face.

  “Good God, woman. Do you want them to find you? Do you know what kind of scandal that would cause?”

  She shut her mouth and sunk into the chair behind the desk. Closing her eyes, she began her careful breathing again.

  “Victoria?” His voice came closer and had a worried edge to it. “Are you quite all right?”

  She shook her head and kept breathing until she felt her body calming, her lungs opening. Then her eyes popped open and she stared at him accusingly.

  “You followed me!”

  He stared back at her, his eyes wide. Then he smiled. “I thought you might be sneaking off to do something fun.” He looked around the room. “What are you doing, anyway?”

  She tilted her nose. No matter what she said, he was going to tease. He was just that sort and she was not going to let him poke fun at her secret. “I’m looking for the rabbit hole.”

  He blinked. “And have you found it?” he asked, his voice amused.

  “Not yet. But I remain ever hopeful.”

  “And what would you do if you found it?”

  “Fill it up, of course. Wonderland seems a nasty sort of place.”

  He laughed at that and began wandering around the room, looking at this and that. He didn’t mention the typewriter or her office supplies and she liked him the better for it.

  “What are you doing here, really?” he asked.

  Something wistful in his voice stopped her from saying she was building a time machine. “Haven’t you ever wanted a place where you could truly escape from everything? Where you could just read and think and be silent?”

  He didn’t answer for the longest time. Instead, he busied himself putting another log on the fire and poking at it with the poker.

  “Most people don’t want to be alone with their thoughts,” he finally said.

  “Maybe they have boring thoughts.”

  He stared at the flames and Victoria arose from the desk to join him. The heat felt good. She supposed she should probably feel uncomfortable standing in her nightclothes, chaperoned, talking to a young man who was practically a stranger, but she didn’t. She would be ruined if anyone discovered them here this way, but she didn’t care about that either.

  “Don’t you think everyone thinks their thoughts are interesting?” he said, his brow furrowing. “That was confusing.”

  “I understood.”

  “And, to continue along those lines, I really don’t care if people’s thoughts are boring, except when people with boring thoughts are compelled to share those thoughts with others, namely me.”

  Victoria looked at him. His voice had taken on a world-weary tone that she disliked, as though he’d searched the world over for something of interest and had been sorely disappointed. “So what do you care about, Mr. Kit?”

  “I suppose this is where I should say my mother, or Britain or the poor, shouldn’t I? Or whatever else is in fashion. But my mother is a fright, patriotism is deadly dull, and I can’t do anything about the poor.”

  She frowned. “Don’t say anything that isn’t true. There’s no one here to impress.”

  “Are you saying I couldn’t impress you if I tried?” He glanced over at her, a smile playing about his lips.

  She stared back at him. “You don’t know me well enough to know what would impress me. I think you’re smart enough not to bother.”

  He laughed at that. “Well, I know what would impress most debs, but you aren’t like most debs. Most debs wouldn’t be in an abandoned part of an old castle teaching themselves to type.”

  She said nothing.

  “So back to your original question. What do I care about? I suppose I care about my friends. I care about being amused. I care about finishing my exams well enough so I don’t disgrace my mother and because once I do, I shall get a sizable annual trust and will be able to travel at will. What do you care about, Miss Victoria? Most young ladies only care about dresses, balls, and making good marriages.”

  She picked up the extra blanket and wrapped it about her shoulders. Then she sank down to the worn, dusty rug in front of the fireplace. “Oh, I like dresses well enough, but balls are boring and I’m never getting married.”

  He laughed in disbelief and sat down next to her.

  “Oh, you don’t believe me, do you? Well, no matter. I know what’s what, and there is no marriage in my future. I discovered early on that the most interesting women who lead the most interesting lives either don’t marry at all, or marry quite late in their lives. I’m going to travel and read and have all sorts of adventures.” She thought of Nanny Iris as she said this. That was exactly what she wanted to do. She wondered what Nanny Iris would think of a man like Kit.

  “And what does typing have to do with that?”

  “A girl should be able to make a living, don’t you think? What if I get robbed by marauders in Istanbul? I could work in an office until I make enough money to go on to Cairo.” She didn’t tell him that she wanted to work as a botanist. That secret was just too close to her heart to share freely.

  His eyes widened. “You do have it all figured out, don’t you?”

  He sounded amused and she shifted. “You don’t believe me, do you?” she asked again.

  “I believe you believe that. You maybe even mean it. I just know how insistent family can be, and your aunt and uncle are going to marry you off posthaste. Not before Elaine or your sister, so you may have a few years of freedom yet. Poor Sebastian.”

  “Poor Sebastian? What do you mean?”

  “Your aunt has already chose
n him for Elaine and his mother concurs that they would make a lovely match. Elaine and Sebastian are jolly friends and have been for years, but neither of them are the least bit interested in the other in that way. But I predict it will only be a matter of months before their engagement is announced. The combined wills of Lady Summerset and Lady Billingsly is a force unto its own.”

  She snorted. “Poor Lainey. But my aunt and uncle can’t make me do anything I don’t want to do,” she said, though she was less convinced than she sounded. Wasn’t Prudence in the servants’ hall against her will?

  “I don’t think you even believe that.” His voice was kind and she gave him a sideways glance.

  “Well, not about marriage anyway. Arranged marriages are against the law, and I am very well aware of my rights. My father made sure of that.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re a suffragist?” he said in mock horror. “God save me from a well-meaning suffragist.”

  “Of course I’m a suffragist,” she snapped. “All thinking women are.”

  He laughed, but it no longer sounded kind. “I find them as boring as the simpering deb. They may pretend to want suffrage, but if a well-born man asked for their hand in marriage, they would give up their political views in a heartbeat.”

  She stood. “Which just shows me with what little regard you actually hold women. At least suffragists care about something. I’ve always found those who are bored of everything to be the most boring. Now if you will excuse me, Mr. Kit. I think I should be going back to my room.”

  He looked surprised at her reaction and she didn’t blame him. She was surprised herself. She remembered how passionate her father was about everything—politics, art, science, music—and it saddened and angered her that he had died, while a young man, with everything ahead of him, sat here insisting that there was little in the world of interest.

  He put a placating hand on her arm, the warmth of his fingers transmitting itself through the thin cotton of her nightdress. “I didn’t mean that. I don’t mean half the things I say, really.”

  He sounded surprised and Victoria stopped. “Then why do you say them? You say things as if you believe them.”

  “Probably because it’s easier than trying to figure out what it is I really believe.” His voice sounded rather shocked and she laughed.

  “It’s much easier to pretend you’re bitter and don’t care than to admit you’re just lazy.”

  The corners of his lips twitched. “You have a point. But you are right, we should be going.”

  They banked the fire and put the screen up. She was almost sorry their tête-à-tête had ended. She’d rather enjoyed herself. After lighting their candles and putting out the lantern, they walked quickly down the dark hall. It wasn’t nearly as frightening as it had been before.

  They reached the main door. “You can find your way from here, can’t you?” he whispered.

  “Of course. I was practically raised here.”

  He nodded as she slipped out the door. “And you are wrong, Miss Victoria.”

  She paused. “How’s that?”

  “There is something I find very interesting and intriguing.”

  She waited for a moment, her heart speeding up.

  “You.”

  * * *

  Victoria awoke the next morning to the sound of Susie lighting a fire in the fireplace. Last night’s nocturnal wanderings seemed like almost a dream in the morning’s light and she wondered whether she hadn’t imagined her conversation with Kit. Did he really think her intriguing?

  She raised up on one elbow, watching Susie. The girl seemed to be having a tough time of it this morning and Victoria could see her hands shaking. “Are you feeling all right?”

  The girl startled, dropping the kindling on the floor. “Oh blast,” she said, looking at the mess on the sheepskin rug. “Oh, I’m sorry, miss.”

  Her cheeks went so ashen that Victoria thought she was going to faint. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” She kicked her covers off and went to the girl, shrugging into her icy dressing gown. “Here, let me help.”

  “Oh no, miss. I’ll get in trouble . . .”

  “Oh, nonsense. No one is going to find out. Why isn’t Prudence here this morning?”

  “Hortense, Lady Summerset’s lady’s maid, told her that she wasn’t supposed to be starting your fires in the morning, that it was my job.”

  Victoria deftly wadded up some paper and lay it in the fireplace, then added kindling. Then she reached for a match and lit the paper. “There, that should do it.”

  “How did you know how to do that?”

  “My father taught me when we went camping in Switzerland once. Is it your job to start the fires in the morning?”

  Susie nodded. “Yes, miss. I start all the ladies’ fires and the hall boy starts the men’s fires. But then Hortense told me not to, that Prudence would be doing it for you and Miss Rowena.”

  Victoria leaned back on her heels. “Then she told Prudence that you were supposed to be doing it? That doesn’t make any sense at all.”

  She helped Susie pick up the rest of the kindling on the floor, her mind puzzling. Why would someone do that? As a cruel joke? “Tell me, how does Prudence get along with the rest of the servants?”

  Susie’s face puckered up as if she were unsure of what to say.

  “It’s all right, Susie. I need to know.”

  “Well, I like her just fine. And Cook does, too, as much as Cook likes anyone. But everyone else thinks her sort of uppity because of her fine manners and such. She acts like she’s never been in service before, so all the maids want to know how she managed to get a good position. So they play little tricks on her and such.”

  Victoria stood and wrapped her dressing gown tighter, and she shivered in spite of the fire crackling in front of her. Susie turned away and added more wood.

  “What is this Hortense like?”

  Susie’s mouth turned downward, hiding her slightly bucked teeth. “Oh, no one likes her at all, but the mistress dotes on her so no one dares cross her.”

  “Do she and Prudence get on?”

  “They didn’t at first, but now Hortense is acting more friendly like. But Prudence doesn’t know her like the rest of us do.”

  Victoria tilted her head, wondering. Perhaps Susie could be useful in figuring out the mystery behind Mrs. Tate. “Susie? Can I ask you a few more questions before you go? I promise you won’t get into trouble.”

  The girl nodded, but her pinched face told Victoria that she wasn’t comfortable about this turn of events. Before the girl could change her mind, Victoria ran and snatched the quilt off her bed, then wrapped it about their shoulders. When she sank to the ground in front of the fire Susie had no choice but to follow. “Have you lived in Summerset your whole life?”

  “Yes, miss.”

  “What kind of strange stories did you hear about Summerset when you were growing up? There had to have been a few. Every old castle has them.”

  The girl’s face grew slightly pale. “Oh, I don’t listen to anything bad about a place, otherwise I’d never be able to go in. Then what good would I be?” she demanded. “I crawl all over the house in the early dark morning, lighting the fires and such. But there are some good scary stories about the outside of the place.”

  Susie’s thin face contained the excitement of one with a good story to tell, and it took little encouragement from Victoria for the tales to spill out of her.

  “You know of the kissing well, right? Well, let me tell you, that does not work . . .”

  “Susie!”

  “Not from experience! My mum. She found a young girl strung up there on the rafters above the wheel when she was just a girl herself.”

  “That’s horrible! But that isn’t a story, it truly occurred. What else?”

  “Of course it happened!” Susie spit indignantly. “Did you think I’d lie to you?”

  After being assured that Victoria didn’t, Susie continued, while Victoria
realized that this girl sitting so close to her—and smelling of body sweat, washing powder, and soot—was probably just a few years younger than she was. Why hadn’t she ever noticed before? She’d seen girls younger than Susie in poverty before, girls with two, sometimes three children, and they had always broken her heart. But it never occurred to her that her aunt and uncle could be perpetuating the problem. She had completely lost the thread of the conversation, but then something Susie said caught her attention again.

  “Wait . . . did you say that they found another young woman?”

  Susie nodded, her eyes wide.

  “At the same place?” Why hadn’t she heard about this? Victoria wondered. A real-life mystery right here at Summerset and no one had told her!

  “No. You weren’t listening! She was found in that old chapel by the bend in the creek where they found Lady Halpernia.” Susie clapped her hands over her mouth.

  “Oh, no. It’s all right. You won’t get into trouble here between us.”

  Susie looked unconvinced as she climbed to her feet. “I’ve got to get to Miss Rowena’s room or she’s going to freeze. But thanks for letting me get warm. I feel much better now.”

  “You’re welcome, Susie. And we don’t have to tell anyone we talked about this, right?”

  Susie shook her head and was gone.

  But talked about what, really? Victoria started out trying to learn some rumors about her grandfather and ended up getting treated to a good old-fashioned horror story instead. Where could she find more information? Cairns might know something, but he would rather die than repeat something negative about the Buxtons, even to a Buxton. She would go to Colin or Elaine and then perhaps to the only person she could think of who could give her some answers.

  Nanny Iris.

  * * *

  Morning came early in the servants’ quarters. Early and cold, to the cruel sound of Mrs. Harper’s short, jarring knocks on the door. And if that didn’t roust one quickly enough, the housekeeper would open the door on her way back down the hall, letting in a draft that seemed to sweep in from Siberia itself. Prudence quickly learned that another five minutes of sleep wasn’t worth it.