At the back of the root cellar, Peterson led them to a section where sacks of various vegetables hung on hooks, and larger barrels of potatoes and onions stood below. Once the barrels were shifted aside, a push and pull on two of the hooks at once caused the panel to open, exposing dark steps beyond, steep and uneven. Lantern in hand, he led them downwards.
The steps turned, and finally deposited them in a small room carved out of the earth. Nooks carved into the wall served as shelves, and a space for a narrow bed. A trickle of water fell from a small hole in the rocks to one side, no doubt fed from the rain water cisterns above, and pooled in an old earthenware bowl, before overflowing to trickle out again through a crack in one corner of the floor. It was well constructed as a place in which a man could hide for a long time, given a supply of food. Harriet shuddered at the thought of priests being forced to hide in such places, those many years ago.
Turning, they studied the space. Where was the secret entry to the chapel, which Jobs had described? Lord Geoffrey, eyes narrowed, strode forward and swept the mouldering blanket from the boards that covered the earth in the nook designed as a bed. Grasping the boards, he lifted, and revealed, not the beaten earth that was to be expected, but a small space and more stairs leading down into inky darkness.
Again, Peterson took the lead, checking the steps for safety, and holding the lantern, as best he might, to allow them to see where they stepped. Lord Geoffrey assisted Lady Harriet, and Charlton assisted Lady Sylvia, who grimaced a little at the smears of earth now decorating their clothes.
When they reached the bottom, they gasped in awe. Whoever had built this had spent much effort and care. They stood in a small chapel, the walls lined with stone, plastered and decorated with paintings – religious imagery in a style many centuries gone, the colours still beautiful, only lightly touched with mould in a few places. Small gems embedded in parts of the pictures glinted in the lantern light, and silver candlesticks shone in nooks and on either end of the plain altar.
The altar was built of stone and wood, carved with elegant simplicity. Harriet stepped forward, and walked around it, wondering exactly where it opened.
“On the end, my Lady. The two floral pieces to either side of the cross in the carving. According to Jobs, they must both be pressed at once, and the timber panel on the end will open. In these old altars, they made these cavities to store relics – often the bones of saints, I believe.” Lord Geoffrey’s voice was muted. This might be long unused, but they all felt the sense of the intended sanctity of the place.
Harriet, praying that no bones of a saint graced this altar, sharing their housing with sacrilegious boxes of traitorous information, did as instructed. The panel popped out as they had been told it would, and she lifted it aside. Reaching in, she pulled out two boxes – one that she had seen upstairs, one which was larger and heavier, and passed them to Peterson, who sat them on the single simple pew.
They looked so insignificant, yet, for what these contained, men had been willing to destroy her life. Charlton tested each box.
“Locked. As was to be expected. How do we plan to open them.”
“I have no key, and Jobs didn’t know of the key’s location either, but…” Lord Geoffrey had turned towards Lady Harriet, with a hopeful expression. He smiled when he saw that she was already pulling a pin from her soft gold hair.
She pushed past her brother and sank down onto the pew.
“Peterson, the light, if you would.”
Peterson brought the lantern close and both Charlton and Lady Sylvia watched in some astonishment as Lady Harriet carefully picked the locks on both boxes. With a satisfied expression, she replaced the pin in her hair and turned shining eyes to Lord Geoffrey.
“There my Lord. If you would open them now, we may at last see what all of this fuss has been for.”
Lord Geoffrey was watching Lady Harriet with unfeigned admiration. He bowed elegantly to her, with a flourish worthy of Mr Featherstonehaugh, and stepped forward.
The boxes proved to contain, as Baron Setford had expected, a collection of papers detailing meetings, conspirators’ names, plans, and other deeply damning evidence of treason. They also contained a few small bags of coinage, and of gemstones, which was not expected. In the larger box, a small ledger listed payments made – a source of information that would delight Setford and no doubt lead his men to many of those who had supported the plot, however peripherally.
Papers. So innocent looking, and yet enough to send many men to their deaths. Lady Harriet shuddered, and gently closed the lids.
“Let us be out of this place. That so many should have plotted against our country leaves me feeling sickened.” No-one disagreed.
~~~~~
Urgent messages were sent, and, three days later, Baron Setford arrived. He brought a second carriage, with barred windows and armed men to guard it. The prisoners were handed over to his guards, and the carriage departed, taking them to their fate. Lord Geoffrey, true to his word, told Setford of his promise to Jobs, and the Baron agreed that, under the circumstances, he would most likely be able to get the man transported, rather than hung.
Late in the evening, Lord Geoffrey, Charlton and Baron Setford took their ease in Geoffrey’s study. Brandy in their glasses, and the boxes resting on the desk in front of them, they went over the events of the last few days again, for Setford’s benefit.
He listened intently as Lord Geoffrey told the tale, leaving nothing out. He examined the contents of the boxes, and nodded, pleased. This would leave no loose ends. This matter would finally be done, and he could now report it as such to the Prince Regent. He hefted the bags of coin and gems, his shrewd grey eyes considering. Then he turned, and dropped them into Lord Geoffrey’s hands.
“Excellent work. How convenient that these boxes contained only the papers we sought, and all of the papers we sought. And, from your description, I am most impressed with young Lady Harriet. She would, I suspect, have the talent to make an excellent contribution to our work. I don’t suppose you’d consider recruiting her?”
“No!”
“Definitely not!”
Charlton and Geoffrey spoke at once, both glaring at Setford, who laughed.
“That’s what I thought you’d say. But you can’t blame me for asking – it’s not often we find a woman with courage, and useful skills like lock picking!”
“True. It’s not a talent I was aware my sister had, until today.”
Charlton looked chagrined at admitting this.
“Apparently,” Lord Geoffrey contributed, “she learnt that skill as a child, to recover her prized possessions when your nasty piece of a brother had locked them away. I am not surprised that she has kept it secret. It’s not exactly a socially approved ‘suitable skill for a Lady’.”
Charlton looked thoughtful, wondering just how it was that Geoffrey knew more about his sister than he did.
Setford finished his brandy and reached out to close the lids of the boxes.
“Please lock these away for tonight.”
As Geoffrey did so, Setford continued.
“I’ll be away tomorrow with these, and set things in motion. I will keep you apprised of the outcomes. But it may take a month before I have much news for you.”
“In that case, let me invite you to partake of my hospitality again – the Hounds and their families intend to gather here for Eastertide, and we would be delighted if you would join us.”
Setford stilled, and, for the first time ever, Geoffrey saw something in his pale grey eyes that looked alarmingly like uncertainty. Then he nodded, as if coming to a decision.
“I’d be delighted m’boy. Catching up with all of you at once will be a pleasure. But now, let’s to our rest. I, at least, have a long day ahead of me tomorrow.”
To Harriet, the week after they had descended into the hidden chapel, and recovered the evidence against the traitors, passed in an odd dream like way. The whole thing, after months of searching, and the drama o
f her almost abduction, seemed monumentally anticlimactic. Her abraded wrists and ankles healed, but her heart ached.
She wanted to see Lord Geoffrey, missed him dreadfully, in fact, after so long seeing him almost every day. She had hoped, at first, that he might come to visit her. He did not. Charlton told her that he had been very busy with Baron Setford, seeing off the prisoners and handing over the boxes. She supposed that was reasonable – but that did not make her heart ache any less.
Lord Geoffrey, once Setford was gone, found himself at a loose end, unable to settle to anything. The funds from the sale of the first batch of paintings had been deposited to his bank, and Raphael had sent him a quick letter, telling him so, and informing him of the astounding sum involved.
Mr Featherstonehaugh, who seemed equally a little out of sorts and lost, was working at finalising the inventory and packing of the next two shipments of goods to be sold. These would not be sent to Raphael until after Easter, for Raphael had also written to advise that he would be away again for some weeks. He neglected to mention why.
Which left Lord Geoffrey with absolutely nothing to do. Except think. About Lady Harriet, to be precise. All the time. He felt like a lovesick boy. He busied himself with simple things - visits to the tenant farmers, and meetings with each and every remaining member of his staff. He wanted them to know that they were not under suspicion, that he valued their work.
Universally, they greeted that news with relief, and a cautious warming of their attitude to him. Mrs Chester even went so far as to confide that ‘she’d never held with them strange types the old master went about with’. Whilst it all needed to be done, none of it really distracted him. Thoughts of Lady Harriet were ever present in the back of his mind. He wanted to see her. Truth be told, he wanted much more than to just see her. He wanted to hold her, to kiss her, to be near her every day.
But the only way he could do that would be to… he shied away from the thought. He sent no message, for he had no idea what he could say. And the longer he was away from her, the more doubts he felt. What if she hated him for having endangered her, now that she’d had time to recover and think about it? If he didn’t see her, there was still hope.
So it went for a week or more, until an invitation arrived.
Lady Sylvia would be delighted if he would join them for dinner on the morrow. His heart leapt, with hope and fear at once. He would see her. But what if she did not wish to see him? Still, cursing himself for having been a coward, when that had never been his way, he accepted the invitation. The hours until that dinner lasted longer than any other day of his life.
~~~~~
Lady Sylvia had watched her daughter with some concern. Where was her bright, volatile child? This moody drifting girl was not her Harriet! How had it come to a point where Harriet, who had determinedly pursued Lord Geoffrey’s company at any opportunity, for over a year now, was limply fretting rather than acting?
In the end, with that sense of mischief which was part of her (and which she had passed on to Harriet), she could not resist interfering, just a little. She invited Lord Geoffrey to dinner, only informing Harriet, Charlton and Odette after she had sent the invitation.
Harriet’s face lit up at her words, then clouded with some fretting concern. Charlton watched the emotions chase across Harriet’s face, raised an enquiring eyebrow at his mother, then smiled.
“An excellent idea mother.”
Lady Odette happily agreed.
Odette was still adjusting to becoming mistress of a large household, and was more comfortable deferring to Lady Sylvia’s judgement as yet.
Lady Sylvia went on her way to discuss menus with Cook, and Harriet, suspecting that Charlton would ask her about her expression, developed a sudden desire to go and ride Moonbeam, as she had been rather shamefully neglecting the mare of late. Charlton wisely let her go – Harriet would work out whatever was worrying her, all in good time.
~~~~~
When John led out Moonbeam for her, Harriet smiled and thanked him as he boosted her into the saddle.
“I know you’ll follow me John, but please, give me at least the illusion of being alone. I need some time to think.”
The groom bowed in acknowledgement.
“As you wish, my Lady.”
The mare was fresh, and keen to run, so Harriet let her do so, enjoying the feel of the wind on her face, and the scent of the first spring grass as it was crushed beneath Moonbeam’s hooves. When they reached the river’s edge, she slowed the mare to a walk for a while, until she reached her favourite spot.
Slipping down, she tethered Moonbeam and settled on the large fallen log that afforded a view to the bend of the river. She had told the truth when she said she needed to think.
This evening, she would see Lord Geoffrey again. What would she do? How would he react?
She was quite certain that, as soon as she saw him, she would have the completely inappropriate urge to throw herself into his arms. Which she could not allow herself to do. For, before she completely embarrassed herself, she needed some indication of his feelings. Did he truly care for her? Or was she deluding herself. And how was she to discover the truth?
The afternoon flowed away with the river, and she was no closer to having answers to those questions. Soon, she would need to return, to dress for dinner, and prepare for the moment when he walked into the room. Just a few minutes more. As she stared into the distance, a sound came to her – quiet at first, then getting louder. Hoofbeats.
~~~~~
Lord Geoffrey could no longer stand the slow creep of the minutes. He had to do something to fill the hours before the dinner at Pendholm Hall. He stared out of the window at the gardens, where the approach of spring was bringing new leaves and the first buds of flowers, and decided to ride.
He could take Rajah out for a good gallop, take a turn past the furthest tenant farmers’ cottages, and then make his way to the lower ford, cross, and go to Pendholm Hall along their side of the river. He was sure that Lady Sylvia would forgive his appearing for dinner in riding clothes rather than full evening attire. Decided, he called for Hurst, and went to dress.
Half an hour later, he sped across the fields, feeling freer than he had in months.
The tenant farmers were glad to see him, and he noted with pleasure that they, and their families, looked in much better health than they had when he first came to Witherwood Chase. Good shelter and enough food through the winter had made a difference. A difference that was sure to also result in better crops this summer, and in the years to follow.
The river was high with the last of the snow melt from the hills, but the ford was still easily passable. He slowed Rajah and simply soaked in the beauty of his surroundings, deeply appreciative of land not touched by war. Even after more than a year back in England, he could not forget the destruction of the land that the war had wrought, in France, and in Spain.
Coming closer to Pendholm Hall, he rounded a corner of the path and saw ahead of him a horse standing quietly, and beyond it a person, perched on a fallen log. Immediately he recognised the horse as Moonbeam, and the dappled sunlight glinting off Lady Harriet’s hair made her identity unmistakable.
His mind froze. Rajah continued along the path at a steady walk, unconcerned with the turmoil of his master’s mind.
What would he do? He could not give in to his first impulse, which was to rush to her, fling himself from the horse and gather her into his arms. What if she did not wish him to do so? What if she bitterly resented the danger that he had placed her in? He had no answers. Rajah reached the small clearing, and stopped, whickering a greeting to Moonbeam as he did so.
Lady Harriet turned, her green eyes wide, and a hesitant smile touched her face.
He drank in the sight of her.
Well, not hate then, if she was smiling – that was good.
Time seemed to slow, and he slid from the horse, his eyes never leaving hers. They each stepped forward, until they stood mere inches apar
t, neither sure what to say, how to breach the gap that had somehow appeared between them.
His voice came out a whisper.
“Harriet…”
She watched his storm grey eyes, and saw the message in them, that he struggled for words to express. She sighed, and a tightness left her posture, which she had not even realised was there.
Of its own accord, her hand reached for him, as surely as her words.
“Geoffrey… I….”
He took her hand, pulling her into his arms, and swept her words away with his lips, kissing her as he had so often dreamed of doing, as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself to him. Long minutes later, they pulled away from each other a little, still unsure of what to say, but each certain of their feelings. Keeping her fingers twined in his, Geoffrey took a deep steadying breath.
Now was the time to speak, no matter how much the words were hard to find.
“Harriet… I… I have missed you abominably this past week. Can you forgive me for not calling? I am ashamed to admit that I was afraid – afraid that you would not wish to see me, that you might hate me for having put you in such danger.”
Harriet put her finger to his lips, arresting his words.
“Never think such a thing! I could never hate you. You have always been a hero to me, and the events of last week have only made that more so.”
He lifted her hand, and pressed a kiss to her fingers.
“Then... if you cannot hate me, can I dare to hope that you might be able to love me? For I have discovered that I love you, beyond any sense or reason. When I saw you come so close to falling from that cart, I knew that I could never live without you. Harriet, my wonderful brave and clever Harriet, will you marry me?”
His breathing stopped, and he stood, utterly still, waiting for her response. She tipped her head to one side, and her green eyes sparkled, then she laughed with delight.
“Yes, oh yes, of course I will marry you. How could you think otherwise? I have loved you from the moment I saw you!”
Being Lady Harriet's Hero: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 4) Page 10