by Joan Smith
“Wearing an open-necked shirt?”
“Yes. At least I thought it was you. You remember posing for it?”
“Very well,” he answered, with an inscrutable expression—not a smile, but not quite a frown either. “Let’s go. I’ll put out the candles.”
This was done, and they left, with Kenelm twisting the key again behind him to conceal the fact that they had been there. They went along to the studio and relit the taper, and Rorie found the book again. Ken looked at it, pausing over the drawing of his father and himself, then turned to the other man. “This isn’t Rutley,” he said at once. “It looks like one of the gypsies.”
“It is swarthy, and the features rather un-English. But would she have a gypsy pose for her?”
“Possibly. This next one is a fisherman from the wharf, you see. She was doing character studies at the time. She might have paid one of them to pose for her.”
Rorie studied the picture closely. “Odd she didn’t put in any detail to tell us—tell anyone, I mean—that it is a gypsy. No kerchief or earring.”
“He’s a handsome buck. She liked painting young men.” There was a look of deep concentration on his face.
She had painted himself, Rorie thought. She was said to like more than painting men. The sittings no doubt were the scene of a flirtation. And it was said that Kennie was fond of his stepmama too. Hennie had mentioned it.
“I fancy she had a flirtation with this one,” Ken said, returning the book to her. In Miss Falkner’s mind this was as good as a confirmation of her suspicions. “It’s not Rutley in any case. Now, what about the safe? I might as well have a look while we’re here. Not that we’ll find anything.”
The safe was downstairs in the study, and the trip below was carried out with the greatest stealth, the candle extinguished. They went down hand in hand, lending a little excitement to the proceedings that had thus far been futile and unadventuresome. The lock on the safe had been changed. The passe-partout did not perform its magic, but Kenelm seemed undisturbed. “There wouldn’t have been anything there anyway.” He looked perfunctorily through a few desk drawers, again without result.
“Shall we tackle the attics, or call it a night?” he asked.
“It’s early. We have lots of time, and no one is up. We might as well search them while you’re here,” she replied, not liking to have her first adventure finished so soon.
“I’ll go alone if you like,” he offered. “You won’t want to be up there with the mice and dust.”
“Will there be mice?” she asked, her craving for excitement diminishing.
“The cheese room is right below it.”
“I think I won’t go,” she added.
He laughed aloud—much too loud, considering the secret nature of their enterprise. “Aurora Falkner, do you mean to tell me a big girl like you is afraid of mice?” he asked, and taking her hand he assured her the best way of overcoming her aversion was to confront them head on. Her low-pitched protests were to no avail. She was led up the stairs and down the hall to the attic door, and soon it was quietly closed after them.
The aura of stale air and disuse added gloom to the eerie darkness. It was extremely uncomfortable. If Clare’s bedroom had been difficult to search, the attics were clearly impossible. Five large rooms, with hardly a square yard of uncovered floor space anywhere. There was scarcely a pathway through them. Chests, boxes, racks, battered furniture, discarded lamps and bowls, toys, cribs and beds—there was the debris of several generations of hoarders here. They made only a cursory look around. It would take months to go through it all. It was gloomy and unwelcoming—their one brace of candles doing little to dissipate the long black shadows and darkened corners that invaded nearly to the centre of the room. Once Kenelm entered a door a few steps before her, leaving her in nearly total darkness, and she dashed to his side, to clutch his arm in fright. He held the candles high and looked at her in surprise. “I’m sorry,” she said, letting go of his arm.
“Don’t apologize. I like it,” he answered, and took a firm grip on her elbow. There was suddenly some excitement in the air between them that had very little to do with the darkness and possible danger. They went on into the last room, which was somewhat less crammed with lumber than the rest. There was the quietest of a pattering rustle in a corner, hardly audible.
“What’s that?” Rorie asked, her heart pounding. He took a step toward it, holding up the light to gleam on a mouse, which halted as the light struck it. It was not three inches long, but looked loathsome, its eyes like glittering bugle beads staring at her, its tail curved over its back. She emitted a stifled shout and clapped her own hand over her mouth to deaden the sound.
“Hush!” Kenelm warned, and instinctively put his arm around her waist to protect her. “What is it?” he asked.
“A mouse,” she said, in a failing voice.
“I thought it must be a herd of rats at least,” he said, scanning the floor, but the intruder had vanished behind a trunk. He went toward the furniture and set down the candle holder, still holding her.
“Let’s go,” she said in a breathless voice. “There is too much to begin searching here, and in the dark.”
“Yes, we’ll go,” he said, “as soon as I’ve kissed you.” There was a strange light in his eyes, curious, intense. He tightened both arms around her and lowered his head, examining her face closely the while. Just before his lips touched hers he said in a soft, caressing voice, “May I?” She tried to speak, but found no words came out, and in an instant he was kissing her ardently, holding her tighter and tighter till she could scarcely breathe, or even think, for the blood pounding in her ears. In her mind, she remembered him kissing the gypsy girl in much this same way, and she felt something of the gypsy in herself respond.
When he released her he lifted his head, and he was smiling. “I was wrong. You do have the knack for it. But I still don’t want you setting up as a professional. A talented amateur will be good enough for me.”
“We—we’d better go, don’t you think?” she asked.
“You are the guru. I feel I would like very much to stay, but think I had better follow your advice, before I follow my own inclination. I don’t want to do anything improper,” he added quite seriously.
He took up the candle holder in one hand, still holding her tightly to his side with the other, and they walked back through all the rooms to the staircase. While still at the top, they heard a sound at the door leading to the hallway. There was a metallic click, then the door was tried, and steps were heard retreating softly down the hall.
“We’ve been locked in!” Rorie said in a muffled squeak. “What will we do?”
Kenelm made a strangled sound in his throat. Glancing at him, she was amazed to see he was trying to hide a laugh.
“Ken, it’s not funny! I’m going to bang on the door and get help. You stay up here.”
“No, not yet,” he said, pulling her back.
“There is a sliding bolt on the other side. Your key can’t open it. We’re stranded.”
“There is no one I would rather be stranded with,” he answered, undismayed.
“I must hurry. Whoever is there will be gone. I’ll have to admit I was snooping. I’ll let you out later.” She tried to pull free, to hasten to the door.
“I can get out a window.”
“We’re three stories off the ground! You’ll kill yourself.”
“The beech must nearly reach these windows.”
“You’re not going to jump from the attic windows! You’ll certainly fall.”
“Wait—there’s no hurry.”
“There is! He’ll never hear me knocking. I must go at once.”
“You don’t suppose she’s come home?” he asked, pulling her down by his side. The tone of his voice alerted her to some chicanery—he was trying not to laugh, was enjoying their predicament and her efforts to break free.
“She can’t have! I’m disgraced.”
“No, sweet. I was teasing you. There’s a trapdoor from the last room into the cheese room. It won’t be locked from the outside, I trust, the cheese room. We’ll give it a try. Anyway, we won’t starve to death. Come along.”
She was too relieved to be as angry as she wanted to be. They went back through all the rooms to the last, and there in the corner was a square of floor cut loose, with a handle to allow easy lifting. Kenelm sat on the edge of the hole, slid his legs through, grabbed the rough edge and swung down. She heard a little thump as he hit the floor beneath, then the sound of his opening the door and closing it again. She relaxed, not realizing till then how frightened she had been.
“Hand me down the light,” he called up, and she did this. “Can you ease the cover into place as you come down—hold it over your head?” he asked.
“No,” she answered unhesitatingly.
“I’ll roll a barrel over for you to stand on.” There were the rumbling noises, very loud, of this being done, and she lifted the square of floor over her head. It was by no means easy, but she got it up, swung her legs into the cavern and eased herself down. Kenelm was balancing on the barrel and caught her as she came, steadied her while she jiggled the trapdoor into position. They were both in imminent danger of toppling over, with the barrel wobbling on an uneven floor. When Rorie got her feet on the barrel top, Kenelm hopped down to the floor to swing her down in his arms. He was smiling recklessly in the dim light. “This is too good a chance to miss,” he said, and crushed her against him for another kiss, while her feet were still six inches from the floor. “Did I happen to tell you, my little sweet, you are a very competent partner in crime, and everything else?” he asked when he was finished.
“No, I’m not. My nerves are shattered,” she confessed.
“Ah, but the excitement adds a dash of zest. It is the best time for romance.”
“This is too much excitement for me. You’d better go, Ken. And we haven’t accomplished a thing.”
“What, you didn’t really think we’d find the emeralds, did you?” he asked.
“I hoped we might find something.”
“We did. We found each other. The right girl is harder to find than an emerald necklace any day.”
Being no adept at flirting, Rorie did no more than smile at this meaningful speech. “No reassuring hint that you have at last found your soulmate too?” he asked in a light way. And still she didn’t know what to say.
“Am I going too fast?” he asked, frowning. “I’m not doing something wrong, am I?”
He had gone not only faster but a good deal farther than she had ever been down this particular road before. “You do seem to be in rather a rush,” she said. “There’s no hurry, is there?”
“Oh no—I want to do it right,” he said, then smiled again. “I’ll give you till I get back to my bedroom window to think it over. We’ll walk slowly—two minutes should be enough, even for a slowpoke like you to make up your mind.”
He opened the door stealthily, and in the hallway with his arms crossed stood Wilkins, the butler, waiting with a poker in his hands.
“Oh!” Rorie gasped, and fell back against Kenelm.
“Steady on, old girl,” he said, and turned to the butler. “Shame on you, Wilkins, frightening a lady. Where are your manners? By the by, congratulations. Butler now, eh? You’re coming up in the world. I didn’t think to mention it on my first visit.”
“Good evening, your lordship,” Wilkins said, and bowed sedately, using a lowered voice. “I thought it was you, and when I heard the noise in the cheese room, I knew it. Can I help you with anything?”
“You wouldn’t happen to have seen an emerald necklace lying about?” Kenelm asked.
“It’s never been seen since your father, God rest his soul, died, sir.”
“Was it seen between my leaving and Papa’s death?”
“I don’t believe it was, sir, but it was so seldom worn that it means nothing. It was never said to be missing till his lordship died.”
“Then I guess you can’t help me, Wilkins. Well, my dear, it’s time I be off,” he added, turning to Aurora.
“I’ll see you out, sir,” Wilkins said with a punctilious bow.
“Don’t be indiscreet, my good man. Miss Falkner will see me out the window.”
Wilkins held his lips firm, but his eyes crinkled up with the effort of it. “As you say, milord. As to my overhearing you, I don’t believe anyone else did, and I have a lamentable memory now I am growing old.”
“Thank you. My own is still excellent. I shan’t forget this.”
Wilkins nodded. “If there’s anything I can do for you, sir, I fancy I could be reached without too much trouble. My nephew, Sam Friggins, works at the tavern. You mind Sam?”
“Very well indeed, the rascal. You may be hearing from me then, Wilkins. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, milord, Miss Falkner.” He bowed and strode off, swinging his poker.
Kenelm and Aurora went to his bedroom and he threw up the window, perched on the ledge and said in an oratorical way, “Parting is such sweet sorrow, That I shall say— goodnight, till it be morrow.”
Then he assumed a more down-to-earth tone and went on, “But tomorrow I shall expect to hear your words on the subject of soulmates. I am giving you an extension to think it over.”
While she stood preparing her farewell, he leaped to the branch and disappeared into the tree’s foliage. In a minute he sprang to the ground, waved up at her, and was soon swallowed up into the night.
She was trembling when he left, although the breeze coming in at the window was not at all cold. It was reaction from the night’s harrowing adventure. She felt as if she had fought a war, and how calmly he had taken it. She smiled as she closed the window and took up her taper, burning low now. Was smiling still when she had undressed and crawled into her bed. She considered the lack of success of their search, and more curiously the fact that Kenelm hadn’t really seemed to expect to find anything. Why had he come, then? Only to be with her? This unusual manner of conducting a romance seemed odd to her, but then it was so odd to have attached a beau at last that she was not severe in her judgement. And what a beau he was—surely the most dashing, handsome, satisfying beau ever to have kissed a lady. She had had her answer ready within a minute of hearing the question, and would make sure to give it next time they met.
* * *
Chapter 13
In the morning, Aurora was greeted by the unsmiling Wilkins with no open intimation of the evening’s activities. She found her thoughts so full of them herself that her time passed quickly. She made the gesture of sitting in the garden with a book, but her eyes had a way of straying to the beech tree and her thoughts of going past its protruding branch to the paneled room beyond. It was at lunchtime that Wilkins solemnly handed her a note, without a word. She opened it and read: “Darling, I have become worried about Mama’s sudden bolt to London and have decided to give chase and see what she’s up to. I will see you as soon as I return, and miss you every minute I am gone. Destroy this billet doux, like a good soulmate, and keep looking. Love, Kenelm.”
She could not like to destroy her first billet doux ever, but folded it carefully into her pocket. His other order was followed, but a continued search revealed nothing new. At half past two she took Charles down to the Dower House again, and learned a piece of news of gratifying significance.
Malone greeted her at the door. “He’s finely done it,” she said. The tone was severe, but the Irish face was soon split wide with a smile..
“What, has Kenelm been here?”
“No, Berrigan has, and left not fifteen minutes ago. He’s screwed hisself up to the sticking point at last. Your sister’s engaged. Come in and she’ll tell you all about it. The lad’s an awful laggard and a smoke fiend, but partis don’t grow on trees after all, and she’s took him.” Then she turned to Charlie and chucked him under the chin. “Back again, eh? You’ve got your eye on one of the kitchen girls
if you’re anything like your half brothers. Liberties and rakes, every last one of you.”
Rorie had already darted into the saloon to congratulate her sister. “You have beaten me to it again!” she said, throwing her arms around Marnie to embrace her on her good fortune.
“Oh my dear, it is much too soon. We are not to be married for ages, but John insisted we become engaged now so he can forbid me to accept the Gypperfield mansion from Ken. That is the only reason he asked me. I know it well.”
“Of course it is! Men are all alike. They would do anything to keep us from acquiring a property and becoming independent. Having snatched the mansion away from you, he will now be stuck with the unpleasant duty of housing you himself.”
“Not for six months at least,” Marnie said.
“Unless Kenelm moves into Raiker Hall before that time, in which case you will have the honour of sharing this roof with Clare. I give you two months on the outside.”
“You are to stay with us,” Marnie informed her sister. “I have already told John I cannot part with you.”
With some notion that she might be making a match herself, Rorie did not immediately mention leaving. “We’ll see,” she said contentedly.
“I wonder what Kenelm will say,” Marnie ran on. “He will think it too soon, I fancy, but then it will save him buying the place for me, so he won’t object too strenuously. I shall tell him today, if he comes.”
Rorie knew he would not come that day, but did not like to reveal how she knew, so said nothing. “He will be making a match too before long,” Marnie continued. “He is seen every day with Lady Alice, and appears very particular in his attentions. It is an excellent connection, just what one would wish for him. I will be happy to see him settled down. The fact of the matter is, Kennie was always just a bit of a philanderer.”