Glancing up at the platform, Eleanor wished he was there, waiting for her to climb the small circular stairs from the second floor to the roof. How she would love to stand beside him and look at the view.
But he had gone to London.
Circling past his home, she walked onward to the river’s edge. There were no woods here, just grass to the riverbank. It was easier to fish than from the Angsley estate.
She smiled, recalling how Grayson thought her quite the competent fisherwoman the last time she had cast her pole with him, mostly because she could bait her hook by herself without being squeamish.
Eleanor sighed to herself. She fared so much better in the country than in London, and all along, she thought Grayson admired her because of it. Yet her inclination to the natural world apparently made her seem childish. And she couldn’t shake the ominous feeling she had driven him away with her ridiculous Wellies and her lack of polish.
If he didn’t have estate business to do in London, then it could only be the temptations of more sophisticated, worldly women which had drawn him away from her.
And on her birthday, too.
Hearing Maggie calling her name from the back terrace, Eleanor set her steps in the direction of the manor, trying to tamp down the irrational hope Grayson had returned.
Chapter Seventeen
Maggie and John made it a perfect birthday. They laughed all day long over the silliest things. The earl took Eleanor riding, not allowing Maggie “in her condition” to go. Afterward, they practiced archery and then played lawn bowls. Eleanor was positive she would beat the earl, and they were momentarily tied, but then, against all odds, Maggie won.
“Imagine that,” Maggie said, not usually the sporty type.
The river was running too fast for fishing, so they spent the rest of the daylight playing one-on-one croquet.
They had dinner and birthday cake before the clouds rolled in. Strangely, even though Eleanor could smell rain in the air, none was yet falling at Turvey House.
“Like a birthday miracle,” John vowed. “I am beyond tired of this weather. Is it too much to ask for a stretch of sunshine?”
“At least we’re not in London,” Eleanor said, recalling her conversation with Grayson. “Only think how disgusting the streets are during and after a storm.”
“True. That reminds me. I have something Gray left for you,” her brother-in-law said quite casually.
Eleanor sat up straighter on the sofa. She’d already had her mother’s and sisters’ cards, as well as a cameo broach from Maggie and a new sidesaddle from her brother-in-law.
“Really?”
“Well, he didn’t tell me to give it to you, but he left it in the library and said he had planned to give it to you for your birthday,” John clarified. “Actually, he said something about giving it to you sooner if things hadn’t gone awry. Honestly, the man left so fast, he was talking nonsense.”
“Will you give it to me now, please?” Eleanor asked, excitement building. Grayson hadn’t simply gone away and forgotten her.
John disappeared and came back a minute later. “It’s not even properly wrapped for a present, and I don’t think it’s new anyway.”
He handed her a small brown-paper parcel. She could tell by the feel of it exactly what it was—a book.
Tearing off the wrapper, she shrieked in delight and held it to her chest, beaming at Maggie and John.
“Whatever is it?” Maggie asked.
“The Gold Bug!” Eleanor declared.
“A bug?” her sister demanded.
“Edgar Allan Poe’s story, a collection of them actually, which includes The Gold Bug. Grayson and I had a bit of a lark pretending to follow the same adventure as in the story.” Eleanor stopped at the looks on their faces. In any case, she didn’t want to explain everything; she simply must begin reading immediately.
Standing up, she went to her sister on the opposite sofa and kissed her cheek. “Good night. Thank you for a wonderful birthday, the cake, the dinner, everything.”
“The expensive saddle and jewelry,” the earl added with a sideways grin.
“Oh, yes!” Eleanor returned to snatch up her broach and her greeting cards. The saddle was on the chair.
Glancing at it uncertainly, not wanting to delay reading her book, she asked, “Shall I take it to the stables?”
“No,” John said. “It’s nearly dark. We’ll take care of it in the morning and go for another ride.”
“Are you really going off to bed to read this early?” Maggie asked.
“If you don’t mind,’” Eleanor entreated, holding the book out in explanation.
“It’s your birthday,” Maggie said. “You may spend it how you like.”
Half an hour later, Eleanor knew exactly how she would like to spend the remainder of her birthday. She also knew her sister and John would not like it one bit. It was only eight o’clock, though, early by any civilized notion. Why, she could still consider it practically daytime, late afternoon even.
A perfect time for a ride.
Wearing her dark green habit and creeping down the stairs, she was thrilled to see the drawing room empty. Snatching up her new saddle, she slipped out the front door, knowing she was less likely to encounter a nosey servant, or even John and Maggie, who often sat out on the back terrace.
Keeping to the shadows as best she could, she made her way to the stables, knowing exactly which stall held the gentle mount Grayson normally gave her to ride.
“Bess,” Eleanor whispered to the horse, not wanting to startle her. She was dozing at this hour. Opening the stall gate, as she entered, the mare whinnied softly.
“Shall we have a little adventure, my girl?”
First placing a blanket over the horse’s back, she then hoisted the saddle over, before cinching and buckling it. She’d been tacking up horses since she was old enough to ride, though she used to stand on a step to do so. Grabbing a harness from a peg, she slipped the bit into Bess’s willing mouth and then fastened it over the horse’s head and behind her ears.
“Good girl.” As she began leading the horse out of the stables, she heard the scuffle of footsteps.
“What are you doing?” The voice behind her making her jump could only belong to the stable boy, the lowest one in the pecking order, who slept in the straw most nights.
Having prepared herself for possibly being intercepted, Eleanor had managed not to shriek as if guilty.
“Good day. You are Jaime, aren’t you?”
“Yes, miss.” In the waning light, she could see his eyes darting around, and she feared he would run off to get someone in authority before she could convince him to let her go.
“How are you this fine…late afternoon?”
“Well, miss. Where are you taking Bess?”
“Why, for a ride of course. Beautiful evening, don’t you think? Sun is still…on the horizon. I’d better hurry before I lose the light completely.”
“No one said anyone would be taking a horse out tonight,” he protested.
“You know me. I love to ride. It’s my birthday today.”
“Happy birthday, miss.”
“Thank you. I was given a new saddle, and I simply intend to ride around the estate once or twice to try it out.”
“Does his lordship know, miss?”
“He was the one who gave me the saddle, Jaime.”
The lad hesitated, and Eleanor was extremely relieved at not lying about the earl having given her permission, though if Jaime took it that way, she would be very pleased.
“Very well, miss,” he said at last. “I’ll be here to help you when you get back. Soon,” he added, hopefully.
“Thank you. And since you’re here, would you like to give me a leg up?”
With a nod, he cupped his hands and helped her draw up easily into the saddle. She hooked her leg over the pommel.
“Perfect,” she said, smiling down at him. “Again, thank you. I’ll see you soon.”
So
on was such a nebulous word, she assured herself as she set off directly toward Angsley Hall.
Bess was cantering smoothly, and the moon seemed to be keeping its glowing face out from behind the clouds, though Eleanor could see they were thickening to the east, behind her.
It only took her fifteen minutes to traverse the two miles and get to the lean-to and their abandoned supplies. That gave her plenty of time to muse upon Poe’s delightful story. Not a Gothic, terrifying tale like Shelley’s Frankenstein, it had been more an intellectual exercise with the very strange and seemingly inexplicable peppered in.
When she’d read the ending with the protagonist finding the buried pirate treasure, Eleanor knew Grayson would have buried something for her to find.
Dismounting, she found everything as they’d left it at the fishing shelter, but she couldn’t ride Bess and pull the wagon. Tethering the horse to a branch, Eleanor lit the oil lamp, enjoying its cheerful glow. Without wasting any time, she began dragging the small cart toward the oak twenty feet past the bishop’s hostel.
It was easy to find. From the base of the tree, she could look back and see the devil’s seat high upon the boulder. Above her, she could even see the white skull catching the moonlight. Though she very much doubted it was a human death head, since Grayson was not a fierce pirate, she would soon find out.
Tucking up her skirts, Eleanor took the string with the small kitchen weight already threaded onto it from the supplies. There was nothing else she needed up in the tree. The lantern would have to stay in the wagon for she couldn’t climb and hold onto it.
Then, as she and Grayson had been going to do together, she began to climb the oak.
With a wry smile, she realized he’d chosen a tree which, while following the dictates of The Gold Bug, was also an easy climb. The thick branches were close together so she could easily reach the first one and each subsequent one.
As she made her way up the tree, her only wish was for more light. With each passing minute, it grew darker, and, unfortunately, the creepy crawlies of the night had come out. As she placed her hand on the next branch, a spider crawled across her glove, and she screamed before she could stop herself.
Then Eleanor laughed, breaking the tension that had built in her. She was not afraid of spiders, nor snakes. It was simply the shock of the first encounter. There were bound to be more, but she truly hoped none were dropping onto her pinned hat.
In another ten minutes, having encountered nothing more frightening than a few bats and more spiders whom she startled in their webs, she reached the branch with the skull. Grayson must have come out on the night she saw the wet footprints in the hallway and set up the clue. How sweet of him!
Just as the servant Jupiter had done in the short story, Eleanor worked her way out onto the end of the branch. It turned out to be a goat skull, very old, the bone already bleached white, and held in place with a big nail.
She shivered. After all, it was not every night a girl found herself high in a tree with a skull of the once living. And on her twentieth birthday, too!
If Grayson could see her now, he would be appalled. Again, she laughed.
Crack! The first bolt of lightning split the dark sky, miles away over the river. The heated air boomed a moment later.
Oh, dear! She had best hurry.
“What’s next?” she asked herself aloud, recalling very well what she had to do. Untying the string from around her neck, she held it directly over the left eye socket. According to the story, and to the puzzle she’d deciphered, she had to let it fall through the skull. The small iron weight from Cook’s kitchen scale would ensure it went down straight to mark a spot directly below.
Another sizzling lightning bolt lit up the night, which she appreciated, as she let the weight fall from her fingers, watching it take the string to the ground and fall into the grass.
Boom! The thunder, closer now, seemed to shake the oak tree, and even caused the bats to fly about for a moment before they settled down again. Eleanor clapped her hands with excitement. She must move more quickly, or it would be pitch black and she would never finish the quest.
Climbing down was always a little harder and slower than up. Still, she was nimble, moving as fast as she could, and not minding when her dress caught more than once. Each time, she yanked, and eventually, it tore. She didn’t care. After all, Mrs. O’Connor was an excellent seamstress.
Nearly giddy with the excitement of her success so far, she jumped the last few feet to the ground, and her riding boot slipped on the damp grass.
The devil!
Gasping as her ankle twisted sharply, she held her foot up in the air for a painful moment. She should have worn her Wellies!
Could she walk? Testing her footing, applying pressure, she sighed in relief.
Definitely, she could feel a little tenderness, but not enough to stop her progress. Soon, she would be riding on Bess, and after that, she’d be resting in her bed. By morning, no one would even notice she’d been out late.
First, she had to find the right spot to dig. The thick rope she would use to determine the distance from the tree to the treasure ought to be the correct length, since Grayson said he had measured and cut it in advance.
With the base of the tree as her starting point, Eleanor lay down the rope upon the ground. As the puzzle instructed, she made a beeline through the spot where the weight dropped, and onward for precisely fifty feet.
She, and the rope, ended up in a clearing, obviously thanks to Grayson’s forethought. Not under a bush or in the middle of a tree.
Lightning flashed again, so bright, it was as though a hundred oil lamps had been lit around her, and then the thunder shook the ground beneath her feet.
“Mercy!” she exclaimed, then ran back for the lantern and the shovel. Feeling, yet ignoring, the growing discomfort at her ankle, she was glad of the rope path, for she nearly lost her way.
As she begun to dig, she heard Bess whinnying in the distance. Poor horse, probably afraid of the storm.
When the next jagged streak of lightning hit the forest floor very close to her, she shrieked and would vow the hair on the back of her neck rose up.
Was it dangerous? She was relieved not to be high in the tree anymore, thinking that might have been the very next place the lightning struck. She barely had time to note the strong, earthy aroma of the storm before the heavens seemed to open up and pour upon her.
Drats! She ought to give up and go back to the fishing shelter. Except she simply could not. Giving up when so close was not a valid choice.
Grayson had done a good job of making the earth appear undisturbed. She had to use force to dig, the spade slicing into the packed dirt. However, he obviously hadn’t wanted it to be too arduous, even though he would have been the one digging if they had found the treasure together.
Unlike the bad luck of the fortune hunters in The Gold Bug, who had marked the ground under the right eye socket instead of the left and, thus, dug for hours before realizing their mistake, she had done it correctly the first time. In a very few minutes, the tip of her shovel connected with something.
“Success!” Eleanor yelled aloud. She removed another few spadesful of dirt and then ruined her gloves completely scrabbling to extricate the treasure from the muddy ground. It felt like a jar, a simple kitchen jar which might hold practically anything.
Hm!
She could barely see for the rain in her eyes and then—crack!—she was momentarily blinded by lightning so close she could smell it.
Shrieking with terror—a terrible, delightful, exciting fear—she had to remind herself she wasn’t safely tucked in her bed reading Mrs. Radcliffe. She was actually living it!
After the next thunderhead rumbled past, Eleanor considered whether she needed to recover the wagon or any of the supplies in it. She decided to leave it all except the lantern and the sealed jar, which she gripped tightly.
Beginning to make her way back to the shelter, she was glad the lightnin
g had moved off to the west, already lighting up the sky in the distance. Under the deluge of rain, however, she started to limp, and the pain, which she had ignored in her excitement, seemed to increase in her left ankle with every step. She would be relieved to mount Bess and head back to Turvey House.
Holding the oil lamp out before her, she thought she had gotten herself turned around by mistake. She started off in the other direction, but it was an impassable clump of briar bushes.
Frustrated, her leg throbbing, she spun about again, realizing she’d lost her way almost at once.
“Eleanor!” she admonished herself. “This is no time to be silly.”
If there hadn’t been thick black cloud cover, she could have seen the stars to guide herself, as she was adept at navigating by the stars. While looking up, hoping to determine her north from her south, she came abruptly to the edge of the riverbank.
As the bushes gave way to the dank, pungent aroma of the river, she couldn’t contain a shriek of alarm. To her horror, she was teetering on the edge of a slippery muddy slope, lantern in one hand shining a glow upon the dark, raging waters and the precious glass jar in the other.
She couldn’t even wave her arms to regain her balance for fear of losing either one of the prized items. Her boots were sliding forward. In a moment, she would be engulfed by the chilly blackness of the River Great Ouse, and no one would ever know what befell her.
And on her birthday, too!
Chapter Eighteen
Gray saw Eleanor in front of him and his hair stood on end. She was falling, slowly, into the river, the toes of her boots were already in the water. But he was quicker. He had to be! If she perished, his life would also be over.
Swiftly setting down his lantern as he ran toward her, he grabbed for the back of her skirts, desperately fearful of knocking her farther down the shallow grade of the slope. Unfortunately, she dropped her lantern, and, with a splash, it disappeared beneath the rapids, all light extinguished.
The Midnight Hour: All-Hallows’ Brides Page 68