In My Lady's Chamber

by Laura Matthews

  “We would have the opportunity for a change without even a longer coach ride that way, Mr. Oldbury. I do hope you will.”

  Her smile was so sincerely appreciative that he decided on the moment. “I shall, then. I’ll send a note round to him tomorrow.”

  The carriage could be heard approaching and Theodosia called to the children to finish their exploration. “Just one more minute,” Eleanor begged. “We haven’t quite finished copying this.”

  By the time Phillips had climbed down to assist them into the barouche, all but John were gathered about the governess. There was no sight of the boy in the grassy churchyard. For a moment Theodosia thought he must be hiding behind one of the larger tombstones in an undeclared game of hide and seek. He was full of mischief, never malicious but in perpetual high spirits. Mr. Oldbury offered to find the lad and quickly made a pass through the stones, with no success. With a slightly furrowed brow, he disappeared around the corner of the church to an area which had formerly been open pasturage but was recently given over to the church for additional burial ground.

  The gravediggers had spent the morning preparing a spot for the ninety-one-year-old Mrs. Borrow’s coffin. In his exuberance John had managed to somersault straight into it, which had vastly startled and slightly shaken, but most of all had intrigued him, for in falling into the relatively shallow cavity his foot had dislodged a clump of earth to lay bare a section of metal. Regardless of his condition, which must be admitted to have already suffered from his tumbling in the grass, he began eagerly to scratch away at the earth to clear a larger section of the discovery. His fingernails were no match for the hard-packed ground and when he at last thought to call for assistance, he looked up to see the worried face of Mr. Oldbury gazing down on him with a sort of horrified fascination.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “Oh, no, sir, but I’ve discovered something! Do you have a shovel?”

  "I don’t usually carry one with me,” Mr. Oldbury confessed, “but the gravediggers will have left theirs in the church.”

  John hastily scrambled out of the hole, brushing ineffectually at the muddy streaks on his fawn-colored breeches. “There’s a metal box or something there. It could be a coffin but there’s no marker. I’ll get a shovel and finish uncovering it.”

  “Miss Tremere and your brother and sisters are waiting for you, young man. Have you forgotten them?”

  John’s face was a study in dismay. “We can’t leave now! Not when I've just found something! Where are they?”

  “The coach is at the church entrance.”

  Ever polite, John called, “Thank you,” as he galloped around the corner of the church and out of sight. He arrived at the waiting group out of breath and almost inarticulate with excitement. “I’ve found something! I don’t know it it’s the treasure; in fact I have no idea what it is. I fell in a grave and there it was! Imagine! Mr. Oldbury said I could use the gravedigger’s shovel in the church to unearth it. Thomas can help me. It’s metal, you see, and I couldn’t get the dirt away with my hands.”

  They all gazed at Theodosia expectantly. Phillips coughed discreetly and said, “I could perhaps be of help, The boy can keep the horses in the shade for a bit.”

  Theodosia gave a helpless shrug and laughed. “I suppose it’s what we’re here for. But if we are gone too long, Lady Eastwick will worry, so get the shovel quickly and lead on, John.”

  The whole party trooped to the site of the would-be grave and John enthusiastically pointed out his find. "First we should determine how big it is, I think,” he suggested. “If it’s very large, we’ll need more help.”

  Trying not to think about the reaction Lord Heythrop would have to seeing his two brothers, to say nothing of the coachman, arrive home covered with dirt, Theodosia gave permission for them to climb into the hole and work at unearthing the metal object. John’s eagerness outpaced his strength, and even Thomas soon tired of scraping at the hard-packed earth, but Phillips set to with a will and a metal box of modest proportions was soon outlined on the side of the grave. Its length was short of two feet and its height not above four inches, Theodosia guessed, as they worked alternately to remove the box from its resting place. Surprisingly, it was buried rather deeply, at least three feet under the surface, with nothing on the ground above to indicate its location.

  The boys gave a triumphant cry announcing the release of the metal box from its burial ground. There was a lock on the box and Theodosia turned to Mr. Oldbury.

  “I think you should be the one to take the next step, sir. The box is, after all, on church property, and until it can be identified as belonging to anyone else, I suppose it is your responsibility.” Her eyes danced with laughter. "Of course, the children would be horridly disappointed not to see what’s in it.”

  He offered his boyish grin. “So would I! May I have a look at it?”

  Thomas reluctantly handed him the box, at the same time casting Theodosia a look that clearly betrayed his opinion that she was being hopelessly scrupulous. However, Mr. Oldbury did not tuck the box under his arm and march off to the privacy of the rectory. He examined the rusted lock, asked for the shovel and neatly smashed the lock off in one vigorous stroke. There was a breathless silence while he dusted the box with his sparkling white handkerchief and quickly prised open the lid.

  “Papers!” Thomas exclaimed disgustedly. "Just a lot of old papers!”

  Mr. Oldbury shook his head sorrowfully. "And here I thought we’d have found mounds of guineas and perhaps a few pairs of solid gold candlesticks at the very least.” He carefully sorted through the stack of handwritten sheets, pausing here and there to note signatures and subject matter. “They appear to be old church registers and related documents. I can’t imagine why anyone would bury them.”

  “That will give you a mystery to solve,” Theodosia suggested, “and possibly a fascinating one. I wonder, if you find anything relating to the Heythrops, would you let us know? The children have been . . . ah . . . researching their family history, so to speak.”

  “With pleasure.” Mr. Oldbury rose and dusted off his hands. “I’ll go through them minutely and let you know if there is anything you would be interested in.”

  “Thank you. Come, children, we’re already much later than we’d planned.” As the disappointed group moved off toward the carriage, Theodosia offered her hand to Mr. Oldbury with a grateful smile. “You’ve been most helpful, sir, and very indulgent of my charges.”

  “It was my pleasure, Miss Tremere.” He hesitated to offer his dirty hand but Theodosia kept hers out, and at length he shook it warmly. “I hope we meet again soon."

  "I'm sure we will.”

  They had reached the carriage and Mr. Oldbury handed Theodosia in. If she had intended to say more to him, there was no opportunity, for the children all started speaking at once about what they had found and what a disappointment the box had been and what they would do next. Theodosia smiled ruefully at Mr. Oldbury and waved as the carriage clattered off down the dusty village street.

  This time as they passed Fairlight they did catch a glimpse of James and Steyne riding across country back toward Charton Court. Thomas watched admiringly and exclaimed, “Did you see him take that hedge! And he’s on Clover, by God! Who would have thought it? Uncle James held Trumpet in too long, don’t you think, John?”

  Theodosia followed Steyne’s retreating back until it disappeared beyond the trees. He had always looked perfectly at ease in the saddle. She could remember how, when he had ridden out with her the first time, he had attempted to hide his astonishment at the broken-winded nag on which she was mounted. There were two fine horses in Mr. Tremere’s stables, a fact of which all were aware. But Theodosia’s father considered them for his use alone, and she was reduced to seeing her sidesaddle grace the shaggy flanks of a mare which should have been put to pasture years before. On subsequent expeditions he had brought one of his own horses which where stabled at his aunt’s and he had grinned at her delight in a
superb piece of horseflesh. “No one would ever know from the way you ride that you were accustomed to toddling about on a hobbyhorse,” he had teased.

  And it was on one of those rides, her persistent memory reminded, that he had first kissed her. They had ridden toward Heydon Hill and dismounted to have a closer look at a birdhouse made in the shape of a windmill, totally incongruous in the rough countryside. No dwelling could be seen and the trail was rough and partially overgrown.

  As she had watched the little windmill spin in a gust of humid air, he had gathered an armful of yellow-wort and corn flowers and presented it to her as though the flowers were from one of his hothouses at Kingswood. He had told her father, who had an interest in horticulture, that in his hothouses there grew an astonishing variety of fruits, vegetables and flowers, but Mr. Tremere had scoffed at the tales, declaring that God designated in what seasons a plant should grow and that man should not tamper with the arrangement.

  Theodosia had looked up from the yellow and blue petals, her eyes aglow, and Lord Steyne had touched her lips softly with his. The kiss startled her; she had never been kissed before. In confusion she had sunk her face into the flowers and even now she could remember his voice, ever so gentle, saying, "Don't be alarmed, my dear. The flowers are a homage to your beauty, and the kiss a homage to your spirit. I would never harm you, believe me.”

  No, he had never intended to harm her, had in fact treated her like some treasured discovery, perpetually astonished at his good fortune. But that was long ago. Theodosia sighed as she turned her attention back to the children.

  * * * *

  If James had rejected his obligation to entertain Lord Steyne, several of the Heythrop youngsters were determined to assume the burden. To their minds nothing could be more entertaining than having him instruct them in how to handle the ribbons on Edward’s curricle, or showing him how the kittens were beginning to cavort, or having his opinion, shyly requested, on a favorite drawing. And even after the younger ones went off to bed, there was Edward ready to proudly display the archive room and expound on family history. Though Edward had recently read the ninth earl’s letter, he had already forgotten its strictures on the contents of an old journal in cipher which lay temptingly on a shelf. When Steyne happened to flip it open and ask if he might take it with him, Edward gulped down his natural inclination to bar any document from leaving the room, and politely (James would have said fawningly) agreed.

  Lady Eastwick and Theodosia had already retired for the night and Steyne took the journal with him to his room. Before he so much as untied his cravat, however, he set the book on a table and left the room again, headed for the entrance porch roof. Very few words had passed between himself and Theodosia that evening, owing to the efforts of the family to keep him occupied, but he had attempted to indicate that he wished to speak with her again.

  There had been no sign that she understood him, and he found the rooftop vacant. Since he had been delayed by Edward’s tour of the archive room, he was not surprised. She might have come and left again; more likely she had not come at all. The temptation to knock at her door was strong, now that he knew where her room was, but he refused to make that move. He did, however, stand outside it to ascertain whether there was movement within.

  Damned if he couldn’t hear her humming. Humming, for God’s sake! As though she had not a care in the world. As though her mind were entirely at peace. Was it possible she didn’t know how badly she had cut up his peace all those years ago? Did she imagine he had forgotten her as easily as she had apparently forgotten him? Well, she was right, after all, wasn’t she? When he had received her letter in response to his on her coming of age, he had entirely put her from his mind, lived his life as he had done previously, determined in his anger to see that she held no place in his mind.

  For a while he had seriously considered marrying the Wilberfoss girl, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to do it. That inability had nothing to do with Miss Theodosia Tremere! Clara Wilberfoss had turned out to be as empty-headed as she was flirtatious; not exactly the sort of wife he had in mind.

  Let Doe enjoy her life as a governess! Apparently it suited her perfectly, all those people depending on her for good humor and advice. If what she wanted was to be needed, she had chosen the ideal situation. Certainly he didn’t need her! For six years he had proved that to his own satisfaction, and evidently to hers. There was nothing less appetizing to a man of his inclination than a martyr, and only a martyr would have stayed with that cantankerous old man when she might have married Steyne and lived a life of luxury and position. He would have seen that her father had someone to care for him if his income didn’t run to it. There were always neighborhood women looking for a position of that nature.

  Steyne wondered if she had remembered to lock the door against James, but he didn’t dare try it to find out. Instead he walked as silently as possible away from her door, hoping she wouldn’t know that anyone had been there. She needn’t think he took the least interest in her welfare after she had so carelessly rejected him, he decided as he yanked off the square of starched muslin which served as his cravat. And if falling asleep that night took longer than usual, he had the journal to entertain him, its code almost childishly simple to decipher. Steyne found the Elizabethan gentleman’s amorous adventures diverting.

  Chapter Eight

  Theodosia sat late that night sorting through the information she and the children were accumulating on the history of the Heythrop family. Their excursion to Bicknoller had provided little new intelligence, but it was part of a well-organized effort to extract every piece of evidence they could as to where the treasure was not hidden. In addition to several excursions in the neighborhood of Channock to determine the possibility of hiding places, Theodosia had the children working their way through various family documents looking for clues.

  “It is all very well,” she told them, “to rely on the ninth earl for his synopsis of available information, but we will do better to cover every piece of the ground ourselves.” And surprisingly, the children had not complained. The weather might have had something to do with that, she thought ruefully as her candle burned lower. For a while it had turned foggy and cold, with occasional showers to induce the cautious to stay indoors when possible. The children were not by nature particularly cautious, but with a fire burning in the schoolroom grate, and constant infusions of tea and cakes, they worked their way through the papers Lord Heythrop had grudgingly allowed them to remove from the archive room.

  Working on the chart was a good way to keep her mind from wandering to Viscount Steyne, for it required her concentration and she even found herself enjoying it, humming as she worked. The chart was not precisely a history of the Heythrops, but more a conglomeration of ancestry, residence and years of birth, death and marriage. Most of the facts were available after Sir Arthur Heythrop was created the first Earl of Eastwick in 1485 by Henry VII after the Battle of Market Bosworth. The first earl had died shortly thereafter, passing on the poem and the title to his son and a long line of succeeding Heythrops.

  Having sat for some time bent over the chart Theodosia rose and stretched. The night was clear, with only a few clouds scudding across the moon. Outside the oriel window she could distinguish the Quantock Hills with their stands of trees and dark peaks, a familiar sight now in daylight or dark. Theodosia, lulled by the serenity, allowed herself to consider how she would conduct herself with Lord Steyne. Really, it was a difficult business. How did you behave as though he were a mere acquaintance when there was a time when you had loved him? Especially unnerving when you caught a glimpse of laughter in his eyes or heard the note of concern in his voice and all the old feeling rushed back. She must, of course, show him how content she was at Charton Court, how comfortable her life was with these kind people—her new family. Perhaps he didn’t care if she was happy, but she could not help believing that he did. It must be rather painful to see a woman you had once offered your name and your heart
reduced to presiding in a schoolroom. Certainly he was glad she did not preside at his table, but that would not reconcile him to what he must consider a most unfortunate fate. Wearily she stifled a yawn and returned to her seat at the desk.

  The knock at her door surprised her and she glanced at the mantel clock to find that it was only a few minutes short of midnight. "Who is it?”

  "Edward."

  Alarmed that someone might be ill, she picked up the candle and hurriedly unlocked the door to him. "Is there some problem?”

  "No, no. I saw your light when I was passing and thought you might not be well.”

  It was a very simple excuse, and not a very good one, since there was no reason for him to be in her wing at all. He didn’t appear as awkward as on his last call, however, and Theodosia was reluctant to turn him away. She was aware that despite his being surrounded by a large family, he felt lonely and often segregated from them by the nature of his position.

  "No, I’m fine. I’ve been working on a chart of your family. Would you like to see it?”

  His hesitation was minimal. She was still dressed and he felt left out of the children’s perpetual chatter about their researches and exploration. “Yes, I'd like to see it if you wouldn’t mind. Perhaps I can be of some help.” He followed her to the desk, leaving the door slightly ajar for propriety’s sake.

  “As you can see,” she explained, “I have concentrated largely on when each of your ancestors lived. After all, the first earl already had the treasure, but there is little documented before him. His great grandfather was made a baronet, and he himself has left sketchy details of those who came before him, but nothing we can find which in any way reveals the secret of the mysterious inheritance. He died in 1485 and his son became the second earl. In 1487 Seagrave Manor burned to the ground, though the archive room is witness to the fact that there was time to remove at least the most valuable of the Heythrop articles from the house. Charton Court was built between 1487 and 1492 around an old manor house that stood here. I’m sure you know all that, Lord Heythrop, but I mention it because we have been unable to discover where the Heythrops lived during the five-year building period. It may be significant.”