“Such dear people! You have no idea how fortunate I feel to have come to Charton Court of all places. I imagine you know the earl. He and Lady Eastwick made me feel a part of the family right from the start.”
“My dear, you are wandering from the issue. I am fully prepared to admit that the Heythrops are an admirable family (with the exception of James), and that their treatment of you is above reproach. Will you tell me what you’ve discovered?”
“The ‘glorious name’ refers to Arthur—as in King Arthur.”
His eyes narrowed. “How the devil did you come to that conclusion? Surely you must know he wasn’t really a king, that those are only legends woven round him.”
“Of course I do,” she retorted, offended. “But there was a real Arthur. Think of the poem. ‘A dozen engagements in triumph, but bravest of all facing death.’ Arthur’s twelve battles were real enough.”
“Presuming they were, what connection could he possibly have with the Heythrops?”
“The first earl had been Sir Arthur Heythrop, and most of the others were Arthurs, too, until the secret was lost. May I see the list? I want to check myself on that.”
Steyne made no move to get the notes. “Are you sure you’re feeling well, Doe? The Arthurian legend is preposterous, and dates from the fifth century. Your Sir Arthur lived in the fifteenth!”
“I know, I know. Didn’t I tell you it would seem absurd? Still, so many things fit. Arthur—the bear on the old bronze plaque. If it is a bear. It might not be, of course.”
“I don’t think Arthur had any descendents, Doe,” he said gently.
“Well, they needn’t have been descendents, exactly. Perhaps some ancient Heythrop ancestor was an aide in battle and Arthur bestowed some ‘illustrious treasure’ on him for his service. Arthur was a dux bellorum—a leader of battle. That’s in the poem, don’t you see?”
No, he didn’t see at all. Steyne was shaken by her conviction in a patently ridiculous idea. Her very earnestness was a reproach to him. Somehow he felt responsible for this instability she was exhibiting. Probably she had woken in the dark, disturbed by his plaguing her during the afternoon, and all sorts of fantasies had come to her while she sat in the drawing room, alone, perhaps a few embers flickering in the grate, the ancient words carved in the mantelpiece.
Steyne rose from his chair and came to crouch before her as he took her hands in his. “My sweet, you are a little confused. I’m afraid this treasure hunt has become an obsession with you. Remember, no one else has been able to find it; there is no need that you succeed. I realize that folklore and myth can seem particularly real at times, but in the daylight you will understand the difference. Let me tuck you in bed. I’ll stay until you fall asleep.”
“Of all the condescending, pompous . . ." Theodosia withdrew her hands so violently from his clasp that he lost his balance and found himself sitting on the floor. “Haven’t you even bothered to read the notes I gave you?”
Stunned, he merely stared at her.
“No, of course not,” she answered herself, rising to pace about the chamber. She didn’t even notice how gracefully he rose to his feet. "You cannot believe that anyone but yourself has any wits about them, can you? I wish you would just give me back my notes and be done with it. If you think I’ve lost my mind, so be it.”
“I meant to read the notes, but I was concerned for you and I stuck them in my pocket. And then having a set-to with James entirely made me forget.” Steyne felt defensive. “I looked in on you before I came to bed, and locked your door.”
"Yes, I know. Thank you. You have always been willing to protect me, just not to credit me with any will, any purpose of my own. Do you treat your sister that way? Is that why you are here with James?”
She had swung around to face him, brown eyes piercing. Steyne had the sudden realization that if he made a misstep now it would be irrecoverable. And he knew just as surely that he didn’t want to make that mistake again. "My sister,” he began, and paused to gather his thoughts, rubbing a tired hand across his forehead. “James wants to marry Ruth; she’s very wealthy and James is always in debt. He didn’t bother to ask her because he thought she had indicated by her actions that she was . . . amenable to the arrangement. That wasn’t at all the case, of course. Ruth doesn’t like him but she’s been wretchedly unhappy and lonely since her husband died. James mistook her. . . behavior as an indication that her feelings for him were strong enough that they would outweigh any objections I might have to the marriage, but he wanted to cover all bets and proposed to show me how secure his financial standing was. After speaking with Ruth, I agreed to accompany him here, thinking it wiser to be able to refuse him on that basis than any other.”
“So you were protecting your sister.”
“What else could I do?” he asked impatiently. "She needed to be protected, Doe. Ordinarily she is almost as strong willed as you are, but her husband’s death has shattered her. I could have allowed her to extricate herself from the situation, but that would have been heartless of me, and her reputation would likely have been badly damaged. There are times, you know, when women must be protected.”
“Certainly. And I agree with you that this was one of them. James Heythrop is not a man to be taken lightly.” Theodosia sighed as she reached for a candle. “Would you mind if I took the notes with me? I will return them to you in the morning if you wish.”
Without a word he went to the wardrobe where his coat was hanging. When he had changed for dinner he had not thought to remove them, and they were still there, stuffed carelessly in the pocket. A quick glance down the sheets told him nothing except that her handwriting was as firm as always and that the notes were apparently well organized. He glanced across the room to where she waited calmly by the door. “Would you . . . go over them with me? I’d like to understand how you arrived at your conclusion.”
Theodosia could see he was struggling not to offend and her eyes began to twinkle. “Actually, my lord, I consider it a working theory. I won’t call your intelligence in question if you don’t agree with me; on the other hand, I don’t like to be dismissed as suffering from delusions. When I was a child, my father took me to Glastonbury on some business of his, and I heard about the supposed exhumation of Arthur and his queen Guinevere there. A child’s imagination is easily caught, and I took a special interest in the Arthurian legend.” She made a deprecating gesture with her hands. “That would account for my fanciful theory, would it not?”
“Possibly. How thoroughly did you investigate the Arthurian legend?”
She regarded him approvingly. “As thoroughly as I could. My father thought it foolish but it held a fascination for me, even after I learned that all the chivalry was French trapping. A kindly old gentleman in the neighborhood, a historian, took pity on me and procured, from friends, copies of the passages in Nennius relating to Arthur and the turning of the Saxon tide. ‘Then it was that Arthur was wont to fight against them.’ Of course, even the History of the Britons was compiled long after Arthur’s time, so there is no reason that it should be particularly accurate. Arth means bear in Celtic, but it could be of Roman derivation. Gildas mentions the battle on Mons Badonicus, too, but doesn’t mention the leader, the dux bellorum.”
“I might have known,” Steyne murmured, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. "You really are incredible, Doe. Will you come and go over your notes with me?”
Nodding, she advanced as he set two chairs at the writing table by the windows. Once more she pointed out the cryptic references that could suggest Arthur—the twelve battles, the legends that had risen to tarnish the truth, the fact that the treasure could be the spoils of battle. Going down the list of earls, she was able to ascertain that in every case before the treasure was lost, the first son (whether he had become earl or had died previous to doing so) had been named Arthur. Even the eighth earl, whose father had died without passing on the secret, had been named Arthur. Not knowing the significance of his Christian name, he had
named his own son Edward after his grandfather, a second son, and thenceforth the Heythrops had, in all ignorance, named their first sons Edward.
Steyne sat back after perusing the documents with interest. "And what of the plaque you mentioned?”
“The plaque is located on the tower wall of the chapel and says, in Latin of course, Keepers of the Trust. There is a figure of an animal which might be a bear. At one point in a previous search the wall and stone floor were removed but nothing was found. They thought it significant that the plaque was mounted so low on the wall. It had been through a fire and is partially eradicated.”
“Moved from Seagrave Manor to Charton Court, then?”
“Presumably.” She rested her hands in her lap and looked up at him with anxious eyes. “Well, what do you think?”
The lamplight made the wide brown eyes glow, and picked out the high cheekbones and delicate lips. He was tempted to tell her that he thought her adorable, but said instead, “I think you may be right, Doe. No, no, I’m not trying to placate you—I really do. Not that the whole theory isn’t ridiculous and unprovable, but there is a certain logic to it, despite the eons that have passed since Arthurian times. But does it get us any closer to the treasure?”
“I’m not sure. When we see Mr. Oldbury tomorrow—or is it now today?—I think I will ask him about any Arthurian legends attaching to the neighborhood.”
The mention of the clergyman’s name brought Steyne abruptly out of the reverie into which he had fallen. Though he studied her face closely, there was no indication that she attached any special significance to the coming meeting with Oldbury. She simply looked puzzled by his scrutiny.
“Do you not think that’s the thing to do?” she asked.
“You don’t want to give him any hint of a relationship between the Heythrops and Arthur,” he pointed out. “But then, as we have mentioned, it is unlikely anyone would assume one on the face of things. Asking about Arthurian legends will doubtless seem very reasonable if you’re discussing the lore of Somerset in general. By the way, James announced tonight that he plans to leave tomorrow.”
“Why didn’t you say so sooner? Do you think he’s found the treasure?”
“No, and he changed his mind after our discussion.” Was she not the least concerned that it would mean the possibility of his own disappearance from her life again? “I think he decided to stay another day or so for precisely that purpose—to hunt for the treasure.”
She grinned. "I'm determined to find it first! It’s become an obsession of mine, you know, but in the light of day it will probably go away.”
Having his own words thrown back at him was a new experience for Steyne but he laughed. “That’s all right. I’ll still tuck you in bed and stay until you’ve fallen asleep.”
"Thank you, no.” Theodosia was very firm, but she could not refuse to allow him to escort her to her room, as late as it was. At her door she turned and smiled at him. "I never meant to disturb your sleep, Lord Steyne. I hope you won’t have any difficulty returning to your slumbers—and I hope you don’t meet anyone, wandering around the house in the middle of the night in your dressing gown.”
Instead of offering her a well-earned set-down, he stooped to plant a kiss on her forehead. “We seem to be making a habit of these bedroom visits, but I promise you I don’t mind in the least. Would you like me to come in and make sure your chamber is safe?”
“It’s safer when you don’t come in,” she retorted, slipping through the opening and locking the door after herself.
Chapter Fifteen
Mr. Oldbury’s housekeeper was prepared for the group from Charton Court which descended on her the next afternoon. The rectory parlor was dusted and polished, the best jasperware plates were piled high with cakes; the silver tea service gleamed from patient rubbing. As Theodosia had promised to bring only the older children, it was Charlotte and Thomas who accompanied her and Steyne in the barouche. Fair weather made it unnecessary to raise the hood, but, as on the previous day, there was the possibility of a shower later in the afternoon, and Theodosia promised Lady Eastwick that they could all squeeze into the covered portion if necessary. Though Steyne had amused visions of this meaning that Theodosia would sit on his lap, he made no mention of them.
The parlor was comfortably furnished with a scuffed set of shield-back chairs, a drum-top occasional table, an oval writing desk and a satinwood cabinet as well as a settee and a long-case clock. Mr. Oldbury, unaccustomed to playing host for tea, shepherded his guests into the room with some trepidation. Not until this moment had he really noticed that the chairs were a bit the worse for wear, and that the writing desk looked somewhat disreputable with its overflow of papers. The majority of his papers were in his study, of course, but he always seemed to absentmindedly carry some of them in with him, as he had done that morning after the housekeeper was through tidying. He backed toward the desk and tried to at least rearrange the papers as his guests seated themselves.
Ever eager to promote a romance, Charlotte thought it a good idea to illustrate to Mr. Oldbury some of Miss Tremere’s outstanding qualities. She mentioned Theodosia’s interest in history, her vast knowledge of geography, how readable her copperplate hand was (in case the clergyman was looking for a wife as an amanuensis), her excellent performance on the piano-forte and her kindliness to children and animals. “And her father was a clergyman,” Charlotte clinched her argument.
“A truly admirable lady,” Steyne murmured as Thomas in anguish nudged his sister with a sharp elbow.
Aware of her charge’s intent but unembarrassed by it, Theodosia smiled at the startled Mr. Oldbury. “You see how easy it is to indoctrinate a young mind, sir. Charlotte’s modesty applies only to her own abilities, which I assure you are considerable, but I shan’t enumerate them.” Charlotte flushed and accepted the gentle reproof with lowered eyes. Theodosia gestured to the pile of almost-neatly-stacked papers. “How is your own work progressing?”
“Rather well just at present. I’ve been working on the small uprising at Chard in 1655 under Colonel Penruddock and Sir Joseph Wagstaff. It was crushed, of course, but showed a remarkable spirit considering the king had already been executed. The Somerset folk have always had strong sentiments.”
“Which is only to say we’re stubborn,” Theodosia laughed. “And do we cling as stubbornly to our legends as to our political views?”
“Even more so,” Mr. Oldbury rejoined, smiling. “Every hamlet seems to have its share of lore.”
Steyne was aware from Theodosia’s glance at him that he was appointed to take up the questioning. “And are there tales of devils carrying off sleeping boys in church or oddly shaped rocks reputed to be King Arthur’s dog?”
“Some of both, actually. A little above Bicknoller there is Trendle Ring, which is the site of an encampment with a history of mysterious doings. You know the sort of thing—witches dance there at the full of the moon. But it’s strange you should mention Arthurian legends. I haven’t heard of any in this area. That is, no one seems to place any attachment nowadays to a particular site as being related to Arthur, but in the parish records for my church there are several references to Arthur’s Spring. I don’t know of any spring at all, so presumably it has dried up.”
Theodosia asked casually, “Was there any way of telling where the spring might have been located?”
“Nothing precise. Possibly it was in the direction of Fairlight because Weacombe Hill was also mentioned in one of the references. Would you like me to look out the instances and write them down for you?” Mr. Oldbury, to Steyne’s eyes, looked inordinately eager to please.
“I’m afraid it would give you a great deal of trouble,” Theodosia protested.
“Not at all. I couldn’t find them just now, but when next I’m working on the records, I shall make a note of them and send it round to you.”
“You’re very kind.”
Steyne received another speaking glance from Theodosia and he cleared his thr
oat portentously. “I imagine there is always exploration going on for interesting archeological sites, and Somerset apparently abounds with them. Did I read something about a discovery in the neighborhood recently? I seem to have a vague recollection . . ."
Mr. Oldbury was struck by his interest. “What a remarkable memory you have! My brother sent me an article from the Morning Post last spring. Not to do with Bicknoller, but in the area of Channock, it was. I imagine that’s the piece to which you were referring; you probably saw it in London. A fascinating tidbit of misplaced knowledge. Sir Lawrence Windoby’s archeological diaries were thought to be complete in the collection held by the University, but a short one was recently discovered at Fulbrook Grange. It had been mistakenly tucked away in a trunk with some digging apparatus rather than kept with the others in his library.”
“And the missing diary had to do with a find in the Channock area?” Theodosia prompted him when he sat silent, lost in contemplation of the vagaries of fortune.
“Why, yes, right at the boundaries of Charton Court land.” Mr. Oldbury rubbed a thoughtful finger along his chin, trying to remember precisely what the article had said. "There were three old graves in a row just outside the hedgerows, I gather. Sir Lawrence had noted in his diary that there might be further graves inside the boundaries, but he could discern no mounds, so he made no effort to gain permission to dig there.” He surveyed his company with enthusiasm. “You might wish to investigate yourselves! The site was just this side of Rams Combe. I believe Sir Lawrence mentioned that there was no road nearby, simply a footpath.”
Thomas entered the discussion for the first time. "I know where he means. The estate is rather untouched in that area—no use for planting or even grazing because it’s steep and rocky. Even the boundary hedgerow is a scraggly sort of thing. How does an archeologist tell which mounds are graves and which are just natural lumps?”
While Mr. Oldbury attempted to enlighten him, Steyne studied Theodosia’s face. He could not tell from its calm attentiveness that her mind was wandering but he knew it must be. A line of graves pointing directly to the Charton Court boundary—the extent of the “grant lands,” was significant indeed. Or at least, James Heythrop was likely to think so. Was the Honorable James digging along the line of the graves even while they sat here? Steyne was impatient to know and he could not understand how Theodosia sat there so much at ease, entering into the conversation, urging Mr. Oldbury to show them the mechanics of his research, delighting in the old sketches he had come across. His impatience turned to something different, however, when Mr. Oldbury took Theodosia over to the desk, leaving Charlotte and Thomas poring over some ancient account books. Steyne feigned interest in a sixteenth-century map of the Minehead area, but his ears were tuned to the low-voiced discussion that went on behind his back.
In My Lady's Chamber Page 17