A Man Of Many Talents

by Deborah Simmons

  “Obviously, I was sleeping,” Christian answered, as he swung his feet to the floor and tugged at his cuffs. The ornate couch had wrinkled his coat, a fact that would irritate his valet no end.

  Alf’s curious look told him that the boy wondered what he had been doing to exert himself to exhaustion. “I’m still keeping watch during the night, without Miss Parkinson’s knowledge, so keep that information to yourself,” Christian explained before the lad jumped to any conclusions.

  Although Christian got little enough rest, he had Hobbins wake him early, so no one, especially his clever hostess, would be the wiser. Then, during the day, he sought some secluded spot within the rambling structure to take a nap.

  “Ah.” Alf shook his head as if the habits of the ton were too baffling for his comprehension.

  “What is it?”

  “What’s what, milord?”

  “Why were you looking for me?” Christian asked impatiently. He had been driven from his dream for this?

  “Ah, that! Well, I’ve been wanting to tell you about something suspicious that’s been going on, that I’ve been keeping my eye on.”

  “Yes?”

  “It’s that scholar fella, that Emery,” Alf said, leaning close.

  Christian straightened, suddenly alert. “Yes?”

  “I’ve been watching him pretty regular, and I’ve been noticing him skulking outside.”

  “Yes?”

  “Around the plunge bath.”

  “Around the plunge bath,” Christian repeated, dully, his initial interest dampened. Undoubtedly the boy was availing himself of the amenities of the house while he still could. What was so suspicious about that?

  “It is refreshing. I’ve used it myself,” Christian told him. On those days when it didn’t rain, the summer weather turned hot and sultry, making the outdoor facility a pleasant experience—indeed, one of the few to be had at Sibel Hall. Christian paused in thought, his brows furrowing. Then, again, Emery didn’t look particularly clean…

  “I didn’t say he was using it, milord.”

  Christian stiffened. “He’s not spying on Ab— Miss Parkinson, is he?” If so, Christian would be happy to crush the little weasel once and for all.

  But Alf shook his head. “No, milord. That Emery, he only goes out there by himself, but he doesn’t use the water at all.”

  Christian lifted his brows. “What does he do?”

  Alf leaned close again, as if to impart a confidence. “Well, that’s the suspicious part, milord. He sometimes goes into the bath, but he never puts any water in it, just knocks about the walls of the thing.”

  Understanding dawned at last on Christian, who could be excused for being half asleep. “Damn! Does he stay in the bath or look around the whole area as well?”

  “He’s all about the place, milord.”

  “But he hasn’t found anything, has he?” Like the secret passageway?

  Alf shook his head. “Not as far as I can see, and I’ve been keeping a pretty close watch on him.”

  Although Christian had dismissed the passage as an old priest’s route, it wouldn’t hurt to examine it again. And, no matter its significance, he certainly didn’t want Emery to find it. The idea of the scholar spying on him in the bath made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. The idea of him spying on Abigail made Christian surge to his feet.

  “I think I’ll take a look out there myself. You keep an eye on Emery and let me know if he heads my way.”

  “Aye, milord. I’d rather stay away from there, if I can.”

  Christian looked askance at his stalwart villager, who was proving to fear eccentric old ladies, young ladies with knives, and now plunge baths. “Why the devil? Are you afraid of a bit of a wash? These cold baths are supposed to be medicinal.”

  Alf seemed insulted. “I ain’t scared of any old water,” he mumbled.

  Christian’s brows inched upward. “What, then? Do you think it’s haunted? Have you seen anything odd out there?”

  Chagrined, Alf shook his head. “Now, milord, you know I don’t believe in any of that ghostly business. It’s just that there’s bad blood out there. That’s what caused the feud, you know.”

  “Between Averill and the villagers?”

  “Aye. He hired a lot of ’em to do the excavation work for that whole fancy bathing place and thereabouts, then never paid them what he rightly promised,” Alf explained.

  Christian felt the blood rush from his head. “Excavation work?”

  “Yes, milord. You know, digging.”

  Christian muttered an oath. “Do you have any idea where they did all this digging?” he asked, his voice rising.

  Alf shrugged. “But one of the older men might.”

  “Don’t tell me, let me guess. Old man Abbott.” Christian groaned. He doubted he had the patience for another go-round with that grim fellow. “Why don’t you just ask your granddad?”

  “Will do, milord!” And with a nod Alf was gone.

  But Christian wasn’t about to wait for an answer from the village. The excavation work Alf mentioned might simply refer to the hole that was dug for the plunge bath and the surrounding landscaping, no mean feat to carve out of the countryside.

  Or it might mean something else altogether.

  16

  Abigail wasn’t looking for Lord Moreland. Not really. It was simply that she hadn’t noticed him recently, and her discreet inquiries had revealed that no one else had seen him either. Naturally she was concerned, especially when she thought of all the mishaps that could befall a man alone in this old house, rife with mysterious happenings.

  He could have fallen down some hidden passage, or been struck by something in the cellars, or worse yet, been the victim of some sort of foul play. Although Abigail couldn’t really picture Christian as a victim, she nonetheless continued her search, anxious to find him, simply to assure herself that he was well.

  Moving into one of the unused wings, Abigail caught a flicker of movement ahead and hurried forward. Either the ghost was abroad or someone else was roaming these rooms. But who? And why? Perhaps his lordship was exploring some new hide. Her heart thumping, Abigail turned the corner eagerly, only to nearly collide with the young man Christian had hired from the village. He uttered a startled sound, a look of alarm upon his face.

  Was the fellow up to some mischief? He had given her a wide berth since she had accused him of following her, although her initial outrage had been tempered by his explanation that Lord Moreland was concerned about her safety. Now, however, the fellow looked concerned for his own safety. Apparently he thought she carried upon her person the dagger with which she had threatened him, even though Abigail had made it quite clear at the time that she was only defending herself.

  For a moment she thought he was going to turn and flee, and her brows furrowed. What, exactly, was he doing here in a deserted section of the Hall? But then, perhaps sensing her distrust, he held up his hands, as if in surrender. “Now, miss, I haven’t been following you about at all. I swear!”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “I was looking for his lordship.”

  Christian! “And did you find him? Where is he?” Abigail asked, immediately diverted.

  “He’s gone out to have a look about the plunge bath, miss.”

  Abigail felt her cheeks heat at the image of Christian, clothed only in a heavy banyon or perhaps even shrugging it off to step into the water, totally nude. Although she had never seen a naked man, she had glimpsed pictures of statues, and she could imagine…

  “Oh, he’s not going to take a bath, miss,” her companion said, as though reading her mind—or her expression. “He’s looking about for anything, well, suspicious. Something to do with excavation, I believe.”

  Excavation? Did that mean he had found some other passage, a tunnel perhaps? Curiosity, concern, and a sudden yearning for… something, made Abigail’s pulse race. “Thank you. You’ve been most helpful.” And without waiting for his reply s
he hurried toward the nearest doors.

  Once outside, Abigail skirted the side of the building, ignoring the overgrown shrubbery, and finally emerged at the rear of the house to take in the full view of the grounds. She paused in wonder. Had she ever really seen the vast expanse before? Perhaps not from this location. Perhaps not on a hot summer day when sunlight glinted off the tall oaks, their leaves fluttering in the breeze. Perhaps not with an uncritical eye that looked beyond the superficial signs of neglect to the lovely arrangement of trees and gardens, gentle slopes and lush valley, where the folly that housed the plunge bath was located.

  It was an open-air structure, meant to capture the Englishman’s idea of warmer climes, Abigail suspected, with die inevitable pillars. Knowing little of architecture, she vowed to ask Christian, but that thought brought her mind back to her mission. She hurried forward, craning her neck even as anticipation beat a rapid rhythm within her breast, yet she could find no sign of him.

  When she reached the folly, Abigail slowed her pace. She had not been here since the day she had fallen out of the secret passageway at the feet of the colonel, and she felt her cheeks heat in remembrance. What if the villager had been wrong? What if Christian was inside, bathing? Abigail opened her mouth to call out, to warn him of her approach, but only a hoarse croak emerged as she mounted the stairs. When she reached the top, she covered her eyes with one hand, then peeked through her fingers, only to see nothing except the inside of the small structure, still and quiet.

  Sighing in relief, or perhaps disappointment, Abigail looked around the area with a frown. The cold stone held no appeal for her, nor did the prospect of washing here, away from the house, out in the comparative open. Whatever daring she might have possessed when she was young had been replaced by wariness and a need for privacy that years of serving on demand had instilled in her.

  Although there was a changing room, Abigail couldn’t imagine shedding her clothing there or exiting it wearing only her shift. Why, anyone could come upon her once she emerged! She flushed, her breath coming quickly as she stepped toward the plunge bath itself. It was so deep that steps led down into the recess, and Abigail was struck by the uneasy sensation that someone could drown in it.

  When she had nearly reached the bath, Abigail heard a noise that made her pause, and her disquiet grew. None of the mysterious happenings at Sibel Hall had truly alarmed her, and she had dismissed Christian’s concern for her safety as touching but unfounded. Now, however, she realized just how alone she was within the confines of the folly, tucked into the valley behind the house.

  Other estates were staffed with innumerable gardeners, footmen, groomsmen, and the like, but Sibel Hall boasted few servants and none to oversee the grounds. Abigail’s nerves strained at the thought—but what could possibly threaten her? The specter? A stray animal?

  She feared neither. And having never been one of those fainting females who cowered in the corner, Abigail straightened her backbone, determined to discover the source of the sound. It was probably only a few rustling leaves caught in the recess of the bath, she told herself and she moved to the edge, only to rear back with a gasp as a figure loomed up from the depths. Off balance, she would have fallen if the form had not reached for her just as her dazed mind recognized it as that of Lord Moreland.

  “Christian, you startled me!” Abigail said, but whatever outrage she felt was soon overwhelmed by her awareness of him, his closeness, and the hands he used to steady her. Her rapid breathing did not ease, but increased its pace at his nearness.

  “I’m sorry, but I was down there.” Much to Abigail’s disappointment, he released her and gestured toward the marble steps that led down into the bath. “When I heard someone coming, I didn’t want to be caught unawares, especially by a well-aimed rock or anything else that might land upon me.”

  Abigail eyed her ghost router with fresh admiration.

  Surely he was more alert than any scholar she knew, and probably far better at protecting himself—and others. Trying to ignore the little hitch of excitement that her discovery incited, Abigail assumed a serious air. “If you wish to return to your study, I will be happy to stand watch,” she offered.

  He flashed her a white-toothed grin in response that nearly turned her knees to jelly. “Thank you, but I don’t think there’s anything to be found down there. It must be somewhere else,” he said, pausing to scan the inside of the structure. He wore his thoughtful expression as he gazed at the ceiling and the floor in turn, then he paced the space, his long, muscular legs striding with elegant grace across the stone. Abigail felt light-headed.

  “What are you looking for, another hide?” she managed, as she tried to keep her mind upon business, not upon the way he filled out his breeches.

  “Perhaps,” Christian answered over his shoulder. He was obviously possessed by the excitement and determination to discover that she had seen seize him before, the enthusiasm that fired her own passions for life—and for him. Abigail swallowed hard.

  “Alf claims that the bad blood that exists between Sibel Hall and the villagers can be traced back to when this plunge bath was built and the landscape altered. Apparently there was a dispute over payment due—for excavating.” He stepped into the changing room, looked around, and emerged again to peer into all the nooks and crannies.

  Abigail frowned. “The folly hardly appears large enough to cover any excavation, except that done for the plunge bath.” She glanced into the marble-lined depression, which looked as though it could easily accommodate two people or more. Suddenly warm, Abigail walked away from the edge and across the stone floor to the steps that led down to the grass—the very same grass where she and Christian had rolled about not that long ago. She lifted a hand to fan her heated face.

  “I suppose you’re right,” Christian said from behind her. He walked onto the level ground and looked around. “It would have to be something larger, more elaborate, like a grotto or a tunnel.” Then he paused, turning to flash her another grin. “Or a passage.”

  Abigail watched him walk toward the rock that hid the exit to the secret route from the house and tried not to lose herself in the memory of their encounter inside. She cleared her throat. “But I thought you said the passage was an old escape for priests, here before the plunge bath was built.”

  “I did.” After glancing at the rock face, he turned his back to it and stared directly across the greensward, where another, identical stone stood in perfect reflection of its counterpart. “But what about over there? Don’t you think it a bit odd that the slopes meet at the same point? That the two rocks are placed exactly opposite each other when the rest of the landscape tends toward the wild?”

  Abigail couldn’t answer. The rocks, when she noticed them at all, had seemed some sort of rugged natural gate to the little valley. But Christian, of course, would see more. He always saw more, Abigail realized, with sudden insight. He didn’t brag about his knowledge, like Emery, or devote most of his time to his work, as her father had. But he possessed intelligence and learning and, perhaps even more important, an innate sense, an ability to discover things in the world around him and put that knowledge to use.

  It was a skill that served him well, certainly better than all of Emery’s studies, and Abigail felt the now familiar wash of admiration for him, mixed in with a heady dose of desire. She watched, enthralled, as he walked over to the opposite stone, studying it as though it would yield up its secrets to the force of his will.

  “But what do you hope to find? What would Bascomb be digging beyond the bath?”

  Christian shrugged. “Perhaps a hole for this supposed family treasure of yours.”

  Not mine, Abigail thought to herself, though she did not give voice to the argument. She still didn’t know what to make of Christian’s claims that the man she had known as her great-uncle Bascomb had not been her great-uncle at all. She had mulled over every memory, sought out every old piece of correspondence, but had found no reference to the man among what
was left of her parents’ personal things.

  Accustomed to reason and order, Abigail didn’t care for the odd sensation that something didn’t fit where it should. And now she was wary not only of the ghost but also of the possibility that her precious inheritance was not her own and would suddenly vanish, as swiftly as her childhood home had.

  Such a frightening prospect brought a new urgency to her efforts to be rid of the specter, and Abigail couldn’t help wondering what finding Bascomb’s supposed excavations would accomplish. But how could she object to Christian’s explorations when he was so obviously excited by them? And his excitement fed something deep inside her as well, some previously untapped yearning for adventure that she hesitated to acknowledge. No doubt her godmother would have called it a reckless streak.

  “I wonder if the mechanism is the same,” Christian said, drawing her attention to him once more. And as she watched, he put his beautiful hands to the stone, running them over the surface. She grew heated once more, for she knew just how those hands felt, touching, caressing…

  She drew in a sharp breath just as the face of the rock swung outward. Astonished, she hurried forward to where he stood, in front of an opening into the slope itself. Not quite as tall as Christian, it was black as night inside and smelled of dank earth.

  “You cannot mean to go in there,” Abigail protested, though she had the sinking feeling she would not be able to stop him.

  As though divining her thoughts, Christian laughed in outright dismissal of her caution, and Abigail reached out a hand to clutch his arm. “At least take a lantern. What if it plunges downward like the other passage? You could be killed!”

  Christian paused. “If it is like the other one, it would go upward,” he argued, turning to incline his head toward the opposite slope, which led up to the house. Although this hill was similar, there was no building within sight.

  “Perhaps it led to some structure that is gone,” Abigail suggested.

  Christian shrugged, but he must have seen the panic in her eyes. “I’ll go get a lantern. Don’t go in yourself,” he said, his green eyes bright. Apparently what was all right for him was not all right for her, which just showed his own heedlessness, she thought. But before she could protest, he issued another order. “And shut it up if anyone else comes round.” And then he was off, his long legs eating up the ground on his way to the Hall.