She expected to find the kitchen empty at this hour, the fire banked, but instead everything was in an uproar. Mrs. Holloway was shouting, slamming pots and pans about, splashing water on the floor. Poor Alice cowered in the corner out of the way, twisting her apron between roughened fingers. Warren was scraping platters, parceling the leftovers into covered crocks, flinching every time Mrs. Holloway cursed. The other men seemed to have slunk away from the battle zone, leaving their half-finished dinners behind.
“Good riddance, I say! All that work, and for what? Bloody cheek, that’s what it is!”
“Now, Betty, dear—”
“Don’t ‘Betty, dear’ me! Do you know the trouble I had getting that leg of lamb? Wanted to give him a nice last meal, and what does he do? Goes off somewhere with that friend of his without a word. I suppose when he comes in at midnight he’ll expect supper all over again. Well, he’ll not get it! He can have bread and butter and like it!”
Girding herself for Mrs. Holloway’s criticism at her own uneaten food, Frederica set her tray on the table. “What’s happened?” She stacked up the abandoned plates and brought them to the sink.
“Ice-cold dinner, that’s what, but it was hot at nine effing o’clock like he always wants it. Two hours Mr. Warren waited upstairs, getting young Kenny to run back and forth with the food to heat it up. Not fit for the pigs now, it isn’t. All of us down here, waiting on His Grace before we could relax and have our own meal. My stomach is in knots. I don’t know why I ever liked that boy, truly I don’t.”
Sebastian was gone, then. She didn’t need to hide in her room after all. Frederica reached for an apron. “Here, let me help you clean up. I’m sorry Sebastian was so rude, but he’s left now, and we can go back to the way we were.”
Warren cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Miss Frederica, but His Grace has not actually departed as yet. His things are in his room, and Mr. Ryder’s servants are still here. As are the horses and coach.”
“I’ll be glad to see the back of Mr. Ryder’s valet, too. All the tales he tells about those heathen lands. It’s not right for an English gentleman to travel to such places. They can’t be healthy.” Mrs. Holloway pointed a soapy finger at Alice. “Go to bed, child. And don’t think because you’re up past your bedtime that you can sleep in tomorrow. There’s work to be done, like always.”
Frederica waved good night to Alice, then wiped a dish and set it on a rack. “I don’t understand. Where could they be?”
Mrs. Holloway attacked a greasy pan with a scouring brush. “Well, we know the village pub is closed, so that’s out. There isn’t a gentry neighbor for miles and miles, and anyhow, the horses are still here. When they didn’t turn up for dinner, I sent the men to comb through the castle, just in case the roof fell in on them somewhere. There’s no sign of them inside.”
“And it’s too dangerous to send a search party out on the moors at night, Miss Frederica. Not that I think they’re out there. It’s still raining. Why would they be outdoors on such a filthy night?” Warren asked.
Could they be making one last attempt at finding the treasure? “You checked the cellars? The dungeon?”
“That was the first place I told the men to look. I thought perhaps the duke and Mr. Ryder were packing up some of the old duke’s reserves to take with them. There are still some fine vintages down there, and I know you don’t care for spirits.”
No, she certainly did not, but she could see why people craved something in a crisis. If she had a tot of brandy to hand, she would not object. It was unlike Sebastian to be so thoughtless of the staff. Something was not right.
“You’re going to rub the pattern right off that dish, Miss Frederica. Go sit down and I’ll fix you a cup of tea. You didn’t eat much, either. Why do I waste my time for a pack of ungrateful young people?”
“Where is everyone else?”
“I sent them off to bed,” Warren said. “If the duke and Mr. Ryder don’t turn up by dawn, they’ll be ready to search. It just seemed pointless to have them hang around. And Betty scared them half to death.” He winked at her.
At least there were six of them to look, counting Mr. Ryder’s people. Of course, she would help, too, if she had to. “You’re quite sure we haven’t had some sort of cave-in today?”
“I haven’t heard or seen a thing, save for the wind and the driving rain. The castle’s been noisy all afternoon and night, Miss Frederica, and that’s a fact. The Walkers are out in full force.”
“Nonsense, Warren. You know you don’t believe in ghosts. It’s just the weather.”
Mrs. Holloway set a cup of tea in front of her and sat down. “Poor young Kenny. All this has overset his nerves. Said the old earl is out and about looking for his lost gold.”
Sebastian and Mr. Ryder had stirred something up here, and now they were paying for it. While Frederica did not believe they were victims of ghostly revenge, it did not bode well that they’d disappeared and skipped dinner. They always ate. And ate. One would think they were still schoolboys.
What did she care where Sebastian was or if he was hungry? He was leaving tomorrow. She took a sip of hot, sweet tea. “This is delicious, Mrs. Holloway. I certainly appreciate you, even if others do not. And once my funds are released to me, I’ll make sure your wages are never late again.”
The cook flicked a hand at her. “I’m not going anywhere. As long as there’s a roof over my head, a bed to sleep in and food in the pantry, I’m fine.”
“About the roof. I know you made a jest about it, but I plan to tear down much of the castle. I won’t be able to keep it in repair, and there will be less work for all of us.”
“It’s a good thing the old duke is dead, then. He wouldn’t hear of any alterations like that.”
Frederica sighed. “I know. I hope he doesn’t join the Archibalds to haunt me. Warren, won’t you join us?”
“No, miss, I’m off to bed myself, though I doubt I’ll sleep a wink. Good night, Betty.”
“Good night, William.” Mrs. Holloway rearranged the caster set on the table waiting for Warren to divest himself of his oilcloth apron and leave the kitchen. Once he did, she leaned across the table. “I truly thought the duke would ask you to marry him. I’m sorry he didn’t. Only proves he’s a young idiot.”
“I don’t want to marry, Mrs. Holloway. I’m content with my life as it is, really.” The lie tripped so easily from her tongue, she almost believed it herself.
“Men are the devil. You don’t have to tell me twice. Mr. Holloway, God rest his soul, was a dreadful trial.”
Frederica remembered Mr. Holloway well. A friendlier drunk one couldn’t find, so Uncle Phillip had endured him for the sake of Mrs. Holloway’s excellent cooking. When he was sober, he’d been handy with a hammer and nails, but the castle had proven too much for his limited windows of productivity.
“Thank you for the tea.” Frederica rose from the table. “It’s almost midnight. We all need some rest. I’m sure Sebastian and Mr. Ryder can fix themselves a sandwich when they get in.”
Mrs. Holloway sniffed. “I’ll not waste a minute of my sleep worrying about them. Good night, Miss Frederica.”
Frederica took her candle back upstairs and changed into her nightgown. Warren was right—the castle creaked and shrieked tonight. Somewhere a shutter was banging in the storm. If the downpour kept to this level, perhaps Sebastian would not leave after all. If he came back from wherever he was to leave. She would take a page out of Betty Holloway’s book.
But despite her best intentions, she lay awake in the dark, listening to the Walkers do their worst. It was impossible to sleep through the thunking, so being a practical woman, she got up to make the best use of her sleepless night. There were books to stack and furniture to dust. Curtains to shake against the rain-soaked air. Clothes to brush and hairpins to return to their tin.
After an hour of puttering, she was no closer to feeling Morpheus’s beating wings. She picked up a book from her bedside pile, but was u
nable to concentrate on the words. The argument with Sebastian kept intruding, but he was leaving, so why did she care if he had the last word? He didn’t care enough about her to spend any more time here, breaking their monthlong agreement. He had insulted her for the last time, but not before she’d disgraced herself like a petulant child. Sebastian brought out the very worst in her. She shut her eyes, remembering tackling him to the ground like a Shrovetide football player. Where was the fencer with finesse?
It was just as well he had ended it. Any more of Sebastian’s insidious instruction, and she would be fit to find residence in the most exclusive whorehouse in England. She’d even heard its name once—Mrs. Brown’s. So innocent a name for a place that was undoubtedly so wicked. She gathered the full name was Mrs. Brown’s Pantheon of Pleasure, which was surely a mouthful. Some university students had made the pilgrimage to Yorkshire to see the famous scholar the Duke of Roxbury, and Frederica had overheard their conversation about it with the poor duke as they attempted to establish themselves as men of the world. Little did those boys know how little Uncle Phillip cared for London or the women that would be housed by Mrs. Brown.
Frederica could not imagine the life of a courtesan. Keeping one man satisfied was apparently more than she was capable of. She had not a shred of moral dignity left, so eager had she been to allow Sebastian such liberties, and still he had rejected her.
Which was a blessing, was it not? Although she would have preferred to give him his congé. At least she would have control over her own money and a house to live in.
The banging had stopped and the castle was at last quiet. Frederica crawled back into her rumpled bed, still unable to find any peace. But when her hand slid down to her bare mons and she imagined Sebastian’s mouth there in place of her fingers, she swirled and circled until she climaxed. It was nearly as good as the real thing—perhaps it was even better, for she wouldn’t have to depend upon someone so undependable as Sebastian Goddard.
If he wasn’t home by dawn, she supposed they’d have to send out a search party. No doubt he and his friend were drunk in some haystack. With that bitter thought, she rolled over and willed herself to sleep.
Chapter 37
It is over.
—FROM THE DIARY OF SEBASTIAN GODDARD, DUKE OF ROXBURY
It was still black as pitch, but the shutter had resumed its diabolical drumming. Frederica gave up on sleep and wrapped herself up in her robe in the dark. She opened her own window and stuck out a hand. The rain had stopped, and not a breath of air caressed her palm. It was not the wind that was driving the noise, which meant—
She lit a candle and hurried down the stairs. Pausing at the landing, she listened, then turned right. The noise was coming from the long gallery. She stopped in the armory before venturing any farther to take her usual foil off the wall. Missing were two of its companions.
Why had no one noticed? The men must have fenced yesterday afternoon. But where were they now?
“Sebastian!” she yelled.
The thumping became more urgent. She ran through the long gallery, feeling a bit foolish with a sword in her hand. “Sebastian!”
There was more rapping and scuffling at the end of the gallery. Right behind the portrait of the late Earl of Archibald. Frederica skidded to a stop and held her candle high. Everything looked just as it should, save for a piece of gilt frame missing from the bottom. Looking down on the floor, she saw a smattering of gold dust and tiny chunks of frame. The painting had fallen, and someone had hung it back up.
The tapping was fast and furious now, and she was nearly sure she heard muffled voices. She set the sword and candle down and tried to lift the painting from the wall. She was neither tall enough nor strong enough to do so. “Are you behind this wall, Sebastian? If you are, tap three times,” she shouted.
There were three deliberate thumps, and then a whole series of excited tattoos.
“Wait here! Well, of course you’re going to wait here; what am I saying? You’re trapped, aren’t you? I’ll get young Kenny to help me. I can’t get the old earl down on my own. I’ve always hated him. My apologies, Mr. Ryder. You’re in there, too, I take it?”
Three more raps. And words, but too muted for her to make any sense of what they were.
Frederica flew to the servants’ quarters, a long block on the ground level near the kitchens. She knew just where to find young Kenny—she’d nursed him through various illnesses over the years. When she knocked on his door, he opened it within seconds. She was astonished to find him dressed, a hat on his head and a small satchel on the floor.
“Where on earth are you going?”
“I’ve g-got to go. The earl is back.”
Warren had mentioned how upset young Kenny was last night. It was beginning to make more sense to her now.
“No, no. He’s not. He’s dead, Kenny. And I need your help.”
“I saw him yesterday. I shut the door, but he’ll get out.”
“You were in the long gallery?”
The man nodded.
Frederica realized at once what Kenny had seen. “I think you misunderstood. There’s a door behind the painting, isn’t there? The duke and his friend Mr. Ryder must have found it, and they are now shut inside the wall. You have to help me get them out.”
Kenny shook his head stubbornly. “The earl came down off the wall and went to find his treasure.”
“Oh, Kenny.” Frederica placed a hand on his sleeve. “The bad man is dead. Truly. I won’t let anyone hurt you. You trust me, don’t you?”
Young Kenny looked down at his belongings. “I want to go.”
“And so you shall, later, if you must. But please, please help me first.”
He picked up the canvas bag. “All right. Where are we going?”
Frederica thought it best to get Kenny to the long gallery first without going into detail. “Just follow me. You’ll be all right. I have my sword there at the ready.”
She pushed him forward through the dark castle, her candle casting ghoulish shadows on the walls. Young Kenny’s skittishness was catching. Why did she want to spend the rest of her life in this dismal place?
He balked a bit when they got to the arch of the gallery and he heard the continuous knocking on the wall. “Hold your horses!” she shouted. She turned to Kenny. “It’s only Sebastian and his friend. Help me get the painting down, and then you can go.”
He was rooted to the spot, worrying his lip, his anxiety acute. “Please. They’ve been in there all night.” She slipped her arm in his as if they were going to take a stroll.
Young Kenny took a deep breath and stepped with her to the end of the gallery. They stopped before the portrait of the last Earl of Archibald. The man’s blue-green eyes stared at them, disdainful and distant. Kenny touched the frame, shuddering. Then he set his bag on the floor, took the painting down from its hook in the wood paneling and gingerly angled it into the corner. “There. Safe and sound. I didn’t break the frame before, either. I didn’t mean no harm, I swear, Miss Frederica. S-saw the wall open and the picture on the floor yesterday. Thought when it fell—it might’ve been his spirit, see, trying to get free. Come right to life again, the villain.”
Good heavens. Young Kenny had known all along something was wrong in the picture gallery, but he hadn’t the wit to associate Sebastian’s disappearance with the fallen painting. She patted his arm. “Of course you didn’t mean any harm. Thank goodness the frame was chipped, else I would not have thought to look behind it.” She turned her attention to the intricate wall. “Sebastian, I cannot see any sort of opening. Is there a trick to get in somehow?”
Three quick raps followed her question. Ah, good. He could understand what she said. She smoothed her hands down on the carvings, pressing and twisting the bumps, but nothing happened. “Maybe we need tools. A saw or something.”
“Let me try.” Kenny slapped the flat of his hand up and down the wall until he hit the center of a raised diamond and the wall cracked open.<
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Sebastian grinned up at them from the floor, his face smudged and clothes filthy and wrinkled, his foil across his lap. Frederica did not know when she’d seen anything more beautiful.
“Good morning,” Sebastian whispered.
“Can’t talk,” Mr. Ryder wheezed. “Screamed and banged all night.”
“I didn’t realize. I heard sounds—we all did. I’m so very sorry.”
Young Kenny was rolling his cap around in his hands. “ ’Tis my fault, Your Gr-grace. H-he clouted me, you know, the earl, when I was just a lad. My mam was cook here then, and I helped her like I help you, Miss Frederica. Saw something I shouldn’t, but I can’t remember what. He hit me until I saw stars and moons inside my head. I d-didn’t want him after me again, so I p-pulled the wood p-panel shut. And tied up the wire nice and tight again with one of my knots and hung the old earl back up.” He paused for breath. She had never heard him speak so many words at once. “I’ve listened to the Walkers all my life here. Didn’t want to hear them no more, specially the old earl. I’m going to run away, but I got nowhere to go. And now the duke is mad, and I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right, Kenny,” Frederica said softly. “The duke doesn’t hold a grudge. Do you, Your Grace?”
“All’s well that ends well. If you can bear to stay on at Goddard Castle, I’m sure you’ll be welcome,” Sebastian croaked. The speech put him at the limit of his vocal ability. He held a hand to his throat.
“Of course you must stay!” Freddie said warmly, clasping young Kenny’s hand. “The duke is leaving anyway. I imagine you all would like some breakfast. I’ll rouse Mrs. Holloway so you can be on your way.”
It was imperative she get away from Sebastian before she said anything she might regret. Like how she spent much of the night worrying about him. Taking back all the dreadful things she said to him yesterday. Fantasizing he was with her in her room, touching her. Kissing her. Fucking her.
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