by Sandra Heath
Putting on his dressing gown, Hugh listened at the door before slipping out into the deserted passage. He could see candlelight shining from beneath the Fanhopes’ door further along, but apart from that all was quiet as he went to Kitty’s room adjacent to his own and tapped stealthily. “Kitty?” he whispered, but she didn’t respond, so he raised his hand to knock again.
Suddenly the door of the Fanhopes’ room opened, and to Hugh’s further dismay a resentful Sir Thomas emerged with a candle. He was thirty-five years old, of medium height, with blond hair and the sort of complexion that flushed easily, and was fashionably attired in a pea-green coat and cream trousers. His figure, formerly spare and in the peak of condition, had softened since his marriage, but he hadn’t lost his much-admired looks, which Hugh had always jealously dismissed as overrated. He was clearly under instructions to remonstrate yet again with the landlord, and didn’t perceive Hugh until the last moment. His china blue eyes widened. “Good God! Mowbray!” he cried, halting in amazement.
“Er, Fanhope, fancy meeting you here.” Hugh summoned a smile of sorts. There was no love lost between them, but they had always been civil.
“What in God’s name are you doing here? I thought you had accompanied Gervase to Italy so that he could postpone his betrothal to that Elmley woman. Was it Elmley? Maybe it was Beechley. Some tree or other, anyway, and she lives in the depths of Scotland or some other far-flung comer.” Sir Thomas eyed him again. “Here with a piece of muslin, eh?” he asked, having perceived that Hugh had been knocking at the door, which clearly wouldn’t happen if it was his own room.
“Yes. Someone we both know, actually.” The damned fellow had to be confided in to some extent; there was no other course.
Sir Thomas became still. “Are you saying it’s Kitty?”
Hugh nodded, and the other glanced hauntedly back along the passage. It was an action that spoke volumes of how much he dreaded his wife. Hugh thought quickly. “Look, can we talk in my room for a moment?”
“Talk? Well, I suppose so, but it had better not take long. I’m supposed to be putting the landlord in his place. We ordered the best room, but a Miss Oadby has taken it, and my wife is not pleased.”
Once inside, Hugh closed the door, and they faced each other. “Clearly you have not heard that Gervase is dead,” he said bluntly.
Sir Thomas’s jaw dropped. “Eh?”
Hugh told him the doctored version of events in Italy, and his accession to the title. He carefully omitted all mention of Anne Willowby, of whom it seemed Sir Thomas knew very little, and he trod very carefully when it came to the matter of Kitty. “You know how I’ve always wanted Kitty, but she wouldn’t glance at me because I didn’t have a title or fortune? Well, I have both now, and I’m enjoying the benefit, if you know what I mean.”
After his initial shock about Gervase’s fate, Sir Thomas gave a wistful grin. “Oh, yes, I know what you mean,” he murmured, noticing the unfinished bread and cheese and helping himself to a portion of the latter.
Before he realized it, a sudden question leapt to Hugh’s lips. “I don’t suppose you know why my cousin ended things so abruptly with her?”
Sir Thomas paused. “She told me she was the one who ended it. Not that I believed her, mind you, for she wanted to be his duchess, so nothing on God’s earth would have induced her to give him his congé. Besides, when she took up with me, it was clear she was afraid he’d tell me about something in her past. He didn’t, but she certainly thought he would. By Gad, this is a tasty bit of goat’s milk cheese,” he declared with relish.
Hugh stared at him. “Goat’s milk?” he repeated with a shudder. “Are you sure of that?”
“Oh, yes, I’d know it anywhere.”
Hugh felt ill.
Sir Thomas licked his fingers, and then looked at him. “Is there anything else, or can I toddle off to find that damned landlord?”
Hugh pushed the plate of cheese away. “I haven’t quite told you everything. As far as the landlord is concerned, Kitty and I are Mr. and Miss Oadby, a brother and sister.”
“So Kitty has the principal room?” Sir Thomas’s brows drew together. “Why in God’s name didn’t you simply pretend to be Mr. and Mrs. Oadby?” he asked.
“Because we quarreled during the journey, and she decided it would teach me a lesson if we were in separate rooms.”
“Rations, eh?” Sir Thomas was pleased to think that Hugh wasn’t getting full helpings of the dish he himself still craved.
“Look, Fanhope, you and I have got to handle this situation with care. It would be most awkward for Kitty if our little deception were to become known. She doesn’t want any slight upon her reputation, now she’s set to become titled and respectable, and I’m sure you wouldn’t wish to be the cause of her unhappiness. Besides, if your wife should learn about your past with an actress, it would be the doghouse for you, so I think it sensible all around if we keep each other’s little secrets, don’t you?”
Sir Thomas’s smile had faded. “Are you threatening me?”
“I’m only pointing out the disadvantages to us both. Your wife is a most, er, chaste lady, or so I understand, and her father does still control the purse strings, does he not?”
Sir Thomas’s eyes narrowed. “I never did like you, Mowbray.”
“The feeling’s mutual, but in this we’re forced to be allies, don’t you agree?”
After a moment Sir Thomas nodded. “Yes, I suppose we are.”
“We will all be strangers at the breakfast table, agreed?”
“Agreed. Is there anything else?”
“Just one thing. If we are strangers, you still cannot know about Gervase’s death, so don’t go back now and tell your wife all about it.”
“Eh? Oh, yes, I take your point.”
The other was about to go out when Hugh spoke again. “By the way, I was at the window when you arrived. What the hell is in that padlocked chest?”
Sir Thomas shrugged. “I haven’t the faintest notion.”
Hugh stared. “But you must have!”
“My dear wife’s lips are firmly sealed, and if I so much as mention it, she threatens to tell Papa I’ve been mistreating her. It’s not a threat to take lightly, because, as you so kindly reminded me, he controls the purse.”
“Upon which I’ve heard the duns are closing in.”
“If they are, I’ve seen no evidence.”
With that Sir Thomas went out, and as the door closed behind him, Hugh leaned his hands on a table and bowed his head with relief. All that had to be done now was warn Kitty. Taking a huge breath, he went again to try to wake her. He tapped constantly on her door until at last she admitted him.
Chapter Twenty-four
Anne’s birthday dawned fine and clear, and when she left her room, wearing a yellow-and-white striped muslin gown, with her willful hair painstakingly pinned and ribboned, she was determined to banish Charles Danby entirely from her thoughts. Today she had to devote herself to thoughts of Hugh Mowbray.
Mrs. Jenkins had already told her that Penelope was back in her rightful place, but Anne still wanted to see for herself, and so she went to the drawing room before going downstairs. The lamp holder was complete again, and in the cold light of day the only sensible explanation—admittedly a weak one— was that she and the housekeeper had both been more upset the night before than they’d realized and had somehow allowed themselves to be carried away. What else could it have been?
Everyone was in the kitchens, even Mog and Jack, who tolerated each other when it suited them. The cat reposed on Mrs. Jenkins’s sunlit chair by the fire and looked so sedate and relaxed it was impossible to imagine her being hysterical enough to do the damage she had in the drawing room, and maybe here in the kitchens as well. Jack—ever hopeful—was eyeing the table, where stood the birthday cake Mrs. Jenkins had baked, but the housekeeper had determined that not a single crumb would pass his thieving canine lips.
The cake was not the only gift awaiting
Anne, for Mrs. Jenkins had also embroidered a set of handkerchiefs for her. Joseph’s secret woodwork was revealed to be a beautiful carving of her favorite roan mare, and Martin had walked to the woods at dawn to gather her an armful of bluebells. Her parents had left a present in Mrs. Jenkins’s keeping, and everyone gathered around as the housekeeper placed a large flat cardboard box on the kitchen table. It contained a costly cream silk evening gown that was fashionable and elegant enough for the Duchess of Wroxford to wear at Almack’s, and Anne’s eyes filled with tears, for she knew her father really could not afford it.
The gifts were then set aside, and while Anne sat down to a leisurely birthday breakfast, Mrs. Jenkins began to prepare the picnic, determined to show the new duke that good Monmouthshire food was every bit as good as that “Frenchified stuff” to which he was no doubt accustomed. Martin was despatched on his morning tasks in the stables, and Joseph had just begun to don his gardening boots, when through the open door he suddenly noticed something odd across the courtyard by the cellar trapdoors. He paused in astonishment. A snake? Surely not. Taking a walking stick of Mr. Willowby’s that was awaiting repair, he advanced cautiously in his socks to attend to the reptilian intruder and found it to be merely a serpentine length of rope. Tutting with annoyance that he’d been taken in, he picked it up and shoved it in his pocket, for if nothing else, it would do to tie a rambling rose that needed cutting back, but which he couldn’t touch because it was Mrs. Willowby’s favorite.
Still tutting, he returned to the kitchens, passing Mog in the doorway. She was lazily contemplating an inspection of her territory in the grounds and immediately caught the faint scent of the “snake” from which she’d so wisely steered well clear. What she detected at these close quarters certainly wasn’t snake but goatman! Arching her back and spitting at the startled gardener, she dashed toward the archway and vanished from sight. Joseph—no lover of cats at the best of times— frowned after her. “Miserable darned feline,” he muttered, resuming his place on the stool. Jack was highly intrigued by the cat’s reaction and came to sniff interestedly at the pocket. Disagreeable memories were aroused of being kicked on the rump by a horned man with hooves, and the peeved lurcher padded over to the trapdoors to investigate further. As the horrid scent became very strong indeed, he raised the alarm by barking for all he was worth.
With a sigh Joseph finished attending to his boots. “Leave off, you old fool!” he shouted, but Jack took no notice.
Mrs. Jenkins went to the door. “You don’t think it could be rats, do you?”
The gardener was offended. “Rats? I’m most particular about controlling vermin, and you know it.”
“Well, there’s clearly something bothering that mongrel of yours.”
Anne had a thought. “I heard something in the rotunda, and it crossed my mind that it might be a rat.”
Joseph had other things to do and didn’t want to be bothered with dark cellars, but he knew he had no choice. Devil take Jack! “All right, I’ll go and investigate,” he muttered reluctantly.
Mrs. Jenkins caught his sleeve suddenly. “Maybe it’s that intruder! You did say he might be hiding somewhere here, and it’s true that neither of us saw anyone hurrying away when we returned the other night.”
Joseph blinked. “What are you saying? That you reckon there’s a person down there?”
“I suppose I am,” the housekeeper replied, turning to cast an uneasy look at Anne, who had come to join them at the door.
Joseph drew himself up purposefully. “That does it. I’m not having anyone on these premises what isn’t supposed to be here. Where did I leave that there blunderbuss?”
Mrs. Jenkins’s eyes widened. “Oh, you will be careful, won’t you?”
“I’ll do what has to be done.” He took the formidable gun from its place on the wall above his woodworking shelf, and after lighting the lantern, he marched across to where Jack was still barking hysterically. Anne and Mrs. Jenkins remained nervously at the entrance of the kitchens as the trapdoors were opened and the angry lurcher leapt down into the darkness below. Joseph followed more cautiously, and then held the lantern aloft to look around. The dog had disappeared into the most shadowy recesses, where he began a loud clamor as he found the hole that gave into the temple below. The intensity of the scent wafting up warned of the creature’s close proximity, but the lurcher didn’t care to confront it without Joseph and the blunderbuss.
Sylvanus was rudely awakened by the lurcher’s noise. Alarmed, he scrambled up from his bed on Gervase’s coat and hid behind the altar, for there was no way of escape. He saw the swaying glow of the lantern as the gardener came to see what the dog had found.
“Good God above,” Joseph gasped as he saw the opening revealed by the removed stone flag. He crouched to hold the lantern down in order to see more, and then stared as the ancient steps were revealed. “Good God above,” he gasped again and began to go warily down into subterranean darkness. Still barking. Jack brushed past him and rushed toward the panic-stricken faun. Sylvanus had no option but to use his powers. He cried the magic words. Jack’s noise was cut off mid-bark; there was a thud, then absolute silence.
Joseph halted uneasily at the foot of the steps and raised the lantern to try to see what had happened. “Jack?” he called. There was no reply, and he called again. “Jack? Come here, boy.” Still silence. Placing the lantern on a ledge, the gardener held the blunderbuss at the ready, but as he stepped purposefully forward, he was shocked to see the lurcher—as white as white—lying motionless on the floor. Almost immediately there was a soft sound, and he whirled toward the altar. For a split second he saw an ugly bearded head, horned and snub-nosed, and in his shock he fired the blunderbuss. Fragments of the ceiling scattered, and the report reverberated like thunder in the confined space.
Sylvanus bleated with sheer terror and used his power again, this time upon the old man. As Joseph turned to marble, the faun scrambled up the steps to the cellars. There he froze with further alarm, for the two women had come running as soon as they heard the blunderbuss. Pressing back behind some empty casks, he watched as they descended the ladder. They saw the beam of lantern light reaching up from below, and the faun waited until they’d hurried past him before he whispered the incantation that would return the gardener and dog to their true selves, then he clambered up the ladder and fled to the maze as if an entire pantheon of outraged gods were on his goat tail.
Joseph was sitting up dazedly as Anne and Mrs. Jenkins came anxiously down into the temple. The gardener’s face had drained of all color, and he shook like a leaf as he patted Jack, who’d crawled over to him on his belly and was whining pathetically. Both man and dog kept a nervous eye upon the altar, for fear whatever it was might still be there.
Anne gazed around the temple in amazement, then took the lantern and hurried over to the gardener. “Are you all right, Joseph?” she asked.
“I think so. Just shaken, that’s all.” Joseph tried to clear his mind, for the past few seconds didn’t bear thinking about.
Mrs. Jenkins came over and knelt next to him. “What happened?” she inquired, putting a concerned hand on his shoulder.
He hesitated, but then drew back from a truth that would surely see him pass through the doors of the nearest bedlam. “I just tripped and fell.”
“Should we send Martin for the doctor?” the housekeeper asked.
“No, I’d much rather not. I’m just shaken up, that’s all,” Joseph said uncomfortably.
Mrs. Jenkins looked around with some relief. “Well, at least there doesn’t seem to be anyone down here. When that blunderbuss went off, I was afraid...” She didn’t finish.
Anne noticed how swiftly Joseph lowered his gaze and suddenly knew he wasn’t telling the truth. He hadn’t simply tripped and fallen; there had been something else. She glanced at Jack, whose cowering fright surely resulted from more than just the blunderbuss going off. Maybe someone had been down here. She was uneasy, for if there had been,
then she and Mrs. Jenkins must have passed the person.
The housekeeper continued to look around. “What is this place?” she asked.
“I think it’s a Roman temple,” Anne replied.
“And it’s been right here under Llandower all this time?” Mrs. Jenkins shivered and got to her feet. “Let’s go back up into the daylight,” she said, holding out a hand to help Joseph.
As the housekeeper assisted the unsteady gardener out of the temple, with Jack at their heels, still belly low on the ground, Anne picked up the lantern and glanced around again. She was about to follow the others when she noticed what seemed to be a pile of crumpled old cloth on the altar. On investigation she was startled to find not rags, but a fashionable greatcoat someone had been using as bedding. So a fugitive had been hiding down here. Her pulse quickened unpleasantly, for it was a very unsettling thought. Still, she could prevent any return by bolting the door to the kitchens’ passage and padlocking the trapdoors from the courtyard.
Her attention returned to the coat, which she decided must have been stolen. She ran a curious fingertip over the gleaming silver buttons, only one of which was missing. Why would a thief fail to remove and sell such costly items? As she looked, she suddenly recognized the maze badge of the Mowbrays and recalled that the old Duke of Wroxford had buttons like these. Surely, the vagrant couldn’t have been hiding down here as long ago as that? She discounted the thought almost immediately, for this was a young man’s coat, stylish and bang-up to the latest mark. Taking the coat with her, she made her way out of the temple.
Chapter Twenty-five
Sylvanus was still so unnerved by the closeness of the call in the temple that on reaching the rotunda he flung himself among the thick ivy behind the bench, his hands clasped over his head and his furry posterior up in the air.