Playing the Part

by Jen Turano

  Tilda nodded. “She did, but to give Mr. Skukman credit, he didn’t bat an eye as she went about the unpleasant business of pummeling him. It wasn’t harming him at all, of course, but when she started throwing things—and not just at him but at members of your staff as well—Mr. Skukman saved quite a few people from suffering injuries by picking up Miss Dunlap, tossing her over his shoulder, and carting her offstage.”

  “Should I ask what happened next?”

  “He was run out of Tarrytown by a horde of angry townswomen, and . . . to add further chaos to the evening, someone let Geoffrey out of the barn again and he chased Miss Dunlap and Miss Cooper all the way down the drive, until they were rescued by Ernie. Although . . . he was apparently in the process of creating some new gravestones for the back graveyard in case you needed some disturbing inspiration some night, and . . . there is now a rumor swirling about town that we’re up to some concerning shenanigans here at Ravenwood.”

  “The graveyard’s just a muse to me,” Bram pointed out. “It’s not as if we’re actually burying people in it. Why, one only has to read the Countess of Devonshire Heights to find half the names Ernie’s etched on the stones.”

  “Forgive me, Mr. Haverstein, but since no one except you, your editor, and your staff knows you’re Mr. Grimstone, you can’t actually blame people for finding you a bit . . . curious—nor can you expect anyone to assume the graveyard we have here at Ravenwood doesn’t have any graves in it.” Tilda released a breath. “Although, if you want my opinion, I think it’s past time for you to disclose your secret to your friends and close family. It would save a lot of speculation, and your poor mother wouldn’t be wondering if you’re up to criminal activities.”

  Bram released a breath of his own. “You might be right.”

  “Of course I am, but now is not the time to ponder the matter further. You need to make amends with Miss Plum before you lose her for good.”

  “Before you do that, though, sir,” Stanley called from where he was still lying on the floor, “could you possibly be bothered to unshackle me?”

  “I do beg your pardon, Stanley. Once again I seem to have forgotten all about you languishing down there.” Bram opened the top drawer of his desk and rummaged through it. “I seem to have misplaced the key, though.”

  When Stanley began sputtering, he hurried to continue. “But not to worry. I know I have a spare one in the kitchen, and I’ll go fetch it straightaway.”

  Rising to his feet, he headed out of the dungeon and pulled the door closed behind him. Walking up the narrow flight of stairs that led to the ground floor, he reached the top and opened the door that led into the kitchen ever so slowly. Sticking his head around it to make certain the coast was clear, he froze on the spot when his gaze settled on none other than Lucetta.

  That she was just as surprised to see him, there was no question, since she’d frozen as well. But unlike him, she wasn’t frozen for long. Advancing his way with absolutely delightful curls tumbling around her beautiful face, she stopped right before the door and plunked her hands on her hips.

  “Your hair looks very lovely today” was the only thing that sprang to mind to say to her.

  “I’ve been bored, which led to my experimenting with the hot tongs, but . . . where have you been?”

  “Working.”

  Lucetta lifted her chin. “I didn’t ask what you’ve been doing, I asked where you’ve been doing it.”

  “Oh, uh, well . . .”

  “What’s behind that door?”

  “Who says there’s anything behind it?”

  “Step aside.”

  “I find this bossy side of you to be incredibly charming.”

  “I’d hate to have to hurt you, but I will if you don’t get out of my way.”

  “I find ladies who seem to have no qualms about threatening a gentleman to be just as charming as bossy ones.”

  “I’m beginning to lose patience with you.”

  Bram edged his way through the door, opening it just enough to squeeze through, but then Lucetta brushed right past him, and since he certainly wasn’t a gentleman who was comfortable physically restraining a woman, he simply stood there, resignation stealing a breath from him as he watched her hurry down the steps . . . until he realized what she’d find down there. Rushing after her, he caught up to her right as she caught sight of the black door leading to the dungeon.

  “Why is that door painted black?”

  “Uh . . .”

  “What’s in there?”

  “Nothing you’d find interesting.”

  She reached out and jiggled the knob. “It’s locked.”

  “I guess that means we should go back to the kitchen. I, for one, just realized I’m starving, and I’m also dying to learn what happened to Mr. Skukman, only recently learning that he got run out of town.”

  “Honestly, Bram, he’s Mr. Skukman. Do you actually believe he wouldn’t have found a way back to Ravenwood—pitchfork-carrying townsfolk or not? He, unlike some people we know”—she sent him a pointed look—“is very diligent when it comes to his responsibilities. Which is why he’s currently searching for that secret passageway up in the tower—so that I won’t be taken unaware again by some misbehaving member of your staff.”

  She drew in a breath and continued. “But enough about that. I’m far more interested in what happened to you. Why are you still wearing the same clothing you had on two nights ago, and”—she narrowed her eyes—“how could you have forgotten the disaster you and I landed ourselves in? Because of your disappearance over the past couple days, your mother and grandmother are under this misimpression that you and I are truly going to get married. They’ve been plotting and planning almost nonstop, actually repairing to Iris’s house today so that they could plot in peace, seemingly annoyed by the fact I keep telling them there’s not going to be a wedding.”

  She smiled somewhat unpleasantly at him. “You may just find yourself in the midst of a wedding they’ve taken great pains to plan, and having to explain to those dear women why they were allowed to continue planning such a wedding when you have no fiancée to meet you at the end of the aisle.”

  Bram took a single step toward her but froze on the spot when she let out what almost sounded like a hiss. “I know I haven’t been very attentive,” he began. “But I have a reasonable explanation for that—or fairly reasonable. However, explanations aside, surely you haven’t forgotten that your good name has been compromised, which means, given that we were discovered in a tricky situation, we have no choice but to get married.”

  “Surely you haven’t forgotten that I’m an actress. There is very little that can be done to harm a reputation I haven’t seen for about a decade.”

  Not caring at all for the direction the conversation seemed to be heading, and truly wanting to kick himself for allowing his writing to consume him over the past two days instead of settling things properly with Lucetta, Bram summoned up a smile. “I have a feeling your reputation is very important to you—why else would you have gone to such extremes to discourage all of your admirers over the years?”

  Instead of answering him, Lucetta jiggled the knob to the dungeon again. When it didn’t budge, she took to knocking on the door.

  “Who is it?” Tilda’s voice called through the door.

  “It’s Lucetta, Tilda. Open the door.”

  For a second, dead silence rang out, but then, “There’s no one here right now, especially no one by the name of Tilda.”

  “Honestly,” Lucetta muttered before she plucked a hairpin from her curls and bent down to the lock. Less than thirty seconds later, the lock clicked, she turned the knob, and before he could stop her, she stepped into the dungeon.

  “Where did you learn how to do that?” he asked after he forced himself to trail after her into the dungeon.

  “My friend Millie taught me, but . . .” Lucetta drew in a sharp breath. “What’s going on in here?”

  Stepping up beside her, Bram winced
. Stanley, unfortunately, was still lying on the ground, shackled to a railroad tie, no less, while Tilda, for some unknown reason, was spread out on the rack that had once been used for stretching people, and . . . she’d even gone so far as to stick her hands through the holes at the head of the rack, which made her look as if she was in the process of being tortured.

  It was not how he would have liked to have gone about the business of introducing Lucetta to his real life, because, well, looking at it through her eyes, it was a menacing scene indeed, and . . .

  He snapped back to the situation at hand when he realized Lucetta was now moving through the very large dungeon, her eyes enormous as her gaze drifted from one unusual device to the next—all procured with a specific plot point in mind, but . . . devices that a supposedly normal person certainly wouldn’t have collected.

  “This is going to break your grandmother’s heart,” she finally said, lifting up a heavy chain that had spikes attached to the end of it. “I have no idea how I’m going to divulge to her that you, her treasured grandson, are nothing more than some . . . crazed lunatic.”

  “That’s a bit harsh, and all of this”—he gestured around the room—“is not exactly what it seems.”

  “It’s not a dungeon filled with every type of torture device devised in the last five hundred years?”

  “I think the oldest I’ve managed to find is three hundred years old, and . . .”

  “You’re not helping your case, Mr. Haverstein,” Tilda called out to him.

  “Uh yes, probably not.”

  “I’m confused about the railroad tie Stanley’s attached to,” Lucetta tossed at him, causing him to blink at the rapid change of topics.

  “Uh . . .” he began.

  “It’s not that confusing, Miss Plum,” Stanley said, speaking up when Bram continued floundering. “I’m trying to see how long it takes to get freed from being shackled to a railroad track with only a hairpin to get undone.”

  “Why would anyone need to know that?”

  “Well, it might come in handy if, well . . . hmm . . . That is a difficult question to answer,” Stanley said as he sent Lucetta a rather strained smile.

  “May I assume you have a reason for practicing such a thing?” Lucetta pressed.

  “Uh . . .” was all Stanley seemed capable of replying, which had Lucetta marching right up to him.

  “What is your area of expertise, Stanley?”

  “Well, that depends, Miss Plum. I’m very good at assuming a variety of different roles, one of those being Mr. Haverstein’s acting valet at the moment. Although . . . now that I think about it, since he’s not changed his clothing for two days, that might not have been the best example to give you regarding what I’m good at.”

  “What did you do before you began working for Bram?”

  “A . . . uh . . . bit of this and that.”

  “Criminal this and that?” she pressed.

  “I grew up in the Lower East Side, Miss Plum. I’m fairly certain that over the years I lived there a few of my positions would have, possibly, been considered less than reputable. But when I came to work for Mr. Haverstein, I had to promise to put aside my less than honest ways, and that’s what I did.”

  He nodded. “Reverend Gilmore, a very wise man, once told me that God forgives us for the sins of our past if we ask for forgiveness. He also told me that God expects each and every one of us, after we’ve acknowledged our wrongdoings, to try and walk the straight and narrow. That right there is what Mr. Haverstein expects from those he hires, and I can say with all certainty that I’m a better man now than I’ve ever been.”

  “You know Reverend Gilmore too?” Lucetta demanded.

  “Of course. He’s a familiar figure in the tenements. He’s just tickled to death to have found a gentleman like Mr. Haverstein, a gentleman who is kind, compassionate, willing to always lend a hand, a true champion for the weak and downtrodden, and . . .”

  “I think she gets the point,” Bram said quickly when it started becoming a bit too obvious that Stanley had descended into a touch of embellishing when it came to Bram’s character. Squaring his shoulders, he moved to his desk, the one where his typewriter sat, opened his mouth, and was just about ready to reveal all when . . . Ernie strolled into the dungeon, carrying a shovel over his shoulder and whistling a bit of a happy tune under his breath.

  “Finished burying that sword, Mr. Haverstein, just like you asked me to, and there’ll be no finding it now, not with it being buried in the graveyard . . . Oh . . . hello, Miss Plum. I wasn’t expecting to find you down here in the, um, dungeon.” Ernie shot a glance to Bram, who only had a grimace to send him in return. Shifting the shovel to his other shoulder, Ernie blinked far too innocent eyes Lucetta’s way. “How goes the wedding plans?”

  “I’d rather discuss why you were burying the sword, and where this graveyard is, and exactly what, or who, is buried in it,” Lucetta returned.

  “I’ve always thought a wedding right around Christmas would be lovely,” Ernie continued as if Lucetta hadn’t spoken.

  “I’m sure Abigail and Iris would agree with you, Ernie, which is why I’m also sure they’re going to be incredibly disappointed to learn that there will be no wedding, at least not one that will ever see me married to your boss—Mr. Madman Haverstein.”

  Bram frowned. “The whole Madman business is a bit severe, don’t you think? Because there truly is a rational explanation regarding all”—he gestured around the room—“this.”

  Lucetta’s eyes turned stormy. “If you think I’ll believe anything you have to say from this point forward, Mr. Haverstein, you’re more delusional than I’m giving you credit for. Although, do know that I’m not blaming you for everything. I will take some responsibility for being caught in a compromising situation.”

  “I’m the one who stole you away from the rehearsal.”

  “True, you did, but . . .” Lucetta drew herself up. “In hindsight, it was a mistake on my part to accompany you there so readily. You’re obviously not a gentleman I can trust, and that means . . . I expect you to keep your distance from me until I can make arrangements to depart Ravenwood for a safer environment.”

  With that, she spun on her heel and was out of the dungeon before he could even consider stopping her.

  “Don’t just stand there, go after her,” Tilda said.

  “She’s not going to listen to me.”

  “You’ll have to tell her the truth. Tell her you’re Mr. Grimstone.”

  “I was about to do just that, but . . . well, matters seemed to get quickly out of hand.”

  “That’s because Miss Plum thinks you’ve lied to her, sir,” Ernie said.

  “I have lied to her—I’ve lied to everyone, for that matter, by keeping Mr. Grimstone a secret.”

  Ernie shifted the shovel to his other shoulder. “Perhaps it’s time for you to make amends for that. I believe your family will be more accepting of having an author in the family than you’ve given them credit for, sir.”

  “Except for maybe Ruby,” Tilda said, speaking up. “Especially since she was considering tracking Mr. Grimstone down and convincing him he should court her.”

  “Good thing she’s been showing a bit of interest in Mr. Skukman,” Stanley pointed out from his position on the ground. “That way you won’t be dealing with a sister nursing a broken heart over a love that can never be hers.”

  Bram’s lips quirked ever so slightly “Yes, thank you for that, Stanley.” Heading for the door, he looked over his shoulder and caught Ernie’s eye. “Will you see Stanley released? I wasn’t able to retrieve the spare key from the kitchen.”

  “Don’t you give it another thought, sir,” Ernie said with a nod. “And don’t fret over what you need to tell Miss Plum. Just remember what Reverend Gilmore was preaching the last time we were back in the city—the truth shall set you free.”

  Bram smiled. “A good reminder. Thank you, Ernie.” With a nod meant for everyone, Bram strode out the do
or with additional words of encouragement drifting after him from his eclectic, yet good-hearted, staff. Taking the steps two at a time, he walked into the kitchen right as a distinctive boom sounded from outside the castle.

  Heading immediately down the hallway, Bram came to an abrupt stop when Mrs. Macmillan rushed into view.

  “Mr. Haverstein, thank goodness,” she breathed. “We didn’t know what to do. Mr. Macmillan and I were up on the north tower because . . . Well . . . no time to explain that, but . . . we saw a bunch of riders approaching. They went right by the gate, which means Ernie’s either dead or he abandoned his post. So while Mr. Macmillan got the cannon ready to draw attention, I rushed down the steps, but . . . I was too late. Someone knocked on the door, and before I could stop her, Miss Plum answered it, and . . . they snatched her straight out of the castle.”

  19

  To say the rooms she’d been held captive in for three days were the height of gaudiness was a definite understatement.

  Pink was the color of choice for the sitting room, deep purple had been lavishly used in the bathing chamber, and the bedchamber . . . Well, it was a garish nightmare with all the black, red, and gold papering the walls, hanging from the windows, and making up the counterpane that covered the canopied bed.

  The only bearable element in what was, in reality, her jail, was the large bookcase that ran along an entire wall in the sitting room, filled with leather-bound books, most of them with their spines intact.

  At first, assuming that Silas had picked out each and every one of them for her as he’d pictured her cozied up on the pink divan reading them had kept her from opening up a single book. But then, when Silas didn’t put in an appearance and the hours had ticked slowly by and anxiety had begun to build, Lucetta had turned to the books as a source of distraction.

  Unfortunately, given that she was an incredibly fast reader, and given that she’d now been held against her will for three very long days—her only company being the rather masculine-looking women Silas had hired to watch out for her—she’d run out of books to read.