by Cindy Anstey
She listened.
And in the silence, she heard a terrible sound. A whimper. Coming from under the collapsed floor.
chapter 2
In which rubble and a peeved father confound Miss Chively and Mr. Benjamin
“No!” Imogene shouted as she tried to race forward, tried to get closer to the hole—tried and tried … to no avail. Something prevented her from moving. Looking down, Imogene saw a hand on her arm, clamped and holding tight. She looked up at Mr. Benjamin, confused. “Why…? Let go, Mr. Steeple. Jasper is in there. He is hurt.”
Mr. Benjamin immediately released his grip, placing his hand in front of her instead. While not truly barring her way, his stance gave Imogene pause.
“I hear Jasper whining—” she said in a shaky voice. “He is hurt,” she repeated, for, really, what else was there to know?
“I beg your pardon, Miss Chively, but could you wait—just for a moment? I really should check the wall first. It could come down on top of you, and then you will be of no use to Jasper whatsoever.” His voice was calm and matter-of-fact.
“Yes, of course.” Imogene nodded, ignoring the blur in her eyes and the trickles of moisture down her cheeks.
She watched as Mr. Benjamin strode to the central arch. Leaning across the threshold, he shifted back and forth, looking up. “I think there is little danger for now,” he eventually called over his shoulder. “But we will have to be very careful not to jar it any farther. And it will have to be braced sometime in the very near future.”
With a nod, Imogene stepped through the nearest doorway, stopping at the brink of the collapsed floor, listening for Jasper. Other than a few feet of stone edging the walls and central fireplace, the floor was completely gone. It was now a tremendous pile of rubble, filling what had once been the storeroom below the hall. Dust had painted every inch of the clumped and crumbling debris in the same hue of gray. Contours were near impossible to discern—certainly nothing dog-shaped.
Was Jasper under the rubble? Imogene caught her breath and swallowed with difficulty.
Squinting in concentration, she stepped gingerly down onto the top of the nearest collection of rocks. She listened for any change in Jasper’s tone. The stones shifted under her feet, and Imogene landed on her knees. It was jarring. Rocks cut into her palms and through the thin material of her gown, but Jasper’s whimper remained the same. She had not fallen on him or the rocks on top of him. And now his whine was louder, but it echoed. Cocking her head, she listened, but it was near impossible to understand the direction from which the high-pitched whine was coming.
“Imogene, are you all right?” It sounded as if Emily were standing directly behind Imogene.
“Yes, I’m fine. But I need to hear. Shhh.”
“He’s whining, Imogene. Jasper is whining. That is not a good sign.”
“No, not really. But it means he is alive, and I can use the sound like a beacon. Silence would mean something else entirely. So please, Emily, shush. Or better yet, go get help. The gardener, the coachman. Anyone and everyone, but hurry.”
Closing her eyes, Imogene swiveled her head, trying to understand the echoes. With relief, she heard Emily’s retreating footsteps, running across the bridge. Another sound caught her attention—shifting rocks—and her eyes flew open.
In the center of the great hall, Mr. Benjamin had joined her on top of the rubble. He was not on his knees but squatted, tilting his head from side to side and listening as she had been doing. Above him, the wall loomed.
“That is the most dangerous place to be, Mr. Benjamin. If the wall comes down, it will rain down on you directly.” She was protected by the strength of the corner that abutted the tower.
“Indeed. If I could trouble you to warn me should the wall start to wobble, I would appreciate it.… If it wouldn’t be too much trouble.” He lifted his cheeks.
Imogene nodded, and while she did not return his smile, she did appreciate his attempt to lighten the situation.
“Or perhaps I should borrow your parasol,” he said as he tilted his head lower.
Imogene snorted; it was half laugh, half sob.
“I left my stone-repelling parasol at the manor,” she said after a moment of intense listening. “So seldom do I need it.”
Leaning back, he squinted and then scuffled to the side.
“Your bonnet, then?” he asked eventually.
Imogene bent in the opposite direction, listening.
“I don’t think the style would suit you.”
“I have to proceed bareheaded, then.” He scuffled again to another spot—and then sudden silence bore down on them.
Imogene waited. She swallowed and waited. Looking up, she caught Mr. Benjamin’s gaze, and they stared at each other, waiting for Jasper to whine again. “Jasper!” she called. But nothing. No dog sound, and the hush continued far, far too long.
Jumping to her feet, swaying and then finding her balance, Imogene grabbed a stone and tossed it up and over the lip of the hole. She turned and grabbed another. Stone after stone, Imogene frantically grabbed, tossed, and turned. It was some minutes before the utter futility of her actions penetrated her frenzy, and she stopped, dropping the rock in her hands.
Closing her eyes, Imogene felt her knees wobble. She would have fallen had arms not come around her shoulders to prevent her from dropping to the ground. Imogene laid her head on the shoulder provided. “Jasper,” she whispered in profound misery. Her trickle of tears became a torrent, and she turned her face into the coat to muffle her sobs.
Standing together, locked in wretchedness, Imogene lost her sense of time; it no longer mattered. It felt like an eon of seconds when Mr. Benjamin stiffened and grabbed a sharp breath of surprise.
Imogene lifted her head, his reaction breaking into her grief-filled mind. “What is it?” she asked, pulling away and only just realizing how entwined they had become. She tilted her head and looked up at his expression.
He was smiling. Broadly. It was almost a grin. And then a burble of laughter burst from him, and Imogene wondered about his sanity. About to inquire, Imogene was instead directed to turn around.
“Look,” he said, pointing to the corner occupied by the stone spiral staircase.
Imogene squinted into the shadows and, at first glance, saw nothing worthy of happy acclaim. Then two dark spots disappeared only to reappear in the blink of an eye.
With a gasp, Imogene stared, waiting for the two dark spots to blink again. And they did. “Jasper!” she screamed. Yes, it was a most unladylike sound.
Scrambling as best she could, Imogene rushed with Mr. Benjamin across the rubble, holding each other up as they tripped across the uneven surface.
Only Jasper’s head could be seen peeking out from behind the central stone newel post. He appeared to be on the widest step where the entrance to the great hall had been. But he was not moving. As she got closer, Imogene could see that Jasper was panting. Was it anxiety or pain? He was so entirely covered in gray dust that it was hard to discern that his mouth was even open. She was not at all comfortable with his lack of enthusiasm. The only time Jasper was not high-spirited was when he was asleep. As she neared, the dog began to whine, but still did not move.
“I’m coming, dearest puppy. Almost there.” With eyes on Jasper, Imogene spoke to Mr. Benjamin. “If you go round the other way, we can approach him from both sides. I’ll take his head to comfort him until we can understand … oh.” Imogene blinked. “Oh, Jasper, what have you done?” She was both relieved and concerned.
“His tail,” Mr. Benjamin said as they looked at each other over the dog’s back. “Well, it might not be too bad. We’ll know better as soon as I move the rock.”
It was not done easily. The rock was not a single stone but, in fact, a group of stones still mortared together—heavy and unwieldy. Still, Mr. Benjamin did not have to lift the weight far, just off Jasper’s tail. Once free, Jasper jumped to his feet, tried to wag, and then yelped in pain. The tip of his tail
was kinked and matted in blood. Imogene crooned as she half lifted, half dragged him out of the stairwell and into the fresh air and light. Once there, she laid him down and gave him a thorough inspection.
“Oh dear. He has a significant cut on his shoulder and is missing a patch of fur on his side. And, of course, his tail is quite mangled.”
Mr. Benjamin knelt beside them, nodding as Imogene pointed out Jasper’s terrible injuries. “Yes, indeed, he was very lucky.”
Imogene smiled. “You are right. It could have been so much worse.” She laughed; it almost sounded like a giggle. She was so very relieved.
“I will carry him if that is all right with you and Jasper.”
“Your coat will be ruined. He is filthy and bloody and—Oh, I’m afraid—”
“Yes, rather pointless to be concerned about my coat now. Too late for both of us, I’m sorry to say. Your lovely gown is not at its best, either.”
Imogene looked down, snorting at the understatement. Not at its best? Her dress was ruined beyond repair, stained with dirt and blood, and ripped about the knees, and her lovely cerulean sash was missing. She grimaced. “Mother will not be pleased.”
“Under the circumstances, I’m sure Mrs. Chively will understand the forfeiture.”
Imogene shrugged—rather handily; it was a shame that Emily was not there to witness the feat. “I’m sure you are right,” she said, knowing otherwise. She would not allow thoughts of Mother’s anger to ruin her euphoria. Jasper would be fine. That was all that mattered.
Placing his hands carefully under the dog, Mr. Benjamin lifted Jasper easily, despite the precious creature’s weight of three and a half stone. Imogene guided them back across the rubble, providing support whenever rocks shifted beneath Mr. Benjamin’s feet. Once up and over the lip of the hole, walking became much easier, and Imogene trotted alongside, patting and crooning to Jasper. It seemed to be unnecessary, because Jasper was as content as any injured dog can be, no longer panting in distress.
They had just crossed the bridge and started to climb the hill toward the manor when they heard a hail. Imogene looked up and saw Emily and Mr. Beeswanger rushing toward them.
“Thank heaven,” Emily said when she was near enough to be heard without the necessity of raising her voice. She stopped in front of Mr. Benjamin, stroking Jasper gently. “Well done, Mr. Benjamin.”
“Jasper deserves the praise, not me. He cleverly stayed near the stairs and out from under the worst of the rubble. His tail suffered the most damage.” He pointed with his nose.
“Oh, you poor dear,” Emily said, leaning to look closer. “It’s rather flat.”
“This is a much happier outcome than expected.” Mr. Beeswanger joined the group. He was winded, likely from the act of rushing across the lawn. Emily’s father was an affable, somewhat portly gentleman, prone to laughing and jolly conversation, and brought comfort with his company. Not at all like—
“Imogene! What have you done?”
Imogene’s heart sank at the sound of her father’s voice. She took a fortifying breath and turned to look up the winding path to Gracebridge. Walking … no, marching … toward her, Imogene’s father quickly set upon them. His expression was thunderous; his countenance had a tendency to be pinched and critical at the best of times, but he had added a ruddy complexion and piercing gaze to the ensemble.
And then, to increase the uneasiness of the situation, Mr. Steeple—Mr. Ernest Steeple—stepped out from behind her father, and Imogene was suddenly very aware of her disheveled appearance. She smiled awkwardly.
“Look at you,” her father continued, speaking with a raised voice, despite having joined the company. “You are in complete disarray.” He turned to speak over his shoulder. “I can assure you, Mr. Steeple, that this is a highly irregular state of being. Imogene is usually the epitome of a properly brought up young lady.”
Without responding, Mr. Ernest stepped past her father and approached Imogene. He hesitated, and Imogene feared that he might try to take hold of her hands while greeting her. Instead, he bowed his head, and Imogene returned his greeting with a bobbed curtsy. She tried not to chew at her bottom lip.
“So good to see you again, Miss Chively. Are you well? You seem to have had a slight mishap.” The breeze played with the hair that had fallen in front of his eyes. His grin was half self-conscious, half admiring.
Imogene nodded with a ghost of a smile. “Thank you, Mr. Steeple. I am as well as can be expected after—”
“After you brought down the castle.” Imogene’s father gestured toward the ruin, flailing his arms about.
“The erosion was significant, Mr. Chively. Likely made worse by the frosts of last winter—”
“Winter has been over for some months, Mr. Benjamin. I hardly think we can blame the weather for this disaster.”
“Perhaps the ravages of time, then.”
“What?” Imogene’s father turned his head to stare at Mr. Benjamin. He added a frown to his stormy expression and a slight curl to his lip.
It was a clear display of condescension, and Imogene was insulted on Mr. Benjamin’s behalf. No, more than insulted, she was peeved—yes, truly peeved. Here was a helpful young man in a ruined coat carrying her injured dog, and her father was not only ignoring this act of gallantry but also deriding the bearer. Still, Imogene knew better than to confront her father directly.
“Father, I made mention of the growing number of cracks and sagging floor yesterday.” She had been assured that there was nothing to be concerned about—a great fuss for nothing were her father’s exact words.
“Yes, well you should have explained yourself more fully, Imogene. Now the whole will have to come down. It’s a danger to everyone.”
His words unsettled her, as they were meant to. Shaking her head in distress, Imogene stepped forward as if to put her hand on her father’s arm. “No. Please, Father. It can be repaired.”
Leaning back, away from his daughter, Imogene’s father lifted his chin—allowing him to look down his nose at her. “I would say not. Look at that mess. A piece of history utterly destroyed. If you had stayed away, this would not have happened. All that tramping about.”
Mouth agape, Imogene glanced at Mr. Ernest, who exuded sympathy and confusion at the same time. She didn’t wonder at his uncertainty. Her father’s angry declaration made little sense; though, to point that out would only increase his ire. And yet she had to try—the thought of losing the castle entirely was just too upsetting to stay her tongue.
“But, Father, there is no need for—” Imogene began, but she was interrupted.
“No need for such drastic measures, sir. The west wall would require only bracing. The tower is undamaged, and once the storeroom is cleared of rubble, you can secure the remains of the foundation.”
Silently releasing her pent-up breath, Imogene felt her heart swell with appreciation. Mr. Benjamin had picked up the gauntlet and was crusading to save her castle.
Father’s lip curled higher, and he smiled in a most unfriendly manner. “Ah, I see. Know a lot about castle ruins do you, young man?”
“Yes, actually.”
“Oh?” It was amazing how much haughtiness could be instilled in a single word.
“Ben has been studying with Rudyard Newbury in Canterbury this past year. He is a first-year apprentice,” Mr. Ernest explained, pushing the hair out of his eyes. “You have heard of Lord Penton, the legendary architect, I assume?” He turned to smile and nod at Imogene. His pride in his brother’s prowess was evident.
Imogene returned her gaze to that of her father. His countenance underwent a gradual change as he mulled over the comment cum query. His brow lost the multitude of folds, lifting until he looked almost even-tempered. “Indeed, I have heard of Lord Penton. Your mentor? Indeed. Looking to make your mark in the world, are you? Erect a building or two?”
“That would be the ultimate goal, sir. Though it will be many years yet.”
“Why are you not there now? In
Canterbury with Lord Penton? Not playing truant, are you? Won’t have none of that.”
“No.” Ben laughed easily. “Indeed not, Mr. Chively. I can rightly understand. No, Lord Penton has graciously allowed me the summer off. Rather unheard of, but I believe that Lady Penton insisted that her husband rest after completing the last project. I will be returning to Canterbury in the autumn.”
“I see. And you think the old castle worth saving.”
“Absolutely, sir. In fact, just before the floor gave way, I wondered if Lord Penton might be interested in knowing of your stonework, particularly where the great hall and tower come together. A masterful design.”
“Really? The stonework?”
“Oh, indeed, finest I’ve seen.”
Imogene frowned ever so slightly. Was there a tinge of sarcasm in Mr. Benjamin’s reply? No, it was just her imagination— the gentlemen were nodding at one another without any display of rancor.
“Oh, well, we must preserve that then, mustn’t we.” Imogene’s father stepped closer, one with the group again. “Yes, yes. Preserve it, we must. Might I ask a great favor of you, young man? Might you consider overseeing these repairs? Shouldn’t take too long, I would think. Just a word or two to Mr. Opine, my land agent. Suggestions and whatnot. You are the expert. What say you?”
“It would be my pleasure, sir.” Mr. Benjamin glanced at his brother with a smile and a wink before he looked down at the bundle in his arms. “At the moment, however, I believe this fellow needs attending to.”
Imogene’s father dropped his eyes to Jasper; he offered a startled expression, as if only just realizing the dog’s condition. “Yes, indeed. He looks worse than Imogene, and that’s saying something. The stables are the best place for him.”
Imogene straightened. “Yes, Father, that’s where we were headed.” Laying her hand on Jasper’s furry head, she scratched behind the dog’s ear. She glanced at Mr. Ernest; he was watching her. Should she invite him along?
“Come up to the house, Imogene. You need to make yourself decent. I was just about to show Mr. Steeple my superb collection of snuffboxes. Come, everyone, we can leave the dog in Mr. Benjamin’s capable hands. I’m sure he can find the stables.”