In that instant she was sure the earl had lied. This was how he had got into that room. He was the one making the unearthly noises. But why? Did he plan to drive her to madness and have her locked away, thereby taking control of the money? Or did he want to frighten her into his arms? Into marriage? Or did he think to blame a ghost for her death?
Her mouth dried. The air wouldn’t seem to fill her lungs. She swallowed hard. Inside she was trembling. Weak. Wishing she knew just what he was up to.
Surely Gerald and Jeffrey knew about this passageway? It was the sort of thing no self-respecting boy would miss. Unless they truly believed that the tunnels had collapsed long ago. If their grandfather had told them it was so, would they not have believed him?
Whoever knew about this had ready access into her chamber. Suddenly her skin felt too tight and her scalp tingled. That person could come and go into her room at will.
Hastily, she closed the secret door and hurried back down the steps, pausing outside the entrance to her room to make sure everything was just as she had left it.
She let go a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding. Should she explore further, or simply face the earl with her findings in the morning? It would be good to know if it led outside to freedom. She took a quick breath and continued on past her room. Darkness closed in around her, apart from the small circle of light cast by her candle.
At the sound of a deep low rumble of male voices she froze. Was someone else in the passageway? There was no glimmer of light ahead. No footsteps accompanying the voices. She continued on more slowly and came to a fork in the tunnel. By heavens, it seemed there was a veritable rabbit warren inside the walls. And they looked in good working order, too. Was there something else going on here? Was the old earl involved in smuggling? French brandy was smuggled all along the coast of Cornwall at great profit.
The voices were louder now, though still indistinct. If she could hear them, they would be able to hear her if she called out. But that would give her discovery away and she wasn’t ready to do so. Not yet.
With one hand on the clammy wall and the candle held out in front of her, she pressed on, slowly, one step at a time. This part of the tunnel was not quite high enough for her to stand upright, but as long as she kept her neck bent, she managed not to give the top of her head more than the odd scrape.
She turned another corner. Now the voices were as clear as if she was standing in the room with the earl and, she supposed, his visitor, Lord Templeton.
‘To speedy success. Hopefully it won’t take too much time away from your duties,’ the earl said. A chinking of glasses ensued.
What on earth could they be talking about? Whatever it was, it was not her business.
‘What more do you know about her?’ Lord Templeton asked.
‘Nothing, except he left her a fortune.’
They were talking about her. Then it was her business.
‘What is she like?’
Her breath caught in her throat. She winced. She did not want to hear this, but for some reason she could not move.
There was a long pause, as if the earl was taking his time considering the question. Oh, she really should go.
‘Tall. Stubborn to a fault,’ he said quite softly, sounding almost bemused. ‘Certainly not my type,’ he added more forcefully.
Nor was he hers.
‘I suppose you have thought about the other solution,’ Templeton said.
She stilled. Another solution would be a very good thing, wouldn’t it? Some way out of their predicament?
The earl made a sound like a bitter laugh and said something indistinct. Then continued more clearly. ‘I want know what I am dealing with before taking drastic action.’
Drastic? What did he mean by drastic? She recalled the push that had almost sent her over the cliff. Her mouth dried. Her heart knocked against her ribs. She leaned against the wall for support. A sick feeling churned in her stomach. Fear.
An overreaction? Drastic could mean anything. The fact he stood to inherit by her death didn’t mean he would actually plan it.
Surely he couldn’t be that evil.
‘I’ll do anything you want,’ Templeton said. His next words were too low for her to hear.
If they were plotting against her it would help to know what they had in mind. She put her ear to the wall.
A piece of rock crumbled against her fingers and rattled to the floor.
‘What was that?’ Templeton asked.
She held her breath, frozen to the spot. If the earl knew about the passageway, would he guess someone was inside, listening?
‘Ranger heard it, too,’ the earl said. His voice drew closer. ‘What is it, old fellow?’
The dog whined, then she heard a snuffling sound as if he had his nose pressed against the stonework.
‘It’s either a mouse or a rat,’ the earl said, so close to her ear that she recoiled. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if the inside of the walls weren’t crawling with vermin. Something else to eliminate when I have the money situation resolved.’
Something else to eliminate? The tunnels and her? Her stomach pitched. She had to get away from this place. As soon as possible. Sooner.
‘Another brandy, Gabe?’ The earl’s voice moved further away.
‘Thank you. That had better be the last though, if I am to leave at first light.’
She didn’t dare wait to hear more in case she made more noise and he decided to investigate. And besides, she’d heard all she needed to know.
Terror blocking her throat, her legs almost too weak to hold her up, she walked through the dark and the damp holding on to the rough stone for support. At the sight of the light streaming into the tunnel from her chamber, she ran the last few steps. Panting with the effort of not collapsing in a heap, she sent the wall back to its proper place.
Her heart knocking hard against her ribs, her stomach in a knot, she leaned her back against the wall. She squeezed her hands tightly together as the words went round and round in her head. Drastic action. When I have the money. Another thing to eliminate. There was only one conclusion she could draw from his words.
Her mind refused to focus. Think, Mary. Think. She took a deep breath. And another. The trembling eased. Her breathing slowed. She looked around at the bed, the door, the window. Stepped away from a wall anyone could open from the other side.
Anyone. The earl or his friend could walk in on her as she slept and take drastic action. Panic clawed its way back into her throat. Then she must not sleep.
It would not work. No one could remain awake all day and all night. She had to find a way to block off the entrance.
She tried putting a chair in front of it, then the dresser, but nothing seemed substantial enough to hold back a chunk of stone wall.
Perhaps she needed a different tack. Something that would warn her the moment the door started to open. Give her time to hide. Or run. Something loud. The crash of a set of brass fire irons like the ones standing on the hearth, perhaps. She gave them a push and they went over with a satisfying clang and a clatter.
Perfect. She stood listening, waiting to see if anyone had heard. Would the sound carry down that tunnel to the earl? Would he come to investigate?
Not by the secret tunnel, surely? She glared at the now-perfectly positioned wall. Oh, no. He would not come that way. He would not want her to learn he had easy access to her room. She strode to the chamber door and turned the large iron key.
Her panic started to fade and her mind cleared. She looked at the fire irons from several angles. They needed to fall at the very first movement, but they had a wide base and needed a good push at the top to make them topple. Something more precarious was required.
The slender vase on the dressing table, perhaps. She stood it beside the crack in the wall and carefully balanced the fire irons on top. It took a few tries to get it to stay in place. She nodded grimly. One push and it would topple.
She flopped down on the edge of the bed an
d stared at her odd structure. Now what?
Now she needed to plan her escape. Where she would go, she wasn’t quite sure, but anywhere was better than here. Anywhere was better than the house of a man who talked of drastic action and getting his money, when the only way the money would go to him was if she died.
An ache filled her heart. Everything she’d ever known was gone. Sally. The school. Her girls. She would have to start all over again.
For a moment, she’d let herself hope she might belong here. That she might actually have found a family. The old longing clutched at her heart. Such a childish thing, to want what could never be.
She must have bats in her belfry. Her father hadn’t wanted her—why would anyone else? Certainly not Beresford. All he wanted was his rightful inheritance. And who would blame him? She really wished there was a way she could give it to him before he resorted to drastic action.
She climbed beneath the sheets, fully clothed, ready to run at a moment’s notice, and lay concocting a plan of her own. A way to turn the trip to St Ives to her advantage.
Chapter Six
The visit to St Ives had turned into a family outing. The earl had ridden ahead with his cousins, while Mary and Mrs Hampton had travelled by carriage. Mary spent most of the journey parrying the older woman’s questions about her past and she could not have been more glad when they arrived at their destination.
The carriage pulled into the courtyard of a small hostelry. ‘We always walk from here,’ Mrs Hampton announced.
The footman let down the steps and Mary followed her companion out of the carriage into a bustling courtyard. The air smelled of the sea and fish. At any other time, she would have been eager to explore the town, but finding a way to depart claimed her immediate attention, since on the other side of the inn courtyard a sign proclaimed ‘Ticket Office’.
While the men saw to their horses and Mrs Hampton chatted with an acquaintance who had rushed over to offer condolences, Mary wandered casually over to the wicket below the sign and, with her heart picking up speed, smiled at the man inside.
‘Can I help you, ma’am?’ he asked.
A quick glance told her the earl was busy seeing to the horses. He looked every bit the Earl of Beresford today, in his close-fitting riding coat and muscle-defining doeskin breeches. She was positive, if she tried, she could see her face in the highly polished Hessians. To the manor born. Though it was the intensity of his expression as he dealt with the head groom, the square jaw and firm mouth, that drew her attention. It was too bad that such an attractive exterior hid a villainous heart. ‘Does the stage leave from here for London?’ she asked the clerk in a low voice.
‘Not London miss, Exeter, every day, at six in the morning. You can pick up the stage to London from there.’
‘But is there nothing that leaves later in the day? Say this afternoon?’
‘There’s a coach to Plymouth at two this afternoon. You’d have to stay overnight there and pick up the mail coach to London.’
Plymouth. ‘How much does it cost?’
‘One shilling and six pence.’
She had that much and a little more. And the earl would never think to look for her in Plymouth. She raked around in her reticule and put the required amount down on the counter. ‘One, please. For this afternoon.’
‘Planning a journey, Miss Wilding?’ The deep voice from behind her held amusement and an edge of steel.
She gasped.
‘The young lady bought a ticket to Plymouth,’ the clerk said.
‘No,’ the earl replied, scooping up her money. ‘She did not.’
The ticket man shook his head. ‘Young women today...’
The earl gave him a tight smile. ‘Precisely.’
Heat rushing to her face, Mary glared up at him. ‘You have no right to say where I may or may not go.’
The earl gave her a bored look. ‘I thought we had already discussed this,’ he drawled. He took her arm and gently and firmly drew her away from the wicket.
She pulled her arm free. ‘You cannot force me to stay. Please return my money.’ She held out her hand.
‘Until the matter of the will is settled,’ he said in a low murmur, ‘I require your presence here.’ He took her hand in his and his fingers closed around hers in an unbreakable grip. Not hard, or painful, but firm. ‘Now let us to our purpose for coming here today, shall we?’ He gave her a pleasant smile so that anyone watching would see a most kindly expression. Looking at him now, at his large frame blocking her way, his cold eyes making his point, she could not help but remember his words from the night before. Drastic action. A shiver ran down her spine.
And if she screamed? Called attention to her plight? What then? Would anyone come to her aid? The only person left in the yard was Mrs Hampton, who was looking at her impatiently. No, it would be better not to make a scene where the earl would have the upper hand. She would find a chance to slip away quietly.
She inhaled a deep breath. ‘Very well. Let us go shopping.’
If she hadn’t known better, she might have thought the earl gave a sigh of relief.
‘You do not seem like the sort of man who would enjoy a visit to a mantua-maker, my lord.’
‘Oh?’ He looked at her with one brow cocked in question. He gave her such a heart-stopping smile, her jaw dropped in wonder. ‘And what sort of man do I seem to be?’
A dangerous one, if the way her heart was beating in her chest was to be believed. And a scoundrel who kissed unsuspecting maidens, too. ‘I suspect you are interested in more manly pursuits. Shooting at things and riding roughshod over people.’
He laughed. In that moment his face changed and her heart tumbled over at how attractive he looked with those silver eyes alight and a genuine smile curving his lips. ‘I see you do not hold me in any high regard, Miss Wilding,’ he said.
Oh heavens, was that regret she heard in his tone? Or was it her own longing colouring her judgement? She could not afford to let him charm her. To weaken her resolve.
‘I just assume you are like most men, for whom a trip to the dressmaker would be torture.’
‘It seems you don’t know me at all, Miss Wilding.’
‘Are you ready, Miss Wilding?’ Mrs Hampton asked at their approach.
Mary nodded her assent.
‘Then let us be off.’ The widow strode briskly out of the courtyard with Mary and the earl following behind. The streets were so crowded, they were soon forced to go single file, like a crocodile of schoolchildren, Mary thought wryly, very aware of the earl hard on her heels. She also noticed that other pedestrians moved out of their way the moment they saw the three of them coming towards them. She suspected it was the earl’s looming presence behind them causing the wide berth given to their party.
Mrs Hampton stopped outside one of the shops lining the street and turned back to speak to Mary. ‘Mrs Wharton is not of the same calibre as a London dressmaker, you understand, but she is not bad and her prices are reasonable.’
As the earl ushered them inside, a bell above the door tinkled.
A thin-faced woman, with her hair pulled back beneath her cap and bonnet, curtsied. ‘Why, Mrs Hampton, how good to see you and after such a long time, too. Come for your mourning clothes, have you?’
‘Certainly not. The ones from last year are perfectly adequate. No. It is Miss Wilding who requires your services.’
The woman’s surprised gaze swivelled to Mary and then up to the earl. She frowned. ‘A family member, miss? Needing black?’
‘Goodness me, Wharton, you do jump to conclusions. Miss Wilding is...’ her face took on an expression of dismay ‘...a family friend.’
The woman’s eyebrows rose. ‘What can I do for you, miss?’
‘A complete wardrobe, if you please,’ the earl said. ‘To be charged to the Earl of Beresford.’ He removed his gloves and toured the shop, touching the bolts of silks and muslins displayed on the shelves.
What on earth must the woman think of a ma
n purchasing a wardrobe for a woman not a relative? Mary knew what she was thinking from the knowing gleam in the other woman’s eyes.
Mary felt the heat crawl up her face. This was too much. And it didn’t make sense. Why would he be purchasing clothes for her, if he was planning her demise, unless it was to draw people off the scent?
Whatever his purpose, she would not put herself under such an obligation. ‘Two morning gowns are all I require,’ she said firmly. They would replace what the earl had caused her to lose. That was fair.
Mrs Hampton glared at her. ‘Nonsense. Every young lady needs walking dresses. A dress for the opera. A ball gown. A riding habit. At the very least. Not to mention gloves, bonnets, and—’ she shot a wary look at the earl ‘—other items of apparel.’
Mrs Wharton’s jaw hung open.
Mary understood exactly how she felt. ‘I would prefer to see what you have already made up,’ she said with a feeling of desperation at the silken trap closing around her.
‘Something we can take with us today,’ the earl agreed, bestowing so charming a smile on Mrs Wharton, she simpered. ‘The rest can follow along later.’
The seamstress rubbed her hands together, a dry raspy sound like snakeskin over rock. ‘A complete wardrobe it is then, your lordship.’ She ran a critical eye over Mary. ‘No frills or bows.’
Tall girls couldn’t wear frills or bows. It made them look like mountains. It seemed Mrs Wharton and Sally agreed on that score. ‘Come this way, miss, so I can take your measurements. A glass of wine for you, sir? Tea for you, Mrs Hampton?’
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