Charlock's Secret

by Leah Moyes

  By Monday morning, I found my game face again. Filled with new determination, I set about to do what was required of me. I loved Charlock Manor with all my heart, but I finally recognized the sooner we moved things forward, the sooner I could move forward as well.

  Ready to work the moment I rounded the corner from the hall to the library, I found the room empty. Despite the fact that we had completed the paperwork Trenton came for, I somehow hoped to see him sitting at the desk when I arrived. Both the desk and the chair were vacant. A slight pang arose at the idea he might’ve left without saying goodbye, but I quickly brushed it aside. Time to get back to a new ‘normal’ . . . or I guess my old normal.

  Making my way to the office, I reacquainted myself with the system I had set up prior to my fall. I went over the numbers for the last week, entered them into the computer, and when the clock chimed at 9 o’clock, I waited for the phone to ring. Nothing. 9:15 a.m. nothing. 9:30 a.m. nothing.

  I pulled up the schedule for this week and called the tour companies to confirm, left a message with Felicia about the upcoming wedding, and jotted down notes for the next staff meeting but could not get my mind off Trenton’s disappearance. Especially now that Mr. never missed a call—never called! I knew he hadn’t planned to spend the entire week at Charlock, to begin with, and my fall most likely delayed his exit, but it seemed strange that he didn’t say goodbye.

  When Gretchen entered with a cup of tea, I knew if anyone knew anything, it would be her.

  “Gretchen, do you know what happened to Mr. Gilford?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, he’s gone. I haven’t seen him since Saturday.”

  “Oh, yeah. He went to Moseley yesterday, but he’s back. See?”

  She pointed out the window behind me. I jumped to my feet. In the center of the rose garden, a man sat on a bench. I squinted to get a better look, but the full-blooming flowers blocked my view.

  “This is the longest time Mr. Gilford has spent at the house in years” She flashed a sly smile. “I wonder why . . . ”

  “Yeah, me too,” I spoke evenly, afraid any fluctuation would give Gretchen the wrong idea. I grabbed the ledger and a file folder. Then excused myself under her scrutinizing stare.

  Out of the back doors of the kitchen, the sun shone brightly on the gardens. There in the middle of the roses next to the Neptune fountain, sat Trenton Gilford. A pile of papers littered his lap, but his persona appeared quite at ease outside of the office. Dressed in casual attire, and sipping his own mug of tea, I stared as I approached.

  “Hi.” My greeting came out more edgy than I intended.

  “Good morning.” He responded naturally, nothing hidden in his voice.

  “I'm sorry to disturb you.” I continued cautiously. Afraid my very presence would strip him of the peace he sought. “I would've gone over the paperwork earlier with you, but I didn’t know you were here, and you didn’t call.”

  “No apologies, Miss Shelt—”

  “Kat,” I cut him off. “It’s still Kat.” I reminded him, boldly. I thought we were past the formalities, but it seemed like we had reverted to earlier habits. I bit my lip.

  “Kat.” He peered up at me with tired eyes. I already missed that smile. “I had business in the area; and returned this morning. I didn’t want to disrupt your schedule.” He looked back down.

  “You’re not a disruption. You’re my boss.” I handed him the files and ledger. “Here are the numbers for last week. They are, of course, significantly lower due to the canceled tours.”

  He reached for the papers without meeting my eyes. “Do you have time to go over this now?” His voice lost the vitality that enticed me less than forty-eight hours ago. The professional Trenton returned.

  “I do this afternoon,” I said, glancing at my watch. “I'm sorry, I have a tour that will be here in twenty minutes. They booked at the last minute. I hope you don't mind. They were fairly anxious since Wadsworth Hall is out of service from the fire on Friday.”

  “Oh, right, I forgot all about that.” He seemed lost in thought. “I had an old schoolmate that lived there. I hope it wasn’t too serious.”

  “Thankfully, the damage was limited to the kitchen. I, too, am glad it didn’t fare worse. I’d like to see it sometime. That’s where Johnna, Merritt’s wife, spent her early years before her parents died, and she went to work for the Abbotts.”

  Trenton stopped reading his papers. His face went blank for a solid minute. Then he stuttered, “d—did you have breakfast this morning?”

  “Yes, the pork sausage and rashers were delicious, thank you.” Our conversation crept carefully around the oversized elephant standing between us. “Trenton?” I had not planned on saying anything, so why was my mouth moving that direction? He waited. The flicker in his eyes from Saturday night had dimmed.

  “I want to say—” I didn't know what to say. I struggled with the words. Still waiting, Trenton was either very patient or very skilled at making people uncomfortable under his gaze. “I—” My hands wrung behind my back. “I—”

  It was his turn to cut me off. “If this is regarding the library, Kat, please don't concern yourself with it.” He glanced back down to his work.

  “No.” With renewed confidence, I placed my hand over his. A tingle sparked. My hand quickly recoiled to my side. “I enjoyed our talk Saturday night.” I blurted it out. “I—I just don't like weddings much.” His eyes shifted back to me as I yammered like an anxious teenager. “Or dancing,” I added quickly, then pressed on before he could stop me again. “It wasn’t you. Please don't think—”

  Suddenly Hennessey stood before us. “Oh!” I jumped awkwardly. My face flushed. I wondered how much he’d heard.

  “Pardon me, Mr. Gilford.” He cleared his throat. “Miss Shelton, the tour bus has arrived.”

  I peered at my watch. “I'm sorry, I need to go get ready.” I’d forgotten the Asian tour buses always arrive early. I started towards the back door, then turned around and cried most unladylike. “We’ll talk later, okay?”

  A slight grin emerged from Trenton before I twisted away once again and into a dead run towards my room. I changed into the dress I returned to the future with, the one that sweet Joanne gave me.

  The outfit was simple—a pale pink day dress gathered both at the front below the neck and the back below my waist. The bodice length went to my ankles and sleeves to my wrists. It flattered my figure and gave the tour an authentic touch. This would be my first real tour since my return. Having seen the house buzz with life and energy from long ago, I knew I could never look at it the same way.

  I met the group at the front door. The travel agent did not exaggerate on the size of the tour. A constant stream of people exited the bus and filled the entryway. They spoke in Japanese and chatted excitedly. Their guide walked to the front with a small red flag on a stick, and when he waved it, everyone seemed to know that was the clue for them to look at him and listen because it quieted down quickly.

  I smiled and lifted my arms. “Welcome to Charlock Manor.”

  As we moved from room to room, I found my dialogue to be much more detailed than ever before, and without a single notecard in hand. The stories were personal now—the parlor where, Merritt, Lizzy, Abby, and I played card games, the music room where I snuck in to play the piano until I learned that Merritt had heard me. The grand staircase, the portrait of the family I loved—the classroom, especially the classroom. I shared stories of what it was like to be a child in the Gilford family and silently recalled many of my happiest memories had occurred in this room.

  Because the group was so extensive, we were separated often throughout the tour, but when we stood together in the ballroom, a reverence swept through us all. Once I proceeded to describe a Gilford ball in great detail, you could practically hear a pin drop.

  Their astonished faces moved in all directions, but some lingered only on the chandelier. I, also for the first time, pointed out the obscure etchings of t
he corner ceiling angels that pointed to the chandelier and noted the way the crystals shone during a lightning storm. I fell into my own world. Visualizing the elegant dress, the jewelry that dazzled, the tables decorated with foods of all kinds, the way the women lined the walls waiting . . . hoping for a dance partner. The musicians and music, the steady stream of carriages, and the gardens lit with lanterns as the charlock, roses, and daffodils exploded with color. And ultimately, the fireworks which concluded the evening.

  Caught up in my re-creation of this vision, I didn't see Trenton following the tour until I shifted towards the back to point out the portrait of Martha’s grandparents. When he caught my eye, he smiled. He could very well be giving me an employee evaluation, but I really hoped it was the content that drew him in.

  Out in the gardens, the tour becomes self-guided. I remained on the veranda as I scanned the estate and watched the guests point, click, and shoot every single item they encountered.

  “This look is most . . . persuasive.” Trenton joined me on the terrace as we watched the tourists meander around.

  “What look?”

  He pointed down my torso. “The costume.”

  “I thought it would help.”

  “It definitely added to that most intriguing experience.”

  His comment left me wondering if he was pleased or confused. “The tours are my favorite part.” My arms stretched out against the stone wall, soaking up the sun while it played peek-a-boo with the clouds.

  “You seem to have quite the gift for storytelling.”

  I could feel his gaze upon me, but I still didn't face him. “Did you enjoy the tour?” I quizzed. “Sorry if you didn’t, no refunds . . . company policy.”

  To my surprise, Trenton’s head fell back in a full laugh. I glanced sideways to see if it was the Trenton I had come to enjoy or his stuffy twin.

  “I was not disappointed in the least,” he complimented.

  “What did you enjoy the best?”

  “I can't say . . . maybe the details.”

  I grew quiet. The red flag flapped back and forth in the air, and the guests gathered like obedient ants filing back onto the bus.

  “Kat, the tour seems a lot more—” he paused, “fulfilling since Ms. Campbell retired.”

  I watched the bus pull away. “She did a fantastic job. I simply followed her lead.”

  “Absolutely,” he whispered. We were alone now. “But how did she know some of those things? You know, some of those specific stories? She never read Merritt’s journals; I never took them out for her.”

  “Like what?” My voice quivered. Did I go too far?

  “The particulars. Some of what you said, I knew, but only because I had read from his journals. Only some I’d never heard of before, like the chandelier during a lightning storm.”

  Great. I bit my lip as I scrambled for an answer and turned to meet him fully. “Ms. Campbell had been here for many years, Trenton.” I balked. “You can't possibly live in a place like this and not see or experience it.”

  I was talking about Pauline but knew I meant me. “She taught me well,” I muttered.

  “She did. Forgive me.” Trenton stood close to me now as he overlooked his family's breathtaking accomplishment. “I'm not trying to accuse anyone of anything. I really enjoyed hearing those small aspects of their life. It was like getting to know my family in a whole new way.” He plucked a white rose off a vine that grew along the wall and handed it to me. “Peace offering?”

  I accepted the flower and cushioned it to my nose.

  I enjoyed it too.

  Chapter Forty

  That evening became the first time since Trenton arrived that he and I sat down across from each other for a proper dinner. Only the two of us dined, but the table could easily seat twenty. Nervous, I feared he would continue to ask me questions about his family, afraid at some point my specifics would bury me.

  However, tonight, he surprised me. He asked me about me. Not like twenty questions or that awful job interview, but genuine questions about my interests, college, and my family back home. Through the course of the meal, it became apparent that the Trenton I saw zoned into his laptop or attached to his mobile phone was the minority. Here, he showed once more how accomplished he was at making our conversations fascinating. He also opened up about his own immediate family, who I knew very little about. I didn’t even roll my eyes when he talked about his family business, but I sensed while Trenton had an obligation to the company, his face seemed to tell a different story.

  “May I ask you something?” I asked with confidence as the night wore on. He hesitantly grinned, and a random chill went down my spine. At that moment, that very moment of caution, he looked similar to Merritt when we played Truth or Dare. My smile grew wide. Our eyes locked in a curious stare, it appeared we both tried to read each other’s minds.

  “I suppose you can.” He responded without taking his eyes off me, and I momentarily forgot what I wanted to ask. I shook my head and looked down at my plate. Focused again, I remembered.

  “If you had had a choice, what would you have done for a career . . . and don’t say business—” I peered back up, and stared directly at him, “—because I know that’s not true.”

  His cheeks flushed for the first time I’d seen. I made him blush! Stunned, I savored the moment as brief as it was. Then his face grew tense, and silence ensued. I may have crossed the line, but that seemed to be my forte. We were interrupted when Hennessey brought dessert to the table, a beautifully decorated banoffee pie, but neither one of us moved to eat it.

  “I wanted to be a professional cricket player.”

  My mouth flew open. Had I been given a hundred guesses; this would not have been one of them.

  “Cricket?” I finally choked out.

  “Yes.” He relaxed. It was like a deeply buried secret that afforded air. “I’ve played the sport since I was 5 years of age. My parents fueled it as a hobby, but it became my passion.” I grinned at his energy.

  “I know a little about the game, I saw it played once. Merr—” I caught myself. “A friend of mine taught his younger sister how to play.”

  “I can show you.” He lit up once again. “I think you’d enjoy it.”

  “Were you any good?”

  He smirked, “I was decent. I played through college.” Though he didn’t elaborate, I believed he downplayed his talent.

  “Why didn’t you pursue it after college?”

  “I had family obligations.” He looked away. That would be the end of it. The way his jaw set shared a contrasting story. What is it with this family that forced duty over dreams?

  “The twenty20 match is next week if you’d like to go?”

  “Twenty20 match?”

  “It’s a popular event here in England.”

  He studied me. I found myself not even hesitating when I accepted.

  Not much was said after that. I think we were both surprised and delighted we had made it through a couple of hours without offending each other. It was, by far, the most pleasant night we shared.

  After we said goodnight, I found my smile permanently fixed as I walked to my room. It was a strange sensation to see someone in an entirely different light than how a first, second, or even third impression came across. Thankfully, he too didn’t appear to hold me accountable, for my own bizarre behavior and prejudice as well. Yes, something has definitely changed.

  Chapter Forty-one

  With two full weeks behind us since Trenton arrived, the business he came for had long been completed. Trenton now had every reason to leave, but instead, he asked for my help in other areas of his firm, which I happily agreed too. Anything to get my mind off the pending sale of Charlock. That one night in the library, Trenton successfully argued his beliefs. While what he said rang true, if this place was my home, I’d never leave it . . . “building” or not.

  Breakfast these last couple of days, soon became my favorite meal. It was there that Trenton's more playful
side emerged. We were both morning people, and the fact that work had not yet infiltrated our tranquility, it seemed to be the lightest time of day.

  Today, as we welcomed the new month of July—which in my mind should’ve been December—we sat across from each other on the veranda. I surveyed him carefully as he buttered his toast. He could no longer fall under my previous title of “Mr. Chill”. Trenton Gilford was far from the frosty man I first encountered from the computer screen last March. His cheeks glowed a warmer bronze; and the silver tint in his green eyes suggested an energy that had long been missing. He also didn't cower under my gaze like most guys did when I stared them down. He returned my look with a wide smile, with his perfect white teeth exposed. Merritt would’ve turned a deep red by now, but not Trenton. I think he enjoyed the competition.

  When Trenton caught me watching him, as childish as it was, we spontaneously engaged in a juvenile staring contest. He squared his shoulders forward and braced for a lengthy battle, but he severely underestimated my experience.

  Although I didn’t mind staring at his nearly faultless complexion all day, I loved the thrill of winning more. With older brothers, you learn all the tricks. I smiled, he smiled, neither one of us flinched. Gradually, I pulled my right hand out from under the table. While I was sure he could see every move I made, he didn’t draw his eyes away from mine. I flipped my hand over with the palm face up and whispered, “Did you know I have the force to make you blink?”

  His eyebrow arched curiously, and his face tilted coyly. “You think so, huh?”

  “Uh, huh,” I bit my bottom lip in a pathetic attempt to be smooth and sensual. I leaned in closer to him and fought the urge to snicker. I was not good at sexy, but he took the bait very well.

  “Let's see?” He taunted.

  Without missing a beat, I took a long sloppy lick with my tongue across the inside of my palm and aimed it right for him. His head shot back in a fierce reaction. He blinked in a frenzy, which ultimately caused him to lose.