The Thief of Lanwyn Manor

by Sarah E. Ladd

  Julia locked eyes with her cousin.

  Part of her wanted to share every detail of her blossoming feelings for Isaac, but another part, a more injured, sensitive part, was hesitant. She’d been overly forthcoming with Jane about her relationship with Percy. Surely she learned her lesson.

  Jane fixed her dark eyes on Julia and patted the bed next to her. “Sit. I have a confession.”

  “A confession?” Confused, Julia followed her cousin’s bidding and sat next to her. “What is it?”

  Jane took Julia’s hand in her right one and covered it with her left. “I may be stuck here, but I have been paying attention, you know. I can see the meadow wall from my window. I’ve seen you talking with him. At first I thought it was Mr. Matthew Blake you were speaking with, but then I began to figure things out.”

  Uneasiness flared. Julia was not embarrassed for meeting with Isaac in the mornings, but she’d thought everyone asleep, and never did she dream her cousin could see out her window from bed.

  “You’re blushing, but there’s no need to be embarrassed,” soothed Jane. “Just make sure you aren’t trading the excitement of the moment for future troubles.”

  Julia pulled her hand free with a bit more force than she intended, stood, and stepped back. She bent and kissed her cousin on the cheek. “I am tired. I think I’ll retire. Try to sleep.” Eager to be alone with her thoughts and free from the opinions of others, Julia retreated, climbed the staircase, and stepped onto the landing.

  A gentle light emanated from her own room, and Evangeline’s voice could be heard coming from Caroline’s chamber. Julia tugged at the pins that held her curls away from her face, but as she stepped into her chamber, she started.

  For there sat Aunt Beatrice in a chair by the fire, still dressed in her gown from dinner, Oscar at her side.

  Julia’s blood seemed to slow as she beheld her aunt’s bothered countenance. In her weeks at Lanwyn Manor she’d only seen her aunt climb the tower to Jane’s chamber a handful of times, and she had never seen her on this floor, and never had she seen her aunt’s face twisted in such an odd expression.

  “Aunt, what a surprise to see you here. How did you manage the stairs?”

  Aunt Beatrice nodded at the chair across from her with the silent instruction for Julia to sit. “Julia, I must speak with you.”

  Julia tensed.

  What had she done wrong?

  She lowered herself to the chair. Oscar trotted toward her and put his paws up on the chair, and Julia lifted him into her arms, grateful to feel as if one living, breathing creature might be on her side.

  Aunt Beatrice’s iron glare speared her. “Have you or have you not secretly been meeting Isaac Blake?”

  Julia jerked, unable to blink at the shock of the question. Jane’s admission of seeing them echoed in her mind. “Secretly meeting Isaac Blake?” she repeated, buying herself time.

  “Matthew told your uncle that you and Isaac have been meeting on your so-called morning rides. So I ask you again, have you been meeting him?”

  Julia shook her head, searching for words. “I have encountered him several times while on my morning ride, but I’ve not gone out to specifically meet him.”

  “You are a lady, Julia,” Aunt Beatrice seethed, “not a common girl who meets men at fences. Why, the idea!”

  “Aunt, you misunderstand. I assure you, I—”

  “This must cease.”

  Julia winced at the sharp words. The bubble of elation she felt at their conversation in the Tregarthan drawing room popped.

  “You’ve no business being out early in the morning as it is. From now on you will only ride out when accompanied. Am I clear?”

  “But I ride every day, Aunt. I have for years. I—”

  “Your uncle Jac has entrusted you to my care,” Aunt Beatrice snapped, slicing into Julia’s words. “I’d never dream of allowing my daughters to behave in such a way, and I’ll no longer permit you to do so.”

  “But I enjoy riding, Aunt.”

  “If there is anywhere you need to go, the driver can take you in the carriage,” Aunt Beatrice declared. “I don’t know what distresses me more, whether you have been meeting him behind my back or if you have given Mr. Matthew Blake the wrong impression.”

  “Matthew Blake?” She winced.

  “He is very fond of you; he told your uncle so himself.”

  Charismatic, charming, entertaining Matthew Blake.

  Julia’s face flushed with the unfairness of it all.

  But then Percy flashed before her.

  Perhaps if she had been a little more careful, the entire ordeal never would have happened.

  Aunt Beatrice knocked her fist against the chair’s arm to recapture Julia’s attention. “Do I have your word that these morning rides and secret meetings with Isaac Blake will cease?”

  Julia drew a shuddering breath. Had she any other choice? At the end of the day, she was a guest at Lanwyn Manor. Whether she liked it or not, she needed to behave like it. “You have my word.”

  Her aunt pointed a thick finger in Julia’s direction. “You will stay indoors and not leave unless you have my explicit permission. Is that clear?”

  Julia nodded and then watched, defeated, as her aunt lumbered from the room.

  Suddenly cold, suddenly overwhelmingly sad, she scooped up Oscar and hugged the tiny dog to her, mindless of how his toenails might snag her dress, and lifted her gaze to the portrait above the fireplace.

  The same woman, frozen in time, with her tightly curled hair. Her blue gown. Her forlorn expression. Julia had awakened to this woman’s image every day since her arrival. She still did not know her identity, but she was beginning to understand the melancholy in her eyes.

  Had she been under this house’s spell? Did she know of a treasure? Did she hear sounds in the midnight hours? Was she one of the women whose child never survived birth within these walls?

  After several moments, Evangeline entered, her voice cheery, unaware of the turmoil churning. “Are you ready to prepare for bed now, miss?”

  Julia, ignoring Evangeline’s question, answered it with one of her own. “Who is that woman in that portrait? Do you know?”

  Evangeline propped a fist on her hip. “That’s Mrs. Rowe. The former master’s late wife.”

  Julia’s blood slowed. “What happened to her?”

  “She died before I came here. Died in childbirth, if I’m not mistaken.”

  Fear gripped Julia. “Did the child survive?”

  “He did. ’Twas before my time, though. But he died in a mining accident as a young boy. Broke the master’s heart, it did.”

  Julia was quiet as the maid helped her into her nightclothes, and once she was finally alone, she blew out the candles, snuggled the dog in her arms, and climbed into her bed.

  “Broke the master’s heart, it did.”

  The words echoed in her mind. Curses. Sorrow. Disappointment.

  At the moment it was all too much. Maybe this house was cursed after all.

  Chapter 32

  Several mornings after the dinner at Tregarthan Hall and her uncomfortable discussion with Aunt Beatrice, Julia sat in her bedchamber on the small tufted settee beneath one of the banks of leaded windows. Oscar was curled up at her side, and she absently stroked his fur. From her vantage point she looked out over Lanwyn Manor’s west lawn, the drystone wall where she would have had her morning chat with Isaac Blake, and the public road beyond.

  Had she her choice, she’d be out riding at this very moment, amidst the frosty grass and barren trees. It was just dawn still, and the day promised to be fine. Soon the sun would crest over the east tree line and burn off the low-lying fog settling over the lawn.

  But it was not to be.

  Yes, she was disappointed.

  The first day after her aunt forbade her to go riding, she’d watched for him from her window. He arrived, as usual, and waited for her for several minutes before he continued on his way.

  The
second day he did the same.

  But as the days passed, his waiting times decreased, until now he did not even stop.

  Her shoulders slumped and she leaned her head against the wall as she looked out the window. What he must think of her, especially after the moment that passed between them in the drawing room at Tregarthan Hall, and after her promise to meet him there.

  With the exception of the lack of her morning rides, the days at Lanwyn Manor settled into a predictable routine. She still was permitted to go to the Ladies League, by carriage. Miss Prynne and Miss Trebell still called and chattered about Goldweth events. Julia still sat with Jane daily, and she worked on her needlework with Caroline. In addition to their normal activities, preparations for the country dance also added to their day. The seamstress visited frequently to make sure the Lambourne ladies had new gowns, and the servants flitted about, moving furniture, preparing food, and making certain that the house was ready for the whole of Goldweth to descend upon it.

  One afternoon, after a fitting with the seamstress, Julia visited the library to select a new book to read with Jane. As always, she walked through the dark study and turned into the library, where a figure made her jump.

  She cried in alarm, and Matthew’s strong arms steadied her.

  “Mr. Blake!” she gasped, gripping his coat’s lapels as she found her footing. Realizing she was holding on to him, she dropped her hands and took a large step back, forcing him to remove his hands from her arms.

  “Are you all right?” He stepped forward, arms still outstretched. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  She retreated farther.

  Upon her arrival all those weeks ago, she’d have no doubt been pleased to encounter him. But somehow he had managed to be at Lanwyn Manor nearly every day since the Tregarthan dinner. At one time she might have thought his persistent attention flattering, but now she was growing to dread their encounters. The more she resisted, the more intent he became.

  “I’m here to speak with your uncle,” he explained. “He’d asked for some maps, and I’ve brought them with me.”

  Julia sighed, attempting to catch her breath from the sudden shock. “Have you not heard? He’s out of town. He left for London this morning.”

  “Did he?”

  “Yes.” She furrowed her brow. “Did the butler not tell you when you arrived?”

  “I confess I came in through one of the back entrances through the stables. I thought he was here and didn’t think he’d mind my sneaking in.”

  She shook her head, trying to make sense of what he was saying. Was he in the habit of letting himself in the house?

  It seemed odd to her, but then again, Matthew and her uncle had become good friends, and they seemed more congenial with every interaction. “I’m sure you can leave whatever it is on his desk for when he returns.”

  With a smile he removed several papers from a satchel and placed them on the desk. He retrieved a quill and ink and wrote a quick note, then left it on top of the papers. He returned the quill and corked the ink.

  “Would you care to stop for some coffee or tea?” she offered out of duty, stepping back toward the corridor. “I know my aunt would like to see you.”

  Instead of accepting without reservation, his eye twitched oddly. He appeared almost uncomfortable, and he shuffled the papers on the desk once more before he slid his finger between his neck and cravat. “Normally, nothing would prevent me from spending time with you ladies. But previous obligations forbid it.”

  He said nothing else. No words of excessive praise. No flowery sentiments. He simply bowed and departed.

  Dumbfounded at the uncharacteristic exit, she returned her attention to the library and tried to remember why she’d come here in the first place. No one else was there. Nothing was out of place. She strolled over to the desk and lifted the note he’d written, but nothing was odd about it. She returned the letter and bit her lip.

  Julia was not exactly sure what she had encountered.

  Abandoning her original plan, she made her way up to Jane, who had spent the morning hunched over the chamber pot, unable to keep even water down. It had been a taxing morning of tears and fitful crying. Sobbing. Aunt Beatrice was frustratingly absent, and Caroline was out.

  Julia, herself, felt weary. At length Jane’s sobbing ceased and exhaustion took over, and she fell into a fitful sleep. Once she was certain her cousin was asleep, Julia slumped against the sofa and looked out to the drystone wall where she had met Isaac so many mornings.

  Everything seemed backward.

  Jane should be happy and anticipating the arrival of her child. But she was ill. Weepy.

  She should be with her husband, but he might never return.

  Julia should be entranced by a handsome, wealthy man such as Matthew Blake, but she wasn’t.

  She should look past Isaac Blake but could not.

  Bal Tressa should be open, providing work and incomes, but it wasn’t.

  The injustices swirled, haphazardly and bitterly. And what could be done to change any of it?

  She lifted her gaze from the drystone wall to the colorless sky above it. It had been cloudy for so long it seemed that a reprieve would never come.

  When would lightness return?

  Would it ever?

  A dark, sobering melancholy seemed to reach inside her very heart and mind. This was a different melancholy than any Julia had ever experienced, even after her cruel disappointment with Percy.

  Feeling the need to be surrounded by those who truly loved her and had her best interest at heart, Julia moved from the sofa to the writing desk and pulled a fresh sheet of paper from the drawer. She lifted the quill, dipped it in the small inkwell, and began to write Aunt Delia.

  She wrote general greetings and then updated her aunt on Jane’s condition.

  There is a sadness with watching someone you love be ill for so long. Even though I hope and pray that at the end of this journey she and her baby will be whole, I cannot be certain of it.

  It is frightening, to think that life might not turn out the way we had hoped. I tasted only a morsel of that disappointment with the ordeal with Percy, but I will recover. I have recovered. But the pain Jane experiences—will it ever dissipate? The fear of not knowing is stifling her. I fear it might be killing her.

  My pain is nothing compared to hers. I remind myself of this and am very grateful for my health. But uncertainty plagues us all, and mine comes to me in a different light.

  Chapter 33

  Isaac leaned with his elbows on the desk of the counting house and looked into the sitting room. Outside, men shouted and called to each other. The pump engine whirred, and a cart rumbled past. The bal maidens sang as they tended their work, and before him sat an untouched, lukewarm cup of Eliza’s bitter tea.

  It had been weeks since Miss Twethewey first visited their counting house and he encountered her in that very sitting room. The teasing memory of her smile, the curve of her full lips, and the warmth in her radiant eyes lingered. Thoughts of her were becoming more and more frequent, although he’d not seen her at all since the dinner at Tregarthan.

  She’d told him that night that she would meet him at the wall.

  He’d believed her fully, and yet she never came.

  He consoled himself with the fact that she had an overbearing, very disapproving aunt. Normally that would not bother him in the least. But Matthew’s constant comments about his visits to Lanwyn Manor and the progress he was making with the family did.

  What a fool he’d been in that moment.

  He’d misread the expression on Julia’s face and the meaning in her words.

  Perhaps he should have heeded Beatrice Lambourne’s haughty declarations and taken them for what they were—a warning.

  He returned his attention to the letter before him, but even as he wrote the words he could not pin down his thoughts. His normally focused mind seemed thwarted, and he knew why.

  He missed her.

 
He’d grown used to seeing Julia there in the morning light, offering a bright smile, a cheery word. The anticipation of it made him eager to leave the house and eager for the next day to arrive. What was more, he enjoyed her company, and he respected how she worked with the children and helped with the Ladies League.

  He wouldn’t have to wait long to see her again, despite her absence at the drystone wall. The country dance at Lanwyn Manor would commence in a few hours. As a leader in the community, he had to set an example of acceptance and tolerance. The invitation confused the miners, and Isaac knew full well that if he did not attend, many would follow his lead.

  After completing his letter and sealing it with wax, he reached for a stack of missives that still needed his attention. He flipped through them, and one in particular caught his eye.

  He separated it from the stack, slid his finger beneath the wax, and popped it open. Elwin Richards, the investor from Falmouth, had originally declined Isaac and Charlie’s invitation to be a silent investor for Wheal Gwenna.

  Isaac read the letter. And then he read it again, focusing on a section in the middle.

  After considerable thought, I’ve reconsidered your suggestion of investing in Wheal Gwenna. I am prepared to personally cover the cost of the pump and remain silent on matters related to the running of the operation. In return, I expect all supply purchases to be made through me.

  Isaac drew a deep breath and dragged his hand over his face as the meaning of Richard’s terms sank in.

  The tributers and tutworkers required certain objects to do their work: Rope. Candles. Shovels. Gunpowder. Coal. All these items could be difficult to come by in a remote village, so the mine would buy them and turn around and sell them to the workers. Wheal Tamsen did not make a profit off of these sales, but it happened quite often—an investor or adventurer would supply all the needed materials at an outrageously inflated price. With such an arrangement Richards could demand any cost he wanted for the merchandise and still be paid, regardless of how much that cut into the profits of the miners. And with most mines not seeing profits for months or even years, it could be disastrous.