Breathless from shock, Julia shook her head emphatically. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“We thought all of these had gone missing.” Aunt Beatrice stepped forward, a silver bowl in her hand. “Did you take these things? And hide them?”
“What?” Julia hurled back, hurt exploding into anger. “Of course I didn’t take these things! What on earth would I do with your brooch and candlesticks? Surely you do not think me capable of stealing!”
“I don’t know what you’re capable of.” Her aunt sniffed. “I confess that after your recent behavior, I am not sure I know you at all.”
“My recent behavior? And to steal? Honestly. I had nothing to do with this. I didn’t even know a door was here!”
“Then how did these items get here?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea.” Suddenly she recalled the note. Perhaps if they read it, they would realize someone was out to harm her—that she was a victim in this, not the culprit.
“I’ve something to show you.” She reached for the key on her dressing table and opened the desk. Her hands trembled as she fumbled through her papers. Nausea swirled, and perspiration dotted her brow. “It cannot be. They’re gone!”
Aunt Beatrice’s eyes narrowed as she stomped to peer over Julia’s shoulder. “What’s gone?”
“I received a note—multiple notes, actually—warning me to leave Lanwyn Manor. Can you not see? Someone wants me gone from here.”
“What a ridiculous notion.” Aunt Beatrice sneered. “Honestly, child, this is most unbecoming and unexpected.”
“You must believe me! And the greater concern here is that someone else is stealing these things and sneaking into my chamber. Does that not concern you? Who else knows of these hiding places?”
“How could I possibly know the answer to this question?” Aunt Beatrice snipped.
“Well, someone had to tell you of this. Who was it?” Julia demanded.
At length Aunt drew a sharp breath. “I was alerted by a member of my staff that these were here.”
Julia jutted her chin upward and slid her gaze to the housekeeper.
Of course. Mrs. Sedrick.
“You are mistaken if you think I had anything to do with this. I’m offended you’d even suggest such a thing,” Julia said, with confidence much fiercer than she actually felt.
“Come now,” Uncle William soothed. “This is very unusual, and we’re all upset.”
Aunt Beatrice retrieved her jewelry from the shelf right inside the small door and gathered the pieces to her chest. “So you know nothing of the rest of it? The topaz piece? The emerald?”
“I didn’t take them, so I don’t know,” Julia seethed. “Perhaps Mrs. Sedrick might be able to find those for you as well.”
Without another word, Aunt Beatrice sniffed and stomped from the chamber, followed by her husband. As Mrs. Sedrick turned to leave the room, she and Julia locked eyes before the housekeeper finally jerked the door shut behind her.
Julia whirled around, propped her hands on her hips, and huffed in the sudden silence. The nerve!
There could be no doubt now. Someone did not want her here. They hid things in her chamber. Looked through her personal papers and took the incriminating evidence.
So many people had been in the house over the last several days.
But who would do this? And why?
She stomped to the desk and checked again. Her notes were gone.
In the time since her arrival, she’d been attacked, made to look like a thief, and robbed of personal documents. Yes, she should be frightened, but it was not in her nature.
Her first thought was to pack her bags and leave in the dark of night. She’d been accused of something quite horrific. She flung her wardrobe open, assessing her belongings, and determined to take only what she needed. She could be home tomorrow if she so desired.
But what Aunt Delia referred to as her stubborn streak challenged the thought. If she left, would it be seen as an admission of guilt? As giving in to fear? Her pride, wounded as it was after the incident with Percy, would not allow it.
And then she thought of Jane, lonely, sad, and broken. The friends she’d made in Goldweth—Miss Prynne and Miss Trebell. The children. The other ladies in the sewing circle.
And, of course, Isaac.
For the most part she’d been happy here. Happier than she thought she would be. And if she returned home—no, she’d not think about it.
Someone was threatening her, and she’d not stand for it.
She stomped over to the secret door, yanked it open, then slammed it shut again. When closed, it disappeared completely into the paneling. Only when she held the candle very close did she notice the tiny slot in which to insert a finger to unlatch the door so it would swing open unhindered.
Curiosity took hold. With candle in hand she stepped into the secret closet and poked and prodded the other panels for some sort of opening. She found none. A few more items were in here—dusty clutter and items from a bygone era. Several pieces of fabric hung from a hook, and determining that they must be dresses, she lifted her hand to look at one, but when she did, a flash of metal caught her eye. She angled her candle higher to illuminate an old-fashioned lever. She pulled it and another door swung open to a narrow passageway.
The slight forgotten, she found her adventurous side dominating. Pushing aside the dusty clothing, Julia followed the tunnel, careful to keep her hair away from the candle’s flame. The tunnel led to a steep staircase, which was more like a ladder. She paused, assessing where she must be in relation to her room. She had to be in a narrow space between the exterior wall and the interior chambers.
She descended one step and then another. With each step she grew more nervous. She was not sure how many floors she’d descended, and the stairs had twisted, making her uncertain which direction she faced. Her muscles tensed, and her heart raced as the walls seemed to grow too tight, the ceiling too low. Should her candle go out, she’d not be able to see her hand before her face.
Gripping the railing for orientation, she made her way to the foot of the stairs, where she found a door. She held her candle to it and nudged the handle. Locked. She may not know exactly where the door led to, but now she did know that someone had hidden access to her chamber.
And it unsettled her.
Julia tucked away the knowledge, lifted her candle, and climbed the narrow stairs back to her chamber, but she knew full well that sleep would not come to her that night.
Chapter 42
Isaac left Anvon Cottage at dawn, as he did every morning, and guided his horse down the lane. He turned onto the public road and glanced toward Lanwyn Manor, which still slumbered in the morning stillness.
He’d not seen Julia in the few days since the ball, but he’d not expected to. Even if he called on her, he doubted her aunt would grant him admittance into the house, and he fully expected that Julia would not be allowed out without a chaperone. Still, he could not help but scan the lawn for a sign of her, and as he assessed the misty horizon, his breath caught.
A woman’s form, clad in a dark hooded cloak, was at the tree line on the far side of the drystone wall.
Julia’s report of spotting a mysterious figure along the tree line came to mind. He squinted and slowed his horse.
It was Julia, but she was not on horseback.
His senses jumped to life. What was she doing out now, and after what had happened? He didn’t stop to consider it. He urged his horse into a canter and hurried down the lane to her.
Even from a distance he could see that her face was pale, her blue eyes red-rimmed and shadowed. She didn’t smile as he approached, as per her custom, but she kept her gaze low and met him halfway, casting a glance over her shoulder with every couple of steps.
Once she was within earshot he called, “What is it? Is everything all right?”
Julia did not respond right away. The wind caught her long, loosely bound tendrils and whipped them free f
rom her hood.
He slid from the saddle, gathered his reins in his gloved hand, and walked to the drystone wall. He waited to speak until she was just on the other side of the wall so he could keep his voice low. “Has something happened?”
She bit her lower lip and nodded. She’d been crying.
The urge to protect her, to shield her, flooded through him. “Are you hurt? Did someone—”
“No, no, nothing like that.” She swallowed and looked back to the house. She stepped closer. “Do you remember how I told you items were missing? Someone put several of them in my bedchamber. Well, not in my chamber exactly, but behind the hidden door we found a tunnel, and I followed it, and—”
“Slow down.” He furrowed his brow, not sure he understood her. “A tunnel? Inside Lanwyn?”
She nodded. “Yes, I had no idea it was there. Apparently neither did Aunt or Uncle.”
Isaac sobered. There were always rumors about old passageways in that house, about secret rooms and the sort, but didn’t every house have such rumors? “Start again, from the beginning.”
She summoned a deep breath. “Items have been missing, like I’ve told you. Random items. First small ones, like a piece of silver or something along those lines, but recently the items have been increasing in value, and lately my aunt’s jewels have been the perpetrator’s target. Whoever it was must have wanted to make it look like I was the thief, for someone stashed them in a hidden chamber in my room.”
“And you have no idea who the culprit is?”
“No, not exactly. Several of the servants are not fond of me, but I don’t think they would stoop to such a thing.”
“And they found a hidden chamber off of your room?”
“Yes, a small chamber behind a hidden door. I was investigating it and found a staircase that descended to a locked door.”
Isaac frowned. “That’s very odd.”
“It gets even more unpleasant.” She gripped her gloved fingers before her. “Whoever put those things there must be behind the letters.”
“Plural, as in more than one?”
She nodded. “I received a second one the night of the ball, a few hours after the first one. Someone slid it under my bedchamber door after I retired. The handwriting appeared to be the same. I’d show it to you, but it’s gone. Someone took it out of my writing desk drawer.” A sob cracked her voice. “Someone’s been in my chamber, and I don’t know . . . I-I don’t know—”
He had to do something—anything—to erase the fear he saw in her expression.
He released the reins, braced his hand against the top of the drystone wall, and vaulted over it. When he landed on the other side, he was quite close to her.
A tear dropped from her lower lash and trailed down her cheek. He reached out to take her hand in his.
“I’m so sorry.” She shook her head, staring at their joined hands. “I don’t mean to burden you with this. It’s just that I’m not sure where to turn, and Aunt and Uncle think I stole their jewelry, and I—”
He drew her into an embrace. For so long he had wanted to do that—to hold her in his arms, to feel her against him.
But not like this—not when she was frightened and vulnerable.
She leaned against him, her head dropping against his shoulder, warm and intimate, and then she drew a steadying breath and stepped back.
Begrudgingly he let his arms fall to his sides.
She was right to be conservative, of course. They were near a public lane. She was an unmarried woman, and he just a mining captain.
“Come.” He wrapped her arm around his and guided her back down the lane, under the cover of the wintering elms. Once they were under the shadows, he turned to face her but did not release her hands. “Tell me.”
After another deep breath, she told him of her aunt’s anger. About how she forbade Julia to meet him. Of her distrust of Mrs. Sedrick. Of the odd rooms off of her uncle’s library. Details tumbled from her, surprising ones and others he could have easily guessed.
Sharing her thoughts seemed to help, for after a while she managed a little smile. “I’m beginning to think your brother was right. Lanwyn Manor is cursed.”
“Matthew is all bluster, Julia. Give no credit to his stories. They’re tall tales, nothing more. He’s eager for reaction.”
“But it isn’t just his stories, Isaac. It’s a collection of things. The attack at the inn. The stolen items. The threatening notes. The strange sounds. I’ve tried dozens of times to put it together, but I can’t. What do you make of it?”
He considered his reply. “I’m sure you’re right to think it all connected, but I’m not sure I have the answers.”
He reached out his gloved hand and brushed a lock of hair from her face. His finger lingered on her cheek. “What do you want to do?”
“I know I don’t want to leave Jane. I promised her I would stay until the baby is born. But after that, I don’t know.”
“Selfishly I’m quite glad to hear you’re going to stay, but I don’t want you to be afraid. Do you feel unsafe at Lanwyn?”
“Not unsafe, but I feel as if Aunt and Uncle believe me to be a criminal.”
“I will look into things more on my end. Let me make some inquiries. I know a lot of miners. If anyone knows anything, they might talk. But you must make me a promise. If at any moment you feel unsafe or if something further happens, send me word, or even come to my house. It’s right through that grove of trees.”
She gave a little laugh. “That would really set tongues wagging.”
But he did not laugh at her little joke. He let his gaze drift from the small curls at her temples, to her darkly lashed eyes, to her full, parted lips. “I wonder if you know how deeply you’ve touched me.”
She jerked, seemingly surprised at the sudden depth of his words.
Before she could speak, he stepped closer and took her in his arms. He lowered his lips to hers.
She did not pull away. Instead, she melted against him. Her warmth, her scent of lavender, the softness of her lips beneath his.
He moved his lips to her ear. “I promise you, Julia, I will keep you safe.”
Chapter 43
Isaac tried to concentrate on his work at the mine, but thoughts of Julia—and all the odd occurrences all over Goldweth, including Lanwyn Manor—stole his focus. The beauty of the memory of her lips on his, the sensation of her in his arms, battled with the ugliness of the reality of their situation.
For the first time he could see—and truly believe—that a future with Julia might be possible, but nothing would ever come to be if they didn’t settle the unrest. For the Lambournes would always be her family. And he would always be a Blake—a miner and a part of the Goldweth community.
The difficult situations were piling up. Not only were the villagers facing hunger and cold as winter deepened, but his brother may or may not be in dire financial straits and up to mischief, and someone was targeting Julia.
The longer he sat in the mine’s counting house, the more restless he grew, until he could take it no more. Not much could be solved this very moment, but one thing could—he could get answers from Matthew about how he found their father’s watch. Lobby had no reason to lie about his role in the strange transaction. Furthermore, Margaret referenced rumors about Matthew’s financial instability. Isaac was not willing to risk his own future on his brother’s business whims, and if Matthew was considering selling the mine, Isaac had a right to know.
The idea that Tregarthan Hall could potentially be at any type of risk sickened him. His father—and his grandfather before him—had endeavored to leave a Blake legacy.
As the clock struck the noon hour, Isaac jumped from his chair, grabbed his coat and hat, saddled his horse, and set off for Tregarthan Hall. When he arrived, he did not knock or wait to be let in.
“Matthew!” he bellowed. His voice echoed from painted plaster and bounced from the planked floor. No response came. “Matthew!”
The aging butl
er appeared, his bushy eyebrows raised in surprise. “Mr. Blake. We were not expecting you today.”
“Where’s my brother?”
He shook his head. “He’s out. I expect him to return later today. Shall I tell him you called?”
“No.” Isaac walked past the butler. “I’ll wait in the study. When he arrives please let him know I’m here.”
Still fueled by the heat of frustration, Isaac marched down the corridor and into the study where he’d spent so much time with his father. The room was cool and dark. No fire lit the grate. No candles offered light. Clutter, paper, books, and maps littered the space. He stepped to the window and looked out at Wheal Gwenna, recalling the days when he’d stand by his father’s side at this very window and talk about the future.
Isaac set his jaw as the memories intensified. Whereas Matthew had been determined to separate himself from Tregarthan, explore the world, and leave for school as soon as Father permitted it, Isaac embraced his heritage. He’d spent every day in his father’s company, learning. Observing. And when he grew from adolescence to manhood, his father became his mentor. His trusted advisor. His best friend.
All that ceased for him when Father died. Matthew, of course, had been devastated at their father’s early demise, but Isaac’s entire world was shaken. He hadn’t been able to cry for several weeks, for it was not real. Surely it couldn’t be real. And he hadn’t even been able to step foot in this room for a full year following his father’s death.
But reality crept in as it always did, and now being in this study, in his private space, was still too much, and he suspected it would always be. And he couldn’t help but wonder if his father would be proud of the man he had become.
Using the flint atop the mantel, he lit several candles and sat in the chair.
Unable to sit still, he jumped up again and perused the items on the desk. Letters and ledgers were strewn about. He set about shuffling through them when a door creaked.
Isaac jerked his head up.
There was a door off of his study that tradesmen used to use when they would visit his father, for his mother never wanted them tracking mud through the house. It was that door he heard, and it had to be Matthew.
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