by Lloyd, Diana
She followed slowly, letting the staff outrace her to the door and out into the yard. The afternoon sky was already smudged with gray smoke from the flames. She’d find her way there on her own. Once there it was unlikely they’d refuse her help. But, as she stepped out the doorway, a small lone figure stood vigil at the bottom of the steps.
“Oh, Charlie, I’m so glad to see that you’re well. I’m going to the stables to offer my assistance. Perhaps you could point out the quickest path.”
“Sorry, milady,” he said with all of an eight-year-old’s seriousness. Charlie stood and wiped at his face with his sleeve. “His lordship says I’m to stay out of the way and make sure you stay in the house where you’ll be safe, too.”
“I appreciate that, Charlie, but I’ll be careful. I’m sure his lordship can use all the help he can get.” She could smell the acrid tang of burnt hay in the air and hear shouting in the distance. “Are there any more buckets to be had around the house that I might fetch for them?”
“But I’m supposed to keep you here.” Charlie stood his ground at the base of the stairs. “That’s my job, milady. If you get lost or hurt it will be my fault for sure. Please don’t go, milady. Please don’t. His lordship will be cross with me if you do.”
“Don’t fret, Charlie, I’ll stay in the house.” She hesitated at the doorway. Poor Charlie looked close to tears with worry. Maybe Quin had ordered the boy to the house to keep him from getting underfoot and getting himself hurt. “You have to promise me you’ll stay here on the steps and not try to go back into the stables for anything. Do you promise?”
“Oh, yes, milady. I promise if you will.”
The kid drove a hard bargain. “I promise.” Elsinore stepped back inside the doorway as Charlie settled himself back on the top step. She’d fully intended to simply sneak out another doorway. But with Charlie sent to assure her safety and location, she could hardly do that without crushing any trust he may have in her. No, she decided, friends and allies were too rare in Scotland. She’d stick by her promise and earn Charlie’s devotion.
She started up the stairway with every intention of finishing the unpacking. Surely, Peg had left something for her to fold or place in a drawer somewhere while everyone else did something more useful. At the third step she paused, her foot hovering just over the stair. She was alone in the house, was she not? What better time to look for a missing key. She hadn’t believed the cook’s explanation of the missing key for a moment. One did not hand house keys to workmen; they’d be let in by the housekeeper and watched over by a footman. Old Brigit must have thought her green indeed to believe she swallowed that tale.
Abandoning the stairs, she made her way to the baize door with caution. She pushed it open, quietly listening for any sounds from below stairs. “Hello,” she called out, holding her breath and listening for any sound in response. When there was not so much as a squeaking hinge or a footstep in response, she stepped through.
She tried the butler’s pantry first. It was close to the kitchen, and someone might have thought to hide a key in one of the many drawers and nooks there. She rummaged through the sideboard, finding candlewicks, corks, cutlery, and all sorts of odds and ends, but no stray key.
Now, she thought, as she entered the kitchen, if I were a cook, where would I put a key for safekeeping? She checked shelves, cupboards, and crockery with no luck. She even felt around the hearth for loose stones someone might hide a small object behind. Nothing.
A small window near the rear door revealed a column of gray-black smoke rising into the air. At least there was little wind today, so perhaps the flame could be contained to a single building. How she wished she could be helping instead of stuck here on a wild-goose chase for a key. Admitting defeat, she turned to leave. With a last hopeless look around the room, a ray of sunlight from the window behind her highlighted a bit of bright mustard yellow and china blue out of place high up on the wall.
On a top shelf along with some ancient wooden trenchers sat one delicate teacup. It was a small unexpected thing in such an otherwise orderly kitchen. The place settings stored in the butler’s pantry were Spode. But this cup, if she wasn’t mistaken, was in the Raffaellesco pattern. A pattern that matched nothing else she’d seen.
She found an old wooden step stool and pushed it over to the shelf. After a quick look to make sure she was still alone, she stepped up and reached for the cup. The shelf was high up on the wall, and she had to stand on tiptoe and stretch to reach it. Her fingertips barely brushed against the handle, and it took her a few moments to slide the cup closer to the edge so she might grasp it. There, she had it. Carefully, she brought it down to inspect it.
A single iron key rested in the bottom of the cup. She snatched it out and clutched it to her breast. It was the key. Her key. She knew it. Carefully placing the cup back on the shelf, she slid it over to where she thought it had been. Oh, why hadn’t she taken note of which way the handle had been facing? No use worrying about it now. She was the mistress of this house, even if only temporarily, and she had every right to this key and anything else she might find.
She pushed the stepping stool back into the corner where she’d found it and made her way up the stairs again. Her hand shook as she tried to thread the key into the lock, but she was rewarded with a satisfying click when it caught and turned. With one last furtive look up and down the hallway, she turned the knob and stepped into the room.
The draperies were all drawn tight, and she hadn’t thought to light a candle. She opened the door wider to spill a little more daylight into the room. The floor crunched under her feet as she stepped in. She looked down thinking to find stray chips of plaster or even papier-mâché from the renovation efforts, but what she saw were small red dots. They almost looked like beads, red coral beads. She took another step and bumped into a broken chair lying on its side. Something was terribly wrong in this room.
She rushed back out to the hallway and grabbed a candle off a side table, then had to run all the way back to the stairwell to find a taper to light it with. By the time she made it back to the room, her heart beat wildly in her chest. She raised the candle high to reveal utter chaos. The furniture lay in haphazard broken pieces about the room. The mattress had been pulled from the bed frame, and the ticking sliced open in long angry streaks. Down and feathers littered the floor and an upended tin of face powder covered the floor like a dusting of snow. The powder and feathers danced with the dust in the breeze created from her skirt.
The red beads were everywhere, sprinkled about like holly in the snow. Other gems from ruined jewelry twinkled and winked at her in the candlelight where they littered the floor.
Elsinore forced herself to breathe normally amid the destruction. Something very bad had happened in this room. Something violent and tragic. And, whatever it was, it had something to do with Quin’s secrecy.
Chapter Seventeen
“A wise master of the hound knows to view failure as a learning opportunity. Even if the only lesson is what methods do not work for that particular hound.” Oglethorpe’s Treatise on the Obedient Canine
Just at the edge of the halo of her candlelight a small dark shadow was cast on the wall. Raising the candle to have a better look, she approached cautiously. It was a hole, or rather, a dent in the wall. She crunched forward to get a better look. It wasn’t a large dent—in fact, it was only about the size of a man’s fist. She balled up her own hand into a fist and fit it into the dent. There was room to spare all around. Quin’s fist would fit.
“Oh, Quin, what have you done?” She whispered her fear into the room. For the first time, she wondered what exactly had brought about the first baroness’s death. Had she died here in this room amid the destruction and chaos? She lowered the candle to pick out her retreat carefully, placing her feet where they would encounter less of the wreckage. That’s when she noticed the second set of footprints through the dusting of face powder. Boots. Men’s boots. Just like the boots Quin favored. The bo
ot prints led to the window and she followed them, daring to part the curtain where the footprints stopped.
Tears were already blurring her vision as she looked out to the gardens below. Movement caught her eye, and she blinked to clear her vision. Was someone there? She froze at the window, knowing it was too late to hide herself. Whoever it was could see her, and she struggled to determine who it might be. Quin? No, it was a man, but from up here he looked smaller than Quin. Shorter and with a head of bright orange hair. Or were the tears in her eyes playing tricks on her?
She let the drapes fall closed and backed out of the room. The candle guttered out as she ran down the hallway, and she left the now useless candle and its holder on one of the hall tables as she ran by. If she could reach the front steps before anyone returned to the house, she’d pretend she was with Charlie the entire time.
The lad was still on the steps, and she sat down next to him and took a moment to catch her breath. In his boredom, he’d drawn several shapes into the gravel driveway with a stick. Elsinore looked at it as proof he’d stayed where he was supposed to and not ventured into the house. A shout in the distance got him to his feet, and she was relieved to see a few of the servants making their way back to the house across the lawn.
One of the footmen reached the house first. “You there,” Elsinore called to him as soon as he was near enough to hear her. “His lordship…is he well? And the animals? Please tell me the stables were empty.”
“His lordship is well, milady. He’s stayed behind to organize the cleanup and move the surviving animals to other stalls.”
“Was there much loss of livestock?” She’d grown rather fond of Quin’s gelding, Archie, during their long journey together, and a pang of sadness creased her heart at the thought the lively Cleveland Bay had come to a bad end.
“We were unable to save one of the carriage horses, milady. He was tethered in his stall with a poultice on his fetlock and dinna have a chance to escape. His lordship made a go after him, but the flames drove him back.”
“Thank you.” The footman continued around the house to the side entrance, and Elsinore took a seat on the steps next to Charlie. What had seemed so important only minutes ago now paled in comparison to the loss the estate had suffered. She sat with Charlie until it grew too dark to see if anyone else would be coming down the path. With a sigh, she stood and made her way up the stairs, stopping every other step to take what she promised herself would be one more look back.
“Milady?”
Elsinore recognized the maid who had helped her unpack. “Yes, Peg, what is it?”
“Cook wants to know if you’ll be wanting a meal. What with the fire and all we haven’t much ready.”
“Of course.” The mention of food reminded her that she hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and her stomach protested with a grumble. “Perhaps just a pot of tea and a cold platter if possible. I’m sure his lordship will be famished after his ordeal.”
“His lordship ain’t coming back here, milady. I heard him say so myself.”
“Whyever not?”
“He’s gone to the port village to talk to the magistrate. It’s a fair trip, even by boat. He said not to expect him until tomorrow morning.” A trip to the magistrate could only mean that Quin suspected the fire was something other than an accident. Another mystery to address once she had a chance to speak to him. She’d be spending the first night in her new home alone.
Within the hour, one of the footmen produced a tray with a small pot of tea, a wedge of warm suet pudding, and a dish of berries with clotted cream. The simple meal, eaten alone in Quin’s bedchamber, reminded her of her days as the last sister to take her meals up in the nursery. How jealous she’d been of her older sisters, who, one by one, had been allowed to dine downstairs with the family. Once welcome to take meals in the dining room, she never imagined she’d be once again dining alone in a quiet room with no company save her own imagination.
And, right now, her imagination threatened to keep her awake most of the night. Why was Quin speaking to a magistrate? A fire was an estate matter, wasn’t it? Were the laws so different in Scotland? Her gaze slid over to the connecting door. Perhaps she should be more concerned with what had happened right next door.
No one in this house, including Quin, could have expected him to be bringing home a new baroness. Otherwise, the room would have been put into good repair, and she’d be none the wiser that something, some violent thing, had occurred there. The staff must know—why else would they seal the room and go to the trouble of hiding the key? But no one on the staff would tell her, she was sure of it. They valued their positions too keenly. She’d learn nothing from them.
But there was a village nearby. Every village had a busybody. Some old matron would be more than happy to tell the new baroness about the old one. Especially if there was an interesting tale to be told about her. She had to get to that village. If Quin wasn’t back by tomorrow afternoon, she’d ask Angus. If she overheard Quin’s directions well enough, the man was bound to keep her in his sight. If she started off for the village, he would just have to follow whether he wanted to or not.
She pushed away the empty supper tray just as a timid knocking sounded from the door. “Quin?” The eager question came out of her mouth before she could stop it.
“Just me, milady.” Peg poked her head inside the door. “His lordship had asked me to offer my services as lady’s maid until you could hire someone proper-like.”
“How thoughtful of him.” Elsinore fought to keep the disappointment from her voice. “If you could help me out of this gown and make sure my blue walking dress is pressed and ready for tomorrow along with the cream-colored spencer, the one with the ruffles, I’ll be needing that as well.”
“I’ll have them ready, milady.” Peg gathered up the cold remains of her meager supper. “Will there be anything else, milady?”
“Nothing else tonight, Peg.” Elsinore turned so she wouldn’t see the sad look of pity that she knew the young maid would reflect. She was a new bride alone in her new house.
She brushed her hair without Quin’s help and plaited it into a single long braid without his fingers fumbling through the process. Elsinore smiled as she remembered teaching him how to keep a braid even and neat. She’d thought to punish him with the task after he’d sent Yvette back to her father’s house. But rather than being insulted with the work of her maid, he’d been a patient student. Sometimes, even an eager one.
She missed him. Oh bother. Acquainted less than a month, and here she was, dreading the thought of sleeping alone in a bed. Hadn’t she slept alone for twenty years before meeting the man? I’ve turned into a complete ninny just like my sisters. Rather than making her smile, the sudden thought of her family so very far away only darkened her mood. What was my father thinking when he insisted on this match?
She was alone and miserable. And the servants hated her. Well, she corrected herself, maybe just the cook. A madman, quite possibly her husband, had laid ruin to the bedroom next door. A suspicious fire had erupted in the stables barely an hour after she’d arrived, and she’d been caught out snooping in the room the servants had gone to great pains to hide from her.
She crawled into Quin’s bed, thoroughly irritated with herself. It was a perfectly ordinary and comfortable bed, so there was no rational reason for her to dread it. Snuffing out the candle with a little more effort than was truly necessary for the task, she lay back on the pillow and waited for sleep to come. And waited. And waited.
Thud. Elsinore’s eyes reluctantly opened. It seemed she had just closed them. She stared into the dark room. Though the curtains were drawn, she knew it was still too dark to be morning. Something had awoken her. She slid her hand across the crisp sheets to the far side of the bed. It was cold and empty.
The sounds of the unfamiliar house accented the serenade of crickets and frogs and other creatures that inhabited a lakeside estate. Stones settled, wood creaked and groaned—it was all perfectl
y innocent and normal, she assured herself. Thud.
Throwing aside the sheet, she sat up. That was no cricket; someone was moving about. She froze, afraid to even breathe, straining her ears to catch the next sound. In the darkness, she turned her face to where she knew there was nothing but a door between her and the violent chaos of the next room. Was someone in there?
Another sound punctured the night. This one more of a scraping, as if something had been pushed or dragged along the floor. She jumped up and made her way around the bed toward the sound. But the room was dark and unfamiliar, and she stumbled against one of her trunks, stubbing her toe. Blast! Dropping to her hands and knees to rub her smarting toe, she crawled across the room, feeling her way across the room in the darkness.
Thud. A door closing, but not in the baroness’s bedchambers. No, this sound was coming from the opposite side of the room, from the direction of Quin’s dressing room. Her mood lifted. Perhaps Quin had returned home after all. She felt her way back across the room, her eyes adjusting to the darkness enough so that she could navigate the maze of trunks. She slid her hand along the wall, feeling for a latch or a knob. Finally finding one, she fumbled with it until it gave way with a soft snick and the door swung open.
At first glance, the room appeared as dark and empty as the one behind her. But, there, a sliver of light on the far wall. She inched forward toward the light. There was another door at the far end of the dressing room, the light evidence of someone being on the other side.
Placing her hand against the door she pushed it open a few inches, willing the hinges not to squeak. Warm, moist air caressed her face, and it took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the light from within. It was one of the bathing chambers the maid had shown her earlier. She hadn’t realized it connected to his dressing room.
Head back, eyes covered by a damp cloth, he was resting in a large bathing tub filled with steaming water. Funny how she’d so quickly become accustomed to his body. She fought the urge to massage away the tenseness she recognized in his shoulders. Touching him would lead to all sorts of things, but she had questions first. He stretched out one long muscular leg and flexed his toes.