Suitors and Sabotage

by Cindy Anstey

  The journey to Foxhill was not onerous to the passengers; a mere half hour took them to the base of the mountain and an additional quarter hour saw them wind back and forth to the top. The horses, however, were tired and glad of the rest. Mr. Fowler had wisely brought feed bags and led them to a small pond, where they could drink and enjoy the shade.

  Arm in arm, the two couples crossed the open meadow and approached the precipice. Emily swayed her skirts as she walked, twirling her parasol ever so slightly; she leaned in Ben’s direction. Imogene followed with Ernest at a respectable distance. Her skirts did not sway. Imogene had no idea how to—perhaps longer steps …

  “Oh dear,” Imogene gasped as she tripped, glad to have Ernest’s arm for support. Pitching over the cliff would have put a decided damper on the day.

  “Careful,” he said kindly, offering her a wink.

  Imogene tried not to blush and stared after Emily and Ben once again. She did her best to ignore the bright smile Ben offered Emily as they chatted quietly. Emily laughed, and Imogene swallowed in discomfort, changing her focus to the glorious view.

  Now standing ten feet or so from the edge, Imogene marveled, as she always did, at the distance that could be seen. While the angle did not offer a bird’s-eye view of Gracebridge, the church steeples of Fotheringham and—off to the south—the oast houses of Cuppard were clearly visible.

  The patchwork of fields, hedges, and lanes inspired, and Imogene felt a yearning to commit the scene to canvas—which she had not brought. It had been a conscious decision not to do so. She could hardly stand there painting while requiring Ben to sketch his next lesson. His frustration would have sapped him of his creativity. Hardly helpful.

  * * *

  “IT’S A CHILD’S BLOCK,” Ben growled, as Imogene had expected.

  “Three actually,” Imogene said as she pulled two more from her satchel and laid them on the blanket. They were seated, as they had been the day before, Ben sharing the blanket with Emily and Imogene. Ernest lay in the grass on his side, slightly set off from the group, reading.

  “You would do well to stop arguing with your teacher, Ben. She knows what she is about.” Ernest’s eyes never strayed from his book.

  Ben harrumphed and then caught Imogene’s watchful expression and laughed. “Thank you, Miss Chively. I would love to draw three children’s blocks. Let me see, we have R, T, and A.” He laid them out so they formed the word rat.

  “Harder than you might think. This is the beginning of perspective.” She rearranged the blocks to spell art.

  “Have I jumped ahead of Hardly Harriet?”

  “You have indeed.” Imogene laughed and then glanced at Emily’s speculative frown. “It’s your fault,” Imogene explained. “You introduced your sister as Hardly Harriet, remember?”

  “Yes, of course. That was not the reason—never mind.” Emily shook her head at some inner thought, shrugged, and then shook her head again. “I think I will give it a try as well. Drawing, that is. As I have said before, I have no ability.… But it might prove to be amusing. Do you have enough supplies?”

  “Of course.” Imogene reached back into her satchel. “Would you care to join us, too, Ernest?”

  “No, no. It would be a prodigious waste of time.”

  “Read to us then, old man,” Ben said in a commanding manner. “Entertain us while we work.”

  Ernest offered an impish smile. The reason was apparent when he began to read.

  “Lud, Ernest! Byron?” Ben rolled his eyes. “You are reading Byron?”

  “Shall I continue?” Ernest asked, turning his wide-eyed, innocent look upon Imogene.

  “Absolutely.” Imogene laughed again, agreeing as much to please Ernest as to irritate Ben. Though she had no idea why that thought was so appealing.

  As expected, Emily’s aptitude was poor at best, and she made herself more of a distraction to Ben than a fellow student. Imogene listened to their playful banter, glanced at Ernest—who had lapsed into silence after reading only a page or two to the company—and watched the clouds roll in. At first, the layers of cumulonimbus occasionally hid the sun, but as they grew in number and the temperature dropped, Imogene knew they were in for a storm. Her suggestion that they head back to Gracebridge tout suite required little persuasion when a distant rumble echoed across the fields.

  Heading down the hill proved to be more difficult than going up, as the horses were skittish. Walking beside the carriage may not have eased the nerves of the bay geldings, but it made Mr. Fowler—and, in truth, the company—more comfortable. It also delayed them somewhat, so there was now no doubt of the change in weather.

  By the time they arrived back at Gracebridge, the wind had begun to bluster in earnest.

  “We’ll get off at the stables, Mr. Fowler,” Imogene suggested to the coachman. “That way you can take care of the horses right away.… And I can check on Jasper.” None was surprised by her proposal, as she had mentioned a desire to see how Jasper fared at breakfast.

  “If you wish, I can take your art satchel inside while you are with Jasper.” Emily glanced at Ben. “I’m sure Benjamin would not mind carrying it for me.”

  Imogene was unclear as to how that meant Emily was taking charge of the drawing supplies, but she refrained from addressing the issue. She nodded and headed for the kennels. “Thank you,” she called over her shoulder.

  “Ernest, be a good fellow and give Emily a hand with the satchel. I, too, would like to see how Jasper is faring.” Ben’s voice became louder as he spoke, joining Imogene just as she opened the door to the smaller of the barns.

  Imogene did not hear Emily grumble, but she was almost certain that she would have.

  Once inside the kennels, Imogene ignored the noisy barking of the hounds, bypassing their enclosure and making her way to the back wall. However, the gate to Jasper’s kennel was open, and the St. John’s water dog was not within. Worse still, Mr. Marshal did not know where the dog might be.

  With a sinking feeling, Imogene stood once again in front of the small barn, looking around. She scanned the inner yard, the active stable, and the fields beyond. She considered calling for Jasper, even though it would have been a breach of decorum, but refrained—temporarily. If Jasper had been let loose, it was likely that he would head to the old castle, her favorite haunt. Calling from the stable yard would be pointless.

  And just as they walked past the edge of the stables and Imogene could see across the lawn and down the hill to the ruin, she heard a most welcome sound. A very excited bark.

  “Ah, there he is,” Imogene said with no little relief.

  Ben stood at her side, looking up at the sky; he nodded. “I’ll get him. You should get inside before the storm hits.” He started down the hill without waiting for an answer. “Your father expressly—”

  “Forbade me to visit the old castle. Yes, I know, but this isn’t a visit.… It concerns Jasper.” Lifting her skirts to a height just shy of improper, Imogene rushed to catch up … and then passed him. Shouting his protest, Ben raced after her, and the game was on. Not surprisingly, Ben crossed the moat bridge first, though Imogene was not far behind. They stood for some minutes wheezing and trying to catch their breath, merriment in their eyes as they enjoyed the exhilaration of the vigorous exercise. Yes, that was why they continued to stare and smile at each other. No other reason. At all.

  “Jasper,” Imogene called when she had the breath to do so and the will to look away. The dog continued to bark but still did not put in an appearance.

  The castle island was deserted, devoid of workmen. It was likely that Mr. Opine had hustled the crew indoors, out of the impending storm. Heaps of rock sat near the bridge, waiting to be carted away. A lone shovel leaned against the crumbling wall, looking forgotten.

  Imogene was impressed by the progress. Over half of the fallen floor had been cleared, and huge beams had been used to brace the leaning wall above it. She wouldn’t be banned much longer.

  Following the sound
of Jasper’s barking, Imogene realized the dog had returned to the staircase. How he had done so was a puzzle, as several lengths of lumber had been propped across the arches leading to the great hall. Yet that explained why the dog had not come when he had been called.

  “Silly pup, always getting into trouble.” Imogene sighed as she leaned over the top board, squinting at the floor. The line directly to the stairs was dangerously close to the collapse, but if they kept to the wall … no, there was no need to take the chance. “It would be safer to go through the castle’s south wing and then up the inner tower stairs,” Imogene called over her shoulder, trying to be heard above the cacophony of an excited dog and the rumbling thunder. “There’s a door to the top landing. I can lead the way.”

  “The storm will be on us by then,” Ben said as he shifted the boards to the side. “You stay here. I’ll just run over and get him. I’ll be right back.”

  “No,” Imogene shouted as he stepped confidently through the arch. Without a second thought, Imogene jumped forward, grabbing his coat. She pulled back, falling in the process, dragging Ben with her.

  Ben grunted in surprise as he fell on top of her and released a stream of words that Imogene had never heard before. “Why in heaven’s name did you do that?” he finally asked.

  “I apologize,” Imogene said, feeling uncomfortable with her ill-considered haste. She pushed against his weight, gasping for breath. “Could. You. Get. Off? Oh, thank you.” Struggling to sit and then stand, Imogene accepted Ben’s hand as he pulled her to her feet.

  “I beg your pardon,” she started again as she straightened her skirts, doing her best not to meet his frowning stare. “But it seems rather foolhardy to rush onto a cracked floor with no idea of its integrity.” She heard him sniff.

  “You are quite right.”

  Raising her eyes, Imogene smiled, expecting to see an easing of Ben’s frown, but he had already looked away.

  “Let’s use this,” he said as he lifted one of the boards that had barred their way only moments earlier. “It will distribute my weight.” He didn’t wait for Imogene’s assent but stepped up to the arch once more.

  Squatting, he placed the board on the stones and began sliding it forward. It scuffed and scraped along the floor as expected until its full length was nearly stretched to the base of the stairs. Then there was a great snap. Gravity yanked the board from his hands as it tumbled six or seven feet to the floor below in a shower of stone.

  “Well,” Ben said, staring at the newly formed hole. “That’s disappointing.” He stood, dusting his hands together. “So what was that other suggestion?”

  “Going through the castle?”

  “Yes, that was the one.”

  A flash of lightning, followed almost immediately by a clap of thunder, urged Imogene to hasten. Pivoting, she hurried around the corner of the south wing and into a side door; Ben was on her heels. She rushed through the dark, empty rooms to where the wing joined the tower. Up a few steps, over a landing, and then they could make their way up two flights to the door that originally led from the tower into the impressive great hall. They emerged breathless, but just where they needed to be.

  Jasper greeted them with buckets of enthusiasm. He leaped high in the air, looking more like himself than he had in days.… But he was not free. Someone had tied him to one of the tower’s wall braces.

  “Why would anyone tie…?” Imogene folded her brow into deep trenches and glanced over her shoulder at Ben.

  “He must have been in the way,” Ben suggested. “And they forgot him in the rush to get out of the storm.”

  Imogene nodded but was not entirely certain that was the case.

  Releasing Jasper took longer than one would expect. The knot had been pulled so tight that it was soon apparent they would have to cut the rope, not untie it. Ben ran back for the shovel and then used it like an ax while Imogene held Jasper out of the way.

  By the time the rope was frayed enough to break, and the shovel completely ruined, the sky had opened up, and the storm was in its glory. Clinging to each other, they slowly made their way back up the hill, buffeted this way and that. Their progress, or absence, must have been noted, for Mr. Marshal and Ernest met them at the crest of the hill. With Jasper headed back to the kennels and Imogene secured between the Steeple brothers, they at last made it to the front door.

  Family and friends wearing matching worried expressions greeted them in the hall, and, unfortunately, just as Imogene opened her mouth to assure everyone that all was well, she sneezed. There was nothing to be said after that; Mother would not allow Imogene to do anything other than take to her bed.

  And so it was that Imogene found herself alone in her room all evening, listening to the rain on the roof and wondering how Jasper came to be in the ruin and why workmen would tie the dog to a brace rather than return him to his kennel.

  More important, she wondered if Ben … no, Ernest … missed her company.

  chapter 8

  In which Imogene and Emily rush to the door … with elegance and grace, of course

  Being sequestered had one benefit—though only one that she could conceive. Imogene could avoid the long-winded sermon of the Reverend Harris the following morning. The good Reverend had a tendency to preach fire and brimstone, yelling from the pulpit one minute and whispering the next. It was all very dramatic.… Or it would be if it were not the same every Sunday. Imogene was never entirely certain that the words changed—so repetitive was his diction.

  The greatest loss was, of course, Emily’s company. Mrs. Beeswanger, in the interest of protecting her daughter from the possibility of ill health, had rearranged the bedrooms. Emily was now sharing with Pauline, while Harriet was placed on a trundle bed with Miss Watson. No one was very pleased with the change, but, as it would be of short duration, they all made the best of it.

  Before he left, Ernest sent Imogene a lovely three-page note full of flowery language. He expressed his disappointment that he would have to wait a full fortnight before seeing her again, but he thanked the heavens that the Beeswangers thought to invite him and Ben to Shackleford Park. Such a great and wondrous kindness. Until that glorious, fateful day, Ernest would wait impatiently and anticipate their marvelous reunion.

  On the bottom of the third page, Ben had added a sketch—a small drawing of a dog and a few scrawled lines explaining that the tangle behind the dog represented the ruins and the moat.

  By the time Imogene was allowed up and out of her shuttered, stuffy room, all the company had gone. Her sneeze had not developed into anything more than a runny nose and a mild sore throat, certainly nothing resembling a deadly contagion. Storm in a teacup, Imogene decided with no little asperity.

  The manor seemed inordinately quiet. Not only were the Steeples, Tabards, and Beeswangers gone, but their servants were as well. The opportunity to question Matt or Kate about the topaz necklace would now have to wait until they all arrived at Shackleford Park. But would it matter by then? Betty, the Chively housemaid, had seen nothing out of the ordinary.

  “So many strangers about the place, miss, there were no telling where everyone were supposed to be.”

  The idea that Percy and Jake were part of the riddle remained in the back of Imogene’s mind for some days; tenacious thoughts that also laid the blame of Jasper’s misadventure at their feet. There seemed nowhere else to put it.

  As the days passed, Imogene spent more and more time in her studio doing very little painting. She was restless and preferred to design lessons for Harriet and Ben instead. She tried not to think of Ben and Ernest overly … with little success.

  Fortunately, Ernest was in her mind nearly as much as Ben. While she did not have the excuse of trying to teach Ernest how to draw, he was the one to whom her Father continually referred at dinner. Quotes. Ernest said this, Ernest said that. Father attributed many adages to Ernest … none of which Imogene had heard the young man utter. It mattered not; managing other people’s lives had always kept
her father happy.

  Imogene ignored it as best she could.

  * * *

  “YOUR EYES ARE brighter than the sun. I cringe in your shadow,” Ben stated with one arm outstretched, as he swayed with the rhythm of his black thoroughbred, Lancelot, and kept a firm grasp on the reins with the other hand.

  “No.”

  “I promise to love you until we are old and gray, shriveled and shrunken.”

  “No.”

  “I will do anything to win your heart: swim the widest ocean, slay a dragon … read a book.”

  Ernest sighed, rather deeply. One could hardly blame him; Ben had been gleefully offering proposal advice for the past hour. It helped to ward off the monotony. They had been on the road to Shackleford Park for the better part of three hours, and Ben was restless.

  “No.”

  Ben looked around surprised. “What? Oh yes, no dragon slaying. They are hard to come by these days.”

  Ernest sighed again and gave him a long-suffering look. It wasn’t as effective as it might have been had his brother not been swaying on the back of his white-starred thoroughbred, Arthur. It was not his usual bob but a tired side-to-side sort of motion, not in the least dignified.

  Ben grinned. “Enlighten me, then. How are you going to go about it?”

  “I haven’t thought on it overly.”

  With a snort, Ben shook his head and dropped his arms. He knew that to be a bouncer. He had seen his brother’s crumpled efforts collecting under the desk in the Musson House library. In truth, Ben did not envy his brother this step toward matrimonial bliss. If Imogene’s answer were a certainty, then—perhaps—the matter of how to propose would not be as worrisome. But as best as Ben could tell, Imogene was well on her way to friendship, but would it go further?

  Recollecting her shy smile, Ben frowned and ignored the slight acceleration of his heart. It did not gallop or even run but merely trotted—signifying nothing more than an interest. And why would he not be interested in this gifted artist who made his mouth go dry when he thought of her standing in the rain, her gown clinging to her every curve and a look on her face that invited …