Finally they regained the staircase, and made their way up into the manor. Entering the gallery, Charles breathed a sigh of relief and carried his burden into the drawing room. He deposited Jack carefully on a sofa and strode to the bell pull, giving it several vigorous tugs.
“Someone should be in the house,” he said. “Most of the servants are down at the picnic site, but they would have left someone to mind the place.”
Katherine knelt at Jack’s side, smoothing back his hair and checking his head for injury. As near as she could tell, the leg and wrist were the only damages.
Impatiently, Charles jangled the bell several more times, and was rewarded with the sound of footsteps approaching. In a moment two flustered youngsters burst into the room, a very junior footman and the most insignificant kitchen maid. From their reddened faces and air of disarray, it was apparent to Charles that, having been left by their seniors to mind the house while everyone else was off reveling, these two had devised their own celebration.
“Ah, here you are,” Charles said, cutting short their muttered excuses. “You,” pointing to the young footman, “I want you to go to the picnic grounds. Find Doctor Bateman and tell him to come up to the manor immediately, that I’ve a boy with a broken leg here.”
The two servants gawked at the dusty lad on the sofa. Charles snapped his fingers to regain their attention. “We’re not done,” he said. “Then you are to find Captain Fernley. Ask at the grounds where the rescuers are, have someone direct you. Find the Captain and tell him to cease his excavation, that we extracted young Jack from another entrance. Then find the Rose ladies and tell them that Jack and Miss Katherine are here, and ask them to join us here. You got all that?”
The footman nodded vigorously, counting on his fingers. “The doctor, then the captain, then the Rose ladies.”
“Excellent! Off you go.” The young man hurried from the room. Charles turned to the kitchen maid. “And you can bring us some hot water, wash clothes and towels and we’ll get this young scamp cleaned up before the doctor gets here.”
The maid curtsey and gasped, “Yes, me lord,” and scurried off.
Charles went over to the sofa and Katherine looked up at him with a brilliant smile. “Thank you!” she said feelingly.
At the sight of that smile, Charles almost reeled. “Thank me?” he asked stupidly. “For what?”
“For listening to me and trusting me when the story I told must have sounded mad,” Katherine said simply.
Charles felt a moment’s compunction, recalling how his complying with her directives was as much about humoring a distraught sister as it was believing in her incredible story. But he would never tell her so, not when she smiled at him like that!
A moan from the sofa told them Jack was coming around. Katherine turned her attention to him. “Jack? Lie still, dear. We’re back at Greymere and the doctor is coming.”
Charles hovered over the sofa, hoping to see that smile again, but the young maid soon bustled into the room with her burden of cleaning supplies and soon after came the doctor and the Rose ladies and he found himself pushed to the corner of the room as the boy’s medical condition was dealt with.
And then came Captain Fernley to discuss the perilous state of the cave, and servants dealing with the aftermath of the picnic, and young Han carrying a heavy load of guilt over his part in the catastrophe, and Charles found himself too occupied to remain in the only spot where he wished to be, which was by the side of Miss Katherine Rose.
Two days later, Charles and Han took the curricle to Rosebourne. Jack, they were reliably informed, was now able to receive visitors. They were ushered up to Jack’s room, where they found young Master Jack presiding from bed, well propped by pillows. In attendance were Miss Katherine, knitting socks, and Miss Helen, reading a boys’ adventure story. Miss Alice Rose, they were told, was resting in her room after the adventures of the past several days, and their guest Mister Grimthorpe had finally taken his leave.
Jack was restless and irritable. The setting of his leg had been agonizing and now there would come a lengthy interval of lying up in splints, a difficult prospect for an active boy. The Rose sisters were glad to see Lord Charles, and particularly glad to see Han, hoping his visit would keep Jack amused and occupied for a time.
Jack had one complaint in particular about his enforced inactivity, telling Han, “We shan’t be able to explore the cave until next holidays, I suppose.”
“Well, as to that,” Charles said apologetically, “I’m afraid the cave is being sealed.”
“Oh, excellent!” said Katherine, just as Jack was exclaiming, “Oh, no!”
“No other choice,” Charles said. “Captain Fernley tells me that there’s no way to stabilize the cavern walls to make the place safe, and no one knows more about the subject than he does. I’m having the outside entrance of the tunnel entirely filled in, and the entrance from the manor is being bricked up.”
“I call it a shame,” Jack said hotly.
“A shame?” exclaimed Han. “I think it’s marvelous!”
“Marvelous?” Jack asked incredulously. “To lose our cave?”
“The sealing only makes it better,” Han insisted. “Don’t you see? There’s a mysterious cave, and we went into it and no one else will ever be able to enter it again. It’s not just a story to tell the lads at school, we’ll be telling our grandchildren about it!”
Jack leaned back onto the pillows, looking thoughtful. Han pressed his advantage. “And what might we have found in there? Why, whatever we say we saw, who could contradict us?”
Katherine was about to point out that she and Lord Charles could contradict them, but Charles saw she was about to speak and gave his head a slight shake. She realized then that Han was given Jack a way to accept the loss of their precious cave and held her peace.
Charles listened to the boys’ wild fantasies about the marvels they supposedly discovered in what was now being characterized as The Lost Cave, and then bent down to murmur to Katherine, “Miss Rose, I would like to discuss something with you if you have the time.”
“Of course,” Katherine said, rolling up her knitting and following Charles into the hall. “Shall we go to the drawing room?” she suggested.
“I think the library might be better,” Charles told her.
Puzzled, Katherine led him to that little-used apartment and turned to face him. “What is the matter?” she asked.
“Nothing is the matter,” Charles said. “But I have some questions for you about you and your father and your literary careers. Shall we sit?”
“Oh, certainly.” Flustered, Katherine gestured to a chair grouping and the two sat down.
Now that the time had come, Charles found the right words eluded him. After an uncomfortable pause, he said hesitantly, “Miss Rose, if you feel this is none of my concern, by all means say so and the matter will drop. Please understand that my only interest in the matter is a genuine concern for your well-being and that of your family.”
“Of course,” Katherine said.
Charles went on, “You’ve described to me how your father began writing as Mrs. Wilson and that you had taken up the pen to continue his work, and that writing these novels was necessary due to a significant reduction of the family fortune and subsequent drop in income.”
“Yes?”
“And that continue the writing was something you felt compelled to do to provide for your family, and was not a path you would have chosen otherwise.”
Katherine nodded slowly. “Yes, though I do admit to finding some satisfaction in the untangling of a plot or coining a particularly felicitous turn of phrase, so I’ll not repine or consider myself hardly used. I know that many women must do much more unpleasant things to provide for their families and Mrs. Wilson certainly pays adequately. But knowing that the task must be done does produce a certain amount of anxiety.”
“And that’s what puzzles me,” Charles said. “I am not a scholar, nor was I raised by scho
lars, so perhaps I cannot enter into your frame of mind. But do you really choose to experience that anxiety in order to maintain your family library intact?”
Katherine frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“Why don’t you just sell some books?” Charles said.
“But isn’t that what I’m doing?” Katherine answered, now completely baffled.
“Not new books that you must write,” Charles said in frustration. He made an all-encompassing gesture. “These books.”
Katherine looked around the room. “These books? The books in the library? Sell them?”
“Sell them,” Charles confirmed.
“How would that be of any use?” Katherine asked. “A bunch of old books?”
Charles stared at her. “Is it possible that you are unaware that many of these books are quite valuable?”
Katherine gasped. “They are?”
“They are.” Charles said.
Katherine looked at the shelves around her. “These are just the books that my family has accumulated over the years. I looked over them as a child and found little to interest me, though I borrowed that Shakespeare a few times. And of course, Papa wasn’t interested in them, as none are in Greek. His precious books reside in the study. But – valuable? Are you sure? Are you perhaps an antiquarian?”
Charles chuckled. “No, not an antiquarian. What I am, for my sins, is a polite man. I recently spent most of one evening listening to my brother’s librarian boast about his latest acquisitions for the family library and how much he’d paid for them. For instance, this – “ He strode to a bookcase and pulled down a volume, “is the same title and edition that Jenkins spent three hundred pounds for, and your copy is in better condition.”
Katherine gasped. “Three hundred pounds? For one volume?”
“And there are others here as valuable or more so,” Charles said. “Just from a cursory examination of your shelves here and what Jenkins told me of book value, rarity, condition, and so on, I’d estimate that you could easily replace the thirty thousand pounds drained from the estate by your uncle’s little misadventure, and possibly more if you were willing to let the entire library go.”
“Willing to accept thirty thousand pounds for books that no one has read in probably two centuries?” Katherine said with a laugh. “I rather think so!” She felt positively giddy with relief, feeling so light she almost felt as if she could spread her arms and soar into the sky, as a burdensome worry she’d carried alone for many years dissipated into the air.
Charles went on, “If you would allow it and not think it too meddlesome, I would be glad to send for Jenkins and have him come down here and appraise the collection – “
Before he could finish the thought, Katherine surprised them both by flinging her arms around Lord Charles and administering an enthusiastic hug.
NINETEEN
Charles stood very still. He enjoyed the sensation of Katherine in his arms and wouldn’t interrupt it for the world.
Alas, the experience did not last long. After only a moment, Katherine backed away from him, hand to mouth and quite red in the face. “Oh, pray excuse me!” she said with a fiery blush. “It’s just that it was such a relief!”
“I quite understand,” Charles managed to say.
Katherine moved about the room, almost dancing. “I’d seen myself chained to Mrs. Wilson’s desk and now I’m free!”
“You are certainly free,” Charles agreed.
“I can make my own life, I may do whatever I wish to do!”
“You may, indeed.” Charles reminded himself that Katherine was already all but spoken for, and to underline that point, said, “You may marry Mister Downey with no concern about abandoning your family.”
Katherine’s dance around the room came to an abrupt halt, and she looked at him, considering. Finally she said, as if making a great discovery, “But – I don’t wish to marry Mister Downey!”
“You don’t?”
“No. At one time I thought perhaps I did, but now I see that I don’t.”
Charles found himself blurting out, “Do you think perhaps you might wish to marry me?”
The silence that followed seemed to last forever. Charles had infinite time to call himself every species of fool and wonder how it came about that his first proposal was so completely unrehearsed and so awkwardly phrased and timed. He wondered if he was going to be ill.
But then, through the buzzing in his ears, he heard Katherine reply in an astonished tone, “Why, you know, I think I should like that very much!”
He had just enough sense left to take her in his arms and kiss her, and that turned out to be not awkward at all, but the most natural thing in the world.
There followed an interval in which the conversation was neither clever nor sensible, frequently not even rising to the level of mere coherence. And yet both parties seemed to find what few remarks were made to be perfectly satisfactory.
After a lengthy interval of such mutually pleasurable incoherence, Katherine reluctantly pulled back and gasped, “Charles! We must talk.”
Charles took a deep breath. “Talk. Very well. I can do that. What shall we talk about?”
Katherine chuckled. “We must make plans.”
“Plans?” Charles was puzzled. “I got to London, acquire a special license, we get married. All sorted out within a week.”
“Charles!” Katherine was scandalized. “Do you want people to say your wife entrapped you somehow into a compromising position so that you were forced to marry her?”
“Of course not,” Charles said. “Why would anyone say such a thing?”
“If we were to marry within a week, and I still mourning for my father, it wouldn’t be just the ill-natured who said such a thing,” Katherine assured him. “Our dearest friends would believe it so.”
“Oh.” Charles hadn’t thought of that. “I suppose we must take more time about it,” he said with dissatisfaction.
“That’s right,” Katherine said with relief. “I don’t want the whole world to consider me a scheming hussy.”
They sat side by side on the settee and spun dreams and schemes for the future. Finally Katherine gave a sigh of satisfaction. “How wonderful it is to plan things with a partner!” she said. Which caused Charles to entirely lose his head and seize his beloved for another period of incoherence.
Finally the new couple had to part. Charles collected Han and returned to Greymere, sharing a significant look with his betrothed at the door.
In the curricle heading down the road, Han considered Charles for a few moments and then asked, “What has happened?”
“Happened?” Charles asked innocently. “Why do you think something has happened?”
“Because you’re different,” the acute lad replied. “And very excited about something.”
“I seem excited?” Charles asked, determined to give nothing away.
Han leaned back and considered. He had visited with Jack and Charles had asked to speak with Katherine… Han said, “Oh.”
“Oh?”
“I didn’t expect you to have so much sense,” Han admitted.
“I have no notion what you’re talking about,” Charles insisted.
“Have it your way.” A silence fell, to be broken by Han saying, “But I suppose you’ll want to confide in Mister Downey quite soon.”
Charles winced. It was only fair, but he certainly didn’t relish the prospect of informing the vicar. “I must do so, I imagine.”
“If you’ll pardon the advice, I think you should wait on that for several days.”
“Why?” Charles asked.
“I just think later would be better,” was the enigmatic reply.
That evening after Jack had been tucked in, Katherine joined her aunt and sister in the sewing room. It was her turn to read, but she brought no book. Sitting primly in her chair and folding her hands, she said, “There are some things I’d like to tell you.”
And she told them. She went back
to the beginning, about overhearing Mama and Papa talking of selling Rosebourne, about Papa’s Clever Investment, about the mystery of Papa’s income, and what she learned about Uncle Harry, and the revelation about Mrs. Wilson.
Aunt Alice fairly shrieked with astonishment upon learning that her scholarly brother Sidney was the brain behind Mrs. Wilson, and Helen laughed and applauded when Katherine revealed that she had taken up the pen to finish Mrs. Wilson’s latest.
“Gracious, Kitty!” Helen exclaimed. “You’re famous! How incredibly clever of you!”
“And here we thought you were sorting those dreary old Greek things,” Aunt Alice marveled.
At Katherine’s earnest insistence, they both promised to keep Mrs. Wilson a secret.
“And now I have another secret to tell you,” she said, and revealed her betrothal to Lord Charles.
The Rose ladies had thought that the previous revelations had exhausted their capacity for astonishment, but to learn that their sensible Katherine was engaged to the handsome soldier so courted by all but herself took astonishment to heights undreamed.
The exclaiming and congratulating went on for a long time. It was too much to remain seated, and Aunt Alice and Helen stood and moved about the room, curtseying to Katherine and calling her “Lady Charles”, while she laughed at them and told them to stop being so absurd.
Aunt Alice turned to Helen, “Shall we take tea at my niece’s estate at Greymere?”
“Indeed,” Helen said, “My sister Lady Charles will be sure to welcome us.”
But then Aunt Alice paused and looked troubled. She reseated herself and said to Katherine, “You will be a great lady, with wealth and privilege and position.”
“Dearest Auntie, is that a bad thing?” Helen asked.
“Oh, it’s splendid,” Alice conceded. “But I fear it means the end of Mrs. Wilson.”
“It would seem so,” Katherine agreed. “Recall that Papa was Mrs. Wilson and I only took up the fallen pen out of necessity.”
“Oh dear,” said Helen sadly. Then she brightened. “Mrs. Wilson has entertained us a great deal, but she could never give me a London season, which I vow that Lady Charles could do.”
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