Impetuous

by Candace Camp

  “I’ve been here fifty-five years now. But I must say that we never did much talking about books. Sir Richard didn’t care for books much, and he seemed to pass that feeling on to our son.” She leaned her head back, thinking, but finally shook it and shrugged. “I cannot recall ever hearing of a book about queens. Which queens, anyway?”

  “I don’t know, ma’am. That is why it is so difficult to find. It is merely a passing reference in a family history.”

  “Two hundred years ago?”

  “Yes.”

  “You expect a book to hang about for a rather long time.”

  “I was hoping that it would be important enough that it would not have been thrown away.”

  “I don’t think it was important to my husband. Perhaps to his father. That was why Sir Richard hated books so much. His father rammed them down his throat from the time he was a boy. He used to say he decided that when he was grown he would never read a book. I believe he kept his word.” She paused, looking much struck. “You know, I just thought of who might know. Aunt Liliane!”

  “Grandfather’s aunt? But, Grandmother, the last time I went to see her, she didn’t know who I was. I can’t think she would remember a book from her childhood.”

  “I don’t know. People keep the oddest things in their heads. Particularly when they get old.” Lady Neville’s ramrod-straight back and disapproving face indicated that she herself would not reach that state for some years, if ever. “Sometimes they remember what happened far in the past better than what happened this morning. My father was like that. The reason I thought of Liliane was that she was bookish, like Sir Richard’s father. She would be much more likely to know if such a book existed.”

  “Thank you, Grandmother. I should have known you would come up with something.” He stood and bent over her hand again politely.

  “Of course you should have, my boy,” she agreed, with a twinkle in her eye.

  He left the room whistling, his spirits much improved. Aunt Liliane might not be much of a hope, but she was better than what they had at the moment, which was nothing. And visiting her also meant that he and Cassandra could spend a pleasant day away from the house.

  * * *

  “SHE IS YOUR great-aunt?” Cassandra asked as the open carriage spun along the lane at a fast clip.

  “No, my great-great-aunt. She was my grandfather’s aunt.”

  “Oh, my. She must be very old, then.”

  “Around ninety, I think.”

  “Goodness. Perhaps she will know something about the ‘Queens Book,’ then.” Cassandra began to feel more hopeful. When Philip had suggested the day trip to see Aunt Liliane, she had been pleased to go along, as it meant almost an entire day alone in Philip’s company, since he had firmly turned down Joanna’s suggestion this morning that they all go to see the old lady, saying that Aunt Liliane was too frail to have more than one or two visitors. But now she felt a spark of hope that the old woman might provide a useful clue to their search.

  It was a lovely ride to Aunt Liliane’s house. It took a little over three hours, and they followed the Ouse almost the entire way. Cassandra, parasol tilted to keep the sun off, drank in the scenery and tried not to think about the fact that they were getting perilously close to a dead end with the Neville map.

  Aunt Liliane lived in a very old house built in the distinctive style of the Tudors. The front door was so low that Philip had to stoop to enter it. He had to stoop again as they went up the stairs to Aunt Liliane’s bedroom, for the ceiling at the landing slanted down to a height that Cassandra could barely pass under standing straight.

  “When I was young, I thought of this as a witch’s house,” Philip said to Cassandra in an undertone. “It is full of strange nooks and crannies.”

  “It’s charming.”

  “Aunt Liliane moved here after she was widowed. She couldn’t stand her son’s wife, and she refused to live with them. This house, she said, was big enough for her and a companion and their servants. Of course, she was getting on in years even then, and everyone worried about her. But she was an independent old soul. I used to visit her for a week or so now and then. I loved it. She had all sorts of books and a…a more carefree way of doing things than we had at Haverly House. We had meals at all sorts of odd times, and she didn’t care if I wanted to take things apart to see how they worked or anything like that.”

  “You sound as if you love her very much.”

  “I do.” He sighed. “But it’s sad. She was so bright, but now she rarely even knows who I am.”

  The maid led them into a bedroom. The windows were open, flooding the room with light, and a wizened old crone sat in a wicker chair in front of one of the windows. She looked to be about four and half feet tall, but the effect was heightened by the fact that she was bent over at the shoulders to such an extent that she had to twist her head to look up at them, giving her an odd, birdlike appearance. The dark eyes that watched them alertly added to the illusion. White hair stuck out in tufts from beneath a dark cap. Gnarled, large-jointed hands were clasped in her lap.

  Aunt Liliane looked at them brightly for a long moment, then gestured toward a chair. Philip escorted Cassandra to the chair and brought another over for himself.

  “Rosemary?” the old woman barked, startling Cassandra.

  “Uh, no, ma’am. My name is Cassandra.”

  “Do I know you?” Her voice again boomed out, at odds with her fragile appearance.

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Aunt Liliane, let me introduce you to Cassandra Verrere.”

  “Verrere!” The old lady’s eyes widened, and she shot Philip a sharp look. “A faithless Verrere? In my house?”

  “No,” he replied hastily, realizing his mistake. “Ferrars. Cassandra Ferrars is what I said.”

  She nodded, easily accepting the excuse of her poor hearing. “Don’t know any Ferrars.” She gaze at Philip for a long moment, then said, “It’s been an awfully long time since you have been to see me, Edward.”

  “No, Aunt Liliane. I’m not Edward. I am Philip, Thomas’s son.” The names seemed to mean nothing to her, so he pressed on. “Sir Richard’s grandson.”

  “Richard?” She frowned at him suspiciously. “You don’t look like Richard.”

  “No, ma’am. I’m not Richard. I am his grandson.”

  “Richard’s not old enough to have a grandson.” She stared at him some more, then crowed delightedly, “Hah! You’re that boy Cecily married, aren’t you? That is just like you—always playing tricks.”

  She smiled, apparently fond of the boy Cecily married, despite his tricky ways. Philip sighed and let the matter drop.

  “We came to ask you about a book, Aunt Liliane,” he began.

  “A book? What book?” She glanced around, looking confused. “I don’t have any books in here anymore. Can’t see worth anything now. That silly chit of a parson’s wife comes in and reads to me. She skips all the hard parts and thinks I don’t know. Hah!” She sighed, her face falling into sad lines. “Ah, well, one has to make do with what one can.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Philip hesitated and turned to Cassandra helplessly.

  “Do you remember the library at Haverly House?” Cassandra asked.

  The old lady swiveled toward her. “Of course I do! What a silly thing to ask.”

  “I’m sorry. But you see, I don’t know you very well.”

  Aunt Liliane nodded. “True. You never came to visit as much as your sister.”

  “No,” Cassandra said hesitantly. Did the vague Aunt Liliane think she was someone else? “But…my sister once told me about a book you had told her about. A book about queens.”

  “Queens?” Aunt Liliane wrinkled her forehead. “Which ones?”

  “I’m not sure. It—it was in the library at Haverly House. An old
book.”

  “There were many old books there, young lady,” Aunt Liliane told her crisply. “Are you talking about a biography? A history?”

  “I’m not sure. My, uh, sister just called it the Queens Book.”

  The wrinkled old face cleared, and she let out a chuckle. “Oh, of course! Why didn’t you say so? You want to know about the Queen’s Book! Oh, yes, I can tell you all about that.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  A FRISSON OF excitement ran down Cassandra’s back like an icy finger. Could it be that this forgetful old woman actually knew about the book? For a moment she could not speak, could not move, could only stare at Aunt Liliane.

  Fortunately Philip was not so handicapped. “You know of it?”

  “Of course I do. Everyone does. It is the most valuable book in Papa’s collection.”

  “Is—is that the title? The Queens Book?”

  “Title?” Aunt Liliane looked at him oddly. “Young man, what are you talking about? You are the one who sounds as if he doesn’t know it.”

  “I don’t,” Philip answered rather desperately. “You see, we are trying to find it.”

  The old woman’s face filled with suspicion. “Now, see here, young man, what do you think you are about? You say you are a Neville, but you don’t know about the Queen’s Book?”

  “No. I don’t. That is why I came to you. You see, the family has lost it, and we are trying to find it again.”

  “Lost it! Lost Queen Elizabeth’s prayer book?” Aunt Liliane gazed at him in horror.

  Suddenly everything she had said made sense. “Of course!” Cassandra exclaimed. “It all makes sense now! The word Queen was capitalized, and that smudgy thing must have been an apostrophe. I thought it was a spot of mildew. The Queen’s Book. It was so well-known to the Nevilles at that time that they would have known immediately what it referred to. And if it had belonged to Queen Elizabeth, it would have been far too valuable for them to get rid of. Margaret would have been sure that it would remain there and that no one would go browsing through it, looking for something to read. What a clever idea!”

  “Indeed. Except it did not remain there,” Philip stated.

  “What are you talking about?” Aunt Liliane asked querulously. “I don’t understand a word of it.”

  “Aunt Liliane, it has been some time since you lived at Haverly House. You married and left there almost seventy years ago. In the time since then, the Queen’s Book has been misplaced. Sir Richard, your nephew, do you remember him?”

  “Of course,” she retorted impatiently. “What does he have to do with the Book?”

  “Well, he did not love books as you and his father did. As your father did.”

  “Yes. I remember. It made my brother so sad.”

  “He paid little attention to any of the books. His son Thomas was the same way. Somehow, during their lifetimes, the Book disappeared. No one today knows anything about it.”

  “That is absurd!” Her ancient face was shocked. “It could not have been misplaced.”

  “When was the last time you remember seeing it? Since you were a grown woman?”

  She frowned. “I can’t remember. A long time ago, I suppose. I remember it from my childhood. After that…no, I can’t remember.”

  “Did your father keep it in the library at Haverly House?”

  “Heavens, no! It was much too valuable. He kept it in a metal lockbox for safekeeping. In the storeroom in his bedroom.”

  Philip thought for a moment. “The little locked room inside the dressing room?”

  “Yes.” She nodded, pleased at his understanding. “He would get it out and show it to me sometimes. I was fascinated by the jewels, of course.”

  “The jewels?” Cassandra’s words came out as a squeak. Was it possible that some Neville had already found the dowry?

  “On the cover,” Aunt Liliane explained. She shook her head. “You have really never seen it?”

  “No,” Cassandra responded.

  “Could you tell us what it looked like? So we could recognize it if we saw it?” Philip asked.

  “It was a prayer book, not large. Leatherbound, with gilt writing and gilt-edged leaves. There were three gems set into the spine. A ruby and two topazes, I believe. And little pearls bordering the cover. About this big.” She held up her hands a few inches apart to show its size. “‘The Book of Common Prayer,’ it said on the outside. On the inside, it read ‘For Sir Everard, my loyal knight.’ And it was signed ‘Elizabeth R.’ It was a gift from her, you see. She stayed at Sir Everard’s, and she gave him that when she left.”

  “Do you have any idea what could have happened to it?” Cassandra asked.

  “No,” the old lady answered, looking worried. “It should still be there.”

  * * *

  “DO YOU THINK it is?” Cassandra asked as they drove back toward Haverly House. “Still there, I mean. It sounded as if you knew the storeroom she was talking about.”

  “Yes. It is a small closet in my dressing room. I suppose they used it to put valuables in it once, but Father installed a safe in his office, and that is where the jewels and bonds and things of that sort are.”

  “Is there a lockbox in this room?”

  “Yes. I don’t know if it’s the same one, but I am certain that there is no jeweled prayer book in it. That is where Father kept his legal papers—deeds and such. I have been through everything in there, more than once, and there is no book of any sort.”

  “At least now we know what we are looking for.” Excitement tinged Cassandra’s voice. “Surely we will be able to find it.”

  “Yes. Mother or Grandmother may remember what happened to it. It sounds distinctive enough.”

  Cassandra was on pins and needles all the rest of the drive home. Yesterday she had been close to despairing of ever finding the second map. All her visions of a new future for Chesilworth had seemed about to turn to dust. And though she disliked herself for the petty selfishness, she admitted to herself that not the least of her unhappiness had been that if they could not find the map, she would have no reason to remain in Sir Philip’s house any longer. But now…now all sorts of possibilities seemed open again.

  When they arrived at Haverly House, they had the misfortune to run into Joanna, who must have been sitting and watching out the window for their arrival.

  “Sir Philip,” she cried, hurrying toward them in the entry, all smiles and dimples and coquettish pouts. “It’s been such a long day here without you! You wicked fellow, to leave me to the company of children all day!” She laid her hand upon his arm, smiling warmly up at him.

  “Ah, but I thought you were such particular friends with my sister,” Philip countered, smoothly moving his arm out from underneath her hand.

  Joanna looked momentarily nonplussed, but she recovered quickly. “Oh, well, of course I did not mean darling Georgette….”

  “Have you seen my mother?”

  Joanna blinked at the abrupt change of subject, clearly disgruntled at the conversation turning away from her. “I’m sure I don’t know.”

  “Then we shall have to talk later, Miss Moulton, for I must speak with mother right now. I am sure you will excuse us.” He steered Cassandra around Joanna.

  “But we’ve hardly had a chance to speak,” Joanna protested, a scowl forming on her smooth face.

  “This evening, my dear Miss Moulton. We shall have plenty of time to talk this evening.” Philip nodded toward her and hustled Cassandra off down the hall.

  “I’ll look forward to it,” Joanna trilled behind them.

  Philip led Cassandra to his mother’s sitting room, where they found both Lady Violet and Philip’s grandmother. The women turned toward them with smiles.

  “Hello, darling, how was Aunt Liliane?” his mother gr
eeted them, turning her cheek to be kissed.

  “She looks as if she might blow away in a strong breeze,” Philip said bluntly, “but her nurse says that she is actually in good health.”

  “We must go see her, Violet,” Lady Neville said decisively. “I never did get along with her well, but I suppose that at that age one welcomes the visit of anyone she knows.”

  “She didn’t have any idea who I was,” Philip went on.

  “Oh dear, that is too bad. Did she not know anything about this book, then?”

  Philip grinned. “No, that she seemed to have no problem with. She knew almost immediately what we were talking about. We have been chasing the wrong thing all this time. It wasn’t an ordinary book. Did either of you ever hear of a prayer book that was given to Sir Everard Neville by Queen Elizabeth?”

  Both of them gazed at him blankly. Lady Neville frowned. “You know,” she said slowly, “I do remember something about a prayer book. Sir Richard’s father was rather proud of it.”

  “Apparently it was a family treasure. It belonged to Queen Elizabeth, and she inscribed it to Sir Everard herself, which would make it valuable enough. But apparently it was also richly bound, with three jewels on the spine and pearls around the cover.”

  “Oh!” Violet sat forward. “But I’ve seen that!”

  Lady Neville nodded in agreement. “Yes, there was some sort of bejeweled little book. Sir Richard kept it stored in a strongbox.”

  “It isn’t there any longer. I have looked through that box many times.”

  “Of course not, dear,” Violet told him. “We don’t have it anymore. It was in that trunk load of things—don’t you remember, Lady Neville? That year that Thomas wanted to buy the matched set of bays, but he was short of cash, and old Staley was so against him selling any of the bonds or anything. So he sold some of the old things around the house. The silver salt cellar, remember? And that broken old statuary that used to be in the conservatory—though why anyone would want that, even if it was Greek or Roman or whatever, I don’t know. That little jeweled book was one of the things he sold.” She looked at her son sympathetically. “I’m sorry, dear, but I’m afraid that book is gone.”