The Bluebell Castle Collection

by Sarah Bennett

  Lucie frowned. ‘So what does that mean? It’s very clear earlier on that JJ was staying in the tower, and that’s where Thomas caught the pair of them—in JJ’s bed.’

  He was still trying to puzzle it out when his mobile started ringing. He pulled it out, and saw Tristan’s name on the screen. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘It’s dinner time, that’s what’s up. Can you put your delectable girlfriend down for five minutes and grace us with your presence? Betsy’s done a roast and if her gravy goes lumpy because you’ve kept everyone waiting, there’ll be hell to pay.’

  ‘Damn. We lost track of time. Two minutes.’ He ended the call and looked to Lucie. ‘Dinner.’

  ‘Oh, hell.’ She jumped off the bed and ran into the bathroom. ‘God, I look a fright,’ she wailed before he heard the sound of the taps running.

  When she reappeared a minute later, her whole face was glowing from where she’d washed it. ‘Do I look like I’ve been crying?’

  ‘You look gorgeous.’

  ‘Smooth talker.’

  ‘Come here.’ When she stepped into his arms, some of the tightness in his chest eased. Everything between them was fine, she’d just been caught up trying to find an answer in the diaries, nothing more.

  *

  They were still discussing the conundrum of the mystery passage as they took their seats in the dining room. ‘Sorry we’re late.’ Arthur addressed his apology to Morgana.

  ‘It’s all Thomas’s fault,’ Lucie added as she laid her napkin across her lap. As Maxwell began to place their plates before them, she gave everyone a brief outline of what they’d found in the journal.

  ‘So there is a bloody painting, I’ll be damned!’ Tristan grinned and raised his glass towards Arthur as though making a toast.

  ‘There was a painting, you mean,’ Arthur corrected him. ‘I’ve never seen or heard of anything like it that might fit the description. I know there’s quite a few Arthurian-themed paintings around the place, but nothing that would fit that.’

  Lancelot paused with his knife halfway through a slice of beef, his face thoughtful. ‘No, I’m afraid you’re right, my boy, I can’t recall seeing it. And as for a tunnel to the tower, your father and I never found one.’

  ‘You mean you looked for it as well?’ Arthur asked.

  His uncle nodded. ‘That’s how the pair of you got it into your heads to look for it, after your father told you how much trouble we’d got into trying to find it.’

  ‘If there is such a tunnel, it would have to run from the baronet’s apartment somewhere. That’s the only part of the castle that shares a wall with the tower.’ Morgana paused to thank Maxwell when he placed a glass of sparkling water by her plate. ‘Have you heard of such a thing, Maxwell?’

  The butler shook his head. ‘I heard rumours of hidden passages when I started here as a boy. One of the other under-footmen tried to scare me at the time with a story of a boy my age who’d got lost running an errand in the castle. Said you could sometimes still hear him crying for help in the middle of the night. That must be nearly forty years ago now, and I can’t say I’ve ever heard him, nor come across any kind of hidden passage.’

  Arthur hadn’t realised Maxwell had worked there for so many years. He’d only ever known him in his present role, and it was hard to picture a time when there were so many staff at the castle for some of them to require the title of under-footman, never mind footman. ‘If it’s a hidden passage, I don’t suppose there’s any point in look at the old plans in the library, is there?’ he mused to Lucie.

  Her eyes lit up. ‘You never know. I mean if Thomas knew about it, then it can’t have been that much of a secret.’

  ‘Well, what are you waiting for, girl?’ Morgana asked. ‘Go and fetch them!’

  *

  In all his years, Arthur had never witnessed a scene of chaos in the dining room such as the one before him. The fact it had been instigated at his great-aunt’s insistence made it all the more astonishing as he watched the paragon of manners and etiquette shove her half-eaten dinner away in order to more closely study the drawing in front of her. Tristan had lifted his plate from the table and was forking up mouthfuls of roast beef from where he was knelt on the floor with an old blueprint rolled out in front of him. Lancelot and Iggy had another plan stretched between them, while Lucie was sorting and discarding anything dated after Thomas’s time reasoning the tunnel, if it existed, would’ve been built well before then.

  Moving to stand beside her, Arthur propped his elbows on the table. ‘Any luck?’

  ‘Not so far, although I’ve found a couple of promising diagrams showing the gardens.’

  ‘Oh, where?’ Iggy abandoned the drawing she’d been studying to whip around in her chair on the other side of Lucie.

  Lucie smiled and pointed at several rolls she’d tucked on the floor beside her. ‘I was saving them for you.’

  ‘Fantastic. You’re the best!’ She planted a kiss on Lucie’s cheek. ‘You guys can manage without me, yes?’ And without waiting for a response, she scooped up the garden drawings and vanished out the door.

  ‘Well that’s the last we’ll see of her,’ Arthur surmised.

  ‘Hey, I think I’ve got something.’ Scrambling up, Tristan held a large blueprint in both hands.

  ‘Hold on a sec.’ Arthur scooped up the dirty plates littering the table and placed them on the sideboard, Lucie and his uncle following suit with glasses, place mats and the large bowl of flowers that stood centrepiece.

  Tristan laid the plan flat on the table, turning it upside down to him so it was facing the rest of them in the right direction. ‘See, here?’ He pointed to what looked like a section of wall to Arthur, and he said as much. ‘No, that’s what I thought, but if you look over here, this is another section of the same wall that butts up against the tower, but it’s only half as wide.’

  ‘That could just be a drafting error by whoever drew this plan,’ Lancelot argued. ‘They didn’t have the same kind of accuracy with these things as they do today.’

  ‘I agree with what you’re saying, but this wider section runs along the rear of the baronet’s bedroom. Now, if you were going to stick in a secret escape passage into the most highly defendable part of the castle, where would you put it?’ Tristan jabbed the blueprint with his finger. ‘You’d put it where the most important person had easy access to it!’

  Arthur looked from his brother’s triumphant grin to Lucie. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘It’s got to be worth a look, hasn’t it?’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Morgana had retired to her room, declaring herself content to hear the results of whatever they might find in the morning, but the rest of them had headed straight for the baronet’s suite of rooms. The wall Tristan believed the tunnel might be hiding behind was covered from floor to ceiling in sturdy squares of oak panelling. Spreading themselves along the length of the wall, they’d begun to examine the wood for any signs of a seam which might indicate a hidden entrance. It had soon become clear that the panelling was not all of one piece, or age, and that different sections had been removed and replaced from the slight differences in the patina of the wood.

  ‘It’s like hunting for a needle in a haystack,’ Lancelot grumbled. ‘And it doesn’t help that the lighting in here is terrible. Why don’t we come back in the morning?’

  ‘Where’s your sense of adventure?’ Tristan grinned from the opposite end of the room. ‘Don’t you remember how exciting it was doing this as a kid?’

  Lancelot laughed. ‘I can barely remember what I had for breakfast this morning, never mind what I was doing fifty years ago. I’m off to my bed, and so will you be if you’ve got any sense.’ He left the room after pausing to give Lucie a quick kiss on the cheek. ‘Try and talk some sense into them, my girl.’

  ‘Good night, Lancelot. I’m sure we won’t be much longer.’

  Once he’d left the room, she stepped back to survey the wall, hands on hips. ‘I think your
uncle has a point. This would be a lot easier in the daylight.’ She looked over at Arthur. ‘What do you say?’

  ‘You’re probably right.’ He sounded disappointed but resigned. ‘I’m not sure what we’re expecting to find anyway. The passage is a distraction, we should be focused on trying to find out what Thomas did with the painting.’ He shoved his thick fringe off his forehead only for it to flop back into place as soon as he took his hand away. It was getting really shaggy, the remnants of whatever cut he’d had almost completely outgrown.

  Lucie quite liked this unkempt look on him, and it suited the wild nature of the Derbyshire countryside. She could picture him striding across the fells, hair blowing in the wind like Heathcliff, or one of those other old romantic heroes. There must’ve been something of her thoughts on her face, because he moved to her side, an amused smile ticking up the corner of his mouth. ‘What are you thinking about, because it’s not the painting.’

  Stretching up, she curled her fingers into the tangled strands at the nape of his neck. ‘I was having a bit of a Wuthering Heights moment.’

  Comprehension glinted in his eyes and he swept his arms around her waist to pull her close. ‘Why, Miss Kennington, I do believe you’re trying to seduce me.’

  ‘For God’s sake, go to bed, you two.’

  Lucie ducked her head into Arthur’s shoulder, having completely forgotten Tristan’s presence for a moment. It had felt so good to flirt, to let go for one moment the crushing guilt over still having not been honest with him about everything. She’d reasoned in the end it would be better to discover the truth about the painting, so that even if he was furious with her—and who would blame him if he turned her out on her ear—at least there would be something good to show for it. She would have done the job he had employed her to do, and she would have the comfort of knowing she’d gone a small way in helping to secure the future for the occupants of Bluebell Castle who’d all somehow taken up residence in her heart.

  The more she’d thought about it, the more convinced she was that Arthur wouldn’t want to see her when all this was over. Even if he could forgive her, a conman’s daughter wasn’t suitable material for a baronet’s wife. Give it a bit of time and he’d get over her and find the right sort of woman to stand by him. Someone born to it, someone like Henrietta or any of the other girls she’d known at Wessingdean.

  When she got home, she’d call Hen and see if she could suggest someone. It would be easy enough for her to set up an introduction, perhaps at the christening after Hen and Joss’s baby was born. Arthur would likely be invited to be the godfather and carry on the tradition laid down by their own fathers.

  There was also the not inconsiderable fear her reputation might cast a shadow over the authentication of the painting, if and when they did find it. Mud stuck, and even though she knew she’d done nothing wrong, just being under investigation by Witherby’s could be enough to taint any discovery. Lucie also wasn’t sure she’d be able to let it go with the kind of good grace Arthur deserved. She’d become so enmeshed in the tragic story of Thomas, Eudora and JJ it felt almost as if she knew them personally. To spend time working with the painting which was the culmination of their story, only to see it sold off would break something inside her—and if she lost Arthur, too, there wouldn’t be very much left of her to put together again.

  And so she’d set herself a target: get to the bottom of whether or not there was actually a painting, and then go. Once back in London, she would focus on clearing her name and leave confirming the provenance and authenticity of the painting to someone else. With her mind made up, she’d done her best to keep Arthur at arm’s length, without raising undue suspicion. Tonight might be their last night together, so tonight, she’d hold nothing back from him and show him the feelings she could never put voice to.

  ‘Don’t do anything crazy, okay?’ Arthur warned his brother before taking Lucie’s hand.

  ‘As if I would!’

  They made their way along the long corridor from the west wing to the central landing above the great hall where Arthur paused to glance down over the bannister. ‘I should take the dogs out before bed.’

  His innate sense of responsibility was one of the most attractive things about him, and she told him so with a slow, passionate kiss. ‘Go,’ she said, more than a little breathless. ‘I’ll be waiting for you.’

  ‘You’re killing me, Luce.’ Arthur clutched a hand to his chest before jogging down the stairs. With a sharp whistle to the dogs he was out the door without even pausing for his coat.

  Lucie forced herself to keep smiling until he disappeared out of sight. She was killing herself, and there was no one else to blame for the dagger in her heart.

  *

  ‘Sorry, I’m sorry,’ Lucie said as she stifled the third yawn in a row at the breakfast table.

  Arthur placed a mug of tea before her, then bent to brush a kiss to her cheek. ‘I didn’t keep you up that late, did I?’

  Avoiding the wicked gleam in his eye, Lucie blushed and shook her head. ‘I couldn’t sleep afterwards so I turned the light back on and read some more of Thomas’s journal, not that it got me anywhere.’ She’d read the journal only for long enough to be sure Arthur had been sound asleep before picking up a pen and paper and writing the hardest letter of her life. It was tucked safely beneath her pillow, together with a folded, yellow newspaper cutting.

  ‘I don’t remember that.’ Which wasn’t surprising considering he’d had a pillow over his head and most of the duvet trapped beneath one muscular thigh. She watched as he returned to the sideboard to fix himself a cup of coffee, her eyes following his every movement, her mind recalling all the wonderful things those clever, confident fingers had done to her the night before. The heat rose on her cheeks once more and she was grateful it was just the two of them in the dining room at that moment because if anyone was there to read her thoughts…

  The door crashed open to reveal a very dusty-looking Tristan, still dressed in the same clothes he’d been wearing the night before. A dark smudge marred his left cheek and smears of what looked like orange brick dust down the front of his shirt as though he’d wiped his hands on it. ‘You have to come and see this!’ He vanished before either of them could say anything.

  ‘Did you see the state of him?’ Arthur plonked his full coffee cup back down on the sideboard.

  Lucie nodded, rising from her seat. ‘I don’t think he’s been to bed.’

  ‘Oh, hell, what’s he been up to?’ They exchanged a brief, panicked look then dashed towards the door.

  Arthur reached the door of the baronet’s bedroom a few steps ahead of her and stopped dead, his broad shoulders blocking her view. She nudged him gently in the back, causing him to step into the room and she followed him in. Chaos and mess met her eyes wherever she looked. Several panels had been removed from the wall and rested against the edge of the imposing four-poster bed in a higgledy-piggledy manner.

  Dust sheets which had been covering the furniture in the drawing room lay scattered across the carpet, covered in bits of dust and several very dirty footprints. Arthur’s focus was all on his brother who stood grinning beside a gaping hole in the wall, the remnants of several red bricks scattered on a dust sheet at his feet. A solid-looking sledgehammer with a wickedly large head rested against the wall next to him.

  ‘What the hell did you do?’ Arthur demanded.

  ‘I found the tunnel.’ Tristan pointed to the hole, as though that explained everything.

  As Lucie surveyed the damage there was something about the scene that was itching at the back of her brain. She looked from the exposed stone at the far end of the room where a couple of panels had been removed to the pile of bricks at Tristan’s feet, and back again. Stone. Brick. Stone. Brick. Stone. Brick! The structure of the castle was solid grey stone. Bricks hadn’t come into popular use until the industrial revolution, well after the original construction of the castle.

  ‘Arthur!’ Lucie grabbed his arm. ‘I
think Tristan is right! Look at the difference in the composition of the wall. It’s stone down there, but brick here. Why would they be using brick unless it was for a later alteration?’

  He frowned down at her and then across at Tristan who was nodding vigorously. ‘That’s exactly the conclusion I came to!’ He held out a placating hand to his brother. ‘Look, I know it looks like a disaster zone in here, but I swear to you I was really careful about removing the panels. The tunnel’s here, Arthur, it exists.’ His eyes were shining brightly once more.

  Arthur chewed on his lower lip for a moment and Lucie could see his emotions flitting through his expressive hazel eyes—anger, frustration, worry, and at the end a brief flash of hope. ‘Have you looked inside yet?’

  ‘Not beyond sticking my head through and shining a torch, no, I wanted to wait for you.’

  ‘And it’s definitely a tunnel?’ Arthur was starting to sound more excited now.

  ‘It stretches the full length of the wall as far as I can tell. Well beyond the beam of the torch.’ Tristan rubbed his cheek, the weariness of his sleepless night fully evident on his face. ‘Look, I’m sorry if I went overboard, I just got carried away.’ He closed the distance to his brother and placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘It’s here, Arthur. All those hours we spent looking for it, and it’s here.’

  Arthur gave a slow nod, then lifted his gaze to meet his brother. ‘Well, what are we waiting for?’

  *

  Two hours later, they’d taken down enough panels to fully expose the extent of the bricked area. It was just taller than head-height for Lucie and about twice the width of her body. The rear of several of the panels showed evidence of metal hinges of some kind, but whatever mechanism might have been in place to open them was no longer in existence. Arthur, looking as filthy as his brother, set the last of the removed bricks onto the pile they’d made on one of the dust sheets. Once Tristan had created the initial hole, they’d removed the rest by hand to try and minimise further damage. The initial infill had been a hasty job from what they could tell, the poorly mixed mortar flaking loose as they’d wiggled each brick out of place.