chapter Five
To Mary’s surprise, the whole family appeared in the drawing room before dinner the next day, although she had seen none of them during daylight hours. The earl looked sartorially splendid this evening in a cream-coloured waistcoat and dark-blue coat, the silver buttons winking in the light of the chandelier.
Whatever the Beresfords said about him not being a gentleman, his linen was impeccably starched and his crisp dark curls artfully disarrayed. The moment she entered, she felt the touch of his steely gaze from where he was standing slightly apart from his relations.
Unwanted colour rose to her cheeks. It had nothing to do with that considering look. It was embarrassment at how poor she looked compared to the rest of them.
With her valise gone, she only had the dress she’d worn yesterday, a fine merino wool decorated with Brussels lace at neckline and cuff. Small pieces of lace, to be sure, but their purchase had been wickedly extravagant for a poor schoolteacher. And hardly worth the investment, once she’d realised Mr Allerdyce’s true intention.
Gerald ceased listening to his mother and looked over at her. ‘Feeling better, Miss Wilding?’
The boy was as graceless as a puppy to remind her of the scene he’d interrupted the day before. She smiled coolly. ‘Quite fine, Gerald.’
His mother’s head came up like a hound scenting a fox. ‘Not well, Miss Wilding?’ She was beautifully dressed, her gown of rose silk and the peacock feather in her turban more suited to a ball than an evening at home. Or were they? What would a country schoolteacher know of the style nobility employed en famille, apart from what she read in the fashion magazines?
‘She was crying,’ Gerald declared with a glare at the earl.
‘I received some unwelcome news in the post. The earl had nothing to do with it.’
An expression chased across the earl’s face. Surprise? Had he thought she would expose his dastardly plot to his family? Still, she wasn’t quite sure why she felt the need to defend him, except that they held him in such disdain, it set up her hackles.
‘Dinner is served, my lord,’ Manners said.
Mrs Hampton moved smoothly to take the earl’s arm. An undeniable flash of annoyance darkened his eyes. He was lucky to have a family. Mary would have loved to have an aunt or two. And as the older and most senior woman present it was only polite that he should escort her into dinner.
He gathered himself quickly, she was pleased to see, walking ahead of the party with all the grace of a courtier. Indeed, his innate elegance continually surprised her.
Jeffrey held out his arm. ‘Miss Wilding?’
She took it and instantly became aware of her height. Jeffrey wasn’t short for a man, but she was ridiculously tall for a woman, and she looked down on the top of his head. She could see the whorl of hair at his crown. If he noticed the disparity, he didn’t show it and seated her opposite his aunt, taking the place at Mary’s side. Gerald settled in beside his mother.
The footmen served the first courses and retired. Conversation was desultory. The weather, which was threatening snow. An invitation to be declined because the family was in mourning.
During a lull, Mrs Hampton turned to Mary with a condescending smile. ‘You know, there are several Wildings among my acquaintance, my dear. Might you be a relation, perhaps? They are from Norfolk.’
Her heart stilled. Could she indeed have relatives somewhere? How would she ever know? Since soup required careful attention, as she’d always taught her girls, she sipped at her spoonful of leek and potato before she attempted a reply. The delay gave her a smidgeon of time to think how to word an answer that did not make her seem to be asking for sympathy. ‘I hale from St John’s Parish in Hampshire. I know nothing of my relatives.’
‘Perhaps a junior branch, then,’ she said. ‘Had you belonged to one of the great families, they no doubt would have claimed you.’
‘Certainly no family members came forward,’ Mary said calmly as if she had never dreamt of an aunt or an uncle searching England for their lost niece.
‘I doubt Grandfather would have lifted a hand to help, if there were others with the responsibility,’ Jeffrey drawled. ‘Can I cut you a piece of this excellent fowl, Miss Wilding?’
‘Thank you.’
Jeffrey filled her plate with the chicken and some buttered parsnips.
The earl scowled darkly. ‘St John’s Parish in Hampshire, you said?’
She met his gaze. ‘You have heard of it?’
‘No.’
‘Nor me,’ Mrs Hampton said. ‘My brother, now, he is an archdeacon at York Minster.’
‘And likely to bore a fellow to death with his sermonising,’ Gerald muttered.
His mother appeared not to notice.
Mary had the feeling that Mrs Hampton did a great deal of not noticing when it came to her son. It was one way to avoid unpleasantness, Mary supposed. No wonder he seemed spoilt.
The servants entered to clear the table and added a remove of game pie.
‘It must come as a welcome change, Miss Wilding,’ Mrs Hampton continued, ‘to find yourself visiting such a noble seat as Beresford Abbey. It has been in our family since the Dissolution, you know. The house is quite distinctive, I believe.’
Mary caught herself glancing at the earl for his reaction, but he seemed intent on the wine in his glass, his expression inscrutable. ‘It is a very interesting house,’ Mary said. ‘Full of strange sounds.’
Both Jeffrey and Gerald fixed their gazes on her face, both with expressions of innocence. Gerald more angelic than his older cousin, whose shirt points were so high his neck all but disappeared in the starched white cravat.
‘Have you heard strange sounds?’ Jeffrey asked. Was his tone a little too innocent?
‘What struck me as strange,’ she said, ‘was how loud the sea sounds in some of the passageways. And sometimes in my chamber.’ She had forgotten until this moment that not long before she had heard the racket above her head, the low rumble of the sea had been most distinct.
The earl did look up then. Instead of offering his earlier plausible explanation, he was watching his cousins.
Gerald waved an airy hand. ‘Likely the tide was high. Caves run all through these cliffs. Very useful for smuggling or sedition, depending on who holds the crown.’
‘The Beresfords are loyal to the House of Hanover,’ Mrs Hampton announced.
‘They are now,’ Jeffrey said with a cynical twist to his lips.
Mary imagined a network of caves beneath the house. ‘Is the house likely to collapse?’
‘Not likely,’ Jeffrey scoffed. ‘Or not for centuries.’
Mary didn’t like the sound of it at all.
The earl was looking at Jeffrey very intently. ‘Do you know the way into these caves?’
‘From the sea. I have seen them from the sailboat we use in the summer,’ Jeffrey said. ‘Never attempted a landing. Too many rocks. The tunnels were blocked up years ago. Isn’t that right, Ger?’
Gerald nodded.
The thought of smugglers, or anyone, being able to make their way secretly into the house was downright disturbing.
* * *
With a change of tablecloth, the final course appeared. Jeffrey and Gerald descended into an argument about the merits of the local hunt. The earl leaned back in his chair sipping his burgundy and listening with a bored expression. For some odd reason, Mary felt as if he was watching her, but every time she looked his way, his gaze was idly fixed on the two young men.
Which was good. She did not want his attention.
Mrs Hampton gave a little sniff and dabbed at her delicate little nose with a handkerchief and leaned closer to the earl. ‘Now the funeral is over I must think about finding a new home. His lordship was very fond of Gerald and insisted we stay here after my dear husband’s demise.’ She sighed. ‘I could go to my brother, naturally. But the demands of his position—archdeacon, you know.’
The earl grimaced. ‘Actually, madam, I was hoping you would stay. Miss Wilding needs a chaperon.’
Mrs Hampton visibly brightened. ‘Miss Wilding is staying?’
‘Naturally,’ the earl drawled. ‘She has nowhere else to go.’
Mary felt prickles run across her shoulders and down her back. Prickles of anger. Prickles of pain at his cool dismissal of her loss. She opened her mouth to deny his assertion, then closed it again. He was right. For the moment, she did have nowhere to go. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t formulate a plan.
‘I suppose I could remain for a while, if I can be of assistance,’ Mrs Hampton said, her brightening expression giving the lie to her begrudging words. ‘You would like that, would you not, Gerald? If we stayed?’
Gerald looked at his mother and his eyes lowered as if shielding his thoughts. ‘I wanted to go to London.’
‘Not until we are out of mourning,’ his mother said.
‘Then it doesn’t matter where we go,’ her son replied with a shrug.
His lordship ran a fingertip around the rim of his glass, his hard gaze fixed on his aunt. ‘Miss Wilding needs help with her wardrobe.’
‘My wardrobe is fine,’ Mary said quickly.
The earl’s grey gaze settled on her and she wanted to squirm under that intense scrutiny. ‘I understood your luggage went astray. We cannot have the Beresford heiress tramping around the countryside in rags, now can we?’
His glance flicked over her person and heat flushed to her hairline at that critical regard. He must think her such a dowd, but, more to the point, he seemed to have decided he had the right to make decisions on her behalf.
Mrs Hampton smiled at her son. ‘Then it is settled. We will stay.’
Her son flushed. His eyes flashed fury. ‘I don’t see why we want to stay now he is here.’
‘A common refrain,’ the earl said coolly. He didn’t look at Mary, but her stomach dipped all the same. Sympathy in the face of his cousin’s rejection, when it really was none of her business.
‘I could stay with Jeffrey. At his lodgings,’ Gerald said with a defiant look at his mother. ‘Couldn’t I, cuz?’
Jeffrey almost choked on a mouthful of food.
The earl’s lip curled in distaste. ‘What about it, cuz?’ he asked in silken tones. ‘Will you take him in? I for one would be for ever in your debt.’
It seemed the earl didn’t need her sympathy.
‘Gerald. You would not desert me at such a time,’ Mrs Hampton said.
Gerald shot her a sulky glare.
‘You could, of course, old chap. Always welcome,’ Jeffrey said, recovering his voice. ‘But my apartments have only one bed.’
‘I could sleep on the floor.’
Mrs Hampton made a sound of horror.
Jeffrey shook his head. ‘My man wouldn’t like that above half,’ he pronounced, as if it trumped all objections.
‘Your constitution is far too delicate for such hardship, Gerald,’ his mother said. ‘I could not permit it.’
‘My dear madam,’ the earl said clearly tired of the conversation, ‘the decision is made. You will chaperon Miss Wilding and see to her dress. And Gerald will of necessity remain at your side.’
‘You cannot do better than my aunt for advice on style,’ Jeffrey added, joining the ranks of traitors siding with the earl.
Mrs Hampton simpered.
Mary dipped her head meekly. As a reward she received a suspicious glance from the earl which she met head on with a cool smile.
Gerald, who had subsided into his own thoughts for the previous few moments, raised his head and turned to look at her. ‘What of the White Lady, Miss Wilding?’ he asked. ‘Have you heard any screams or clanking chains?’
Oh, the wretch. It must be he who had made those noises. Though how, when there had been no sign of him, she could not begin to imagine. She couldn’t keep her gaze from darting to the earl, to see if he shared her opinion.
He shook his head very slightly. Because he didn’t want Gerald to know he was suspected? Perhaps he intended to catch the boy out. She certainly felt better at this proof she had not imagined those unearthly noises, as well as the proof that the earl was finally taking them seriously.
She narrowed her eyes, looking at Gerald’s face for signs of guilt, and received a glance of innocent interest.
The butler entered at that moment. ‘A gentleman to see you, my lord. Lord Templeton. He says he is expected.’
The earl leapt to his feet. ‘Expected, but not this soon.’
‘I have taken the liberty of showing him to the library, my lord, since he declined to join the family in the drawing room for tea.’
‘Very good. I will join him there immediately.’
It was the first time Mary had seen him looked pleased about anything. His delight made him look decidedly more handsome, but his pleasure only added to her resentment that he still had a friend who would come to visit. Hopefully he would be too busy with the man to notice when she slipped away on the morrow.
‘How rude,’ Mrs Beresford said, looking at the door that closed behind him. ‘I suppose one can’t expect manners from a coalminer’s son, even if he does have a title.’
‘I think he has shown a great deal of forbearance,’ Mary muttered.
Gerald grinned at her. ‘You did hear the White Lady, didn’t you?’
‘Certainly not,’ she said truthfully, giving him a bland look. It wasn’t a lie, because she was now certain it had been Gerald all along.
Jeffrey raised a brow. ‘I’m glad to hear it, Miss Wilding. As Gerald said this morning, any sighting of her ghostly form usually heralds a death in the family. And one is enough, don’t you think?’
He looked so dashed innocent that perhaps it was him playing cruel jokes and not his younger cousin. Or they were in it together. Her stomach dipped. ‘Then we certainly have something to be grateful for,’ she replied and put down her knife and fork at the loss of her appetite at what felt like a threat. Another one. ‘One is certainly enough for any family.’
‘Will you take tea in the drawing room, Miss Wilding?’ Mrs Hampton asked with what she must have considered a great deal of condescension to one as so far down the social scale.
Mary gave her a polite smile. ‘No, thank you. I find I am quite tired. I think I will retire.’
‘Oh, but we should really pull out some fashion plates. Discuss colours, if we are to go shopping tomorrow.’
Discuss fashion plates after all that had been implied? ‘Another time.’ She hurried from the room.
* * *
Back in her own chamber, she held her hands out to the fire and then rubbed her palms together. Her room seemed even colder than usual. In fact, there was a definite draught. She got up and went to the window to see if it had been left open, although with the curtains so still, it hardly seemed likely.
No. It was closed. She tugged at the latch just to be sure. Put her palms to the edges. Nothing.
Then where was the chill coming from?
Frowning, she toured the perimeter of the room, trying to feel the direction of this strange blast of cold air.
Here. Beside the fireplace.
She ran her palm along the corner beside the chimney-breast and distinctly sensed cold pressure against her skin. Was there something wrong with the chimney? Bricks coming loose, walls falling down? Like those old tunnels?
She probably should report it to the earl. Or his steward. But not now. It was far too late and the earl would be busy with his guest.
She reached out again just to be sure she was not mistaken, running her palm up the wall. The draught stopped at eye level and was forceful enough to send the adjacent candle in the wall sconce flickering and smoking. She pulled her scissors from her reticule and on tiptoes trimmed the wick, grasping the base of the brass sconce for balance.
A grinding noise. Vibration under her fingers. She jumped back, her heart in her throat.
She could have sworn the wall moved towards her. It wasn’t moving now and the odd noise had stopped. It had definitely come from inside the wall, not from above like before.
Or at least she was fairly certain it had. And the wall looked odd, out of line.
Once more she put her hand on the base of the sconce. It moved, twisted under her hand. The grinding started again.
The sconce turned upside down as she pushed harder. Quickly she blew out the candle. The last thing she needed was to start a fire.
A section of wall slowly swung inwards, stopping at right angles. Cold air rushed past her. She wrinkled her nose at the musty smell. In the distance she could hear the sea, much as she had done when the earl had led her to her room by way of the basement. And again before those strange noises above her head. Pulling her shawl tight against the sudden chill, she stared into pitch blackness.
A priest’s hole? It would make sense for a house with a connection with the Roman Catholic Church to have such a thing. She’d heard about them countless times when reading history books. She also read about such things in Gothic novels. They always led to something bad for the heroine. Only this wasn’t a Gothic novel and she wasn’t a heroine. She was a sensible schoolteacher.
Hopefully, whoever had used the priest’s hole had managed to get out, though, and it didn’t contain their wasted bones. She shuddered at the thought of someone trapped inside the darkness behind that wall. Nonsense. Anyone who went in must have known how to get out when the coast was clear.
She peered in. The space appeared larger than one would expect. How odd. She went to the bedside table for her candlestick and marched back to the gaping hole. She held the candle out in front of her and revealed what looked like a passage into a tunnel that branched left and right. A tunnel? One of those that led to the caves described at dinner tonight? It didn’t look in the least like a ruin. And why did it lead straight to her chamber? Her stomach gave a sickening lurch.
Who else knew about this? And exactly where did it go? Down to the sea? To the outside? Could she use it to escape the earl’s high-handed edict that she might not leave? Her heart beating loud in her ears as she held her breath, she stepped over the threshold.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood to attention.
What if the door closed behind her, leaving her trapped? She backed out into her room, set her candle on the mantel and dragged over the chair from beside the hearth. She stood it in the opening. The door would be unable to close with that in the way. Not completely. She picked up her candle once more and plunged into the dark.
The candle’s flickering light illuminated rough-stone walls glistening with damp. Creeping along one step at a time, she wondered what on earth she would find. The passage took a turn and came to a set of stairs leading up. Stairs that seemed to mirror those just beyond her chamber door, only narrower and the steps rougher-hewn. She climbed upwards carefully and came to a blank wall. She raised her candle high and saw a sconce much like the one in her bedroom. She twisted the base and started back as the wall shifted inwards, revealing the chamber above her room and in the corner, against the passage wall, a length of chain and a rusty cannonball.
In that instant she was sure the earl had lied. This was how he had got into that room. He was the one making the unearthly noises. But why? Did he plan to drive her to madness and have her locked away, thereby taking control of the money? Or did he want to frighten her into his arms? Into marriage? Or did he think to blame a ghost for her death?
Her mouth dried. The air wouldn’t seem to fill her lungs. She swallowed hard. Inside she was trembling. Weak. Wishing she knew just what he was up to.
Surely Gerald and Jeffrey knew about this passageway? It was the sort of thing no self-respecting boy would miss. Unless they truly believed that the tunnels had collapsed long ago. If their grandfather had told them it was so, would they not have believed him?
Whoever knew about this had ready access into her chamber. Suddenly her skin felt too tight and her scalp tingled. That person could come and go into her room at will.
Hastily, she closed the secret door and hurried back down the steps, pausing outside the entrance to her room to make sure everything was just as she had left it.
She let go a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding. Should she explore further, or simply face the earl with her findings in the morning? It would be good to know if it led outside to freedom. She took a quick breath and continued on past her room. Darkness closed in around her, apart from the small circle of light cast by her candle.
At the sound of a deep low rumble of male voices she froze. Was someone else in the passageway? There was no glimmer of light ahead. No footsteps accompanying the voices. She continued on more slowly and came to a fork in the tunnel. By heavens, it seemed there was a veritable rabbit warren inside the walls. And they looked in good working order, too. Was there something else going on here? Was the old earl involved in smuggling? French brandy was smuggled all along the coast of Cornwall at great profit.
The voices were louder now, though still indistinct. If she could hear them, they would be able to hear her if she called out. But that would give her discovery away and she wasn’t ready to do so. Not yet.
With one hand on the clammy wall and the candle held out in front of her, she pressed on, slowly, one step at a time. This part of the tunnel was not quite high enough for her to stand upright, but as long as she kept her neck bent, she managed not to give the top of her head more than the odd scrape.
She turned another corner. Now the voices were as clear as if she was standing in the room with the earl and, she supposed, his visitor, Lord Templeton.
‘To speedy success. Hopefully it won’t take too much time away from your duties,’ the earl said. A chinking of glasses ensued.
What on earth could they be talking about? Whatever it was, it was not her business.
‘What more do you know about her?’ Lord Templeton asked.
‘Nothing, except he left her a fortune.’
They were talking about her. Then it was her business.
‘What is she like?’
Her breath caught in her throat. She winced. She did not want to hear this, but for some reason she could not move.
There was a long pause, as if the earl was taking his time considering the question. Oh, she really should go.
‘Tall. Stubborn to a fault,’ he said quite softly, sounding almost bemused. ‘Certainly not my type,’ he added more forcefully.
Nor was he hers.
‘I suppose you have thought about the other solution,’ Templeton said.
She stilled. Another solution would be a very good thing, wouldn’t it? Some way out of their predicament?
The earl made a sound like a bitter laugh and said something indistinct. Then continued more clearly. ‘I want know what I am dealing with before taking drastic action.’
Drastic? What did he mean by drastic? She recalled the push that had almost sent her over the cliff. Her mouth dried. Her heart knocked against her ribs. She leaned against the wall for support. A sick feeling churned in her stomach. Fear.
An overreaction? Drastic could mean anything. The fact he stood to inherit by her death didn’t mean he would actually plan it.
Surely he couldn’t be that evil.
‘I’ll do anything you want,’ Templeton said. His next words were too low for her to hear.
If they were plotting against her it would help to know what they had in mind. She put her ear to the wall.
A piece of rock crumbled against her fingers and rattled to the floor.
‘What was that?’ Templeton asked.
She held her breath, frozen to the spot. If the earl knew about the passageway, would he guess someone was inside, listening?
‘Ranger heard it, too,’ the earl said. His voice drew closer. ‘What is it, old fellow?’
The dog whined, then she heard a snuffling sound as if he had his nose pressed against the stonework.
‘It’s either a mouse or a rat,’ the earl said, so close to her ear that she recoiled. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if the inside of the walls weren’t crawling with vermin. Something else to eliminate when I have the money situation resolved.’
Something else to eliminate? The tunnels and her? Her stomach pitched. She had to get away from this place. As soon as possible. Sooner.
‘Another brandy, Gabe?’ The earl’s voice moved further away.
‘Thank you. That had better be the last though, if I am to leave at first light.’
She didn’t dare wait to hear more in case she made more noise and he decided to investigate. And besides, she’d heard all she needed to know.
Terror blocking her throat, her legs almost too weak to hold her up, she walked through the dark and the damp holding on to the rough stone for support. At the sight of the light streaming into the tunnel from her chamber, she ran the last few steps. Panting with the effort of not collapsing in a heap, she sent the wall back to its proper place.
Her heart knocking hard against her ribs, her stomach in a knot, she leaned her back against the wall. She squeezed her hands tightly together as the words went round and round in her head. Drastic action. When I have the money. Another thing to eliminate. There was only one conclusion she could draw from his words.
Her mind refused to focus. Think, Mary. Think. She took a deep breath. And another. The trembling eased. Her breathing slowed. She looked around at the bed, the door, the window. Stepped away from a wall anyone could open from the other side.
Anyone. The earl or his friend could walk in on her as she slept and take drastic action. Panic clawed its way back into her throat. Then she must not sleep.
It would not work. No one could remain awake all day and all night. She had to find a way to block off the entrance.
She tried putting a chair in front of it, then the dresser, but nothing seemed substantial enough to hold back a chunk of stone wall.
Perhaps she needed a different tack. Something that would warn her the moment the door started to open. Give her time to hide. Or run. Something loud. The crash of a set of brass fire irons like the ones standing on the hearth, perhaps. She gave them a push and they went over with a satisfying clang and a clatter.
Perfect. She stood listening, waiting to see if anyone had heard. Would the sound carry down that tunnel to the earl? Would he come to investigate?
Not by the secret tunnel, surely? She glared at the now-perfectly positioned wall. Oh, no. He would not come that way. He would not want her to learn he had easy access to her room. She strode to the chamber door and turned the large iron key.
Her panic started to fade and her mind cleared. She looked at the fire irons from several angles. They needed to fall at the very first movement, but they had a wide base and needed a good push at the top to make them topple. Something more precarious was required.
The slender vase on the dressing table, perhaps. She stood it beside the crack in the wall and carefully balanced the fire irons on top. It took a few tries to get it to stay in place. She nodded grimly. One push and it would topple.
She flopped down on the edge of the bed and stared at her odd structure. Now what?
Now she needed to plan her escape. Where she would go, she wasn’t quite sure, but anywhere was better than here. Anywhere was better than the house of a man who talked of drastic action and getting his money, when the only way the money would go to him was if she died.
An ache filled her heart. Everything she’d ever known was gone. Sally. The school. Her girls. She would have to start all over again.
For a moment, she’d let herself hope she might belong here. That she might actually have found a family. The old longing clutched at her heart. Such a childish thing, to want what could never be.
She must have bats in her belfry. Her father hadn’t wanted her—why would anyone else? Certainly not Beresford. All he wanted was his rightful inheritance. And who would blame him? She really wished there was a way she could give it to him before he resorted to drastic action.
She climbed beneath the sheets, fully clothed, ready to run at a moment’s notice, and lay concocting a plan of her own. A way to turn the trip to St Ives to her advantage.