A Grave Inheritance (27 page)

Relief spread across her face. “We’ll talk in the evening then, when I return home.”

“Are you going out with Margaret again? I would love to come along if you don’t mind the extra company.”

Her expression turned to surprise. Or was it panic? When I looked closer, she dropped her gaze to the floor. “I...we...” she stuttered, most uncharacteristically for someone who never suffered from a loss words. “The work is very hard. I’m sure you would find it disagreeable.”

The corners of my mouth tugged down. “Hard work has never frightened me, and no doubt, indigent Quakers will be far more entertaining than the lecture your mother has planned for tomorrow afternoon. A gentleman is slated to speak at the Botany Society on the benefits of binomial nomenclature. Apparently, there’s been such an influx of foreign plants brought in from the trading ships that people are having difficulty keeping them straight.”

Nora’s eyes grew round with interest. “Fascinating,” she said, sounding almost sincere, and a little too eager. “You should definitely attend.”

I snorted a laugh. “Please, tell me you’re jesting.”

“Not at all,” she persisted. “You’ve always loved plants. This could be a great opportunity to meet other people who share your interest.”

“The room will be full of people more interested in naming plants than using them.”

Nora didn’t give up. “You should really consider going. Jesus said the poor would always be with us, so you’ll never lack for opportunities to serve. But how often do you get to meet people who share a similar passion?”

My mouth fell open with disbelief. Was this the same Nora Goodwin who had sailed with me to London? Or had someone switched places with her while she was out serving the less fortunate this afternoon? I narrowed my eyes and looked at her even more closely. “I have about as much passion for binomial nomenclature as you do.”

“Just think of the opportunity—”

I held up a hand, cutting her off before she could say anymore. “This afternoon I sat through two hours of some old codger droning on about the migratory patterns of the English swallow. In good conscience, you can’t go off with Margaret Fox again and leave me to suffer alone.”

Nora shuffled her feet in a rare display of indecision. “I...I guess you’re right.” When she looked at me, the shaky smile did little to hide the misery in her eyes. “Margaret’s carriage will arrive at nine tomorrow morning. Can you be ready by then?”

I gave an irritated sigh. Did everyone think me such a sluggard? “Yes, I can be ready. Fully awake and dressed to serve.”

“Very well, I’ll see you in the morning.” She gave me a quick peck on the cheek and turned toward her room.

“Goodnight,” I said, unsure the last time I had seen Nora so on edge. Did she really not want my company? Or was something else bothering her? I watched until she reached her chamber door, then went to my own room. No doubt things would look better in the morning.

Knowing that sleep would prove elusive, I sent Beth for a pot of Valerian tea when she came in to help me undress for bed. Two hours and three steamy cups later, I began to feel the herb’s calming effects. Tucked beneath a down comforter, the darkness further soothed my mind. Nora’s odd behavior had added to my long list of worries, but I refused to dwell on it overly long. Tomorrow would be soon enough. Yawning, I snuggled deeper into the mattress, giving in to the oblivion of sleep.

* * *

Thump...Thump...Thump...

Footsteps sounded in my dreams, the dull, lumbering thumps out of time with the wild pounding of my heart. I woke with a start and stared at the darkened canopy overhead. My breath had turned shallow while sleeping, and a sticky layer of sweat coated my neck and chest. Still as a statue, I strained my ears for the source of the noise.

Thump...Thump...Thump...

I turned my head toward the wall. Someone was close. Very close. “Who’s there,” I called out.

The steps came to a sudden stop, but no voice answered.

“Beth, is that you?”

Silence.

I folded back the comforter and sat up. The night air caught my sweaty skin, turning it to gooseflesh. Shivering, I lit a candle on the bedside table and darted a glance around the room, ready to scream at the first sign of trouble.

Nothing.

I stared at the wall in surprise. The steps had sounded so near, practically right next to my bed. I couldn’t believe they had come from outside the room, but that was the only explanation. Unless a ghost had been tromping around in a pair of heavy boots, which I knew to be absurd since the house was so newly built. And because ghosts did not exist. At least I didn’t think they did, not that I had proof either way.

A generous moment passed before my heart calmed down enough for sleep. Fluffing my pillow, I glanced around the room once more, then leaned over to blow out the candle...

Thump...Thump...Thump...

The breath stuck in my throat. Keeping my eyes pinned to the source of the noise, I swung my feet over the side of the bed. Quiet as a mouse, I followed the progression along the length of wall that adjoined the hallway. Staring at the thick wooden paneling, realization dawned quickly, followed by a sudden swell of irritation. Why, in the name of everything holy, did someone feel the need to sneak around outside my room, rousing me from a hard earned sleep? Well, there was only one way to discover the culprit. Sharp words perched on my tongue when I threw open the door and peered around the alcove into the hallway.

Darkness stared back.

The steps quickened, right up the side of the wall. My eyes flew to the ceiling, tracing a line as they crossed overhead before descending on the other side of the alcove. It took but a second for my mind to catch up to what had just occurred. Hardly daring to breathe, I closed the door before turning to fix my gaze on the wooden paneling next to the fireplace that hid the secret passageway.

Apprehension pounded in my chest, but the footsteps moved beyond my room before fading altogether. On shaking legs, I walked over to the mantel and ran my hand along the edge of the stone just like I had seen Henry do the other night. It took several passes over the narrow crevices to find the hidden lever. Yanking it up, the panel disappeared from view. With one hand braced against the frame, I leaned into the passageway.

The candle flickered, showing walls of rough plaster and exposed wooden beams. The space was narrower than I anticipated. At no more than two feet wide, someone of Henry’s size would be forced to hunch forward to fit through. The small light failed to illuminate the staircase at the far end, which I now knew arched over the door alcove and allowed unhindered passage to other parts of the house.

A small leather handle had been fitted on the inside of the wall. With a little tug, I ducked back into the room as the panel slid into place. Oddly, my fear had faded during the impromptu inspection, replaced by a burst of curiosity for the identity of the mysterious walker. No doubt, this person was either a resident of the house or a confident of Lady Dinley’s to be able to navigate the dark maze that ran between the walls.

Perhaps another day I would explore the passageway myself, during the daytime when I was properly dressed and not at risk of popping out at the dead of night into someone’s chamber. I smiled from the thought, then, on a whim, carried over the chair from the dressing table and leaned it against the hidden doorway. To be sure, even the most diligent of souls could get lost in the dark, and I preferred some warning if anyone happened to stop by unaware.

To my relief, what remained of the night passed without further incident. At a quarter to nine the next morning, I came down the stairs in a simple wool gown, prepared to serve alongside Nora and Margaret Fox. Finding the foyer empty, I passed into the drawing room, where Lucy sat in an armchair near the fire, embroidering what looked to be a pillow cover.

“Good morning,” I said, my chipper tone matching my mood.

Lucy’s head came up with a start. “You’re out of bed early. Do you have something scheduled?”

“Yes—” I began, only to be cut off before another syllable could find air.

“Remember,” Lucy said, “we have the lecture on binomial nomenclature at two sharp. The crowd at yesterday’s lecture was quite surprising, and I think we should leave for the Botany Society no later than half past noon to secure good seats.”

I bit my check to keep from smiling. “I’m sorry, Lucy, but I must beg out of the lecture as I’ve been invited to join Nora and Margaret on their rounds today.”

This earned me a queer look. “Do you intend to meet up with them in town?”

“No, we planned to go together this morning in Margaret’s carriage.”

Lucy clipped the embroidery thread with the small scissors hanging by a ribbon around her neck. “Well, I’m afraid you’ve already missed them. Margaret’s carriage arrived at seven this morning.”

My mouth fell open in surprise. “They’ve already left?”

“Near on two hours ago.”

“Why didn’t Nora tell me the time had changed? I wouldn’t have minded rising earlier.” Not that much, anyway. And it wasn’t like Nora to be overly concerned about my sleeping habits.

Lucy dug around in a basket for more thread. “There was no change in plans, my dear. Nora told me last night that they planned to set out again at first light this morning. Maybe you misheard her.”

A miserable feeling swept through me. With no uncertainty, I knew Nora had specified nine this morning. Had she purposefully lied with the intention of leaving me behind? My eyes burned from unshed tears. “Yes, I must have been mistaken,” I mumbled, gazing down at my hands.

“You know if we leave by noon for the Botany Society, it might be possible to gain an introduction to the speaker. Maybe even have an opportunity to pose a question or two before the crowds descend.” She jabbed the freshly threaded needle into the pillow cover. “What do you think? Considering how much you work with plants back home, I wager you’re just as eager as I am to discuss the merits of adopting a more consistent naming system.” She jabbed another stitch through the cloth. “If you ask me, it is fortunate, indeed, that Nora and Margaret have already gone, and you need not feel guilty about indulging a passion instead of serving those in need.”

I swallowed the lump from my throat. “Please excuse me, Lucy. I’ve a few things to attend to before we leave.” With a heavy heart, I trudged to my chamber and fell backward across the bed.

Most fortunate, indeed.
At that moment, I couldn’t have felt any less fortunate, nor more alone than if I resided in a hermit’s cave. My best friend was avoiding me. I hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Cate since returning from the bakehouse. Julian despised me. Henry would be gone for three more days. And thanks to Princess Amelia, I had been designated the foremost social outcast in London. Perhaps all of England.

Quite unexpectedly, supper with the duke didn’t seem so bad anymore.

* * *

We arrived outside the Fitzalan residence at seven sharp.

“Remember,” Cate said when the carriage came to a halt. “Do not lose your temper like you did with the king. Richard Fitzalan may be an amiable gentleman on the outside, but only a fool would forget the ruthless fighter hidden beneath the manners and trim. He’s not called the dragon for nothing.”

“The dragon?” I said, the words breaking unnaturally. “You can’t be serious.” Why hadn’t Henry told me about this?

“The nickname originated during his navy days, and from what I’ve heard, it is by no means a misnomer.”

I tried to respond, but my mouth had turned inexplicably dry.

Cate winked at me, then rapped on the window. “Now, let’s see what the dragon has in store.”

The door swung open. A handful of footmen appeared to assist us from the carriage, bedecked in powdered wigs and the Fitzalan gold and black livery. Cate walked ahead as Lucy and I stood side-by-side, momentarily transfixed by the massive gray stone structure that must have comprised an entire city block. Even in the diminished light, I could tell it was the largest residence I had ever seen other than Kensington Palace, and the two were a close tie at that.

“A bit large for a widower and his son, if you ask me,” Lucy said in a hushed voice. “There must be space enough to house all of Hopewell for the night.”

I nodded. “With room to spare.”

Lanterns blazed along the steps and on either side of the front door. We passed two more footmen on the way into a foyer which looked to be about the size of Brighmor Hall. Following yet another footman, we were shown to the grandest drawing room I had ever seen. At least a hundred candles flamed in free-standing holders and from a large crystal chandelier overhead. For first impressions, this one was undeniably stunning.

My eyes skimmed over the room, taking in the abundance of gilt trim, dark silks and marble, before coming to rest on a man near the hearth. He stood angled away from us, one hand resting on the mantel, and his head bowed in thought.

Cate whispered to the footman, who then cleared his throat. “Lady Dinley, Lucy Goodwin, and Miss Kilbrid, Your Grace.

Lifting his head, the man turned, and I was struck at once by the physical similarity to Henry. Like the son, Richard Fitzalan was a tall man, standing well over six feet, with broad shoulders, and despite the advanced years, a trimness to rival any lad of twenty. Also like his son, he didn’t wear a periwig as so many other gentlemen were wont to do. Instead, his thick hair had been lightly powdered and tied back, simulating the latest fashion, while avoiding the superfluous hairpiece.

He remained still as he surveyed our little group, his eyes coming to rest on me for several seconds. I met his stare straight on, refusing to look away despite a sudden fit of nerves. A smile pulled at his mouth, and my heart skipped from the same expression I had seen a hundred times on Henry, usually on the heels of some amusing or sardonic comment.

Not until the duke took a few steps did I notice the cane and pronounced limp on his left side. Henry told me of his father being wounded in battle, but for some reason, I had never envisioned the man with any type of physical ailment. Cate moved toward him, and in a wave of silk skirts, we met somewhere in the middle of the room.