Authors: Something Like a Lady
Kay Springsteen (10 page)
She
’
d never seen wine in a bottle before. Geoffrey had always seen to filling the decanters from the casks in the cellar. She rolled it over. An oval-shaped label, ivory
in color, bore the word
Bordeaux
in blue.
She frowned. Was that a person
’
s name or the name of the wine? Hadn
’
t Miss Lucy once told her about French wine? She squinted at the bottle and tried to call up the memory. It had been so long ago, before Papa—
Shaking her head, Annabella pressed her lips together to stop the quiver in her chin. It wasn
’
t the time to dwell on Papa.
“
Think, Annabella. What did Miss Lucy say?
”
French vintners sold their wine by the bottle, with labels of blue or gold or silver. Did the colors indicate quality? Or type of wine? Annabella squeezed her eyes shut and tried to picture her old nursery, struggled to remember the things Miss Lucy had taught her. But it was no use. All her memory would supply on the subject had to do with meals and planning the proper wine with each course.
She ran a finger over the wax seal that covered the cork. Her mouth watered at the thought of consuming a civilized glass of wine again. But how did one open such a bottle? Obviously it was a matter of removing the cork that had not only been rammed into the neck of the bottle but then coated with thick burgundy colored wax.
Mayhap she could find a tool at the cottage. She slid the bottle back into its velvet sheath. As she stood, her gaze fell on the case filled with banknotes. It belonged to someone. But to whom? Had Markwythe truly been secreting funds in the wall for some despicable scheme?
“
Oh pish!
”
She shook her head. What a ludicrous thought. The estate and all on it belonged to him. He had no reason to hide funds. And if he wanted to be rid of her and her mother, well… giving them the cut had effectively assured them a miserable life already. Still… Lord Seabrook had come, apparently sent by Markwythe, or at least with his blessing. He seemed to have no particular business. How close were the two men? Could Seabrook be stealing from her stepbrother?
“
I wish you were here, Juliet. You were always good at figuring things out.
”
Annabella sighed wistfully.
The breeze rustled the leaves overhead and seemed to
mimic her friend
’
s silken laughter. She could even imagine what Juliet might say.
“
Annabella, you chicken brain! You see conspiracy in everything.
”
Perhaps she did… and mayhap she
was
being a silly chicken brain. And yet… Seabrook
’
s sudden appearance at W
yndham Green, his demand that he stay in the cottage even though it was clearly not guest-worthy…
Had
he come for the case of banknotes?
She slapped the flat rock.
“
It
’
s not making sense!
”
He
’
d been there long enough to have retrieved it and taken his leave. She could think of no logical reason why he
’
d want to stay in that forsaken cottage any longer than necessary.
Unless he didn
’
t know precisely where the banknotes had been hidden.
The wind blew through the trees again, and Annabella shivered. Sense or no sense, the case wouldn
’
t be safe at Rose Cottage where Seabrook might lay his hands on it. Annabella scanned the little clearing. She and Juliet had used many hiding places there for their childhood secrets. If just one still existed… A grandfather oak stood off to the side, not quite part of a cluster of beech trees. There! Tall grass had grown up around the base of the old tree, but surely that was the one with the hollow bottom.
She picked her way through the grass, refusing to consider what wild thing
s she might be encountering without realizing it.
Voles, spiders… adders.
Her heart gave a little jump as something grazed her leg, poking at her through her stocking.
A snake’s fangs!
She closed her eyes, hardly daring to look… but she must. Trembling nearly overcame her as she opened one eye and stared at the ground. A dead, gray stick had become snagged on her stocking. She caught a motion from the corner of her eye. Had something slithered past?
“
Stop that!
”
She wasn
’
t
going
die a horrible death. She couldn
’
t. What would happen to poor Juliet? It took several hard shakes of
her leg to loosen the grasp of the
branch
.
B
y the time it fell off, one of her best stockings had a tear running from her ankle to her knee. Gnashing her teeth, she pressed on, taking slow, careful steps, holding her breath each time she placed her foot on the ground.
When she reached the tree, she used the wooden case to brush aside the blades of grass, and smiled at the rewarding sight of the gaping hole in the trunk. It wasn
’
t as large as she recalled
from her childhood
, but it was big enough. She turned the box sideways and slipped it into the opening.
A giggle freed itself as she righted the blades of green against the tree trunk to cover the hole.
“
Out of the wall and into a tree.
”
Rustling
near her feet
sent Annabella scurrying
out of the tall grass
. Her gaze fell on the
coin
pouch and the black velvet bag where she
’
d left them on the
stone
table. Her mouth watered at the thought of the wine. She hadn
’
t dared pinch any of the wine from the decanter Abby had brought with Seabrook
’
s supper, certain the miserable sot would miss even a swallow. Well, maybe he
’
d miss the wine from the wall if Markwythe had indeed sent him. But he could hardly say anything to her, could he?
She planted her hands on her hips and lowered her voice.
“
Pardon me, but did you find a bottle of wine hidden in the wall of the cottage?
”
Another giggle slipped out, then another.
No, he couldn
’
t very well complain — if he was even aware of the wine
’
s existence. She picked up the bag and slid her arm through the drawstring handle. The coin pouch she secured in the deep pocket of the ugly gray dress. At least it was good for something. None of her pretty gowns and day dresses had such pockets. After a last glance around, she fought her way from the thicket. Tonight, she would have wine with her dinner.
Returning to Rose Cottage went a bit easier. She simply followed the trail of trodden undergrowth. In no time at all, she arrived at the path leading between the main house and the cottage. As she parted the bushes and prepared to step through, voices halted her.
****
Jon hated the sense of dissatisfaction that arose from doing nothing. He preferred to keep busy. That was one reason he
’
d spent several seasons working in the family
’
s shipyard in Liverpool. Nothing compared to the satisfaction he
’
d felt at seeing something sturdy and beautiful take shape beneath his hands.
The waiting game he
’
d opted to play since discovering the object of his inquiry to be well and safe, if
not presently comfortable and happy, held him captive. Restless, he
’
d paced the confines of the great room in the too-tiny cottage, aware of
her
, mere yards away, through the door leading into the kitchen. She certainly was going nowhere, and apparently s
he could fend well for herself in any case. And that meant he could steal a moment away. The ride into Haselmere earlier had cleared his head and settled his restive soul. Another ride held no appeal, particularly since ominous, dark clouds were beginning to assemble on the horizon. However, a walk had seemed feasible.
And he
’
d enjoyed it right up until he
’
d returned to spy a burly man peering through one of the rear windows of the cottage. Gray woolen trousers topped shiny black boots, and the tails of his black coat fluttered in the stiffening wind, making him seem a bit too well dressed to be a one of the liverymen or other estate laborer. The fading brown hair poking from beneath his wide-brimmed hat suggested a man of middle years. Whatever he was about, he was so intent on peeking through the window that he appeared ignorant of Jon
’
s approach.
Had he been responsible for the shadow crossing the window when the door had slammed earlier?
Jon
kept
his tone
interested but
cool
.
“
Pardon me. Might I inquire as to your business?
”
The man jerked and spun around.
“
Ah, Lord Seabrook.
”
He dipped his head in a cordial enough manner, but he wasn
’
t going out of his way to show respect the way Grey
’
s servants tended to do.
“
Sheridan Dawes, Wyndham Green
’
s estate steward.
”
His mouth twitched upward in a parody of a smile that never reached his dark, birdlike eyes. No emotion showed in those black pools. Gran would have called them soulless eyes.
“
I was just by to inquire how you
’
re getting along.
”
Maintaining a bland expression, Jon nodded toward the cottage.
“
And you thought to find me through a window?
”
Dawes cleared his throat several times. He seemed to be having trouble choking out his next lie — for lie it would be. Jon could already see it forming in the man
’
s eyes. Had he thought them soulless? No, cunning and shrewd, much like a weasel
’
s, they were.
“
My knock went unanswered, and I was attempting to ascertain whether you were about.
”
Jon allowed his lips to lift into a cold smile. Spreading his arms, he gestured around the yard.
“
As you can see, I
’
ve just returned from a stroll.
”
Dawes snapped to attention.
“
Quite. Well then, I
’
ll leave you in peace.
”
He started to move off.
“
I find a few things lacking, actually.
”
Jon narrowed his eyes and pinned the man with a stare.
“
And I was wondering at the miserable state of the outbuildings, and some of the tenant cottages seem to have recently been abandoned.
”
A muscle worked in Dawes
’
jaw.
“
I fear that is something you must take up with the Duke of Wyndham. He is kept well apprised of the state of Wyndham Green, and I merely follow his orders.
”
Ahh, there it was. The great untruth. For Grey was no fool. Whatever his reasons for not returning to the estate, he
’
d never have dishonored his father
’
s memory by allowing it to fall into ruin.
“
Yes, I suppose I shall have to address it with him when I eventually return to London.
”
Jon moved toward the door, paused, and turned.
“
In the meantime, the maid who
’
s been assigned to the cottage… Annie? She does her best but certain basic comforts appear to be missing. Adequate bedding, some candlesticks, that sort of thing.
”
Dawes frowned in apparent confusion.
“
You must mean Abby. Geoffrey told me Abby has been assigned the task of seeing to your needs.
I understand
you
refused the services
of a valet. If you
’
ve changed your mind, I
’
ll have a word with Geoffrey.
”
Jon waved his hand.
“
No need. Just a few comforts sent over will do. And… I shall be entertaining a guest this evening, so a full supper, service for two, if you please.
”
Crimson seeped into Dawes
’
face.
“
I
’
ll inform the butler,
”
he managed through thinned lips.
“
Shall I have him send attendants for the meal as well?
”
“
Just the meal shall be sufficient, at the customary time.
”
Dawes aimed a speculative glance at Jon but hastily averted his eyes.
“
I
’
ll see to it, my lord.
”
“
Very well.
”
Without affording the steward the courtesy of a backward glance, Jon walked around the side of the house, pulled open the front door, and stepped across the threshold.
As soon as he shut the door, he crossed to the window and
watched
through the lace curtain as Dawes strode up the path toward the main house. What had he been up to?
L
ooking for Annabella? Were the servants aware of her deception? Certainly, she
’
d have had help. The lovely Annabella was a lot of things, but self-sufficiency did not seem to number among her talents.
A flash of movement drew his eye to the woods. Jon jerked in surprise as Annabella stepped onto the path, casting a furtive glance in the direction Dawes had gone before hurrying toward the cottage. She disappeared around the side and he knew before long she would enter through the servants
’
door.
How curious. She
’
d almost seemed to be avoiding the estate steward.
Jon shook his head as he stepped away from the window. Not almost.
Had. She
had
been avoiding him.
It seemed the stakes had just been
raised
in his little game of waiting.