Miss Farrow's Feathers (7 page)

"Thank you, sir," she said, but wasn't quite sure that he merited it. Had that been a compliment?
She wasn't at all certain.

"You want to go visiting now?" Papa asked. "But it will be dark
in two hours."

Oh, bother. She was going to have to elaborate on her lies to convince Papa. Drat. How she hated that! But what other option did she have?

"Perhaps I could accompany you?" Mr. Shirley offered unexpectedly. He smiled again at her, then turned his attention to Papa. "That is, if you think such a thing might be appropriate, sir. I agree that it is not wise for Miss Farrow to be out on her own as evening wears on, but she did give her word to this Miss Bent, and the poor old woman must need visiting. I could surely see that Miss Farrow is safe on her errand of mercy."

Good heavens, this was the last thing she needed! But surely Papa would never allow it. To send her off alone with Mr. Shirley would be even more inappropriate than allowing her out on her own, of course.
No doubt she could trust Papa to be sensible about this, at least.

But Papa's sense of propriety failed her.

"You would do that, Mr. Shirley? How very considerate of you," he gushed.

"It is the least I could do, sir, after you and Miss Farrow have been so gracious toward me."

"But Mr. Shirley," she protested, hoping she didn't sound quite as desperate as she felt. "As Papa noted, it's getting on toward dark, and I'm afraid you don't know it, but Miss Bent lives almost a mile out of town. It's nearly as far as Glenwick Downs. I can't possibly prevail on you to put yourself out for such a distance on my account."

But it seemed her argument had the opposite effect as she'd hoped.

"What, so far out of town?" Mr. Shirley exclaimed. "Then I flatly insist, Miss Farrow. You must let me accompany you."

"Most definitely!" Papa said. "And you should take the carriage. It is worth it in this instance, my dear.
"

She frantic
ly searched for a way out. "But Papa... it's such an imposition for Mr. Shirley and... and you know how timid Miss Bent has gotten in her old age. Just think what a fright it might be to have a carriage arrive with a strange gentleman."

Papa countered easily. "But you would be there to
reassure her, my dear."

If she had been a child she would have stamped her foot a
nd pouted. As it was, she had to settle for a disappointed frown.

"I don't know, Papa. Perhaps I should not go."

Drat. She could hardly
not
go, so it appeared she truly would have to sneak away. Perhaps she could claim a headache and retire to her room early. Would Papa discover her gone if she then tiptoed away? Would he even believe a headache story after she made such a fuss about leaving? Likely not. She wasn't sure what she could do.

"But you must go," Mr. Shirley said. "I can see your concern for your friend
and you are to be commended for it. Surely you will not rest well if you have not looked in on her."

"Yes, but—"

"But you are concerned my presence will upset the frail old dear. Yes, I can very well understand that. I am a stranger here, after all. But she lives out of the village, you say? Is it, perhaps, in the direction of the posting house?"

Meg wasn't sure of his intent, but she nodded in confirmation. "Yes, it is, actually. Just a slight ways beyond."

"Excellent. Then perhaps, if your father agrees, I could ride with you that far and you could drop me off at the posting house. I have some letters I should send and can post them from there. Perhaps the distance from there to Miss Bent's house is not too great and your father will not worry of you traveling alone. When you are done, you can simply retrieve me on your return."

Meg was a bit dubious of this suggestion, but Papa latched right onto it.

"Capital! Indeed, a most excellent solution, Mr. Shirley. You are resourceful, indeed. Don't you agree, Meggie?"

"Indeed, it does seem to suit all our needs..."

"Then it is settled," Papa said. "Thank you, Mr. Shirley. I'll send for the carriage immediately and I suggest you set off right away, the sooner the better, to make use of what daylight there is."

"But you know how Miss Bent likes to talk, Papa," Meg said, giving one last
half-hearted effort at dissuading Mr. Shirley. "I could be there quite a while."

"No need to worry on my account," Mr. Shirley said. "I've got a book I can bring. Once my letters are done, if you are not back, I can read. Feel free to take your time. Even if after dark, you'll be quite safe with me, Miss Farrow.
"

"Wonderful!" Papa exclaimed, giving Meg no opportunity to quarrel.

"Fear not, Miss Farrow," Mr. Shirley said with a dashing grin. "I'm an excellent watch dog, you'll find."

Drat him, but that's what she was afraid of.

His companion was uneasy.
Just as he hoped. She was perched nervously beside him in her father's carriage—which turned out to be nothing more than a very modest gig—and her apprehension was palpable. Max was going to enjoy this little drive.

“You’ll tell me the way
I should go, won’t you?” he asked, although he knew it quite well. “You are much more knowledgeable about it than I am, and I’d hate to proceed in the wrong direction.”

“I doubt that will happen. There is but one road leading north out of Richington.”

“Yes, but if you’re not on alert, I might go too far, Miss Farrow.”

He watched her expression, wondering if she noticed he intentionally chose phrasing that could have been interpreted more than one way. Amazingly, s
he seemed completely innocent—or at least quite oblivious. How could she possibly be on her way to an illicit liaison and not recognize his most eloquent
double entendres
? What was he to make of this chit, anyway?

“I will alert you when we have gone far enough
, sir.”

Indeed, he had no doubt she would. Miss Farrow might be prepared to go
entirely too far with her friend Mr. Perkins, but Max had no reason to expect her attitude toward him to be similarly accommodating. What was it about Perkins that appealed to her?

She gave no indication of passion or honest affection for the man. From all he could see, she was mostly indifferent toward him. So why go to all this trouble to meet him this way?
Why risk public scandal and shame? There could really only be one logical answer—her interest must have something to do with the man's position.

Mr. Perkins was steward at Glenwick Downs. He
had been managing things for Max’s grandfather. Obviously, if anyone would know the old earl’s secrets, it would be his steward. And since Mr. Perkins expressed special interest in Bartholomew, there was one conclusion Max could draw.

The steward
must know of his grandfather’s hidden treasure and Miss Farrow must be in league with him to find it. That had to be why she would put up with the annoying bird in her home when clearly she would rather have not, and that was why she would waste her time with a lowly steward. She wanted that treasure and she needed Mr. Perkins to help her find it.

“So you are certain you do not need me to accompany you to your friend’s house?”
Max asked her after a few moments of uncomfortable silence.

“No!
That is, I would hate to worry her, as I said. If you don’t mind waiting at the posting house, that would be best.”

“Of course. If you’re certain.”

“I am.”

“And you’ll be safe on your own?”

“Of course I will. It isn't as if Richington is overrun with highwaymen and the like. Besides, we still have some hours of daylight. I’ll hardly be alone on the road but for a few minutes.”

Indeed, she was likely correct about that. If Perkins was any sort of a man, he’d be waiting at the front gate for her and wouldn’t waste a minute getting to their business. But this caused
Max to wonder. What—other than the obvious—
was
their business tonight? Surely Miss Farrow expected more than a quick tussle. Did they have some promising clue, some evidence gained to lead them on to the treasure?

He himself had been less than successful at gaining that knowledge. His
grandfather’s last letter had indicated quite plainly how the information was to be got, but so far all Max’s efforts had come up empty. It seemed, despite his grandfather’s conviction that he had passed his secrets along to his trusted pet, Bartholomew was not inclined to share what he knew of the whereabouts of any treasure. Try as he might, Max had not got him to spout off anything but low-minded drivel.

So what clues did Miss Farrow and her uninspiring lover have? Max could hardly wait to find out.
He only hoped his grandfather hadn’t done much renovation on the aging manor house in the years since Max had last visited. He was counting on the secret passages he’d played in as a child still being passable and, well, still secret.

Meg
glanced over her shoulder, not for the first time. Was someone following her? She saw nothing, just the long, evening shadows on the familiar road. Her horse plodded along peacefully, unaware of any potential danger.

Meg's heart pounded, though. She'd left Mr. Shirley at the posting house not half a mile back. He'd seemed content enough, hauling his leather bag containing the writing supplie
s he'd need to catch up on correspondence. It actually seemed he was looking forward to a couple quiet hours without Bartholomew. Not that she could blame him for that...

She glanced around again, seeing nothing but trees and farm fields and the occasional sheep in the distance.
The hairs pricked at the back of her neck, though. Why should she be so on edge? Indeed, if there was anything to fear here, it was Meg's own conscience, clearly quite unsettled by her lies and deceit. This sort of thing was not at all her usual manner and her stomach churned over and over because of it.

She had lied to Papa, lied to Mr. Shirley, and was now heading off to meet Mr. Perkins to work at concealing yet something else. Heavens, how had she come to this? It was no wonder her nerves were frayed and she felt quite a wreck. It would serve her right to
develop digestive spasms after this.

But now the horse's ears did flick. Indeed, Meg had heard a twig crunch in the brush behind them, and the animal heard it, too. She glanced back. Again, there was nothing and no one. It appeared she and her horse were alone on the road.

Well, the little creek bed that had been running along near the road veered off toward the east and with it the undergrowth. For the next mile, Meg would have nothing but open farmland on either side. If anyone was following, she would certainly see them, and hopefully be able to avoid any confrontation. She slapped the horse into a more rapid trot and soon left any tree, creekbed, or possible hiding place far behind her.

Glenwick Downs was just on ahead, over the next roll in landscape. She would be within eyesight of the place soon enough, and Mr. Perkins would see she was safe once she got there. There was nothing to fear, except her own guilty conscience, of course.

Her stomach rumbled and churned again. Oh, but this guilt was tortuous! How was she to manage it? By keeping her time with Mr. Perkins as brief as possible, obviously. If she was quick, she might even have time to stop in at Miss Bent's house on her way home. Yes, that's what she could do.

Miss Bent's home was just along her way.
She had passed it not ten minutes after leaving Mr. Shirley behind, in fact. If she stopped there on her return—even just to say a quick hello and then be off—she might feel so much better about this evening. Why, she would only be half of a liar, then.

Her conscience felt light
er at the thought of it and her stomach stopped churning. A bit. Mostly, though, she was just eager to get to the Downs and have this unpleasant task over with.

Just as she came around the bend that led
to the grand entrance for the Downs, her eye caught on something off in the distance. A figure, moving in the foliage along the now distant creek bed. No, she was imagining. It was a shadow of something, perhaps, but at this distance it was impossible to say what. A deer, someone's hound, a wandering swine... anything, really. Whatever it was should not concern her, of course. It was too far away and clearly not following her. If there had been anything there, it was moving off into the distance, keeping to the shelter of the creek bed as it wound its way toward the lake behind Glenwick Downs.

She, however, was just passing
through the heavy stone gate that would welcome her into Glenwick Downs. She could make out the row of mismatched chimneys along the grand roof even from here. A long, tree-lined lane would take her over a low crest and there the house would be laid out before her. No matter how many times she and Papa had been invited to visit, the sight always took her breath away.

And tonight was no different.
The imposing stone walls of the manor looked like burnished gold in the evening sunlight. The tiled roofs tilted at a hundred different angles, yet seemed perfectly in harmony with one another as they sheltered the many rooms and alcoves of the great, ancient house. Sunlight glinted off the tiles, making shades and shadows, drawing her to wonder at the countless secrets the place seemed to hold.

The windows
—it looked like a hundred of them—sparkled the orange and red sunset in their many panes. The grounds surrounding the house boasted manicured lawns and carefully planted groves. The rose garden could be glimpsed just around the corner and she could smell the scent of early blooms wafting her way. The effect was quite grand and Meg knew she never would get over the thrill of being allowed access to such a beautiful place.

Tonight, however, she
couldn't allow herself time for admiring. Mr. Perkins was standing on the front steps, waving toward her. Apparently he was as eager to do this as she was. She hoped that meant they could be done quickly. The sooner the better.

Two grooms dashed out to take her horse's head, as if the poor old creature would put up any fuss. Mr. Perkins helped Meg alight from the gig and led her into the house.
She had to practically trot to keep up with him.

"I suppose you'd like to get right to business, then?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, happy he did not expect her to bother with silly pretense, as if this were a social call.

He took her directly to his former master's study. She'd never been in this
area of the house and couldn't help but stare at her surroundings as they passed a staircase she knew nothing about and a long corridor hung with rich tapestry and pieces of armor that, presumably, had been worn by previous Glenwicks. It was all very ominous and quite masculine—complete with dead animals mounted on the wall. Clearly this was the master's part of the home.

"This way," Mr. Perkins said, then paused to allow her entrance to the one room at this end of the house that appeared to be well-lit inside.

She stepped in and found that the excellent lighting came from broad windows overlooking the elaborate rear gardens. The sun hovered low over the lake just beyond and reflected brightly, sending glittering beams into the dark-paneled room. A huge desk commanded attention at the head of the room, the chair behind the desk rose like a throne. Shelves were lined with all manner of books, stacks of paper, and various odds and ends that must have held great significance for previous lords.

Oddly, though, it was all in obvious disarray.
Apparently while the former earl had been meticulous in the upkeep of the rest of the house, this room was not subject to such care. Perhaps here, in his private domain, he forbade access to servants and cared for all of it on his own. Well, given the clutter and the haphazard placement of, well, everything, Meg had to admit he hadn't done a very good job of it.

Mr. Perkins must have noticed her dismay. "As you can see, the old earl left things rather out of order for us."

"Yes, so I see."

"Which is why I've been at a loss to locate the certain documents we spoke of."

"I can entirely understand that. Well, tell me how we should begin."

Mr. Perkins nodded. "Very well.
Here is a stack of letters, correspondence between the earl and his solicitor.”

“And these indicate that he suspected that I…”

She couldn’t even bring herself to complete the sentence.

"The earl was concerned that when Nigel Webberly left Richington so unexpectedly, that he left you in a delicate condition. These drafts indicate he insisted documents be drawn up that would see to the provision for any child that might result."

She cringed to hear him speak those words aloud. It was too horrible! Yes, the earl had known she’d felt a certain fondness for his grandson, he’d shown obvious displeasure that the young man had run off to marry that heiress, but never had he hinted that he suspected anything truly intimate had transpired between them. The thought that such a thing had been preserved in writing—that he’d had his own solicitor draw up official papers for such a thing—well, her stomach churned anew at the very idea.

“Go ahead, Miss Farrow. Read through the letters. Anything you feel might be perceived as, er, incriminating, I suggest we destroy it entirely.”

Incriminating
. What a horrible word. Still, she supposed it was exactly accurate, given the situation.

H
ow devious she felt! Lying to her father, misleading Mr. Shirley, sneaking out here to prowl through the old earl’s papers and search for something that might paint her with an overly colorful brush. Heavens, but the idea of destroying someone else’s things in secret seemed very, very wrong, indeed. Still, she must do it to protect her good name—as if she’d ever done anything to truly besmirch it!

Mr. Perkins offered her a seat at a table and began showing her through the letters, the specific portions he felt might be of most interest to her.
Of course the only letters available to them were in draft form. Any actual letters from the earl to his solicitor had been sent.