by Ada Bright
‘Rosie.’ His voice broke as he took it from her. He pressed the bag to his lips, then tucked it into his coat. ‘Come.’ Rose let him guide her down the steps into the great hall and out into the hallway.
Edward had just entered the house, and he greeted Christopher before turning to Rose. ‘We have done the best we can in the circumstances. Provided the horses go steadily, it should suffice.’
‘Where do we stand?’ They all turned around as Charles’ voice hailed them from the bottom of the stairs. ‘Mr Trevellyan is as ready as he can be. Wallace!’ He strode towards them, hand outstretched, and as Christopher shook it, Charles looked at him expectantly. ‘Are you with us, my good fellow?’
Christopher looked fondly at Rose before nodding at his friend. ‘Try and keep me away.’
Charles looked to Rose. ‘If we are to carry out our mission today, we must do so directly. Is my sister prepared?’
Butterflies fluttering in her stomach, Rose nodded. ‘I will find her.’
Charles turned back for the stairs, but he paused with his foot on the bottom step. ‘Stay well away from upstairs, Miss Wallace. This will not be pleasant on the gentleman. Wallace.’ He turned to Christopher. ‘Will you assist? He is becoming more lucid as time passes, but thus his pain is intensifying.’
Her father set off up the stairs, but Rose stayed Charles with her hand. ‘Captain Austen…’ It was far too soon for what she wanted to say. ‘I cannot thank you enough, for everything you have done for us.’
Charles grinned. ‘All in a day’s work.’ He looked up as a footman hurried down the hallway bearing a black bundle. ‘Ah, Hanson. You had no trouble in gaining the items?’
‘None whatsoever, sir.’ The footman bowed, handing over his burden to Charles, who took the stairs two at a time, and Rose stood frozen for a minute listening to footsteps fading along the landing, then turned away, keen to find Jane, only to see her coming towards her from the boot room.
‘There you are. It seems we’re ready to leave. They’ve gone for Aiden.’
Jane handed Rose a Bible, a thick leather-bound folder, a cloak and a basket. ‘To aid in our concealment.’
Rose took the small clutter of things, particularly careful of the folder, as she knew it was the journal Edward had given Aiden so he could make notes and observations on the church. As Rose flipped through it, she realised he had been studying quite a lot more than just the chapel. There were detailed maps and copious notes on all manner of subjects in his familiar scrawl from before he’d been injured. Rose held it against her chest as Jane draped the cloak around her shoulders. ‘The cloak and basket I understand, but…’
Jane raised a second Bible. ‘We wish to give the impression we are attending evensong, do we not? Perchance if we look convincingly studious, we will be allowed some leeway in our wandering.’
Rose’s insides lurched. ‘I can’t believe we’re doing this again. Breaking into No 4 Sydney Place was bad enough, but… the archives of Winchester Cathedral?’ Rose’s voice was a frantic whisper, but Jane merely smiled.
Jane secured her own cloak and raised a brow. ‘Do you have aught else to offer?’
Rose shook her head, then almost gasped as a drawn-out groan came from somewhere upstairs. Jane looked anxiously at Rose, then inclined her head towards a door at the back of the inner hallway. ‘I think it best we repair to the library. Let us meet the gentlemen by the carriage once Mr Trevellyan is established within.’
Much as Rose wanted to rush to Aiden’s side and offer comfort, she knew Jane was right. The sound of movement on the landing was sufficient to have her turn and follow the lady, placing the folder and her Bible into the basket. Her father and Charles would be supporting Aiden, and she’d only be in the way.
Rose entered the room to find Jane in low conversation with her sister, and she drew in a calming breath. The last time she’d contemplated breaking and entering, at least she’d had Morgan there. The thought was enough to pull Rose together. If she ever wanted Morgan in her life again, she was going to have to take a leaf out of her book.
It was a quarter of an hour later when Jane indicated to Rose to precede her from the room. They walked through the now almost silent house and out into the fading day as the afternoon drew to a close, and all Rose’s reasoning flew from her mind as she took her father’s hand to assist her into the carriage.
Aiden was propped up in one corner, a cloak about his shoulders to hide the fact he was unable to wear a coat, the splint now removed and his arm in a makeshift sling, strapped across his chest. He looked awful, sweat beading his forehead and his skin a worrying shade of grey. His handsome face was pinched with pain, but he made an attempt at a smile as Rose sat opposite him. Jane was soon installed at her side, and a grim-looking Christopher entered and closed the door, settling carefully on Aiden’s other side, placing a cushion between them.
Charles appeared at the open window, giving Jane and Rose a bracing smile. ‘Welcome ladies, to the Winchester Packet!’
Jane, however, frowned. ‘Charles, why are you dressed as man of the church?’
Charles looked rather proud of his white dog collar, and docked his parson’s hat jovially.
‘I borrowed them. Are they not perfect for our adventure?’
Jane was still frowning. ‘But you have not had time to send to Steventon; besides, James would not let you—’
‘Dear Sister.’ Charles leaned through the window. ‘I am not so foolish as to waste time asking favours of my eldest brother, knowing he will refuse me.’ He waved a hand towards where the driveway joined the road. ‘I sent Hanson to ask Papillon.’ He winked at Jane. ‘I sent in your name, of course. You know the good reverend will do anything to court your good opinion.’
‘For shame, Charles. What possible reason could you give the man for wishing to borrow some of his garments?’
‘The note stated I required them for a family performance.’ Charles grinned. ‘After all, one must not tell an untruth to a man of God.’
Jane rolled her eyes and settled back in her seat, and Charles walked away, still grinning.
‘I thought your brother was joining us?’ Rose turned to Jane, but she shook her head.
‘He is, but he is to ride.’ She waved a hand at the window, and barely seconds later, Charles rode past them on a chestnut horse and the carriage slowly moved away, rolling down the driveway, but as the wheels crunched on the gravel, Rose turned to Jane in dismay.
‘Oh no! I didn’t have a chance to thank Mr Knight for his kindness and hospitality, or say goodbye to your sister.’ Rose’s gaze flew to meet her father’s. ‘Or to your wife and the girls.’
Christopher shook his head, his face remaining solemn. ‘It is for the best, for what might you possibly say without having to draw upon falsehoods and empty promises?’
Rose felt tears prick her eyelids at the truth of this, and turned to stare out of the window, forcing her eyes wide.
Jane, however, was less impressed. ‘Do not indulge your emotions so readily, Rose. You may well have ample chance if all does not go to plan.’ Her philosophical words achieved their purpose, and Rose turned back, giving her a look.
Jane smirked at her. ‘Should we succeed in our mission, I will take full responsibility for your precipitous departure.’
Turning in her seat, Rose looked out of the rear window, taking in her potential last glimpse of the house, and the church that would be all but destroyed in a few years, but as the carriage turned left onto the Gosport road, she settled back in her seat and drew in a calming breath. She would go mad if she didn’t focus on something other than where they were headed and why.
Rose looked over at Aiden, wishing she could help him, relieved to see him looking a little more alert, more himself. Even through his pain, his eyes had lost the clouded look of earlier, and he stared out of the window, seemingly intent on memorising every detail. Suppressing a sigh, Rose smiled weakly at her father, whose intent gaze was upon her, then turne
d to resume her own study through the window.
Please, oh please, let this be worth it.
Chapter 31
The journey to Winchester passed without incident, though it cured Rose of any and all romantic fantasies of carriage rides in the country. She had assumed the turnpike from London to Winchester would be in good condition. What had Mr Darcy once said to Elizabeth?
‘And what is fifty miles of good road? Little more than half a day’s journey.’
Winchester was only 16 miles away, but the road could hardly be considered good. Instead, it felt as though the wheels found every bump and dip, and it was hard enough to keep her own seat every time the path curved, but Aiden was clearly suffering from it, if his colour was anything to go by. Christopher persuaded him to take from his brandy flask to help numb the pain from the disturbance, as they all tried to maintain a conversation, but with all they were thinking of, they lapsed frequently into silence.
Staring out of the window, Rose kept looking at her wrist for the watch she wasn’t wearing, wishing the miles would pass as fast they did when she used to drive almost the very same route.
By the time they reached the city’s outskirts, Aiden had succumbed to his exhaustion and fallen asleep.
The afternoon was fading rapidly as the carriage slowed and drew to a halt in the Cathedral Close, and Christopher pulled out his fob watch. ‘We have made good time. The service will be starting, but that will aid in our entrance being less remarked.’
Charles had already dismounted and was opening the door as the driver let down the steps. He held out a hand to first Jane, then Rose, and once they had joined him on the pavement, he assisted Christopher in easing a drowsy Aiden from the carriage.
Once they were all together, Charles led the way round to the front entrance of the imposing building, and Rose couldn’t help but stare around as she gripped the basket firmly, trying to note everything that was different to how it was in the future. A stable block and coach house stood where the modern gift shop and tea room now existed, and there were sheep grazing through the graveyard, but beyond this the only blatant difference, besides the smell of horse dung, and the way people were dressed, was the absence of cars parked around the perimeter. She glanced at Aiden. Would this rouse his interest, distract him at all from the pain he was in?
To her relief, it seemed to be doing the trick. Though accepting help as they took the few steps down to approach the door, his gaze roamed from side to side, his interest clearly quickened.
As they reached the closed door, however, the sound of singing drifting out into the early evening air, Charles drew them all to a halt, and turned to Aiden with a smirk, eyeing the bruises on his face.
‘Do your best to try to look unwell, sir.’
Aiden rolled his eyes at Charles, who winked.
‘Precisely. Come.’ He led the way into the cathedral, stopping to speak to a verger near the door. ‘We are here to pray for the soul of this poor gentleman.’ He gestured towards Aiden, who was using Christopher as a support with little need for fabrication.
‘Of course. Do please find yourselves a seat. The service has only just commenced.’
They filed into a row at the back of the cathedral, and Rose, who was separated from Aiden by her father, leaned around the latter.
‘Aiden, can you point us in the right direction for where these archives are?’
He drew in a shallow breath, then nodded. ‘Down the south aisle, to the left before the south transept.’ He raised his good arm and pointed ahead. ‘I will show you as soon as we can grab a moment. You will need to go down the steps, through the door on the right, and the cupboard is built into the far wall.’
They all waited. The sermon seemed to last an eternity to Rose, but as soon as the first note for the next hymn reached them, they edged away from the main aisle and walked as quietly as possible down the south aisle until Aiden drew them to a halt.
He turned to face them. ‘Just up there, the small black door inset into the stone pillar on the left. But there seems to be someone on duty.’
Rose looked around him. Sure enough, there was a custodian of some sort, dressed in ceremonial uniform, standing outside a door in the wall opposite exactly where they wanted to go.
‘Why would he be there?’
Charles shrugged. ‘Perchance it is where the cathedral keeps its treasures?’
‘What can we do?’ hissed Jane. ‘We cannot have come all this way to be put off by such a hindrance.’
No one said anything for a moment, but as the hymn drew to a close and there was a general rustle as the congregation retook their seats, Charles touched Rose’s arm.
‘You must faint, Miss Wallace.’
Rose stared at Charles. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Swoon.’
‘I know what it means! But why?’
‘We need a distraction, do we not?’ He inclined his head slightly towards the custodian who still stood, arms folded firmly across his chest, opposite the door they needed access to.
Rose could sense panic rising. She was no actress. ‘Can you not do it?’
Charles shook his head. ‘I am a man of the cloth. Such artifice is beyond me, and certainly in a house of God.’
Jane tutted impatiently. ‘You are a man of the sea, Charles, and well versed in artifice.’ She turned to Rose. ‘But I fear he has the right of it. Yet I would also have you with me.’ She held Rose’s gaze steadily. ‘We have been in such a situation before, have we not?’
Rose nodded, and looked to her father. How was she to do this? Oh, Morgan, how I need you! You would have carried off distraction like an expert.
‘Captain Austen is right, my dear.’ Christopher spoke quietly, then walked to stand behind her. ‘Do not fear,’ he whispered. ‘I will catch you. But we must draw the custodian away. Then, you must go with Miss Austen.’
‘But how will you…’
Christopher put a finger to his lips. ‘All will be well; you will see.’
Jane looked from Rose to her brother, then edged away from them, ostensibly studying her service sheet as she walked towards the small door to the archives. Aiden had eased himself down to sit on a nearby plinth. His face was still pale and drawn, but his eyes were alert and, to Rose’s further embarrassment, fixed on her.
‘Now,’ Charles hissed.
Feeling totally ridiculous, Rose put a hand to her head, closed her eyes and trusted to her father being there as she let herself fall backwards. Once securely supported by him, however, she was finding it difficult to keep a straight face, despite the seriousness of their situation. She kept her eyes tightly shut, chewing on the inside of her cheek to stop her lips curving. It didn’t help that she was certain Aiden had just turned a short laugh into a cough!
‘You there!’
Rose held her breath at her father’s call, relieved to hear the rapid patter of footsteps on the flagstones.
‘Please aid us with this young lady. She has been taken unwell.’
Rose truly had never been as mortified as this. The time she had spontaneously applauded Aiden during a take for Time Travellers in Bath, that day in junior school, when she’d slapped a boy for trying to kiss her, and every other embarrassing experience of her life paled in comparison to this.
She was aware her father still supported her as he pleaded with the custodian to find some assistance, but Charles’ protestations of worry were so over the top, Rose could feel the urge to laugh rising, and was tempted to reanimate simply to shut him up.
Opening one eye as she was carried a little untidily to a nearby bench, Rose was just in time to see Jane move towards the door. How was she to join her now?
A querulous voice spoke. ‘Oh dear, oh dear. What are we to do? The young lady is quite senseless.’
‘Fetch someone, man! There must be a verger or a steward with some wits about them!’ Christopher’s voice held authority, and the custodian must have agreed.
‘Yes, sir. Directl
y. I will fetch someone to attend her.’ Heavy footsteps receded, and Rose felt her father squeeze her arm.
‘Go to Jane. Be quick, now.’
Rose opened her eyes and sat up. The portly custodian was hurrying away from them down the aisle, and she swung her feet onto the floor.
‘What if he returns and I’m not here?’
Christopher shrugged. ‘Then we shall be in need of a further distraction.’
Charles, however, turned to Aiden. ‘It is as I cautioned, sir. You must try even harder to look unwell.’
Aiden merely grunted at this, and Rose hurried over to Jane just as she slipped through the now open doorway.
The heavy wooden door closed behind them, and Rose looked around, trying to adjust to the low light from the solitary wall lamp. They were stood at the top of a small, spiralling flight of stone steps. Compared to the crowded majesty in the cathedral, the space felt shockingly small.
‘What did Mr Trevellyan say?’ Jane spoke over her shoulder.
‘Down the steps, take the door on the right.’
Rose followed Jane and they soon came to an even smaller wooden door built into a stone architrave. It was locked, but the key was in the lock, and Jane used both hands to turn it before they stepped inside.
There were no lights, so Rose looked around, then dragged a stack of heavy-looking crates over to prop the door open so a little light filtered in from the staircase. The room was small and contained all sorts of objects: small damaged stone statues, some folding wooden benches, stacks of prayer and hymn books on the shelves lining one wall and there, set into the far corner, just as Aiden had said, was a wooden cupboard. Clearly, the space was not used as the archives for valuables in 1813.
The pathway through the clutter wasn’t easy to navigate, especially in the poor light, but they edged forward, Rose ever conscious they might be discovered at any moment, her ears straining for the slightest sound out on the staircase.
‘This must be it.’ Rose’s voice came out in a faint whisper, and she heard Jane tut.
‘Why are you whispering?’
‘It just felt appropriate in here.’ Rose spoke a little more firmly.
