A Duke Too Far

by Jane Ashford

  “When did she see it?” asked Miss Deeping. “We didn’t!”

  “Delia’s tower?” asked Miss Moran at the same instant.

  Peter had to nod, which earned him reproachful looks from the young ladies and a frown from Miss Grandison. The latter clearly had questions that he did not care to answer. “I’ll go look,” he said. He wanted to run.

  Everyone rose, obviously intending to accompany him.

  “It’s at the top of a steep spiral staircase,” Peter added.

  Miss Grandison hesitated, then sat down again. “In that case, I shall leave this to you young people. Macklin can bear me company.”

  The earl, who had been moving toward the doorway, hesitated. Miss Grandison’s imperious stare brought him back to his chair. Peter felt a fleeting pity for him as he led the three young ladies away.

  “This is not acceptable,” said Miss Grandison.

  “Perhaps a misunderstanding,” replied Arthur.

  “I’m not oblivious,” she said irritably. “I know something has happened. Charlotte Deeping is sulking like a child deprived of hoarded sweets. And Ada has been increasingly furtive. My dresser says they’ve found some sort of hidden room, though she knows no more than that. Very exciting for the young people, I’ve no doubt.”

  Arthur endured her piercing gaze as he decided what he wished to say.

  “I hope you don’t think of interfering.”

  “I?” He was startled by her sharp tone.

  “I’ve heard you’ve taken to matchmaking. The Phillipsons make quite an amusing tale of your efforts on behalf of your nephew Furness.”

  Macklin played for time. “I didn’t realize you were acquainted with the Phillipsons.”

  “Isn’t everyone?”

  It was true. His nephew’s former in-laws were a fixture of the haut ton. Entertaining was their obsession. One met everyone in their opulent town house, a beehive of hospitality and gossip. Of course they’d talked about him. It was inevitable, much as he wished it otherwise. He should have expected it. Arthur wondered what sort of amused questions he would face next season.

  “Rather an odd pursuit for a man of your disposition and stature,” she added. “Not to mention an age that ought to know better.”

  “‘Matchmaking’ is not the right word.”

  “What is?”

  Arthur searched for a phrase. “‘Compassion’ perhaps. A desire to use my experience to help others.”

  Miss Grandison shrugged. “It seems to have come down to matchmaking.”

  “I never set out—”

  “Young Compton may be a fine young man,” she interrupted. “Indeed, I like him. But he’s clearly on the edge of ruin and not the husband for any girl in my care. I realize I was indiscreet about Miss Finch’s prospects. I trust you will not take advantage of that.”

  Arthur stiffened. Had he been doing that? “You don’t suggest—”

  “That you would put the interests of your friend over that of a young lady you just met? Of course I do. It’s a common enough impulse. I won’t have it, however.” She shook her head. “This visit was a mistake. Far more complicated than I anticipated. We will bring it to an end.”

  He couldn’t entirely blame her, Arthur thought. In her place, he might have done the same. He didn’t think Miss Harriet Finch was in any danger, however. Even worse, from Miss Grandison’s perspective, her niece was exhibiting signs of losing her heart. That formidable lady didn’t seem to have seen it yet. When she did, there would be scolds of epic proportions. No doubt he would come in for some of them, deserved or not.

  Arthur wished there was something he could do to ease the situation, but he didn’t see what. Should he mention the possibility of a hidden fortune and the rehabilitation of Compton’s prospects? But he knew what Julia Grandison would think of that tale. He didn’t require an outpouring of scorn at the moment.

  “A mistake,” repeated his companion. “I hoped the journey might do Ada good, but she seems unchanged. And now she’s wandered off in this wreck of a house.” She folded her hands tightly on the tablecloth. “One can’t help thinking of Lady Delia’s sad end. If an accident has befallen Ada, I shan’t forgive myself.”

  “I’m sure she’s all right.”

  “Are you? Why?”

  Of course he had no answer.

  * * *

  Peter led his small party up the twisting stair, candlesticks held high.

  “This is marvelous,” said Miss Moran. “So atmospheric.”

  “Are you mad?” replied Miss Finch. “Who would live at the top of stairs like this? You might break an ankle at any moment. Or your neck.”

  Silence fell over them as the reality of Delia’s death intruded once more. It was ironic that she should have fallen when she bounded up and down these steps every day.

  The sound of barking drifted down from above. “That’s Ella,” Miss Deeping said unnecessarily.

  “Ada?” called Miss Moran.

  Peter reached the upper landing. He pushed the bedchamber door open, and the young ladies crowded in on his heels. Their candles threw jumping shadows over the walls. Miss Ada’s dog circled them, barking frantically.

  Her mistress stood in the center of the room, her hair coming down around her ears, her eyes wide and dark. She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

  The young ladies rushed over and enveloped her.

  “Your hands are like ice!” said Miss Moran, chafing them.

  “What are you doing up here in the dark?” asked Miss Deeping, holding her candle higher.

  Miss Finch put an arm around her friend and held on.

  “I fell asleep,” said Miss Ada in an unsteady voice. “I dreamed about Delia.” She shivered. “And then I couldn’t find the lamp.”

  The oil lamp sat on the back corner of the desk, where it had been the last time Peter saw it. The candlestick was on the mantel.

  Miss Moran and Miss Deeping gazed about the room as if eager to take in all the details while they could.

  “We need to get Ada downstairs,” said Miss Finch. She frowned at Peter as if he’d done something wrong.

  “Indeed,” he said. “You walk in front of her to light the way, Miss Finch. Miss Deeping and Miss Moran, you go next. I will bring up the rear.” Where had he put the key to this room? Somewhere in his bedchamber, Peter thought. He would add it to his father’s ring and return to lock this room. And then he would tell them he’d done it.

  They moved out to the landing. “Can you walk down, Ada?” asked Miss Finch. “Who would build such a stair with no handrail?” She looked at Peter again.

  “Not I,” he replied. “And if you will recall, I said at the beginning of your visit that everyone should take care. That would include not wandering about the house alone.”

  This brought Miss Ada’s chin up and a flame into her eyes.

  Peter set his jaw. He hadn’t meant to refer to her night walks specifically. Or to offend her, again.

  “Of course I can walk down a staircase,” she said. “I was only asleep.”

  “You looked haunted when we came in,” said Miss Moran, with both concern and relish in her tone.

  “No, I didn’t.” But she avoided their eyes. “Give Ella to me.”

  The little dog stood in the doorway, looking down the spiral stair without enthusiasm.

  “You need both hands free,” said Miss Finch. “Ella can walk down.”

  “She can’t. She’s afraid.” The waver in her voice suggested that she might share her pet’s apprehension.

  “I’ll take her,” said Peter. He picked up the little dog, settled her against his chest, and buttoned his coat over her. “Shall we go?” He held up his candle.

  They started down, each keeping a steadying hand on the outer wall of the stair. Once again, Peter wondered why his sis
ter had chosen to live up here. There was plenty of room to be private in the house without this climb. But none of those spots had such an air of antique romance, he thought. Delia would have sacrificed all manner of comforts for that.

  “I suppose my aunt is angry with me,” said Miss Ada as they neared the bottom.

  No one denied it. “We’ll bring dinner to your room on a tray,” said Miss Finch.

  “As we used to do at school when one of us was ill,” said Miss Moran.

  “I’m not—” She paused, and then merely kept moving down the steps.

  They reached the ground floor. Peter set the dog down. Ella ran to her mistress and pawed at her skirts.

  “I’m sorry,” added Miss Ada. “I suppose I am…tired.”

  Her friends bustled her away as if she’d made some damaging admission. The dog trotted after them, leaving Peter on his own. Apparently, he was expected to explain the results of their quest to the formidable Miss Grandison, which seemed unfair. He hadn’t climbed into Delia’s tower and fallen asleep and woken up haunted.

  Miss Moran had chosen the right word, he thought. Miss Ada had looked haunted when they found her. And if Delia’s spirit lingered anywhere… But he didn’t believe in that sort of thing. His sister was gone, and the old parts of the house were simply empty. They might creak and echo, but there was nothing here.

  Peter walked toward the door that led to the modern wing. Behind him the ranks of vacant rooms seemed to stretch out into vast distances. He didn’t come here in the dark. Of course he didn’t. Who would? There were broken tiles to trip one up and sudden, unidentifiable scuffling sounds. Which would be the cats doing their job, he told himself. And good for them.

  Eleven

  The young ladies gathered in Ada’s bedchamber before they retired that night. The other three had returned to the dinner table and played their parts in the drawing room. But they’d come back to Ada as soon as they were free. “I’m perfectly well,” Ada told them. She’d gotten warm before the fire and eaten. The feeling of the dream had faded, though not the details. “You’re making a fuss over nothing.”

  “The way you looked when we found you in the tower wasn’t nothing,” said Harriet. She looked at Charlotte, then at Sarah. It seemed to Ada that they all reached some sort of silent agreement. “You haven’t been the same since Delia died,” added Harriet then.

  “You don’t take proper care of yourself,” said Sarah.

  “You brood,” said Charlotte.

  “And there are the dreams,” said Harriet.

  “Your mother is very worried about those,” said Sarah. “Just before we left to come here, she asked us to help.”

  “How did she—” But Ada didn’t finish the question. She knew she’d cried out in the night at times. Of course her mother had noticed.

  Harriet nodded as if following her thoughts. “And of course we said we would. But this visit doesn’t seem to have helped you at all. I’m afraid it’s made things worse.”

  “You looked positively wild when we found you tonight,” said Charlotte. “This can’t go on, Ada.”

  “Have you all been conspiring against me?” Ada gazed at her friends. Through their long friendship they’d never taken her to task in this way.

  “Just the opposite,” cried Sarah. “We’re on your side. That’s why we worry when you go off to Delia’s room and don’t even tell us.”

  “Twice,” said Charlotte. “Apparently.”

  If they found out about the sleepwalking, they’d be even more worried, Ada thought. She couldn’t tell them. The days when they knew every detail of each other’s lives were indeed coming to an end. But it was all right. She’d stopped walking in the night.

  “What did you dream about Delia?” asked Sarah. “You said you dreamed about her up there.”

  “Was it the same one you often have?” wondered Charlotte.

  Their worried gazes unsettled Ada. But this she could share. “It started the same,” she answered. “I was walking along the path, and I found her lying there.” She did not say dead. They knew. Ada was so tired of reliving that dreadful discovery.

  “And then?” prompted Charlotte.

  “I was kneeling beside her on the ground. And Delia sat up and looked at me.”

  Sarah gasped. Harriet shivered.

  “Her eyes were all black,” Ada continued. The words came faster. “She tried to speak to me. Her lips moved. But she couldn’t seem to make any sounds. Or I couldn’t hear any at least. And then she clutched at my skirts. I was frightened. I pulled away. Then I woke up.”

  “How utterly gruesome,” said Harriet.

  “Frightful,” agreed Charlotte. In an uncharacteristic gesture of sympathy she squeezed Ada’s hand.

  “Delia wants us to discover her secret,” said Sarah.

  “She doesn’t want anything,” replied Harriet. “She’s gone.”

  “Yes, but…” Sarah shifted in her chair. “She would want it. Just think how glad she’d be—would have been if we could solve her mystery.”

  “I know it’s not Delia,” said Ada quietly. Her friends gazed at her. “Delia is dead. I don’t think my dream was a message from the…beyond. It just showed what I believe—that Delia would have liked the truth to come out. As much as I would. As all of us would.”

  “Well, we’re not going to.” Charlotte’s tone was flat, as it tended to be when she was agitated. “Your aunt says we’re going home. She means to arrange for the post chaises tomorrow.”

  Ada jumped to her feet. “We can’t go yet!”

  “Then you’ll have to talk her out of it,” replied Charlotte.

  “Has anyone ever changed Miss Grandison’s mind about anything?” asked Harriet.

  “You don’t understand,” said Ada.

  “Oh really?” Harriet gave her a sardonic look.

  “There’s something else.”

  “Delia’s brother,” her friends supplied in a singsong chorus.

  Ada stared at them.

  “It’s become rather obvious,” said Charlotte.

  “It has?” Ada wondered if this was her aunt’s real reason for going.

  “To us,” said Sarah.

  “And possibly Macklin,” Charlotte said. “I’ve caught the shrewdest look in his eyes now and then.”

  “Tom too,” said Sarah.

  “Tom!” repeated Ada. She felt keenly exposed. “So nearly everyone thinks—”

  “That your liking for the duke has become something more than that,” said Harriet. “And, oh, Ada, I fear you will be very sorry for it.”

  “I kissed him,” she said. It was a relief to tell her best friends. “Several times,” she added. “I think I love him.”

  Sarah clasped her hands to her chest, whether in shock or admiration Ada wasn’t sure. Charlotte shook her head as if she’d feared as much. Harriet sighed. “Oh, Ada,” she repeated.

  “I don’t see why that is so bad,” Ada said.

  “Because he has nothing,” Harriet answered. “Hardly a sou. And he should not be luring you off alone and kissing you. That was very wrong of—”

  “He didn’t!” declared Ada. “I told you, I kissed him.” She could see her friends trying to calculate just when this might have occurred. “I don’t care about the money,” she added as a diversion.

  “That is because you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Ada had never heard Harriet speak so harshly. The others looked surprised as well.

  “I know what it’s like to have no money,” Harriet continued, her voice gone flat. “Not just a paltry allowance, but none at all. Before my grandfather changed his mind about his will, we were barely scraping by. I had to tutor younger students at school to make up the fees.”

  “I thought you liked doing that,” said Charlotte, looking shocked.

/>   “I did. It was satisfying work. But I didn’t like having to do it. Or the way the headmistress twitted me about our poverty in private.”

  “Harriet! You never said.” Ada was remorseful.

  “We should have noticed,” began Sarah.

  “No, you shouldn’t,” snapped Harriet. “I took good care that you didn’t. Being poor is bad enough without having to be pitied for it. It brings a kind of shame, even though you know it’s not your fault. I was grateful that no one knew.”

  “Compton said something like that,” Ada murmured.

  “Did he?” For the first time in this conversation, Harriet looked sympathetic toward their host.

  “And I understand that having no money is very hard. But I love him.”

  Silence fell over the chamber, broken only by the crackling of the fire and Ella’s soft snores from the hearthrug. Ada scanned her friends’ face. Harriet looked both sad and impatient. Charlotte was frowning.

  “He does seem like an admirable young man, apart from the money,” said Sarah finally.

  There were nods of agreement. Ada’s spirits soared. It would have been unbearable if her friends disliked him.

  Charlotte huffed out a sigh. “Well, we’re just going to have to find this hidden treasure,” she said. “And…endow you with it.”

  Now that someone else was saying it aloud, this seemed rather unlikely to Ada. She wasn’t living in a fairy tale, after all.

  “Like a wedding present,” said Sarah.

  Harriet merely looked dubious.

  “But you said Aunt is taking us away,” Ada pointed out. “We won’t have time to search.”

  “We’ll have to stop her,” replied Charlotte.

  Everyone looked daunted at that idea.

  “Compton told her it would take two days to arrange post chaises in Wrexham,” said Harriet. “There aren’t nearly as many for hire out here.”

  “Two days isn’t long enough,” answered Sarah. “We’ve scarcely begun going through all those papers.”

  An idea came to Ada. “I could tell Aunt Julia that I’m not well, after being trapped in Delia’s room with no fire. That I took a chill perhaps.”

  Her friends considered this.