by Jane Ashford
“Full of bones and broken crockery,” said Miss Deeping.
“Ah.” Peter gazed around the room. The press of words and images was overwhelming. “If all this effort came to nothing, I really don’t see how we can expect to do better.” He didn’t want to be the discouraging voice in the group, but one couldn’t ignore the truth. “I still fear there’s nothing to find.”
“There are records of purchases,” replied Miss Moran, tapping a list with one finger. “Bills for plate and jewelry and expensive ornaments.”
“And no record of their being got rid of,” said Miss Deeping.
“No pawnshop receipts?” asked Peter. “Perhaps they were given as security to moneylenders.”
“Which would have been noted. As would bills of sale.”
“That sounds more organized than my family ever has been.”
“Yet they kept the purchase receipts,” Miss Deeping pointed out.
“True. But perhaps they were ashamed of the sales. Or they lost the things at cards.”
“Do you want them to be gone?” asked Miss Ada. “It’s almost as if you don’t wish to repair your family fortune.”
“Of course I do!” He could see the longing in her eyes and knew his own mirrored it. The gaze was as tender as an embrace and, on her side, utterly determined. If he had the means, he would offer for her in an instant. Of course he would. And she would accept. She’d practically said as much. He could see that she trusted that this would happen. She was resolved upon it.
Her belief was so compelling that Peter let go and allowed himself to believe in a cache of hidden valuables. Enough to repair the decay of his acres and bring home a wife. What would it feel like to stop worrying? A state he’d scarcely experienced since he was six years old.
The rush of hope was intoxicating. He felt himself come alive at idea of taking the risk, making a leap of faith. He hadn’t dared in such a long time. But with Ada at his side, perhaps he could?
A familiar tide of doubt threatened. He had more to lose now. His newfound love as well as his tattered heritage. The pain would be redoubled if this all came to nothing. He nearly turned away. But no. He was going to hope. She gave him hope.
Peter became aware of a whole battery of glances. They were all staring at him, even Tom. Feeling like an actor who has forgotten his lines onstage, he bent over the translation. “So perhaps each of us should say what we think this message means. And then offer an idea of what to do next.”
“What always remains,” said Miss Ada, who also looked self-conscious.
“The house might not,” replied Miss Moran. “It could be altered or burn down.”
“And we have mentioned the problem with the gardens,” said Miss Finch.
“What about that tower up top?” asked Tom. “It’s been there for a good long time, eh?”
“A thought,” said Miss Deeping. “When did it fall down?”
They all turned to Peter. “I’m not sure precisely, but it was well before the civil war,” he said. “The ruin is shown in a portrait of the third duke. So it was already down at the time we’re speaking of.”
“I suppose they might have grubbed through the stones for a hiding place,” said Miss Ada doubtfully.
“The thing is, the builders were all over the ruin when they put up Delia’s aerie,” answered Peter. “They took out piles of stone to use in the construction, and they didn’t come across anything then.”
“That you know of,” said Miss Finch.
Peter shook his head. “My father told me stories about that project. The fifth duchess hovered over it like a hen with one chick. The workers had no opportunity to haul out a treasure.”
“You have an objection to everything,” said Miss Deeping.
“They aren’t objections,” he protested. “I’m simply supplying facts.”
“Discouraging facts.”
“That will keep us from haring off in the wrong direction.”
“Well,” said Miss Moran, with the air of one stepping between combatants. “We must keep thinking. What’s forgotten?”
They all looked at him again. “If I knew, it wouldn’t be forgotten, would it?” responded Peter. He heard the sharpness in his tone. Miss Deeping had a unique ability to annoy him. “I beg your pardon.”
“How can we look for forgotten things?” asked Miss Ada. She gazed around the room. “It scarcely looks as if they forgot anything.”
“If only Delia had been clearer,” said Peter. He flicked the translated page with one finger.
“She didn’t know she was going to be…gone. She thought she’d come back and unveil the treasure.”
“Just like the old duchess who hid it,” said Miss Moran.
“If there is a Rathbone curse, it must be a penchant for keeping secrets when you shouldn’t,” Peter declared.
“You must watch yourself then,” said Miss Ada. “Make certain to be honest and open.” She gave him a teasing smile.
Peter’s heart turned over. For a moment, her face was all he could see.
“So we’re looking for something that Delia remembered,” said Miss Moran. She sighed. “Which doesn’t really narrow it down. Her head was positively stuffed full of learning.”
“I just don’t see how a treasure could be lost all these years,” said Tom.
“You have to know something exists in order to look for it,” replied Miss Deeping. “I don’t think anyone did until Delia and her father assembled all this.” She indicated the walls of papers. “We will simply have to go back over everything. The maps and charts and documents. And find the little item we’ve missed.”
Peter nearly said that didn’t sound likely to succeed. But he managed to stop himself. And then had to smile at Miss Ada’s approving nod.
* * *
Arthur sat in the drawing room wishing he was part of the investigation into the mystery. But his presence put a damper on the young people’s efforts. That had been made clear. He could rack his brain for ideas and pass them along as they occurred. But he wasn’t welcome into their group. The exclusion seemed another sign of endings. His foray into the lives of the young men he’d met in London was nearly over.
“The girls’ families have written to inquire when they are coming home,” said Miss Julia Grandison, who sat across from him with a pile of correspondence. “October is passing.”
She wouldn’t be surprised by his situation, Arthur thought. It proved out her view that people of different degree couldn’t be friends. He still resisted that opinion.
“Macklin? Are you listening to me?”
“Of course.” He had been given, by default, the task of entertaining the older lady. He understood that.
“Next season should be interesting,” she said. “With Ada and her friends making their bow to society. You intend to be in London, I suppose?”
Arthur nodded. The London season was part of the round of his life. He’d be returning to that routine when he left Alberdene. The prospect felt a bit stale after so many years.
“I too,” she said.
“Really?” He didn’t recall seeing her at ton parties in the last few years.
“For Ada’s debut,” she said. “To see that my brother doesn’t botch it. And perhaps to pay him back, just a little, for his behavior at mine.”
“Indeed?” This sounded chancy.
“Would you care to lend a hand?” Her smile was thin and sharp.
Arthur mustered his considerable ability to be noncommittal. Miss Grandison wasn’t fooled, but neither did she extract any sort of promise from him.
Thirteen
Ada came down the stairs, ticking another set of shelves and chests off her list. She saw Sarah going into the drawing room. Harriet moved through the hallway above. The duke was at the medieval end of the house; he had reserved the ancient part f
or himself because of the hazards up there. Through a window, Ada noticed Charlotte and Tom in different parts of the grounds. Tom had climbed a tree. People were poking into every nook and cranny of Alberdene. Even her aunt and the earl had joined in now. A searcher was liable to pop up anywhere at this point. Ella trotted over to a shadowed corner and sniffed. “If only you could smell treasure,” Ada said. The little dog looked up at the sound of her voice, panting cordially.
Ada was proud of her friends and admired everyone’s energy, but she couldn’t help feeling that they were not making progress. Delia and her father had looked in all these places already, and they’d known the house far better. The chance of finding something they’d forgotten seemed slim. Why couldn’t Delia have been more specific?
Her aunt had told her about the letters from parents wondering when they would be home. Time was running out. What if they failed? What if they couldn’t solve Delia’s conundrum? The duke could continue the searches when they’d gone. But he might lose heart and give up.
She went on down the steps. She needed to talk to him. The impulse felt nearly as important as breathing. But she’d promised to behave with rigid propriety. Well, she would. She snapped on Ella’s lead and slipped through the door into the older part of Alberdene. She wasn’t searching for the duke. Exactly. She was doing her part in the group endeavor. If she happened to encounter him, she would have to be polite, of course. She couldn’t just turn and run. They could exchange a few unexceptional remarks. There would be no kissing. Not even one soft, melting… No. No kissing.
She walked through the empty rooms toward the oldest parts of the building. Ella stuck close to her side. Presumably this area smelled of cats, though not in a way that reached her nose.
At last, after a good deal of wandering, Ada heard a rattle of loose tile and a muffled curse. Following the sound, she discovered the duke in a dilapidated chamber, peering into an ancient cabinet. A fine film of dust covered his clothes and hair.
Ella uttered a sharp bark.
Compton started, bumped his head on a shelf, and practically growled as he turned around. “What are you doing up here?” he asked. “I told you the floors are unsafe.” He kicked at a bit of broken tile.
“Just looking into things,” said Ada.
“Things.” He kicked the side of the old cabinet as well, making no impression on the aged oak. “Alberdene has far too many things, all of them broken down and useless. You know that Delia and my father sifted through them for years and found nothing.”
“It we keep looking—”
“You have to go. Your aunt sent one of the new footmen into Wrexham to arrange for post chaises.”
“She did?” Aunt Julia hadn’t shared this detail with her.
Compton nodded.
“When? Not tomorrow?”
“Three days from now,” he replied. His shoulders were slumped.
Ada couldn’t bear to see him looking so beaten down. “You can keep looking.”
“I shall.” But his nod was unconvincing.
“And you could come up to London for part of the season.” Surely he could manage a short visit? So many people did that. “We could see each other again then.”
“To watch you being courted by all the town beaus? I don’t think I could stand that.”
“I would always pick you.”
“Not when you compare me to men with money and sophistication.”
“Nonsense. Of course I would. It’s just stupid that money should make so much difference.”
“Would you like never to have a new gown?” the duke asked. Noticing the dust on his coat, he brushed at it.
“I would make them from the silks and satins in those trunks, as Delia did. A good dressmaker could make sumptuous dresses from such cloth.”
“And you could wear them as you wonder how to afford good schools for your children,” he replied.
His tone was so dolorous that she didn’t even blush at the subject matter.
“Then, when you took them to visit your family, and they saw the things other children had, you could explain to them they that there was no money for such fripperies. And they must be satisfied without.”
She bit her lip. That wasn’t a pretty picture.
“Come, I will escort you back to the safer parts of the house.”
“We can’t just give up!”
“I am not giving up.” He looked fierce suddenly. “But I will not ask you to wager your life on such a slender chance.”
He walked out of the room. After a moment, she followed, blinking back tears. They’d had similar exchanges before, but this one felt like an ending. And she didn’t know how to make it stop.
They moved in silence through the old parts of the house. Ella growled softly at one point, but Ada didn’t pause to see what had set her off. Undoubtedly it was one of the cats.
At the entry to the modern wing, they came across Tom. “I was looking for you, my lord,” he said. “I’ve been climbing all the trees in the garden, and I found out one of the walls is actually two.”
“Oh, yes,” said Compton. “There’s a path between them.”
Tom’s face fell. “You knew already.”
“When the gardens were expanded in the early days of the estate, a duplicate wall was built for some reason. I always suspected it was a mason padding his bill.”
“A secret passage?” asked Ada hopefully.
“Not actually secret. Just unused. It goes along to the village. Very overgrown, I think. Did you look?” he asked Tom.
“I went over the wall and along the passage for a good bit.”
“I don’t believe there’s room to hide anything in there.”
“There warn’t much,” Tom acknowledged.
“And those walls are as likely as any others to be torn down,” the duke responded.
“Right.” Tom was obviously disappointed. “I’ll go on looking to the edge of the gardens,” he said and slipped away.
“Let’s look at Delia’s note again,” said Miss Ada.
“I’ve memorized it,” Peter replied.
“The translation,” she said. “We’ve just been looking at that. Perhaps there’s some sort of secret writing on the original.”
He thought she was grasping at straws, but it was an excuse to spend a bit more time with her before she was swept away from Alberdene. He followed her into the treasure room.
On the desk, she set Delia’s original note and the translation side by side and pored over the two. “A place that always remains.” She scowled at the words. “It’s such a useless way of putting it.”
He would have used a stronger word. He felt surrounded by meaningless strings of words, on the page, pinned all over the walls. “Unhelpful,” he replied.
“Remains just makes me think of death.” Miss Ada scowled.
Peter went very still.
“Of course Delia didn’t know she was going to—”
He held up a hand to silence her, his brain suddenly teeming. “Remains,” he said. The word did point to death, and the rituals that came after.
“Have you thought of something?”
Was it possible? Peter ran over the idea in his mind. If Tom hadn’t just reminded him of the old path, he might not have remembered.
She put a hand on his arm. “You have. Tell me at once!”
“I don’t want to say until I have—”
Ada leaned forward, took hold of the lapels of his coat, and shook him. “No! You will not be mysterious. Like Delia and your wretched ancestor. You will tell me exactly what you’re thinking right now.” She shook him lightly again.
“This is my only good coat.”
“Deuce take your coat! And good is not an accurate description.”
“Miss Grandison!” He could hardly endure the hope that had
begun coursing through him. If he was wrong… Well, they wouldn’t be any worse off, would they? “We will go and see,” he said.
“See what?”
“Whether I have remembered something important.”
“Remembered.” She looked down at Delia’s note. “What has been forgotten?”
“Certainly that.” He turned toward the door.
“I should fetch Charlotte and the others.”
Peter wavered. He might be wrong. He probably was. It would be humiliating to have that exposed before everyone. “I’d prefer not.”
“They’ve worked so hard,” said Ada.
“I would like to go and see first. If it turns out I’m right, we’ll return with everyone.” Could he be? Peter didn’t dare think further than the next step.
After a moment, she nodded. “If I go for warm clothes, the others will notice.”
“I can give you something of mine. I have a few preparations to make as well.”
They set out ten minutes later, Ada swathed in an old cloak that dragged on the ground at her heels. She glanced curiously at the lantern Compton carried. It was broad daylight.
They slipped back into the older part of the house and out a door into the gardens. “This way,” said the duke. He led her through the overgrown plantings, holding back encroaching bushes to help her through. The October sun flashed through ruddy leaves.
They crossed the grounds, moving toward the rear corner of the gardens, where Ada had never been. It was clear that no one walked here now. The shrubbery had taken over. In several spots they had to beat their way through. “Where are we going?” Ada asked after a while.
“To the remains,” he replied.
Here in the overgrown wilderness, the phrase sounded eerie. “What remains?”
He simply beckoned. Ada held up the folds of the cloak and followed.
They came to a row of tall evergreens against a high stone wall. Compton pushed thick branches aside to reveal a small iron door at the base. The panels were rusty but still sturdy. Vines twined over them. The door clearly hadn’t been used for years.
“This goes to that old path Tom discovered,” said the duke. “Nearly forgotten.”
