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 lighter 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.
How 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.
Still, these drafts hinted clearly. The earl insisted on drawing up papers to provide for the anticipated arrival of an illegitimate child. Fortunately, these drafts were vague and made no clear reference to her in specific, but of course the actual legal documents would have needed to be clearer. Thankfully nothing she saw here would sufficiently implicate her. The final documents certainly would, though.
"And these are the only references you have regarding the documents?" she asked.
"Well, there is this," he said, pushing another paper toward her. "It isn't specific, but I believe it might reference the old earl's intent."
She took up the paper and held it into the light. It appeared to be a letter, written in a hand she did not know and directed simply to "G". She assumed that meant Glenwick and referred to the old earl. The letter felt hasty in tone, as if written in great urgency, but the date at the top was smudged, blotted beyond legibility. She read through it carefully.
Your last correspondence was received and your concerns for N are well
noted. I am looking into the matter post haste. In the meantime, take what measures you deem best. Even good men can fall prey to the promise of treasure. I will visit you at the earliest possible moment and look forward to discussing everything. I fear I have some unpleasant evidences to support your suspicions, but of course those are best left out of this letter. Until I am with you, —X
"Who is this X?" she asked.
"I haven't a clue," Mr. Perkins replied. "Did the old earl ever mention anyone with that name?"
"It's hardly a name, but no, I can think of no one who went by that. Perhaps it is merely a mark, the sender was illiterate and had someone else write the letter for him?"
"Perhaps," Mr. Perkins shrugged. "But the feel of it is rather intimate, don't you think? I doubt the old earl had many illiterate friends."
"True. And the mention of 'N' would seem to indicate a familiarity with Nigel Webberly."
"Exactly."
"But what is this treasure it mentions?"
"Er... I believe that is a gentleman's way of referencing something sensitive, miss."
Her face burned and she quickly changed the subject. "Oh. I see. But when was it written? The date is smudged out."
"Yes, that is unfortunate. I found it amongst these other papers from that time period, though, which is what first alerted me to it."
"The handwriting is different from the other drafts, though. Very bold, decisive—not tidy and reserved like the others."
"I think it rather a mess, myself.": "Well, clearly it was not written by a secretary or clerk the way those drafts seem to be. This author wrote hastily and with passion. His concern for the earl seems to be personal rather than merely for business."
"Then who do you think could have written it? A good friend of the earl's from that time?"
"I don't know. Heavens, I certainly hope this doesn't indicate that the earl shared his suspicions with others back then!"
"Obviously he did. Perhaps if this 'X' were a confidant of the earl he might know where the document is."
"But how can we find him? Perhaps the solicitor from that time would have a record of who was given a copy of the documents then."
"The old earl's solicitor at that time has since died from old age, and his office was ruined by fire some years ago. Still, we know the earl would have kept copies here of everything legal."
"Yes, I can see that he certainly kept everything," she replied, glancing around at the mess.
"You see my dilemma, Miss Farrow."
"I do not envy your task, sir, but I am relieved on one point for my own account,” she had to admit. “No one has mentioned me by name in any of these drafts.”
“No, it appears the old earl was careful.”
“But how, then, did you determine he was referring to me?”
Mr. Perkins appeared uncomfortable, his face wrinkling into a worried frown. “Forgive me, Miss Farrow, but it was from all the things the new earl has said about you."
"Nigel... that is, the new earl has spoken of me?"
"Indeed. You have been in correspondence with him these recent months, have you not?"
"My father and I sent word of our condolences when his wife passed away. We have corresponded a bit since."
"Well, your concern has meant much to him, let me assure you. After his grandfather's death I have corresponded with him on matters of business. He was most eager to ask after his friends in the village—you, in particular, Miss Farrow. It was the way he mentioned you and spoke of his great regard for you that made me begin to think perhaps you were the woman referenced in these letters. When I spoke to him about it—": "Good heavens! You spoke to him about it?"
"I was discreet, of course. I merely questioned whether you and he had been friends once, and he replied that you had. I knew the time frame fit these drafts perfectly, so I puzzled it out and now you have confirmed."
"I've confirmed only that the old earl was mistaken, sir."
"Of course. Perhaps these missing documents contain some other young lady's name, some other gently bred miss from Richington who had been courted by Nigel Webberly seven years ago."
Even Meg had to admit that the chances of that were basically nil. During his last summer in residence at the Downs, Nigel had shown no special attentions to anyone besides her. If the earl at the time drew up documents in anticipation of a child, he would have suspected no one but her. Her name would appear on those papers and no one would believe there were no grounds whatsoever for his concern.
“No, you are right, Mr. Perkins. There can be no other conclusion than the one you have drawn. I fear we simply must find those documents.”
"And that is where I am at a loss. Can you think of any place they might be?"
"I should think they'd be here, in this chaos somewhere."
"I've been through everything, Miss Farrow, to no avail. Are you certain the earl never confided in you, suggested where something of great value might be?"
"No, truly he didn't. Why would you expect that he might?"
"You were his friend. I thought perhaps on his death bed he would want to spare you the scandal of those papers being found. He might have indicated where he wanted you to look for them."
"No, I'm sorry. On his death bed he was mostly worried for the care of Bartholomew. I don't believe these documents crossed his mind, although..."
"Although?"
"The last few days of his life his mind was quite jumbled, I'm afraid. He'd been so healthy all along and then... well, he seemed to fade away suddenly."
"Death comes to every man in its own way."
"Papa and I visited frequently, there at the end, and I'm sorry to say the earl did speak wildly."
"And what did he say? Can you recall?"
"He mourned his sons who he lost, and he... well, he spoke of his grandson."
"Nigel Webberly, his heir."
"No, the elder one. Web, he called him. He was quite confused. It seemed as if he'd forgotten the poor man was dead."
"But he is dead."
"Yes, I remember when word came to the earl two years ago. He seemed almost inconsolable for some time. The poor man... so much tragedy. No wonder he was not quite himself at the end."
"Yes, no wonder. But did he say anything else? Anything about where he would hide something?"
"No, nothing like that. He grieved for his family and he worried for Bartholomew."
"You are certain?"
"Believe me, Mr. Perkins, no one is more eager to find these documents than I am. If I had any inkling of some secret place the earl hid them, I would tell you."
Mr. Perkins studied her, then nodded his head. "I believe you, Miss Farrow."
"But what of any other staff? What of the servants? Surely they must know who the earl corresponds with. After all, they would post the letters for him.”
“The old steward who worked for the earl at the time is an invalid who can barely remember his name, and the servants claim to know nothing. Indeed, they seem to be the most ill-informed servants of any estate in England.”
Odd, she’d thought the earl’s servants seemed to be quite devoted to their master and to tending his needs. Of course it was to their credit, though, that they did not poke their noses into his personal life or his legal matters. She simply had to admit there was nothing more she could do.
“Thank you for having me here, Mr. Perkins. Short of spending hours digging though all this muddle, I'm afraid I am worthless to our cause."
"No, I appreciate your help, Miss Farrow. I'm sure if you had any idea where else to look you would tell me."
"Of course. And I appreciate your efforts to solve my dilemma. Do you mind if I look over these drafts one more time?”
"By all means, Miss Farrow. If you'll excuse me for just a moment, I need to tend something. I'll return shortly."
She excused him and turned back to the papers. None of them were in the earl's hand, as far as she could tell, but all of them were dated seven years ago, the
very month that Nigel left Richington to marry his heiress. It was obvious what the earl had thought of Meg and she was distraught at the realization.
Had she really been such a cake? Had she really dangled after Nigel in so obvious a manner? If it had been easy for the old earl to think such things of her, who else in town had felt the same? How mortifying to realize it now, all these years later. She must have been quite the topic of gossip.
And what would happen now with Nigel's return? People, of course, would be watching. Would they expect her to throw herself at him, as they apparently assumed she had then? Well, that would not happen.
She was an adult now. She was beyond girlish whims. She would be immune to whatever charms Nigel still had. She could not even remember what they were now.
Had his eyes been blue like the sky? She'd seen much bluer eyes than his, certainly. And his smile, did it dazzle every time she came into the room? No, she'd seen far more dazzling smiles since then. Had his shoulders been sturdy and broad, boasting power and confidence with every breath that he took? She could not even remember Nigel's shoulders at all. Certainly they'd been nothing like..
Oh, good heavens. She'd been comparing her memories of Nigel to Mr. Shirley! Well, that would never do. True, she was no longer infatuated with Nigel Webberly, but at least he was a gentleman. Mr. Shirley was nothing more than a parrot trainer! And not a very good one at that.
He merely had beautiful blue eyes, a dazzling smile, and shoulders that made her go weak in the knees. Oh, but those were strong characteristics, indeed. She needed to get herself firmly under control where that man was concerned or risk being the topic of village gossip again.
She turned her focus onto searching the office—for anything of interest to distract her—and vowed to ignore Mr. Shirley even harder than ever when she got home. Apparently not all of her was as mature and beyond the touch of girlish infatuation as she'd hoped, after all. But certainly she did not have to give in to it!
Miss Farrow's Feathers Page 7
