“But as the tree has grown, the branch will have moved upward, will it not?”
Grayson made a sound of exasperation, but he only shrugged.
“It will make no matter. Our coordinates will still be the same. We may simply have to look up higher than expected. It says we’re looking for a death’s head. How many of those can there be in a tree?”
She shivered again. “Hopefully not too many!”
He stood, reached for her hand, and drew her to stand beside him.
“I shall keep you safe.”
They were standing too close, and the library door was agape.
“When shall we go?” she asked, staring up at him, ready for anything, as long as they were together in this adventure. “Is it far?”
He didn’t answer. He was staring at her mouth.
“Grayson? Is it far?”
His gaze rose to hers.
“Is what far?”
“Don’t tease me,” she scolded.
“All right.” He winked at her, and something inside her did a strange twitch. “We have to go by foot as there is no road or even cart path wide enough. I hate to say it, but since my mother’s excursion took up the day and the light is waning, we ought to find a spyglass and the rest of the supplies today and start early tomorrow. Maybe we could pack a picnic to eat at the bishop’s hostel.”
“That’s a grand idea. And so we are prepared, how do you propose we shoot something from the skull’s left eye?”
He considered. “We could let gravity do its work and simply drop something straight down to mark the spot.”
“Very well. Then we need some twine or….” She paused and clapped her hands again. “Yarn. Lady Angsley knits and does needlework. She must have tons of spun wool.”
“No need to bother her,” he said. “I’ll get a rope or string. In fact, if you can arrange a picnic, I’ll get everything else.”
“How shall we transport it all?”
“Don’t you worry, Miss Eleanor. I shall amaze you with what I can scare up. By tomorrow, you shall be on the devil’s seat, searching for a death’s head.”
She had to contain a squeal of sheer delight.
It was a Gothic novel come to life, and even better with Grayson as her companion in mystery.
Their plans fell apart entirely just before dinner. When the Angsleys, along with Grayson and Eleanor, were gathered in the drawing room, a messenger came from Turvey House.
Lord Angsley read it, then looked up with a smile. “Good news. John is entirely recovered, and Lady Margaret is….”
When he hesitated, Gray felt Eleanor tense with worry even though she was seated across the drawing room from him.
“How is she?” Eleanor prompted.
Lord Angsley looked at her. “They had the physician there. With his determination and with how she has been since then, they have decided Lady Margaret is not ill at all but rather,” he paused again, looking around the room.
“What is it, dear?” Lady Angsley asked.
“I am not sure I should discuss it with you and the children and others of the weaker sex present.” He looked toward Eleanor.
“For pity’s sake,” his wife exclaimed, “we are all family, and as one of the ‘weaker sex,’ I can tell you, there isn’t much I cannot handle.”
“Very well, my love. The news is that Lady Margaret is with child.”
A universal gasp went up around the room. A weight lifted off Gray’s shoulders on behalf of his best friend. Cam would have gone mad if anything had been seriously wrong with his wife. Not to mention the terrible pain it would have caused Eleanor and the rest of the Blackwoods.
However, one thing didn’t make sense. “If Margaret was never ill, then why was Cam feverish and sick to his stomach, as well?”
Lord Angsley chuckled, and his wife joined in. Her ladyship answered.
“Sometimes, when a couple is very much in love,” she paused to exchange a glance with her husband, “the father-to-be shares symptoms with the mother-to-be. It is common.”
Eleanor shook her head in wonder, making a wry face at Gray. He grinned back at her. Then the ramifications hit him.
“Did they say anything else?”
“Only that they are looking forward to Eleanor’s visit now more than ever, and she should head there directly tomorrow after breakfast.”
He wanted to yell. All his plans were in tatters. Her face paled, in fact, as she stared at him. Undoubtedly, they were both thinking of their much-anticipated adventure, though perhaps for different reasons. She had no idea what he had waiting for her at the end of it.
On the bright side, he would be accompanying her home. Their association would continue unbroken, but he knew Eleanor’s mind. She would start to ask others about the Captain Kidd legend as it pertained to Bedfordshire. More than one person would happily tell her she was laboring under severe misinformation and that the pirate was never in this area.
Then what? He would have to tell her the truth and entirely ruin the surprise.
Yet, perhaps he could gain them one last day.
“Miss Blackwood and I had decided to go on a picnic tomorrow. Perhaps we could delay our return,” he said as casually as he could.
“Nonsense,” Lord Angsley said. “The sisters must wish to be reunited as soon as possible.”
But Lady Angsley arched her eyebrow questioningly, and Gray thought he might have an ally in the lady of the manor.
“I’m sure everyone will still be delighted to see Eleanor at Turvey House whether it is tomorrow or the day after.”
Did Lady Angsley just wink at him?
“Besides,” Eleanor said. “It wasn’t merely a picnic.”
Oh dear, what was she going to say? Hopefully nothing about Captain Kidd.
“We were going sightseeing.”
Phoebe laughed. “What is there to see here?”
Eleanor looked at him, and he shook his head.
“There is plenty to see here,” Lord Angsley assured everyone. “There is the castle.”
“They’ve torn down nearly all of it,” Phoebe argued with her father. “Last year, they even destroyed the last parts of the barbican to make room for more cottages.”
“The motte still exists,” his lordship said less enthusiastically. “There’s also St. Paul’s.”
“Father, it’s hardly St. Paul’s in London, is it? It’s just a church, not a cathedral.” This came from Asher, who hardly ever said a word.
Gray wondered how Lord Angsley would take to being corrected by his eldest son, who was only twelve.
Apparently delighted Asher had spoken at all, his lordship beamed at him. “You’re right, hardly a cathedral, my boy. However, Eleanor hasn’t seen the chapel or the stained glass, so that’s something.”
“They both sound very interesting,” Eleanor said, though she had, indeed, seen both with Beryl more than once over the years.
Bless her, Gray thought. They would see their adventure through after all.
The morning’s heavy rain was a bitter disappointment.
“Should we leave for Turvey House?” Eleanor wondered, standing with Grayson, looking out the back of the house onto the terrace. “Since we cannot go on our treasure hunt or a picnic.”
She held the telescope they had borrowed from Lord Angsley up to her eye, surveying the landscape.
She felt Grayson shrug, his large shoulder moving beside her.
“I see no point in travelling,” he said.
“Maybe we should put on capes and Wellies and go find the bishop’s hostel anyway.”
“Too slippery,” he said. “Are you willing to wait until it clears up? Or are you eager to get to your sister’s?”
“Oh, dear,” she said. “Both, I suppose.”
He chuckled at her silly answer.
Then her attention was wrested by movement by the old granary lodge. She could clearly see all the doors through the spyglass and, plainly, the Angsley butler had just come out of
Mrs. O’Connor’s rooms.
What was he doing there so early?
“What do you make of that?” Eleanor muttered, recalling encountering the butler coming in early her first morning at the manor.
“What is it?” he asked, peering through the windowpane beside her.
She wished she had said nothing. It wasn’t her business, nor really Grayson’s, for that matter.
Taking a deep breath, she tried to distract him without lying.
“Let’s go have coffee.”
He stared at her. Then, his hand shot out, and he snatched the spyglass from her.
“Let me see,” he said belatedly, setting it to his right eye and looking out.
“That wasn’t nice,” she said, nudging him so he couldn’t see properly, then she reached up and tried to take it back.
He thwarted her by hunching his back and turning away so he could look out while preventing her from reaching the spyglass.
“I see Mr. Stanley walking across the pasture.” Grayson scanned the rest of the view, right to left and back. “Nothing else.”
Lowering it, he looked at her. “What did you see?”
Mutinously, she stared up at him.
“Tell me,” he demanded.
She shook her head.
Minimizing and then pocketing the telescope, he reached out and, to her surprise, he tickled her.
“Tell me.”
She squealed and tried to get away, but he held her fast. His fingers were prodding her, trying to find her tender spot, creeping up her rib cage. She squirmed against him and, in doing so, his hands brushed the sides of her breasts, taking her breath away.
They froze, and it was as if the world fell away, leaving them alone in the gray light of the back hallway.
Their gazes locked.
“Eleanor,” he said softly, turning her name into a caress.
“Yes?” Was this the moment he would declare his feelings for her?
Chapter Twelve
“Tell me what you saw,” Grayson ordered again, then he cracked a smile and found her ticklish area under her ribs, making her squirm.
Eleanor shrieked and truly couldn’t catch her breath. Eventually, she nodded, and he halted.
“I saw Mr. Stanley, just like you,” she told him.
“And?”
When she paused, he took hold of her again, preparing to tickle her mercilessly once more.
“He came from your mother’s doorway.”
“What?” He released her, frowned down at her, then glanced back out the window. “He’s nearly here! Quick, out of sight.”
Taking her hand, he half dragged her down the hallway to the deserted drawing room. Pulling her inside, he closed the door behind them.
“I wouldn’t want him to think he was being spied on.”
“Even if he was,” she pointed out.
“When you asked, what do you make of it? I know what you made of it. My mother and Mr. Stanley! Can it be?”
“They’ve both worked here a long time, and they are both without spouses. There’s nothing wrong with it,” she hesitated, “unless you do not approve.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked.
“I don’t know. For me, it was simply surprising. He popped out of the doorway, and I reacted.”
“Should I ask her?”
Eleanor scrunched up her nose, imagining such a conversation between mother and son. “You might embarrass her.”
“True.” He paused. “All these years, I’ve never seen her courted by Mr. Stanley or even keep company with anyone. I suppose with them both living under the same roof….” He shook his head to clear his thoughts.
“Perhaps that’s why your mother doesn’t wish to go to Turvey House and live with you there.”
“That would explain it. Do you really want coffee?”
“No. I am thinking if Mr. Stanley can venture out in this, why can’t we? Let us, at least, take a walk.”
He tilted his head and thought about her proposal.
“All right. Cloaks and Wellingtons are in order.”
The scampering of feet on the stairs alerted them to company. Asher’s head came around the open door a moment later.
“What are you doing?”
The poor lad had seemed deflated ever since Philip left.
“We are taking a walk in the rain. Would you like to come?” she asked him.
The boy’s face broke out in a smile, and even though she would lose the opportunity to be alone with Grayson and perhaps be kissed by him, it seemed she’d done a good deed.
“Shall we look for bugs?” he asked.
She grinned at Grayson, who nodded.
“Yes,” she said. “In fact, there is one in particular we hope to find. A gold one.”
An hour and a half later, Eleanor came indoors to a delicious hot breakfast of kippers and eggs, with toast and bacon. She ate heartily, noticing Grayson and Asher did the same. Something about a long country walk gave one an appetite, even if no rock or tree climbing was involved.
Instead, there had been plenty of looking at the underside of leaves and scrabbling around amongst wild roses, as well as discovering all manner of other wildflowers. Plenty of bugs had been collected in a jar Asher brought, but no gold beetle.
As she finished her breakfast, Mr. Stanley entered the room.
After seeing him earlier that morning and catching him unaware, she felt as if she’d intruded upon his private life. The warmth bloomed in her cheeks as he approached her.
“Miss Eleanor,” he said, bowing slightly. “Mrs. O’Connor would like you to go visit her when you are otherwise unoccupied.”
She was surprised at him mentioning Grayson’s mother since her thoughts were filled with the possibility the butler and Mrs. O’Connor were having a relationship.
He paused, standing beside her chair, glancing at her empty plate. She took that to mean Mr. Stanley thought she was unoccupied at that very instant.
Pushing her chair out, Eleanor rose to her feet. The males at the table, including Lord Angsley stood, too.
“Please, be seated,” she said. “I am a fast eater, which is a terrible habit, I know, and possibly bad for my digestion. In any case, I shall see you all later.”
With a backward glance at Grayson, who made a questioning face, to which she responded with a lift of her shoulder, she left.
The rain had barely let up, so she donned a dry cloak and her trusty Wellies and snatched up an umbrella by the door, before venturing outside once more. In five minutes, she was knocking on Mrs. O’Connor’s door.
It flew open as if the woman had been waiting for her, perhaps watching out the window.
“Thank you for coming, dear girl. Would you care for tea?” she asked, wearing a decidedly worried expression.
“No, thank you. I just came from breakfast,” Eleanor said, looking at Mrs. O’Connor with new eyes. “Mr. Stanley said you wished to see me.”
She waited for a reaction to his name, but the woman’s countenance didn’t alter. So, Eleanor asked, “Is there something I can do for you?”
Mrs. O’Connor hesitated as if still wrestling with herself over whether to speak her mind. Then she dropped into the closest chair.
Eleanor wasn’t sure what else to do, so she sat, as well.
Grayson’s mother placed her hands on the table, and they were clearly trembling.
Eleanor’s sympathy went out to the woman, whatever she was dealing with. Perhaps she was in love with Mr. Stanley, and he had broken her heart.
Placing her hands over Mrs. O’Connor’s, Eleanor said, “You may confide in me if it will help. I know how to keep my own counsel.”
The woman’s gaze flew to hers, and her eyes shone with sadness.
“I have a dreadful secret.”
Eleanor nodded calmly, though her heart had started to beat faster. Why would Mrs. O’Connor invite her to the lodge to hear her secret? Unless…
“Is it to do with Grayson?”
“I have made some fine needlepoint in my day. I’ve even made lace, a time-consuming task if ever there was one. And I’ve sewn hundreds of dresses. But Gray is my best work. He is a good son and a good man.”
She paused, and then in a whispered voice, she added, “He means the world to me.”
Eleanor gently squeezed the woman’s hands. Did Mrs. O’Connor know how much she admired her son, too?
“I expect you’re wondering why I’m telling you,” Gray’s mother said as if reading Eleanor’s thoughts. “I’ve seen you together a few times recently, but also over the years, and you’ve grown into a lovely young lady, one whom my son cannot keep his eyes off of.”
Eleanor felt the heat rush into her cheeks.
“I have something I want to tell Gray, but not while I’m alive.”
Eleanor gasped. What could she mean?
“Are you ill?” Knowing how Grayson doted on his mother, it would devastate him to lose her unexpectedly.
“No, dear. I’m quite fit except for my eyes.” The woman withdrew her hands from under Eleanor’s and pointed to the glasses also on the table. “I shall not lose them again. Or, I may do, on second thought, because I’m not used to caring for them, but I’ll try not to.”
“Why don’t you want to tell Grayson your secret until after you’re gone?”
Mrs. O’Connor hung her head. “I don’t want him to think ill of me, and this information will change his life a little…or perhaps, a lot. I’m not sure, but it could.” His mother frowned and added, “There are greater ramifications, others are involved.”
Then she gave a little groan. “While it is only in here,” Mrs. O’Connor continued, tapping her head, “it is a small matter, of no consequence to anyone, harming no one. But once it is out here,” she said, gesturing to the room in general, “then it is a huge matter. At least to some.”
“Naturally, you would prefer not to deal with it?” Eleanor guessed.
Mrs. O’Connor sighed. “I would prefer no one had to deal with it. And I believe some secrets should never be told, especially if they do no good to anybody in the telling, and mayhap only harm. But this one, eventually, should be told, at least to Gray.”
The Midnight Hour: All-Hallows’ Brides Page 63
