“Much as we love her, you must remember she’s a governess, goose. He won’t give her a second glance. And besides, I don’t think Uncle James plans to stay very long.”
“That, at least, is a blessing.” Charlotte shared a grin with her sister as they entered the Breakfast Parlor.
While Lord Steyne and their brothers rose, Lady Eastwick beamed a greeting. What a handsome family she had! It was always a pleasure to present them to a stranger, though rarely did a guest make such an effort as Lord Steyne to draw each of them out, from Charlotte down to John. Amy, who was usually first, had not as yet arrived, but even as she wondered why, her youngest burst through the door, tugging Miss Tremere after her.
“Their eyes are open! I’ve taken Miss Tremere to see them! Oh, may I keep one in my room now?”
“Make your curtsy to Lord Steyne, dear,” her mother prompted with an apologetic smile for his lordship. “Kittens, you know. Amy is devoted to them.”
“Are you?" he asked as he seated her next to him, perfectly aware that Edward was urging Theodosia to a seat beside himself. “At Kingswood we have an orange and white striped cat that sleeps under the range all day long and glares at the cook whenever he thumps the pans about. Our cook is a rather volatile Frenchman who professes to despise cats, but the housekeeper tells me she’s seen him more than once offer the creature a dollop of the very best cream. What do you make of that?”
Other than her family, it was a new experience for Amy to claim anyone’s attention, let alone that of a gentleman of fashion. There was nothing the least reserved about her, however, and she grinned at him.
"I think your cook is embarrassed to admit he likes the cat. Some people are like that, you know. Edward sometimes pretends be doesn’t like us, but I’ve seen him smiling at the boys’ antics when he didn’t know anyone was watching.”
Her eldest brother flushed to the roots of his hair and appeared to choke on the bite of egg he had just forked into his mouth. Lady Eastwick regarded him sympathetically, but a smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. Theodosia calmly poured tea in his cup.
“I think,” Steyne replied judiciously, "that it would be difficult to be the eldest son in your family. Lord Heythrop must feel a deep sense of responsibility for all of you, especially since your father is in America. My sister is older than I, and a grown woman, but she’s a widow now and I probably treat her just as your brother does you.”
“You mean you tell her what to do and what not to do?” Amy asked, wide-eyed.
“Well, I advise her about things occasionally. Since her husband died she has no one to turn to when she has an important decision to make.”
“Why couldn’t she decide for herself? Miss Tremere would.”
Steyne met Theodosia’s dancing eyes across the table. “Yes, well, Ruth usually makes her own decisions, too, but sometimes it helps to have another person’s opinion.” He bestowed a look of mock dismay on Amy. “My dear child, it was a great deal simpler discussing cats with you.”
Impetuously she laid a small hand on the sleeve of his riding jacket. “I never meant to distress you, sir. Miss Tremere says you must always have a care of other people’s feelings, no matter how curious you are. So when I asked Edward where the kittens came from, and he looked like he was going to have an attack of some sort, I immediately said 'Never mind.’ After all, Miss Tremere knows, and she didn’t mind telling me.”
Poor Edward looked as though he was again going to have an attack of some sort. "Really, Mother, you’re not going to let her go on that way, are you?”
Because Lady Eastwick had a napkin pressed to her lips, Theodosia said kindly, "Amy dear, you mustn’t monopolize the conversation at table. You should give Eleanor a chance to speak with his lordship.”
Looking slightly deflated, Amy murmured, “Oh, yes, of course.”
But before she could remove her hand from Steyne’s sleeve, he pressed it, saying, “Perhaps you’ll show me the kittens after breakfast.”
In her most polite voice, but with a triumphant glance at Edward, she replied, “I should be honored to do so, Lord Steyne.”
Edward excused himself and the meal resumed lightheartedly. Eleanor thought she had nothing to say to Steyne, but he soon had her talking about her watercolors and the landscapes she most enjoyed painting. He even found himself promising to exhibit his skill as a whip to Thomas and John, if Edward would allow them the use of his curricle. Having no children of his own, and no nieces or nephews, he had never had much interest in young people. He excused his change of heart by assuring himself that the Heythrop children were unique in their enthusiasm and openness.
“You mustn’t let them impose on you, Lord Steyne,” Lady Eastwick protested when Thomas had extracted his promise. “I’m sure you have other things to do than entertain a houseful of schoolchildren.”
“I’ll be going with James to Fairlight later in the morning, but I doubt he’s even abroad yet.” He turned to address Theodosia. “I wouldn’t want to keep them from the schoolroom, though, Miss Tremere.”
Eleanor gave Charlotte an “I told you so” glance. John hastened to assure him, “Thomas and I are on long vacation now. Only the girls have to study during the summer.”
With a mournful shake of her head Theodosia said, “As though studying were a penance. And here I thought you were all enjoying our summer activities.”
“We are!” her alarmed charges assured her eagerly, far from ready to give up their search for the treasure. Thomas added carefully, “Studying family history isn’t really like working.”
Steyne was amused, if perplexed, by the conspiratorial glances which passed between them. Their conspiracy apparently included Theodosia, for they made no effort to avoid her eyes as they did his. What’s she up to with the little devils, he wondered. Apparently something that had Lady Eastwick’s approval, for his hostess beamed on the lot of them. Steyne took the opportunity of questioning Amy on several matters as he accompanied her to the stables.
“Do you like Miss Tremere?” he asked.
“Oh, yes, she’s wonderful. The boys were only teasing about the studying. Half the time they join us when they’re home. And I think she’s very pretty, don’t you?”
“Ah . . . yes, lovely. I understand she came to you three years ago.”
Amy had much the same habit as her mother of screwing her face up when she concentrated, and looked no less charming for all her seven years. “Let’s see. I would only have been four then. Well, of course she did, because she came just after Katey was born.” Amy’s lips quivered slightly. “Katey died in the spring.”
“Yes, I heard. I’m sorry. You must miss her.”
“I do.” She extended her little hand and he enclosed it in his large one. “We all miss her, and we were very sad, but Mama says that she would want us to be happy again now. Do you think so?”
“I’m sure she would.”
“Yes, Miss Tremere thought so, too. So we all laugh again, and we’re very busy hunting for the treasure.”
“The treasure?” Steyne asked as casually as possible.
“It’s a family treasure. We don’t tell other people about it.” Amy looked up, far up, to where his face seemed outlined against the sky. “You won’t mind if I don’t tell you about it, will you?”
“Certainly not. But is Miss Tremere not ‘other people’?”
“Not really. She’s one of us, and of course she’s seen the inscription on the mantel now for years. I don’t think Papa would mind her knowing, though Edward might. He’s a little stuffy, you see.”
“I hadn’t noticed,” Steyne lied without a qualm.
“Most people do,” she said matter-of-factly. “Perhaps it’s because you’re one of Edward’s heroes. He saw you at Jackson’s boxing parlor last year when Papa took him to town and I heard him tell my other brothers that you had a ‘handy bunch of fives.’ And he saw you take a corner on one wheel in your curricle.”
“It must have been an
off day,” he laughed.
Something had been troubling Amy and with the freedom of youth she asked, “Are you a very good friend of my Uncle James?”
“No, we are merely acquaintances.”
"Then why did you come here with him?”
Steyne pursed his lips and considered her for a moment. "If I tell you, it’s not to go any further. Can you keep a secret?”
“Not so very well,” she admitted. “Perhaps you’d best not.”
He squeezed her band as they entered the dark interior of the stable. “Sensible girl.”
Chapter Six
There were times, Edward decided, disgruntled, when he wished he had no siblings. Imagine Amy putting him to the blush that way! And just when he had considered himself sufficiently master of his emotions to seat Miss Tremere next to him again, to say nothing of having such an out-and-outer as Steyne sitting there drinking it all in. The viscount hadn’t so much as blinked an eye at the child’s blatherings but that was only natural. Steyne was the consummate gentleman: cool, imperturbable, unfailingly polite. He had heard every word, though, and what could he think but that Amy was a fool, or that Edward was?
Edward had more than once considered the possibility that he was a fool. Look at the hash he was making of standing in for his father. And his unfortunate attraction to the governess. He had been too hard on the children. From the window of the study he watched Amy and Steyne walking toward the stables and saw her put out her hand to the viscount. To Edward’s astonishment Steyne clasped and held it as they continued on their way. This was rather a revelation to Edward, to see a man of Steyne’s renown befriending an unruly child. It should have been me, Edward thought. She should have turned to me for comfort. But he knew that she couldn’t, and he tried to convince himself that one could not be mentor and friend at the same time. A stupid argument, when all one had to do was observe his own mother, and Miss Tremere. How he wished his father hadn’t had to be away at this time!
Upstairs his rascally uncle was probably still in bed, and Edward had yet to see the family document he was supposed to have brought back with him. It would be just like James to arrive under the pretense of returning it, and to have left it in London. And there wasn’t a member of the family who didn’t wonder how it came about that Lord Steyne had accompanied him. Probably Amy would ask him, Edward realized with a mental groan. The child had no sense of propriety. Well, Steyne was undoubtedly a master at dealing with impertinence; he’d have no trouble handling her.
Reluctantly Edward rose and made his way to his uncle’s room in the South Wing. Better to get it over with, provided the older man was awake. Even Edward wouldn’t dare rouse him. A soft tap at the door brought a gruff summons to enter.
“Good morning, Uncle James. I trust you slept well.” A tray with chocolate and toast was balanced precariously on James’ knees, his nightcap jauntily stuck over his right eye. “Tolerably. The brats playing in the courtyard woke me.”
"Unfortunate.” Edward showed not a shred of sympathy. “Lord Steyne indicated that you would be going to Fairlight this morning and I wish to get that document from you before you leave.”
“I’ll be returning.”
Despite James’ sneer, Edward stood his ground. “I should like it now, please.”
His uncle continued to sip at his chocolate, but when Edward made no move to absent himself, he said, “Bring me my valise, then.”
Being treated as a lackey by James was nothing new to Edward. With no change of his impassive countenance he walked to where the valise rested on a stool and carried it over to the bed. James waved for him to remove the tray, managing to jiggle it so that chocolate slopped on Edward’s coat. Edward ignored it, setting down the tray on a table and swinging the valise up beside his uncle, though he was sorely tempted to ram it down his throat.
James enacted a mock ceremony for removing the document and placing it in Edward’s waiting hands. As the younger man had feared, it was not in particularly good condition and he said coldly, "You should have taken better care of it.”
"Be grateful you have it back,” James snapped. "Now get out so I can dress.”
Without another word, Edward left, the paper held in his hand. In the hall he brushed angrily at the chocolate-soaked coat with his handkerchief, his teeth clenched and his eyes scowling. How it galled him to have to be reasonably polite to his scapegrace uncle! And how unfathomable it was that his gracious, warmhearted sire could have such a scoundrel for a brother. Edward experienced a sense of shock as he realized it was entirely conceivable that his own brothers and sisters might have wondered how he came to be related to them.
After changing his coat, Edward sat in his room for some time going over the first earl’s poem. The parchment was discolored and frayed, but still largely legible. He hoped Miss Tremere would make an exact copy of it so that future generations would have the key available to them without the necessity of using the original until it crumbled into dust. Edward had largely forgotten the contents, though not the first earl’s gallant but untrained hand at poetry.
Proudly passeth from father to sonne
Ye glorious name, ye illustrious treasure,
We who carry ye trust of ye past
Must constantly stryve to be worthie.
Honour hath comme again
As in those days longge passed.
To celebrate this dignity
Lette it be scribed at laste.
Legend hath risen to tarnish,
Fables disguise ye truth
A dozenne engagements in triumph
But bravest of all facing deathe.
Buried alike are ye brave men
Ye leader of battle and this
Ye treasure so honoured, so costlie
Reward for ye bloods so well spente.
Such spoiles as these after battle
No familie yet doth lay claime
Be worthie ye trust so exacting
And defend ye reward with ye name.
Kepe it hidden with those who are gonne
'Nethe ye scenes of valour and stryfe
Arise from the land drenched with life’s blood
Regen’rated glorie and lite.
Heed well ye location most worthie
A place bothe safe and secure
Be guided by Faith and our grant landes
Forget not ye valu of lore.
Buried. Yes, Edward could remember the tales of digging in graveyards, especially the family plot, despite the sacrilege. It was far more the habit in days past to bury riches, but apparently every inch of the family plots in both Bicknoller and Channock had been searched at one time or another. There was no other burial ground, though sufficient lore of battlefields. The area was strewn with tumuli, settlement rings, the odd quarry, fort, enclosure and barrow. Reading the poem Edward felt a stirring of interest and rather wished that he were part of Miss Tremere’s search. He could clearly remember his own fascination when his father had first allowed him to read the documents relating to the treasure. Sure that he would be the one to succeed, he had spent hours puzzling over the clues, only to find himself as hopelessly confused in the end as all the previous searchers had been.
At least the paper would give him an opportunity to speak with Miss Tremere. Surely she would want his opinion of the poem’s meaning. But when he arrived at the schoolroom he found her involved in a lesson with the girls and at her suggestion simply left the paper on her desk.
"Would you like to read the other papers, Lord Heythrop?” she asked, indicating them where they lay on a table close by. "The first earl’s letter has no doubt stirred your remembrance. Thank you for bringing the poem.”
Edward wished she wouldn’t smile at him that way; he found it most disturbing. Hastily he gathered up the papers she indicated and returned to his (father’s) office, where he sat down to stare for some time at the inkwell before picking up the ninth earl’s letter. It was dated 1667 and read:
I take this oppo
rtunity to write down the history of the Heythrop "mystery," as even now we are two generations from the last ancestor who was in possession of any real knowledge on the subject. My grandfather, whom I never met, died without conveying the secret to his son, my father, for the simple reason that he was out of sympathy with him at the time he rode forth with the Marquis of Hertford and the royalist forces to meet Sir William Waller. The seventh Earl of Eastwick died from a wound sustained at the battle on Lansdowne Hill in 1643 before his son could be summoned to him.
Although the clue to the mystery was not conveyed to the eighth earl, my father, he was aware that traditionally the eldest son was made privy to this information on his coming of age. My father had arrived at two and twenty years, but had been in dispute with his revered parent for two years over my father’s wish to marry my mother, which was opposed by his father, she being not of a station equal to his own, and a purported dissenter. (My mother conducted her life by Church of England standards to the day of her death five years ago.)
No hint as to the nature of the mystery was ever given my father, except of course, the inscriptions on the fireplaces: Proudly Passeth From Father to Son, the Glorious Name, the Illustrious Treasure, along with the Heythrop coat of arms. These mantels were installed during the rebuilding of the house completed in 1492. They have not, to my knowledge, been altered in any way.
That there is actually some item of value held by the family does not seem to be in doubt, but what it is or why it is hidden is entirely unknown. Both my father and I have made thorough searches of the house and outbuildings, including the windmill. No trace of anything unusual was ever found except the bones of a small animal which apparently was walled in when one of the changes to the house was made.
It occurred to my father that some written clue to the mystery must be contained in the family archives in case of a sudden death before the eldest son came of age, and he made a search of his father’s, and indeed of all his ancestors’, papers which were contained at Charton Court. As he felt sure the mystery was an honorable one, he discarded any cryptic references to anything to do with scandal in the family, but not being so scrupulous, I have searched through again and gathered what evidence I could from which to work. Fortunately, I was able to discard after careful consideration any disreputable enigmas, including the coded diary of a lecherous old gentleman—I blush to call him an ancestor—who apparently lived during the reign of King Henry VIII.
In My Lady's Chamber Page 7
