“Tsk. You and your sentimental ideals. You will adopt any stray kitten, any sad child—anyone. Perhaps it is time that you concern yourself with your family and leave the rest to fate.”
He pressed his lips together. Arguing with her would get him nowhere. “We leave for Kettering Hall shortly. See to it that you are ready.”
With determined steps he continued to his bedchamber. Behind him he heard Penelope’s exasperated huff, then her retreating footsteps.
Penelope’s opposition to the prospect of taking Miss Iverness with them did not surprise him. In fact, his sister was probably right. Taking responsibility for a penniless young woman with unsavory connections was surely the last thing his family needed.
But no matter how hard he tried, he could not free his mind from the image of Miss Iverness, frightened and embarrassed yet unconquered, determined to make her own way in the world. Nor could he forget the cruel tone of James Iverness’s voice.
No one deserved to be treated in such a fashion, and it seemed unacceptable to stand by and offer no help.
Chapter Sixteen
Camille had thought it would be easier to leave London.
Ever since she made the decision earlier in the day, she had tried to imagine what it would feel like to leave behind the city and everything it represented for a new beginning.
But as she sat in the carriage and watched the recognizable scenery jostle into a strange mosaic of twisted streets and unfamiliar buildings, an unwelcome lump formed in her throat.
Memories rushed her, like fingers reaching out, attempting to hold her in place. Memories of playing in the street and alleys on warm summer days. Memories of rare excursions to parks or markets or the river. Memories of long afternoons in the shop with Tevy and Link for company.
But overshadowing them all was the memory of her father’s harsh words this morning.
Miss Gilchrist’s lady’s maid, Meeks, who was traveling in the carriage with them, had given her a cloak to wear on the journey. Camille clutched the soft wool fabric more tightly around her and drew a deep, steadying breath. Meeks had also been able to clean her gown and mend the sleeve, so Camille enjoyed the small comfort in being dressed in her own garment of modest linen. The rain had returned, dousing the short-lived warmth from the sun, and the damp spring air seeped in around the carriage’s doors and windows.
Miss Gilchrist sat across from her, next to Meeks. She truly was a beautiful woman. Her hair was the same pale gold of Mr. Gilchrist’s, but her eyes were a deeper shade of blue, almost violet, and her chin was delicately pointed. Her traveling ensemble consisted of a deep plum spencer with velvet-covered buttons and a lighter lavender gown beneath. Her smooth, rosy complexion reminded Camille of the porcelain that would come through the shop from time to time.
Camille looked down at her own ungloved hands. Their soft tawny hue bore testament to her mother’s Portuguese heritage. One finger was still stained with ink from working on the books. Could that have been only yesterday? She tucked that hand to her side.
Outside the window, she could see Mr. Gilchrist riding his dappled horse with the dark gray mane. He sat tall and straight, his broad shoulders cutting a handsome figure against the flashing landscape. Camille watched as he urged the animal to a canter and rode out ahead of the carriage, his coat catching the wind and billowing out behind him with each of the horse’s footfalls. Before long he was out of sight.
How different the two siblings seemed to be—Miss Gilchrist, sharp and highly strung, a stark contrast to her brother, whose gentleness and seemingly genuine concern made Camille feel welcome.
The carriage rumbled further away from London, the road now lined on both sides with lush greenery. Camille’s head ached and the jerking movements upset her injury, but the discomfort couldn’t dampen her curiosity about what her new life would be like.
She spoke to break the silence. The Gilchrists would be the only people she knew in her new town. It would not hurt to attempt to develop a cordial relationship. “I do appreciate your altering your plans to include me.”
Miss Gilchrist tossed her head, her gaze not leaving the scenery outside the window. “My brother was quite insistent about it.”
The words hung icy in the air. Miss Gilchrist had made little effort to hide her displeasure at her brother’s decision, and she made even less of an effort now to show any warmth to Camille. In fact, she could not be more different than the woman who had shown such kindness just the night before.
Camille looked over to the lady’s maid, seeking reassurance or assistance, but the somber woman sat stone-faced, her brown eyes staring straight ahead.
Suddenly, Miss Gilchrist pinned Camille with her gaze. “I trust my brother shared with you what brought us to London.”
Camille stammered, unsure of what to say. “He mentioned he was looking for something that had been stolen, but I—”
“It is a ruby called the Bevoy, Miss Iverness,” Miss Gilchrist interrupted sharply.
The carriage hit a rut and joggled Camille against the carriage wall. “Yes, Mr. Gilchrist told me of such. I believe you mentioned it as well.”
“Even though this particular visit was unsuccessful, he and I hope you will be able to assist us in our search.”
Camille adjusted the cloak around her shoulders. She had known this question was coming. “I do wish to be of help, but as I shared with Mr. Gilchrist, I am afraid my knowledge of such things is limited. I only worked at the counter in my father’s shop. I know very little about his business dealings.”
“Be that as it may, you can surely understand how much we would appreciate your assistance, little or great, in making sure the jewel is returned to my father, its rightful owner. From what I understand, your knowledge of such things could prove invaluable. For you know all sorts of people, do you not? Your connections could well prove helpful in our recovery efforts.”
Camille pressed her lips together. So this was the reason they had been so kind. They needed her help. “If I can be of assistance in returning a piece of jewelry to its rightful owner, then I will be happy to do so, but please do not overestimate my abilities in this regard.”
Miss Gilchrist’s eyes widened. “Oh it is not merely a piece of jewelry as you say, Miss Iverness. It is rumored to possess mystical powers—to bring blessings or curses on those who possess it. Of course, those are just silly legends, but as I am sure you are aware, such folklore attached to any artifact makes it all the more valuable. To be honest, I am a bit surprised that someone in your position has not heard of it. I understand from Mr. Darbin that my father originally purchased the ruby from your father.”
Camille could not help but bristle at the hidden jab. “Who, may I ask, is Mr. Darbin?”
“Do you not know Mr. Henry Darbin? He is the man my brother hired to track down the villain who stole the ruby. He was a very good friend of my late brother, Thomas.”
A sinking feeling rolled through Camille. It seemed she had underestimated the lengths to which the Gilchrists were willing to go to recover this trinket.
Miss Gilchrist’s voice grew sharper. “I hope I do not offend you with what I am about to say, but I thought we should have a discussion about what will be said when we arrive at Kettering Hall.”
Camille frowned. “A discussion?”
“Of course. My brother told me all about what happened, you poor creature.” Her voice was rich with condescension. “But you don’t want to start off on the wrong foot with the good people in Fellsworth, do you?”
“I am not certain I follow you.” Camille fussed with the tassels on her cape.
Miss Gilchrist shook her blond head, her bouncy curls twisting to and fro. “Come now. People will ask how you are acquainted with our family. Surely you are not going to share all the details of our . . . connection, are you? We want you to be embraced, and your story could cause some to, well, misconstrue your situation.”
Camille’s face began to burn as Miss Gilchrist’s true
meaning became clear. Until she met this family, she had never been ashamed of who she was or where she came from. True, her home was not nearly as elegant as the Gilchrists’. Her clothing was not as fashionable or expensive. But she was the granddaughter of a gentleman. She knew proper manners. Why did Miss Gilchrist, with her perfect complexion and elegant posture and thinly veiled insults, make her feel like such a ragamuffin?
“Let’s just tell them you are a friend of mine from London.” A forced smile lit Miss Gilchrist’s face. “It is indeed fortunate that your speech sounds like that of a lady, not like most people from your part of London. But there is a lilt to your diction, Miss Iverness. I can’t quite place my finger on it. Where is it you are from? Surely not from London.”
Camille bristled. Her refined manner of speaking had been an asset in the shop as she worked with wealthy patrons, but a liability when she tried to make friends with those around her. “I was born on my grandfather’s estate in Somerset. I lived there until he died. Then I moved with my parents to London.”
At the mention of an estate, Miss Gilchrist’s eyes sparkled. “There, then, that’s the truth, isn’t it? You are a lady, a friend from London, and we can just omit the bit about the robbery and your father’s shop. I think that is best, do you not agree?”
Camille received the message behind the innocent expression, the hopeful tone. Practically speaking, Miss Gilchrist’s advice was probably sound, though not given with true kindness.
But did Camille want to start out her new life on a bed of lies?
She looked from Miss Gilchrist’s guileless face to the stern visage of the lady maid’s. Then, with a sigh, she peered out the window at the passing countryside—the countryside she had never thought she would see again.
She was indebted to this family, and she knew it. “Very well. I shall keep that information to myself if you wish.”
“I think it is for the best. You know how the servants can talk. Of course, Meeks here can be trusted completely. I only suggest this for your sake.”
Camille swallowed. Tears pricked her eyes. She did not know why Miss Gilchrist’s suggestion should affect her so. She was certainly no stranger to unkind speech, even outright abuse. Perhaps she could blame her feelings on the extreme events of the past day. But she had so rarely been exposed to the world outside her father’s shop. At the moment, that world seemed like an unbearably harsh and judgmental place.
She could not help but wonder if Mr. Gilchrist shared his sister’s sentiment.
Camille looked out the window, hoping to catch another glimpse of Mr. Gilchrist, but she saw only rain-shrouded woods. She had formed a quick opinion of the man—something she rarely did. A lifetime of broken promises and subtle deception had made her hesitant, but he had been so kind from the beginning—seemingly so genuine.
Perhaps he was. But Camille knew too well that nothing comes free. Nothing was without a price.
She straightened her posture, refusing to give in to melancholy. Now, more than ever, she needed to be away from London. If her father was willing to risk her safety for whatever deal he was working, then any situation would be preferable to living with him—even if it meant remaining under the scrutinizing eye of the Gilchrist family.
She wasn’t sure how much time passed before the carriage slowed and then turned. Dusk was falling, but through the dimness she caught a glimpse of a massive brick structure looming against the darkening sky. The horses pulled to a stop, and the sudden silence, the absence of movement left Camille feeling strangely numb.
Then Mr. Gilchrist opened the carriage door.
And the next thing Camille noticed was the air.
It was smooth and clean, and her lungs responded as the freshness swirled into the carriage. Aromas of earth and trees rode the slight breeze, inviting her to explore.
Each breath filled her deeper than the last, thrusting energy into every limb, reviving her spirit.
This was a place she had never been. Yet the clean air, the majestic trees, the spacious vistas felt familiar and reminiscent of a happier time.
Deep inside, she knew she was closer to finding home.
Chapter Seventeen
The ride from London had not been a particularly long or difficult one, though rain had plagued most of their journey.
Jonathan didn’t mind. He was just grateful not to be in the carriage. He would much rather battle the elements than spend hours in an enclosed space with the women.
He had been pleased, albeit surprised, when Miss Iverness asked to accompany them, though his sister’s antagonism had tempered his enthusiasm. He suspected Miss Iverness was more than a match for his strong-willed sister, and he could not help but wonder what the conversation in the carriage was like. But the day’s developments had happened so quickly and with such intensity that he needed the solitude of the ride to sort them out.
He’d ridden ahead of the carriage to give the staff advance notice that they were arriving early and that there was to be a guest. The overcast sky was just beginning to dim as he turned into the long drive that led to Kettering Hall.
The place really was impressive. A hipped roof capped its three stories, with shuttered dormer windows symmetrically spaced along the roofline. Trees and shrubbery flanked the structure, and a brick wall enclosing one of the many rose gardens met up against the side of the building.
One day, if all continued as planned, he would be master—a title he had never expected and a responsibility he did not relish.
In the meantime, he had to answer to his father.
That reality did not settle well at all.
He did not look forward to informing Ian Gilchrist of what had happened in London. The man did not accept failure. And not bringing the Bevoy home, in his eyes, would be failure.
The house was relatively dark as he approached. Clearly, they were not expected. His horse’s hooves thudded against the muddy drive.
He pulled to a stop in front of the hall. A footman appeared and steadied his horse. “Welcome back, Mr. Gilchrist.”
Jonathan dismounted, tossed the reins to the footman, and strode toward the door.
At his arrival, the house, already wrapped in the sleepy silence, began to revive. Candles appeared in windows. A torch was brought out to light the entryway. And his father, already dressed to retire in a robe of red and green brocade, hobbled down the main steps, leaning heavily on his cane.
“You’re home earlier than I expected.” His father’s welcome was more of a growl.
Jonathan stepped up to meet the old man. “Yes.”
“Well?” he barked. “Did you get it?”
Jonathan shook his head, looked down, and pulled the glove from his hand finger by finger. “No.”
His father scowled, his jaw trembling. “Why not?”
“It could not be helped.”
“I told you not to come back without it.”
“We cannot stay in London forever, Father. Besides, Darbin is still working on it. Ah, here’s the carriage.”
The coach and four rumbled up the drive and pulled to a stop. Jonathan, grateful for the diversion, walked over to help the women step down.
First, his sister. Judging by the tightness of her expression, he guessed the conversation on the way had not gone well.
Penelope raced to their father, placed her hands on his shoulders, and kissed his withered cheek before scurrying inside. Meeks followed close behind, already calling out orders, their guest apparently forgotten.
He then turned to Miss Iverness. He half wondered if she would allow him to help her from the carriage, so stubborn and independent she was. But she cast him a grateful look and laid her slender hand in his.
“How was your journey, Miss Iverness?” he asked.
But before she could respond, before she even had both feet on the ground, his father barked, “Who in blazes is that?”
Jonathan felt the muscles in Miss Iverness’s hand tighten as she whirled around in surprise at the
sudden shout.
Jonathan nodded toward her. “Father, allow me to present Miss Camille Iverness.”
The older man flinched. He narrowed his eyes on her again, looking at her more closely. “Iverness?”
“Yes, sir. Let’s go inside for introductions. I fear the rain will return.”
Jonathan led the way through the door. Warmth immediately rushed them, a welcome relief from the damp, cool evening. The marble-floored entryway opened to a grand hall marked by dark paneled walls and heavy molding at the ceiling and corners. A wide fireplace graced the opposite wall, encircled by a wine-colored sofa and two high-backed chairs. Paintings much taller than Jonathan lined the dark walls.
The hall never changed. It looked exactly the same as it had ever since he was a boy, but tonight, somehow, it felt different.
Perhaps it was he who was different, not the hall.
Jonathan handed his wet cloak to Abbott and assisted Miss Iverness with her cloak before completing his introductions. “Miss Iverness, may I present my father, Mr. Gilchrist.”
She curtsied as elegantly, he noted, as any gentlewoman he’d met. He was struck by how graceful her movements were—so unexpected for a woman from Blinkett Street.
The older Mr. Gilchrist did not bow in response. He did not even nod. He only leaned heavily on his cane and fixed his steely gaze on her, his words more an observation than a greeting. “James Iverness’s daughter.”
Camille straightened and jutted her chin out in a gesture that was rapidly becoming familiar to Jonathan. “Yes, sir. I am.”
The old man approached her, making no attempt to hide his assessment. He lifted a monocle to his eye and examined her from the top of her head to her boots. “What is wrong with your arm?”
She shifted, but she did not respond quickly enough.
“I asked you a question, girl!” he thundered, causing her to jump. “What happened to your arm?”
“It is a knife wound, sir.”
“Knife. Hmph.”
“Yes, sir.”
Jonathan stepped forward. “Miss Iverness will be staying at Kettering Hall for the night.”
The Curiosity Keeper Page 11
