Suitors and Sabotage

by Cindy Anstey

  “It was a jest, Mr. Steeple. The well was filled in years ago, for safety’s sake.”

  “Oh, that is most unfortunate. I find studying the foundations, the base structure of a building of this age, fascinating. It is nothing short of amazing that the Normans had such advanced knowledge of weight-bearing and distribution principles. The Elizabethans used it to great advantage when they built on top.”

  Upon reaching the blanket, he joined them on one of the unoccupied corners and continued to extol the virtues of the castle’s architecture. “The tower would be an excellent vantage point to see the great hall in its entirety. There appears to be a door at the top of the stairs leading into the tower. Is it still function—” He stopped midsentence, staring at the sketch Imogene had rescued from the grass. It was propped up on the basket, out of the way.

  Imogene felt the flush of heat rise up her cheeks and spread across her face. She hadn’t bothered to hide her drawing of the old castle; she thought it of no interest to anyone—and yet Mr. Benjamin continued to study it with deep interest.

  “This is quite … accurate.”

  Imogene rolled her shoulders forward and dropped her gaze to the blanket, wishing she could disappear into the ground.

  “Impressively accurate,” he continued.

  Suddenly it would seem that the Fates had answered Imogene’s call. The earth began to rumble as if it were thinking about splitting open. However, the noise was not coming from beneath her feet; it was coming from the ruin. Startled, Imogene jerked her head to look over her shoulder. As she watched in alarm, the floor to the great hall collapsed into the cellar below in a cascade of stone and dust.

  Jumping up, they backed away from the huge cloud of debris until they could go no farther. The moat was at their backs. And then the rumbling stopped—except for the occasional skitter and plop of an errant rock dropping into the newly formed hole visible through the arched doorways.

  Imogene waved the dust out of her eyes, coughing in the thick air.

  “Oh dear, that is most unfortunate,” Mr. Benjamin said with more tragedy in his tone than his words implied.

  Even Emily looked upset.

  Imogene shook her head in dismay. As the dust and dirt began to settle, it became apparent that the floor was not all that had been damaged in the collapse. The front wall of the great hall was leaning in at a worrisome angle. “We might lose the entire face as well,” Imogene said in a whisper of melancholy. The castle was her favorite sketching subject. More than half of her artwork featured the castle in some capacity.… And now it … “Well, it’s not gone,” she said with conviction. “The tower still stands, and with bracing, I imagine we can secure the wall.” She looked over to Mr. Benjamin. He seemed to know about these things. “Would you agree?”

  “Most certainly. It is still a beautiful structure—worthy of praise and study.”

  Imogene nodded and turned back to stare at the mess. “The lower floor will have to be dug out.”

  “Yes, but as you can see, the stairs are still intact. Once the debris around is cleared out—Miss Chively? Is something wrong? Why—Miss Chively, stop! The wall might give way. Where are you go—?”

  Imogene ran toward the ruined ruins, her heart hammering. She couldn’t breathe, so acute was her fear. “Jasper!” she screamed. “Jasper! Come, Jasper!”

  She listened.

  And in the silence, she heard a terrible sound. A whimper. Coming from under the collapsed floor.

  chapter 2

  In which rubble and a peeved father confound Miss Chively and Mr. Benjamin

  “No!” Imogene shouted as she tried to race forward, tried to get closer to the hole—tried and tried … to no avail. Something prevented her from moving. Looking down, Imogene saw a hand on her arm, clamped and holding tight. She looked up at Mr. Benjamin, confused. “Why…? Let go, Mr. Steeple. Jasper is in there. He is hurt.”

  Mr. Benjamin immediately released his grip, placing his hand in front of her instead. While not truly barring her way, his stance gave Imogene pause.

  “I hear Jasper whining—” she said in a shaky voice. “He is hurt,” she repeated, for, really, what else was there to know?

  “I beg your pardon, Miss Chively, but could you wait—just for a moment? I really should check the wall first. It could come down on top of you, and then you will be of no use to Jasper whatsoever.” His voice was calm and matter-of-fact.

  “Yes, of course.” Imogene nodded, ignoring the blur in her eyes and the trickles of moisture down her cheeks.

  She watched as Mr. Benjamin strode to the central arch. Leaning across the threshold, he shifted back and forth, looking up. “I think there is little danger for now,” he eventually called over his shoulder. “But we will have to be very careful not to jar it any farther. And it will have to be braced sometime in the very near future.”

  With a nod, Imogene stepped through the nearest doorway, stopping at the brink of the collapsed floor, listening for Jasper. Other than a few feet of stone edging the walls and central fireplace, the floor was completely gone. It was now a tremendous pile of rubble, filling what had once been the storeroom below the hall. Dust had painted every inch of the clumped and crumbling debris in the same hue of gray. Contours were near impossible to discern—certainly nothing dog-shaped.

  Was Jasper under the rubble? Imogene caught her breath and swallowed with difficulty.

  Squinting in concentration, she stepped gingerly down onto the top of the nearest collection of rocks. She listened for any change in Jasper’s tone. The stones shifted under her feet, and Imogene landed on her knees. It was jarring. Rocks cut into her palms and through the thin material of her gown, but Jasper’s whimper remained the same. She had not fallen on him or the rocks on top of him. And now his whine was louder, but it echoed. Cocking her head, she listened, but it was near impossible to understand the direction from which the high-pitched whine was coming.

  “Imogene, are you all right?” It sounded as if Emily were standing directly behind Imogene.

  “Yes, I’m fine. But I need to hear. Shhh.”

  “He’s whining, Imogene. Jasper is whining. That is not a good sign.”

  “No, not really. But it means he is alive, and I can use the sound like a beacon. Silence would mean something else entirely. So please, Emily, shush. Or better yet, go get help. The gardener, the coachman. Anyone and everyone, but hurry.”

  Closing her eyes, Imogene swiveled her head, trying to understand the echoes. With relief, she heard Emily’s retreating footsteps, running across the bridge. Another sound caught her attention—shifting rocks—and her eyes flew open.

  In the center of the great hall, Mr. Benjamin had joined her on top of the rubble. He was not on his knees but squatted, tilting his head from side to side and listening as she had been doing. Above him, the wall loomed.

  “That is the most dangerous place to be, Mr. Benjamin. If the wall comes down, it will rain down on you directly.” She was protected by the strength of the corner that abutted the tower.

  “Indeed. If I could trouble you to warn me should the wall start to wobble, I would appreciate it.… If it wouldn’t be too much trouble.” He lifted his cheeks.

  Imogene nodded, and while she did not return his smile, she did appreciate his attempt to lighten the situation.

  “Or perhaps I should borrow your parasol,” he said as he tilted his head lower.

  Imogene snorted; it was half laugh, half sob.

  “I left my stone-repelling parasol at the manor,” she said after a moment of intense listening. “So seldom do I need it.”

  Leaning back, he squinted and then scuffled to the side.

  “Your bonnet, then?” he asked eventually.

  Imogene bent in the opposite direction, listening.

  “I don’t think the style would suit you.”

  “I have to proceed bareheaded, then.” He scuffled again to another spot—and then sudden silence bore down on them.

  Imog
ene waited. She swallowed and waited. Looking up, she caught Mr. Benjamin’s gaze, and they stared at each other, waiting for Jasper to whine again. “Jasper!” she called. But nothing. No dog sound, and the hush continued far, far too long.

  Jumping to her feet, swaying and then finding her balance, Imogene grabbed a stone and tossed it up and over the lip of the hole. She turned and grabbed another. Stone after stone, Imogene frantically grabbed, tossed, and turned. It was some minutes before the utter futility of her actions penetrated her frenzy, and she stopped, dropping the rock in her hands.

  Closing her eyes, Imogene felt her knees wobble. She would have fallen had arms not come around her shoulders to prevent her from dropping to the ground. Imogene laid her head on the shoulder provided. “Jasper,” she whispered in profound misery. Her trickle of tears became a torrent, and she turned her face into the coat to muffle her sobs.

  Standing together, locked in wretchedness, Imogene lost her sense of time; it no longer mattered. It felt like an eon of seconds when Mr. Benjamin stiffened and grabbed a sharp breath of surprise.

  Imogene lifted her head, his reaction breaking into her grief-filled mind. “What is it?” she asked, pulling away and only just realizing how entwined they had become. She tilted her head and looked up at his expression.

  He was smiling. Broadly. It was almost a grin. And then a burble of laughter burst from him, and Imogene wondered about his sanity. About to inquire, Imogene was instead directed to turn around.

  “Look,” he said, pointing to the corner occupied by the stone spiral staircase.

  Imogene squinted into the shadows and, at first glance, saw nothing worthy of happy acclaim. Then two dark spots disappeared only to reappear in the blink of an eye.

  With a gasp, Imogene stared, waiting for the two dark spots to blink again. And they did. “Jasper!” she screamed. Yes, it was a most unladylike sound.

  Scrambling as best she could, Imogene rushed with Mr. Benjamin across the rubble, holding each other up as they tripped across the uneven surface.

  Only Jasper’s head could be seen peeking out from behind the central stone newel post. He appeared to be on the widest step where the entrance to the great hall had been. But he was not moving. As she got closer, Imogene could see that Jasper was panting. Was it anxiety or pain? He was so entirely covered in gray dust that it was hard to discern that his mouth was even open. She was not at all comfortable with his lack of enthusiasm. The only time Jasper was not high-spirited was when he was asleep. As she neared, the dog began to whine, but still did not move.

  “I’m coming, dearest puppy. Almost there.” With eyes on Jasper, Imogene spoke to Mr. Benjamin. “If you go round the other way, we can approach him from both sides. I’ll take his head to comfort him until we can understand … oh.” Imogene blinked. “Oh, Jasper, what have you done?” She was both relieved and concerned.

  “His tail,” Mr. Benjamin said as they looked at each other over the dog’s back. “Well, it might not be too bad. We’ll know better as soon as I move the rock.”

  It was not done easily. The rock was not a single stone but, in fact, a group of stones still mortared together—heavy and unwieldy. Still, Mr. Benjamin did not have to lift the weight far, just off Jasper’s tail. Once free, Jasper jumped to his feet, tried to wag, and then yelped in pain. The tip of his tail was kinked and matted in blood. Imogene crooned as she half lifted, half dragged him out of the stairwell and into the fresh air and light. Once there, she laid him down and gave him a thorough inspection.

  “Oh dear. He has a significant cut on his shoulder and is missing a patch of fur on his side. And, of course, his tail is quite mangled.”

  Mr. Benjamin knelt beside them, nodding as Imogene pointed out Jasper’s terrible injuries. “Yes, indeed, he was very lucky.”

  Imogene smiled. “You are right. It could have been so much worse.” She laughed; it almost sounded like a giggle. She was so very relieved.

  “I will carry him if that is all right with you and Jasper.”

  “Your coat will be ruined. He is filthy and bloody and—Oh, I’m afraid—”

  “Yes, rather pointless to be concerned about my coat now. Too late for both of us, I’m sorry to say. Your lovely gown is not at its best, either.”

  Imogene looked down, snorting at the understatement. Not at its best? Her dress was ruined beyond repair, stained with dirt and blood, and ripped about the knees, and her lovely cerulean sash was missing. She grimaced. “Mother will not be pleased.”

  “Under the circumstances, I’m sure Mrs. Chively will understand the forfeiture.”

  Imogene shrugged—rather handily; it was a shame that Emily was not there to witness the feat. “I’m sure you are right,” she said, knowing otherwise. She would not allow thoughts of Mother’s anger to ruin her euphoria. Jasper would be fine. That was all that mattered.

  Placing his hands carefully under the dog, Mr. Benjamin lifted Jasper easily, despite the precious creature’s weight of three and a half stone. Imogene guided them back across the rubble, providing support whenever rocks shifted beneath Mr. Benjamin’s feet. Once up and over the lip of the hole, walking became much easier, and Imogene trotted alongside, patting and crooning to Jasper. It seemed to be unnecessary, because Jasper was as content as any injured dog can be, no longer panting in distress.

  They had just crossed the bridge and started to climb the hill toward the manor when they heard a hail. Imogene looked up and saw Emily and Mr. Beeswanger rushing toward them.

  “Thank heaven,” Emily said when she was near enough to be heard without the necessity of raising her voice. She stopped in front of Mr. Benjamin, stroking Jasper gently. “Well done, Mr. Benjamin.”

  “Jasper deserves the praise, not me. He cleverly stayed near the stairs and out from under the worst of the rubble. His tail suffered the most damage.” He pointed with his nose.

  “Oh, you poor dear,” Emily said, leaning to look closer. “It’s rather flat.”

  “This is a much happier outcome than expected.” Mr. Beeswanger joined the group. He was winded, likely from the act of rushing across the lawn. Emily’s father was an affable, somewhat portly gentleman, prone to laughing and jolly conversation, and brought comfort with his company. Not at all like—

  “Imogene! What have you done?”

  Imogene’s heart sank at the sound of her father’s voice. She took a fortifying breath and turned to look up the winding path to Gracebridge. Walking … no, marching … toward her, Imogene’s father quickly set upon them. His expression was thunderous; his countenance had a tendency to be pinched and critical at the best of times, but he had added a ruddy complexion and piercing gaze to the ensemble.

  And then, to increase the uneasiness of the situation, Mr. Steeple—Mr. Ernest Steeple—stepped out from behind her father, and Imogene was suddenly very aware of her disheveled appearance. She smiled awkwardly.

  “Look at you,” her father continued, speaking with a raised voice, despite having joined the company. “You are in complete disarray.” He turned to speak over his shoulder. “I can assure you, Mr. Steeple, that this is a highly irregular state of being. Imogene is usually the epitome of a properly brought up young lady.”

  Without responding, Mr. Ernest stepped past her father and approached Imogene. He hesitated, and Imogene feared that he might try to take hold of her hands while greeting her. Instead, he bowed his head, and Imogene returned his greeting with a bobbed curtsy. She tried not to chew at her bottom lip.

  “So good to see you again, Miss Chively. Are you well? You seem to have had a slight mishap.” The breeze played with the hair that had fallen in front of his eyes. His grin was half self-conscious, half admiring.

  Imogene nodded with a ghost of a smile. “Thank you, Mr. Steeple. I am as well as can be expected after—”

  “After you brought down the castle.” Imogene’s father gestured toward the ruin, flailing his arms about.

  “The erosion was significant, Mr. Chively. Li
kely made worse by the frosts of last winter—”

  “Winter has been over for some months, Mr. Benjamin. I hardly think we can blame the weather for this disaster.”

  “Perhaps the ravages of time, then.”

  “What?” Imogene’s father turned his head to stare at Mr. Benjamin. He added a frown to his stormy expression and a slight curl to his lip.

  It was a clear display of condescension, and Imogene was insulted on Mr. Benjamin’s behalf. No, more than insulted, she was peeved—yes, truly peeved. Here was a helpful young man in a ruined coat carrying her injured dog, and her father was not only ignoring this act of gallantry but also deriding the bearer. Still, Imogene knew better than to confront her father directly.

  “Father, I made mention of the growing number of cracks and sagging floor yesterday.” She had been assured that there was nothing to be concerned about—a great fuss for nothing were her father’s exact words.

  “Yes, well you should have explained yourself more fully, Imogene. Now the whole will have to come down. It’s a danger to everyone.”

  His words unsettled her, as they were meant to. Shaking her head in distress, Imogene stepped forward as if to put her hand on her father’s arm. “No. Please, Father. It can be repaired.”

  Leaning back, away from his daughter, Imogene’s father lifted his chin—allowing him to look down his nose at her. “I would say not. Look at that mess. A piece of history utterly destroyed. If you had stayed away, this would not have happened. All that tramping about.”

  Mouth agape, Imogene glanced at Mr. Ernest, who exuded sympathy and confusion at the same time. She didn’t wonder at his uncertainty. Her father’s angry declaration made little sense; though, to point that out would only increase his ire. And yet she had to try—the thought of losing the castle entirely was just too upsetting to stay her tongue.

  “But, Father, there is no need for—” Imogene began, but she was interrupted.