Spring Skies Over Bluebell Castle
Page 23
When Tristan spoke, he sounded like he was right behind Arthur, making them both jump. ‘I think there’s a junction further on. I could see a stone wall at the end, but when I shone the torch to the left there was a dark section, like empty space.’
Arthur eased his body out of the gap to let Tristan back into the bedroom. ‘You feel okay?’
‘I’m absolutely fine, I swear it.’
He looked okay, but that didn’t stop Lucie from feeling nervous. ‘I think we should fetch the others before you both go in there. If something should happen, I’m not going to be able to get you out on my own.’
Arthur gripped her shoulders. ‘I’m not going to let anything happen to us, I promise.’ Ah, if only. But the wheels were already in motion, and things were careening out of her control. All she could do was cling on and try to enjoy the final moments of this rollercoaster ride.
While Arthur and Tristan headed out to the stables to find some rope, Lucie hunted down Lancelot in the dining room where he was lingering over a late cup of coffee and Maxwell who was in his office. When she explained what was happening, the butler swapped his suit jacket for a navy-blue cotton overall which he buttoned over his shirt and trousers. ‘We have some portable lamps in one of the store cupboards, Miss Lucie. The castle has been known to lose power if we get a severe storm in the area. I’ll go and fetch them and join you directly.’
By the time she’d returned to the bedroom, Iggy was there as well, and together with Lancelot she was tying a long length of rope around Tristan, then Arthur, with plenty left coiled on the floor at their feet. It was probably overkill, but Lucie was relieved they were taking sensible precautions. ‘Maxwell’s bringing some portable lamps.’
The next ten minutes were the longest of Lucie’s life as Tristan and Arthur disappeared back into the tunnel each carrying a couple of free-standing electric lanterns. A faint glow could be seen coming from the tunnel, but frustratingly, that was all she could see as Lancelot had stuck his head and shoulders inside to follow their progress.
‘Now what’s happening?’ Iggy demanded for the third time in as many minutes, making Lucie grin. Impatience wasn’t gnawing at just her nerves.
‘They’re coming back,’ Lancelot reported a few moments before he backed out of the gap in the wall, Arthur then Tristan following on his heels.
Neither spoke as they untied the rope from around their waists, and then Arthur was holding his hand out to Lucie. ‘Come with me.’
‘Wait, what did you find?’ Iggy demanded, but Tristan stilled her with a hand to her arm and a firm shake of his head.
Anticipation and trepidation warring within her stomach to the point of almost sickness, Lucie let Arthur lead her down the tunnel. The lanterns did their job, illuminating the blank grey stone walls as well as the floor beneath their feet. As Tristan had surmised, the tunnel took a turn to the left where it opened out into a small octagonal shaped area. Arthur’s torch swept slowly around the space, and Lucie followed the beam of light. The walls were the same dressed stone as the passage way, apart from a section of red brick mirroring the one they’d removed from the bedroom wall. ‘Do you think that leads to the tower?’
‘I’m assuming so, but we’ll worry about that another day. Look.’ The beam from his torch shifted towards the centre of the space, highlighting a small wooden frame covered in a large cloth.’
Knees weak, Lucie clutched at his arm for support, sending the torchlight dancing wildly for a moment before he tensed his muscles to take her weight. ‘Is it…?’ She wet her dry lips and tried again. ‘Did you look underneath?’
Arthur switched the torch to his other hand then lifted his free arm to pull her into his side. ‘No. I wanted us to do this together.’
A million thoughts raced through her brain. It could be anything under there, or if it was the painting then it could be damaged either by Thomas’s rage or the years it had stood here alone in the dark. It might not be finished, or it could be unsigned…the whirling doubts rolled in an endless loop. ‘I can’t bear to look,’ she whispered.
‘But if we don’t look, we’ll never know. This is it, Lucie, this is the future within our grasp. I can feel it.’ The surety with which he spoke was almost enough to drive her to her knees. Fingers trembling, she lifted both corners of the sheet and inched it up. The cloth moved freely and before she knew it, it was a crumpled heap on the floor beneath the easel.
Arthur passed the torch slowly over the surface of the painting, illuminating first the figure of a man dressed in full medieval armour kneeling on the ground his adoring gaze fixed upwards. The beam of light followed that gaze to reveal a woman sitting side-saddle on an ivory-white horse, her brilliant azure gown spilling like a waterfall over the horse’s flanks to trail upon the ground. ‘She’s a redhead, just like you,’ Arthur breathed against her ear.
‘She’s exquisite.’ The image wavered before Lucie, tears welling in her eyes until they all but obliterated her vision. ‘It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.’ Overwhelmed, she buried her face into Arthur’s chest and began to sob. A tumult of emotions assailed her. They had an original, previously unknown JJ Viggliorento in their possession. Arthur’s troubles were over.
And hers were just beginning.
It was a selfish thought, but she couldn’t help it. ‘We should go.’
‘What?’ Arthur’s incredulous voice echoed from the ceiling.
She tugged on his arm. ‘I mean it Arthur. We need to leave this as it is until an independent expert can come and inspect it.’ Digging in, she kept them moving backwards towards the tunnel.
‘But you’re the expert.’ He sounded completely bewildered and looked as much when one of the lanterns illuminated his face. ‘You’re not making any sense, Lucie.’
She fisted his shirt, trying to get him moving again. Trying to put some distance between her and the painting as though her very presence would somehow taint it. ‘I’m not independent though, am I? I’m your girlfriend and the art world is so full of rumours, suspicion and innuendo that if anyone catches wind of my involvement they could claim we cooked the whole thing up. Leave it!’
Desperate now, she tugged until he reluctantly followed her out. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘It’s fine, Arthur, everything is fine.’ As they made their way back into the bedroom, she couldn’t bear to look at him. ‘You guys get everything here tidied up and I’ll go and make a call to Witherby’s. I’m sure they’ll be able to send someone up in a day or two and get the ball rolling with authenticating the painting.’
Not waiting for an answer, she fled the room. It was now or never.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Stunned by Lucie’s swift exit, Arthur could only gape after her until his brother’s voice intruded. ‘Did you see it?’ Tristan demanded.
‘It’s amazing. More beautiful than I could have imagined,’ he replied, still dazzled by the few glimpses he’d seen of the painting.
‘I want to see it.’ Iggy started towards the tunnel, but Arthur blocked her way.
‘No. Nobody can go down there. Lucie said we need to wait for an expert to come and authenticate it.’ He held out his arms to cut off the hole in the wall.
‘What are you talking about?’ Lancelot demanded. ‘What’s the problem?’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t know, but Lucie thinks we need to get an independent expert up here to verify it. She’s gone to make a call.’
A babble of confusion rose from the others. ‘But she’s the expert!’ came from more than one person.
‘But not independent,’ he stressed, because that seemed to be important to Lucie. ‘Because she and I are together, it might cast doubt on the authenticity of the painting.’
‘You can’t be serious,’ Tristan protested. ‘We’re all here as witnesses to what happened.’
Arthur shrugged once more. ‘That’s what she said, and we’re going to have to trust her. Come on, let’s sort this mess out.’
Running into the hall, he stopped short at the sight of the pack milling around before the closed doors, and his gut twisted again. He waded through the barking mass and dragged open one side of the door just in time to hear the crunch of tyres on gravel. Stumbling out onto the drive, he saw a flash of red as the retreating car touched its brakes before turning out of the gateway and disappearing. What the hell?
Leaving the dogs sniffing and snuffling around outside, Arthur was halfway up the stairs when Tristan came thumping into the great hall, the others on his heels. ‘Arthur, what’s going on?’
‘I don’t know,’ he admitted, before hurrying up the stairs. But he had a very bad feeling about it.
*
‘I don’t understand,’ Iggy said, for what must have been the dozenth time in the past hour. ‘How could she just up and leave like that?’
Tristan held up the newspaper clipping he’d retrieved from the carpet after it had fluttered from Arthur’s nerveless fingers. ‘Do you think this is really her dad? The bloke in this article?’
‘Surname’s the same, and the dates would fit.’ Assuming Lucie had told him the truth about her age, and given she’d apparently lied about everything else, who could tell. Not him, that was for bloody sure. His eyes strayed to the pages of the letter scattered across the bed next to him. It already felt as though every word had burned its way into his brain. Still, it didn’t stop him from picking it up to read again.
My darling Arthur.
Well, that was a bloody joke for a start, wasn’t it?
I’m so sorry to do this to you, but I wasn’t sure how else to try and explain everything to you.
She could’ve opened her goddamn mouth and tried. There’d been plenty of time when the two of them had been cuddled up in this bed together. He felt sick just thinking about it. On and on he read as she laid out one excuse after another for not telling him about being put under investigation by Witherby’s. How his advert had felt like a lifeline when everything was falling apart—Ha! He knew the bloody feeling. How it was all for the best, that once he’d given it a bit of time he’d understand she was acting in his best interests.
Cold fury settled over him as he scanned the final few lines.
I fell in love with Thomas and Eudora’s story, just like I found myself falling in love with you. And though I know all the reasons why you would have to do it, I couldn’t stay and watch you sell the painting. It would break my heart, almost as much as leaving you is going to do.
I’m so very sorry, love Lucie.
Break her heart? Break her fucking heart? A bitter laugh escaped him. She didn’t have a heart to break, and she certainly didn’t know the first goddamn thing about falling in love. He stared at the telephone number she’d scribbled at the bottom. Not hers, of course, but the details of a contact at Witherby’s. A proper expert.
He looked from his brother to his sister. They were what was important now. Them and the rest of the family. He was Baronet Ludworth, and he had responsibilities to see to. After tearing the bottom off the letter—the only bit of its contents that were of any use to him—he stood. ‘Right, I’d better make a call then.’
*
It was several days later when Tristan knocked at the door of his study before barging right in. ‘I told you I was busy,’ Arthur said, irritably, as he laid down his pen. He’d sent a photograph of the painting to some bloke named Piers at Witherby’s, together with scanned copies of several pages of Thomas’s diary and was waiting to hear back. There was nothing more he could do, so he’d thrown himself into planning the midsummer fete. Even if the painting was found to be genuine, he still had the future of this family to secure and had decided to plough ahead with the plans for opening the castle to the public.
Ignoring his glare, Tristan shoved his hands in his pockets as he propped himself up against the wall just inside the door. ‘You have to talk about her, Arthur, you can’t pretend she never existed.’
Oh, couldn’t he? Well, he was going to give it a damn good try. ‘There’s nothing to talk about.’
‘Bollocks! If it wasn’t for Lucie, we wouldn’t be sitting on a potential goldmine. She was the one who found the sketch of Eudora and understood its significance. She was the one who spent hour after hour ploughing through those diaries and sorting out all the mess in the archives. If it wasn’t for her, we’d have never found the plan which led us to the tunnel, and that bloody painting would still be mouldering away in the dark. Forgotten!’
His brother might have a point, but Arthur was damned if he was in the mood to listen to it. ‘She lied to me. To all of us.’
Tristan scoffed. ‘She didn’t lie, she just didn’t tell the truth. And who could blame her? No one wants to drag out the worst bits of their life and expose it to the public gaze. I know I wouldn’t if I was in her position.’
‘But she took the job here under false pretences, she said as much in her bloody letter!’
‘She also protested her innocence, most vociferously!’
Arthur’s head snapped up. ‘You read it?’
‘Well, of course I bloody read it, you idiot, what did you expect me to do?’ Tristan pushed himself upright and came to stand before Arthur’s desk. ‘Shall I tell you what that letter said to me?’ He didn’t wait for Arthur to tell him he couldn’t give a shit what it said to him, he just ploughed on. ‘It said to me that a young woman who’s been branded unfairly by an age-old incident that was nothing to do with her put your needs before her own. Not just yours, the whole bloody family’s! She was on the cusp of the discovery of her career and she walked away to make sure that you had the means to save the castle and the rest of us along with it.’
God, why wouldn’t he just shut up and leave Arthur alone? Because maybe he had a point, but Arthur wasn’t ready to hear it. Lucie had left him, hadn’t trusted him with her secrets, and broken his heart in the process. ‘She should’ve told me!’
Tristan banged his fist on the desk, making them both jump. ‘Why should she when this is how you reacted?’
No! He was twisting things. If Lucie had stayed and faced the music, had given him the chance to show her he could be trusted, it would’ve been fine. He would’ve understood. Wouldn’t he?
‘If you don’t get your head out of your arse and stop sulking, I’ll never forgive you. Each day you sit in here brooding, you’re letting the best thing that’s ever happened to you slip through your fingers, Arthur! Dad never fought for Mum when she left and look at how he ended up—miserable and alone for the rest of his life!’
How dare he? How dare Tristan put Lucie and their mother together in the same sentence. ‘She’s worth a hundred of Mother, a million!’
Tristan slapped his hand to his forehead, as though to say he thought Arthur was an idiot. ‘Exactly! Now what are you bloody waiting for?’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
It was déjà vu, Lucie thought as she stared at the cracked bedroom wall and ignored the knock of her mother on the door. Leaving Arthur had been the right thing to do, but that hadn’t made her feel any better. Hour after hour she’d stared at her silent phone, willing him to call, and yet knowing he wouldn’t until she’d turned it off and thrown it into her dressing table drawer.
All the promises she’d made to herself about marching up the front steps at Witherby’s and demanding answers had faded to nothing. There didn’t seem to be much point in doing anything, not that she could concentrate, which was why she was curled up under her duvet once more. She wasn’t just upset this time, she was angry. Angry with Arthur for letting her go, even though it had been the r
ight thing to do, angry at herself for not fighting harder to defend her innocence in the first place. And beneath it all bubbled the bitterest and oldest anger, the one that had simmered inside her since the day her father had betrayed them and turned her life upside down.
The knock came again. ‘Go away, Mum, please.’
‘There’s someone at the door to see you, Lucie. A Mr Hazeltine.’ Lucie sat bolt upright. The head of security from Witherby’s had come to her home? This couldn’t be good news. Her gut churned. They’d obviously decided to sack her, and had chosen to do it here rather than summoning her to the auction house. Best to keep the stink of scandal as far away as possible, she thought bitterly.
She glanced down at her rumpled pyjamas. She couldn’t face him like this, looking like she’d been wallowing in her own guilt. Self-pity, maybe, but not guilt. ‘Tell him I’ll be out in fifteen minutes.’
With her wet hair secured at her nape in a neat bun, Lucie eyed the contents of her wardrobe. Her first instinct was to don one of her prim skirt suits, to look every part the Witherby’s girl, only she wasn’t going to be one of those for much longer, was she? Her gaze landed on the carefully folded garment she’d found in her suitcase and tucked away for safekeeping. Drawing it out, she pressed it to her nose, inhaling the spicy scent of Arthur’s cologne still clinging to the fabric.
She was still rolling the sleeves back as she padded into their tiny living room on bare feet. The moment she entered, Mr Hazeltine rose. ‘Miss Kennington. It’s very good to see you again.’
Good? To see her? ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I’m here to offer you an apology, and an explanation.’ He gestured towards the sofa. ‘Perhaps you’d like to sit down?’
Dazed, she could only stare at him. He didn’t sound like he’d come to sack her, but why else would he be there? Apparently sensing her confusion, Lucie’s mum took the initiative. She pointed at the armchair. ‘You sit here, Mr Hazeltine, and Lucie, you take the sofa. I’ll make us some tea.’