The Mysteries of Pendowar Hall (The Audacious Sisterhood of Smoke & Fire #1)

Chapter Two

B y the light of a feeble moon, Diana saw that they had arrived at the rear entrance of an ancient, immense house built of grey stone.

The coachman opened the carriage door and pulled down the steps. As Diana descended, she was instantly enveloped by a frigid, salty breeze that rang with the sound of distant rushing—evidence that the sea was close by. The driver retrieved her trunk. She followed him through the kitchen yard to the servants’ entrance, where a black, wooden door was flanked by two lit lanterns. She thanked him and he departed for the stables.

Diana rang the bell and stood shivering for several minutes, wiping the mud from her shoes on the wrought-iron boot scraper. The door finally opened. A formidable, broad-chested woman of perhaps fifty years of age stared out at her.

“Miss Taylor, I suppose?” she stated abruptly and without a trace of warmth. Her piercing eyes and cheerless expression made Diana feel as though she had given offense by simply arriving.

“Yes. I am Diana Taylor.”

“I’m Mrs. Gwynn, the housekeeper. Come in. I’ll send the footman out to fetch your trunk.”

Diana entered and the woman shut the door. Her severe, tailored dress of black bombazine matched the shade of her cap and the hair peeking out from beneath it .

Diana wondered if the woman’s frock was her standard uniform or if it signified that she was in mourning for her former master—perhaps both. Diana had worn black as well, as a sign of respect for the deceased, and because she believed that neat, unadorned clothing best fitted the position she was to fill.

“How do you do, Mrs. Gwynn?”

“Well enough.” Mrs. Gwynn led the way down a nondescript hall past several rooms and pantries that belonged to the kitchens.

Diana, of only medium height, towered over the older woman, yet the housekeeper’s stern presence was so large and commanding, it made Diana feel small. “I’m sorry to be so late. The weather was awful, and a tree fell across the road. We met Captain Fallbrook along the way. If he hadn’t helped clear the tree away, I might not have arrived tonight at all.”

“I heard the captain passed you on the road. Got home so wet and filthy—I’ve never seen the like. Went straight up to his chambers.”

Diana flushed at this reminder of her part in the captain’s bedraggled state.

“I expect you’re hungry?” Mrs. Gwynn’s remark seemed to be infused more with weariness at this inconvenience than hospitality.

“I am,” Diana admitted.

They entered the servants’ hall, where a fire burned invitingly in the grate. A group of domestics sat around a long table engaged in the leisure activities of late evening: darning, sipping tea, playing solitaire, and reading the newspaper. The cozy sight reminded Diana of evenings spent with Athena, Selena, Damon, and their departed father. It wasn’t often, in the past decade, that she and her siblings had all been home at the same time, but they were fond memories just the same.

After four days in a carriage, this was a scene she longed to be a part of. These hopes were quickly dashed, however.

“This be Miss Taylor, Emma’s new governess,” Mrs. Gwynn announced without preamble.

Chairs scraped across the stone floor and the group stood as Mrs. Gwynn rattled off their names in quick succession.

In an accent Diana couldn’t place, Mr. Emity, the butler, a tall, bald Black man with a distinguished air, declared, “Good evening, Miss Taylor,” before nodding permissively to the staff. They all resumed their seats and returned to their former activities.

In an adjoining room, Diana heard the clatter of pots and pans and glimpsed two women hard at work, presumably the cook and kitchen maid. Her dream of a hot meal evaporated when Mrs. Gwynn said, “I had the cook put by something cold for you, Miss Taylor. Ivy! Bring that tray upstairs to Miss Taylor’s room.”

“Yes, Mrs. Gwynn.” The maid, a small but sturdy-looking girl who looked to be about seventeen, vanished into the kitchen.

“Sam! Fetch Miss Taylor’s trunk from the back door and bring it to her room.”

“Yes, Mrs. Gwynn.” The lanky young man stood, smoothed back his red hair, and exited.

“I’ll show you to your room now.” Mrs. Gwynn handed Diana a candle.

Diana followed the housekeeper down a hall and up the narrow servants’ staircase. The staff’s indifferent reception was familiar. As an educated woman of genteel birth, a governess was considered too much above the servants to associate with them and yet too far below the family to do anything other than teach their offspring. Although that had bothered Diana when she’d first started in the profession, she’d grown accustomed to it. It was just the way things were.

A flash of guilt assailed her, however.

She was here not only to teach, but also, at least for a time, to spy on this household, to learn whatever she could about the demise of its former master and report back to her godmother. But as she reminded herself, her intentions were honorable: to relieve the anxiety of a woman Diana loved. All she sought was the truth.

The door to the first-floor landing creaked as Mrs. Gwynn opened it. They emerged onto a long corridor covered in a low-pile carpet. The walls were painted a dark mulberry and hung with pictures in heavy, golden frames.

“How old is Pendowar Hall?” Diana asked, delighted by the architecture, decorations, and furnishings.

“T’were built over two hundred and fifty years ago, in 1586, if I’m not mistaken.” The housekeeper stopped and opened the first door on the left. “This be your chamber.”

“Mine?” Diana paused in surprise. “I presumed that I would be housed on an upper floor, either with the servants or near the children’s rooms?”

“The baronet who built Pendowar Hall wanted his children and their caretakers on the same level as himself. It’s been that way ever since.”

“Oh. I see.”

They entered the small chamber. It was clean and plainly furnished. A pine wardrobe overlooked a bed, table, chair, and chest of drawers topped by a pitcher and basin. A fire burned in the grate, doing its best to fight off the chill.

Diana immediately felt comfortable and at home. She preferred order and simplicity above all things. A place for everything, and everything in its place. “This will do nicely. Thank you. Is the nursery through here?” She gestured to a connecting door.

Mrs. Gwynn nodded. “No one sleeps there now, ever since Master Robert…” She paused and pursed her lips.

Diana recalled that only a few years had passed since the boy’s death. He had no doubt slept in the nursery. No wonder the housekeeper looked upset. Diana would have to be careful what she said, if she wanted to find answers for Mrs. Phillips without ruffling any feathers.

“Miss Fallbrook has a bedroom of her own a few doors down,” the housekeeper went on.

“I should love to meet Miss Fallbrook if she is up?”

“She won’t want to be disturbed. She spends evenings on her own.”

“I see.”

“Beyond the nursery is the schoolroom. You can use it for your sitting room if you like and take your meals there with Miss Fallbrook. All three rooms are joined by connecting doors.”

“A sensible arrangement.”

The footman entered with Diana’s trunk and set it down in a corner. At the same time, the maid— what was her name? Oh, yes, Ivy —entered and set a tray on the table. Diana spied a slice of cold meat pie and a mug of dark brew from which arose the tantalizing aroma of hot coffee.

“I don’t see a fork,” Mrs. Gwynn reproached the serving girl.

“It’s right here Mrs. Gwynn,” the maid said quickly, unveiling the utensil from beneath the serviette, which hid it.

“Thank you, Sam. Thank you, Ivy.” Diana gave them each a smile and was rewarded with a nod and a curtsy before they withdrew.

“You have Sundays and Thursday afternoons off,” Mrs. Gwynn announced. “Pendowar Hall be a big house, and some parts be unsafe to tread. Keep out of the north wing. It’s closed off on the master’s orders. Laundry day is once a month. In the meantime, if you want that gown and cloak sponged and pressed, give them to Ivy in the morning. She’ll see to it.”

“Thank you.”

“Good night.” Mrs. Gwynn started for the door.

“Wait.” There was no time like the present, Diana decided. Mrs. Gwynn must have known all about the circumstances of Sir Thomas’s death. “Before you go, Mrs. Gwynn, I have a few questions if I may?”

The housekeeper’s dark eyebrows raised in silent inquiry .

“As I understand it, Miss Fallbrook’s father, and your former master, passed away just over four months ago?”

“He did. God rest his soul.”

“I am very sorry for your loss,” Diana said gently.

Mrs. Gwynn paused, staring down at her folded hands. “Thank you. He were a good man, Sir Thomas.” When she glanced up again, pride and affection shone in her dark eyes. “Is it true you’re acquainted with the master’s sister?”

“Eliza Phillips is my godmother. She was my mother’s best friend.”

Mrs. Gwynn nodded. “What happened to Sir Thomas were a great tragedy. But then, you’d know, wouldn’t you?”

It was the perfect opening. “Actually, I know very little.” To test the waters, Diana added: “Was he ill?”

“Ill? Hardly,” Mrs. Gwynn scoffed. “My master weren’t ill nary a day of his life. Fit as a fiddle he were to the last, ’til the morning that—” She broke off.

So , Diana thought, Mrs. Phillips was right about that. “How did he die, if I may ask?”

Mrs. Gwynn hesitated. Then, with a tight-lipped frown, she said, “It pains me too much to speak of it. I’ll leave you to your supper, Miss Taylor.”

To Diana’s frustration, the subject seemed to be closed. “One more thing,” she called out to Mrs. Gwynn’s retreating back. “What time shall I expect to meet Miss Fallbrook tomorrow?”

“Oh, ach, I should have said.” Mrs. Gwynn turned. “I expect nine o’clock will do—that’s when the other governesses used to start.”

“Have there been many governesses?”

“Too many to count.”

“Why is that?”

Mrs. Gwynn shrugged her shoulders, her face unreadable.

“It just occurred to me, when you introduced me to the staff downstairs, I don’t recall meeting Miss Fallbrook’s lady’ s maid.” Diana knew that although Miss Fallbrook was only fifteen years old, as the lady of the house, it would have been appropriate for her to have a servant of her own dedicated to helping her dress, doing her hair, mending her clothes, and perhaps even chaperoning her if there was no governess present. “Is she about?”

“Miss Fallbrook doesn’t have a lady’s maid and hasn’t for well over two years.”

“Oh? Why not?”

“Because when the last one quit, Miss Fallbrook insisted that she didn’t want another one. Said she could dress and groom herself. My master got fed up and let her have her way. And who do you think got stuck with all the mending?” Mrs. Gwynn pursed her lips.

Diana took that in. “I see.” She could understand it if a young woman of Miss Fallbrook’s age didn’t yet want a servant grooming and dressing her. Diana and her sisters had never had a lady’s maid and had never wanted one—although they had had each other. Taking a breath, she added, “Is there anything else you can tell me about my charge? Something that might be helpful to know before I meet her?”

Mrs. Gwynn seemed to turn the question over in her mind. “I don’t like to talk about things that aren’t my business. But since you’re asking, Miss Taylor: it’s my opinion that you’ve come a long way for nothing. I predict you’ll stay a week. Two, if you have real pluck.”

“Why?”

“Because Miss Emma Fallbrook would try the patience of a saint. She doesn’t listen, won’t follow rules, and only learns what she has a mind to. I’m told she’s unteachable.”

With that, the housekeeper swept from the room.

*

Diana hung the few dresses she’d brought in the wardrobe: two additional black frocks and a dress of indigo-blue shot silk to wear to church or on special occasions, should any such arise.

Diana loved the warp and weft of shot silk. Its slightly different colors produced a subtle change of hue depending on the light, and the crisp, fine textile was ideal for shaping a gown’s voluminous skirts. She liked the current fashion as well, with its tight sleeves and absence of trim other than piping and a few pleats on the bodice, a style that emphasized the beauty of the fabric itself.

After unpacking her undergarments and accessories, Diana donned her nightdress and climbed into bed, tired after her long journey. As she listened to the unfamiliar creaks and groans of the old house, she thought back on her conversation with the housekeeper.

“You’ve come a long way for nothing. I predict you’ll stay a week. Two, if you have real pluck.”

This dire prediction further explained Mrs. Gwynn’s—and the other servants’—aloof manner. Why should they waste their time getting to know Diana, whose stay, they presumed, would be so short?

What was it about Miss Emma Fallbrook, Diana wondered, that had caused her previous governesses to bolt? No one, she told herself, was unteachable. Everyone had the ability to learn. While the level of that ability might differ from person to person, it existed in some form. Whether a person wanted to learn was another matter…

“I can think of no one as qualified as you for this position, Diana.”

Diana appreciated her godmother’s faith in her. She just hoped she was worthy of it. Of that, she could not be certain.

As a child, she’d had a comfortable home, parents who’d loved her, and all the time in the world to pursue her love of books and nature. But when she’d been seven years old, her mother had become ill and died. At the time, Diana had believed it was all her fault because she had neglected to fulfill her duty that day.

Twenty-two years later, reason told her this wasn’t entirely logical. And yet she still couldn’t shake the guilt that she had contributed to her mother’s death.

Since that terrible day, Diana had done everything she could think of to make up for her mistake. She had stepped into her mother’s shoes and helped their servant Martha run the house, helped raise her brother and sisters, and assisted her bereaved father as best she could. Doing good for others had become ingrained in her. It was a way of life.

But life continued to find ways to remind Diana of her unworthiness. When she had opened her heart to two different men, they had betrayed her. After her father had lost his fortune at the gaming tables, he’d become a ghost of himself. Her brother’s work so consumed him that she rarely heard from him anymore. She and her sisters were obliged to live hundreds of miles apart. Now her godmother was dying. Why was everything and everyone she held dear always taken away from her?

If only she could prove her worth once and for all, perhaps it would make up for her mistake all those years ago. To accomplish that, she must fulfill her godmother’s request, get to the bottom of Sir Thomas’s demise, and deliver the answer while her godmother was still alive to hear it.

Then, only then, would she be able to feel good about herself.

*

A mournful wail brought Diana awake with a start. The fire in the grate had gone out and her chamber was pitch black. She sensed it to be the middle of the night.

The high-pitched howl that pervaded the room sent a chill through Diana’s bones. Was someone crying? But no. That sound could not be of human origin. When the windows began to rattle, she understood its source: it was the wind.

Pulling the covers up to her chin, Diana listened to the turbulence outside, accompanied by the rush and tumble of the sea. She had just begun to drift off when three more sounds entered her consciousness in quick succession.

The first was the chime of a distant clock sounding the hour of two. The second was a creak from the corridor beyond, a sound she recognized as the door to the servants’ stairwell being opened.

This was followed by the soft tread of footsteps in the hall, moving quickly past her chamber.

Diana stiffened. Who would be up at this hour? Although she hated to leave the warmth of her bed, curiosity overcame her.

Rising, she crossed the freezing floor in her bare feet, feeling her way through the darkness to the door, where she stood for a long moment with her ear against the wooden panel, listening. All was silent. She opened the door and peered into the dark hall. There was no sign of anyone. What other rooms lay in that direction? She had no idea.

Presumably, only the family slept on this floor. As far as she knew, the family consisted of only two people: Captain Fallbrook and Sir Thomas’s daughter, Emma. Mrs. Gwynn said the captain had retired soon after returning home, but he might have gone downstairs later. In that case, though, wouldn’t he have ascended via the main staircase?

Diana shut her door. She considered locking it, but there was no bolt and no evidence of a key. Scolding herself for being a ninny, she returned to bed.

As the wind gusted and wailed, Diana’s mind worked on the problem. Who had the mysterious visitor been? And what business did they have on this floor in the middle of the night?