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

Chapter Eighteen

T he idea of a scuttled boat still preyed on Diana’s mind as she headed down the hall the following evening, looking for the captain.

She found him in the library, up on the ladder. An elegant chamber with a high, carved ceiling, the library was filled with books all beautifully bound in similar shades of brown, tan, and burgundy. The sight of him made her pulse beat double-time. She did her best to ignore it.

“Good evening, Captain,” Diana called up to him. “What are you looking for?”

He glanced down at her. “A novel I once borrowed as a boy: Ivanhoe . I am inclined to read it again.”

“An excellent choice.”

“I’m dashed if I can find it, though.”

“I’ve been looking for one of my favorites, Jane Eyre .”

“Oh? I’ve heard of it, although I haven’t read it.”

“It came out two years ago. I couldn’t afford a copy, of course, so I borrowed it from a circulating library. It was so popular, I had to wait months to get my hands on each of the three volumes in succession. In between, I held my breath, desperate to know what would happen next.”

“Indeed? Who’s the author?”

“Currer Bell. It’s a pseudonym, apparently. No one knows who it is. Some critics think the book was written by a man, but I’m certain it was a woman, for some of the ideas expressed are quite revolutionary. It would be a thrill to read it again, if perchance it is here—but I am puzzled by the shelving system.”

“The system is simple.” He descended from the ladder with a sigh. “The books are shelved by size and color. My grandfather and my uncle were fond of book collecting, but all that mattered to them was that the volumes looked pleasing on the shelves.”

“It does make for an impressive sight.”

“But an exasperating one.” He crossed to her. “Unfortunately, Portwithys doesn’t have a circulating library or bookshop. You said you want Jane Eyre ? May I help you search for it?”

“I wouldn’t wish to put you to the trouble. I am here for another reason. I need to speak to you about something.”

“Let us sit, then.” He made his way to two wingback chairs that stood side by side before the marble hearth.

“Your leg seems to be troubling you less of late,” Diana was gratified to observe.

“It is getting better, I think, slowly but surely. I am heading to London the day after tomorrow to consult with a specialist.”

Despite herself, Diana was sorry to hear that he was leaving. “I feel certain his report will be encouraging. How long will you be gone?”

“A fortnight.”

Two weeks? It sounded like forever.

They both sat down. “It’s been years since I was last in London. I plan to see a couple of friends,” the captain was saying, “attend the theatre, lectures, and visit art galleries and museums.”

“How lovely that sounds. I hope you have a wonderful time.” Diana was happy for him, although she knew she’d miss him dearly. She enjoyed their conversations and had found herself looking forward to the next time she’d see him. “It has been ages since I’ve been to London as well. I loved the British Museum and the National Gallery. ”

“Two of my favorites.” He turned to regard her. “Now, you have my full attention. What is it you wanted to speak to me about?”

Diana gathered her thoughts. “Captain, you know that plank I found yesterday, from a sailboat we surmise was scuttled?”

“What of it?”

“Might it have come from the boat in which Lady Fallbrook and Master Robert perished?”

A sharp breath escaped his lips as he stared at her. “I beg your pardon?”

“You said you hadn’t been out long when your boat began taking on water rapidly. What if someone sabotaged it?”

He blinked rapidly. “You cannot be serious?”

“Captain. I am aware that my conjectures about your uncle’s death annoy you, and I hate to try your patience further. But this is different. What color was the boat in which you sailed that day?”

“Miss Taylor—”

“Was it white?” Diana persisted.

“Yes,” he acknowledged. “It was white. But if there had been holes in the hull, I would have noticed them.”

“Not if they were drilled in a concealed spot. Under one of the seats, perhaps. And those holes were tiny. Whoever drilled them might have plugged them up with something—mud for example—that washed away not long after you set sail.”

His face drained of color, but he made no reply. Her statement hovered in the air between them, casting a pall over the room.

“Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to kill Sir Thomas’s wife and son?” Diana asked.

“ No . They were liked by everyone.”

“You were aboard that boat as well. Might you have been the intended victim?”

He raised a hand to his temple and shook his head. “No. If someone wanted to do away with me, I should hope they would have done so in a very different manner, without injuring my aunt and cousin.”

“Who stood to profit if all three of you had perished that day?”

The captain stared at her. “No one,” he replied emphatically.

“Is that true, Captain? You and Robert were the heirs to Pendowar Hall. Who’s next in line?”

“A distant cousin who resides in the West Indies and has no interest in the estate whatsoever, nor any desire to return to England.”

“Oh.”

“The only one who profited from the tragedy that day was me , when I inherited this estate.” He huffed out an exasperated breath. “You have the most outlandish notions, Miss Taylor. Forged suicide notes? People sneaking into the house at night? A tenant wreaking revenge? And now murder on the high seas? White is the most common color for boats. Furthermore, do you have any idea how many boats have been lost on those rocks over the centuries? Hundreds. Perhaps thousands. The odds of that one piece of driftwood coming from the boat in which I sailed three years ago are so minute as to be inconsequential.”

“Sir,” Diana began, but he grabbed his cane and rose from his chair, eyes flashing.

“You have tried my patience to the limit, Miss Taylor. I keep telling you, there has been no murder at Pendowar Hall. Please stop looking for something that isn’t there. One more conjecture of this kind and I will ask you to quit the premises at once for home. Do we understand each other?” With that, he quit the room.

Diana rose and headed back to her own chamber, burning with frustration and… other feelings that were much deeper and infinitely more painful. Worry. Sorrow. Regret .

On the one hand, the captain was right. The plank she’d found could have come from any one of a thousand different boats. But she couldn’t stop looking any more than she could stop breathing. She didn’t want to lose her position. She had so much more to teach Miss Fallbrook, a promise to keep to her godmother, and a mystery to solve. She would just have to proceed with discretion, and keep her thoughts to herself, until she had evidence that proved incontrovertible.

On the other hand, it hurt Diana to the quick to see Captain Fallbrook so angry with her. Tears welled in her eyes as she replayed his angry remonstrance in her mind. They had been getting along so well of late, and she felt as though she had ruined all that.

Was there some way, she wondered, that she could placate him? He was leaving for London soon.

All at once, an idea came to her for a peacemaking gesture.

*

Diana’s quest brought her back to the library later that afternoon. To her surprise, she found Mr. Latimer reading the newspaper by the fire and smoking a cigar.

“I am early for my meeting with Captain Fallbrook,” Mr. Latimer explained as he stood, and they exchanged courtesies. “I hope you have not come to the Pendowar library in search of a particular book?” he added.

Why did that smile of his always make her feel so uncomfortable? “In fact, I have,” Diana admitted. “Two books, in fact.”

Mr. Latimer glanced at the sea of similarly bound volumes on the shelves surrounding them. “That may prove to be a futile effort, I fear, for both Sir Thomas and his father before him were more concerned with appearance than practicality.”

“So, I see.” It suddenly occurred to Diana that the man’s presence here was opportune. She had a question for him. “Mr. Latimer, as I understand it, you worked for Sir Thomas for many years?”

“Since I was a lad.” Mr. Latimer puffed on his cigar. “I helped in my father’s office to learn the trade.”

“Were you aware that the baronet kept a series of journals?”

“Journals? No. Why do you ask?”

“I should like to find them. For my pupil’s sake,” Diana added quickly. “I wish to understand him better.”

“I’m sorry I can’t be more help.”

Mr. Emity entered. “Captain Fallbrook is at liberty to see you now, sir,” he informed the solicitor, with a courteous nod for Diana.

“I would appreciate it,” Diana confided quietly to Mr. Latimer, “if you would not mention my purpose here to anyone, particularly the captain. One of the books I seek is meant to be a surprise for him, and he doesn’t want me wasting my time looking for the journals.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” Mr. Latimer vowed under his breath as he followed the butler from the room.

*

Diana stood on the library ladder, facing a sea of brown leather.

It was Thursday, her afternoon off, and the house was quiet. She had spent the previous two evenings combing the library, working her way along the shelves by candlelight.

Diana loved the smell of old books. The familiar scent of wood polish, with its notes of beeswax, turpentine, and white soap, made her nostalgic for home and the concoction Martha made to dust their own furniture.

As she searched for Ivanhoe and Jane Eyre , she’d kept an eye out for Sir Thomas’s journals. It seemed unlikely that he would have stored them in such a public place, but one never knew. Endless works of history, science, geography, and fiction had whetted her appetite. She wished she could take them all down to a comfortable chair and disappear inside their pages.

As Diana moved up to one of the higher rungs of the ladder, the scent of furniture polish became more pungent. All at once, her foot slipped out from under her, she lost her grip on the rail, and with a gasp, tumbled backward.

For a second, Diana was airborne, plummeting through space. Then she felt a hard impact.

And everything went black.

*

Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.

The rhythmic sound invaded the darkness, mirroring the throbbing that resounded inside Diana’s skull.

Slowly, she opened her eyes and struggled to get her bearings. She lay awkwardly on the floor beside a turned-over chair. That’s right. I’m in the library. She’d slipped and fallen from the ladder. She must have lost consciousness.

Her head hurt. She touched her temple. Her fingers came away red and slick with blood. Shock and fear vibrated through her, and she passed out again.

*

“Miss! Miss!”

Diana awoke to find Ivy and Hester, the head housemaid, crouched over her with wide eyes and pale faces.

“Miss!” Ivy cried again, gently stroking Diana’s cheek with one hand. “Oh!” Her lips trembled as she clasped her hands together. “Thank goodness, she’s come to.”

Hester’s mouth was agape. “Can you sit up, miss?”

Diana found her voice. “I… don’t know.”

“We’ll help you,” Ivy offered. Working together, the two maids gently scooped Diana to a seated position.

Diana’s head and body ached and something warm dripped into one eye. Blood . The same sticky substance that was splattered across her dress. Sweat broke out on Diana’s brow. Her stomach was besieged by nausea. The room spun.

“Hold this to your forehead, miss, and press hard.” Ivy produced something white and cottony—Diana later learned it was a pillowcase from a pile of clean linens she’d been carrying.

Diana pressed as directed, wincing from the pain. “Thank you.”

“Do you think she needs a doctor?” asked Hester.

“I’ll fetch Mrs. Gwynn.”

A doctor was summoned. Diana was brought back to her chamber. She wanted to ask for the captain— oh, how she wished he were here to comfort her —but she recalled that he was on his way to London. Miss Fallbrook learned what had happened, appeared, and refused to leave Diana’s bedside. For the next hour and a half, the young lady pressed on Diana’s wound and Mrs. Gwynn fetched water for Diana to drink while they waited for the medical man to arrive.

He announced that Diana had a cut on her forehead that would require a few stitches. “Head wounds bleed more than injuries to almost any other part of the body,” he explained.

Diana struggled not to cry out as the doctor stitched the wound. He prescribed a sleeping draught along with something to ease her pain.

“You must rest now,” the grey-haired doctor said with fatherly concern. “No physical exertion of any kind for the next three days.”

“Three days? That is quite impossible, Doctor,” Diana told him, glancing at her pupil, who was wringing her hands nearby. “I have duties to perform.”

“You’ve had a serious accident, Miss Taylor.”

“It’s a wonder you didn’t break anything,” Mrs. Gwynn muttered, shaking her head.

“You’re lucky that chair broke your fall,” the doctor pointed out, “and that the maids found you. Had they not, you may well have bled to death on that library floor. You have suffered a mild concussion. Bed rest is essential.”

Mrs. Gwynn wanted to write to Captain Fallbrook to inform him of Diana’s accident, but Diana pleaded with her not to.

“He’s there to see a physician, and he has plans in the city. I don’t want to disturb him.” Surely , Diana thought, the captain would be too busy to care about what was happening at home with her. And the thought that he might not care, and would ignore such a letter, was too painful to consider . “I’m fine. Or I will be in a few days. The doctor said so.”

The three days passed quickly, as Diana slept a great deal of the time. The doctor called every morning. Miss Fallbrook and Mr. Emity came to see her frequently. Mrs. Gwynn, Ivy, and Hester took turns changing Diana’s dressing and bringing her meals. On the third morning, Diana awoke to find her pupil at her bedside again.

“I’ve been so worried, but you look much better,” Miss Fallbrook noted.

“I feel better.” Diana’s forehead was still tender, but her head and body aches were gone. “How have you been faring without me?”

“All right, I suppose. I’ve been practicing French and music and handwriting, and… I made you something.” Shyly, she handed Diana a notecard.

On the front of the card, Miss Fallbrook had sketched a delicate rose in bloom. Inside, she had scrawled in pencil: GET WEL SOON. LUV, EMMA

“I don’t know if I spelled everything right—”

Tears welled in Diana’s eyes. “It is perfect, Miss Fallbrook. Thank you. I shall treasure this.”

*

That morning, the doctor removed Diana’s stitches and pronounced her well enough to get up. After lunch, Ivy helped Diana style her hair to cover the small wound on her forehead.

“There now, miss,” Ivy pronounced with satisfaction as she completed her handiwork, “ye look good as new.”

“Thank you, Ivy. I still don’t understand what happened the other day. I am generally quite sturdy on a ladder.”

“They’ll never get me to dust those library shelves.” Ivy shuddered. “Afraid of heights, I am.”

A sudden thought occurred to Diana. When she’d slipped on the ladder, she recalled being aware of the strong scent of furniture polish. “Who is responsible for dusting the library?”

“Hester. And the maids we bring in once a year for spring cleaning.”

“Did Hester dust the library earlier this week?”

“No, miss. She couldn’t have even if she’d wanted to.”

“Why is that?”

“She ran out of wood polish. I would have loaned her my jar, but it went missing.”

“Missing? When?”

“A few days ago. I looked everywhere, but it was nowhere to be found. Right upset I was. Hester and I had to make up a new batch.”

Sudden dread prickled Diana’s spine. She had presumed her fall from the library ladder to have been another simple accident. But what if that had not been the case?