Chapter 21
In the end, Emeline was forced to wait two days for their departure to Suffolk.
There was so much to do, and everything took longer than she imagined.
A visit had to be paid to Grosvenor Square to tell her parents and grandparents that she and Louise were off to Woodcroft Priory for an indefinite time.
Fortunately, all the family embraced her and wished them well, even her difficult Papa.
Next, Emeline visited the British Museum to look for information about Viking coins.
After two hours of poring over various texts, she was about to give up when Antonio Panizzi came to her rescue.
Hearing of her plight, the Keeper of Printed Books, who had originally tried to bar her from the Reading Room, went out into a private room and returned with a small leatherbound volume.
“This rare, handmade book is from my personal collection. It has fine drawings and paintings of ancient coins, with descriptions, to aid in your archaeological endeavors, Miss St. Briac,” he murmured, and put the book in her hands.
“You may take it along with you, and I hope it provides you with the information you seek.”
She had beamed back at him, gratified to realize how their relationship had evolved to one of trust and respect. “I shall return it to you in the same condition as soon as I can.”
That evening, Emeline paused in the midst of packing her portmanteau to sit and scan the detailed, hand-painted illustrations of fantastic-looking coins.
How wonderful it would be to show the amazing little book to Hart!
When something excited her, Hart always understood, even without an explanation.
But those days were in the past. Grief swept over her at the realization that it had all been a dream, and now it was ended.
The journey to Suffolk, on England’s east coast, was accomplished in stages over two days. Tobias, Emeline, and Louise traveled together in a fine coach, while Bertram drove Mrs. Peachey in Hart’s phaeton.
By the afternoon of the second day, they were well into Suffolk, and Emeline stared out the carriage window in wonder.
“How flat and open it is! So different from Cornwall.” She thought of the dramatic cliff paths she walked near Polruan and the picturesque coves where smugglers had for decades hidden their ill-gotten gains.
By contrast, the Suffolk landscape was like a vast plain, stretching into the distance, and the land eased down to the pale sea amidst sleepy marshes and reed beds.
“Yes,” agreed Louise, “so different, yet quite peaceful and lovely.”
Emeline was thinking of Hart’s mother, who had left her Suffolk roots to become the Duchess of Caversham and live among the ton in London.
He had made it sound as if he rarely came here and was only interested in Woodcroft Priory because of its archaeological possibilities.
But as she well knew, he was a master at distancing himself from the people and places that most tempted him to care.
As the carriage jounced over a sandy, poorly tended road, the coachman gestured to an ancient-looking sign that pointed into a grove of alder trees. WOODCROFT PRIORY.
Tobias leaned forward and nodded to the driver. As they turned down a narrow, rutted lane with trees on either side, a startled pheasant flew out of the bracken.
“I’ll say one thing,” he remarked with a wry smile, “I’ve known Hartcliffe since university, and none of this seems like a place where he would care to live. No wonder, as we arrive, we find him gone to Lisbon.”
A few minutes later, the coach emerged from the woods and Emeline beheld Woodcroft Priory. She thought she remembered Hart saying once, “It isn’t much,” and of course compared to the grand estates near London, that was the case.
The rambling brick manor house was relatively modest in size, with a stable and other outbuildings to the west. Not far away, on the brow of a gentle hill, the ruins of the original priory were visible, while the River Alde undulated lazily in the distance.
“No doubt this house was built on a section of those ruins,” remarked Tobias as the coach rolled to a standstill on the sandy drive. “Very common, of course, after the dissolution of the monasteries under Henry VIII.”
As he spoke, a stout middle-aged woman wearing a long apron emerged from the manor house.
Regarding the travelers with frank curiosity, she called, “Good day. I am Mrs. Dawson, the housekeeper. Mrs. Peachey arrived a short while ago and told us to expect you folk. My son, Robbie, will help with your things.”
A tall, fair adolescent boy appeared and began to assist Tobias’s young driver as he clambered up to take the luggage strapped to the roof of the coach.
Tobias made their introductions to Mrs. Dawson, explaining their connections to Hart.
Emeline watched the woman for any sign of her feelings about the owner of Woodcroft Priory, but she only said, “Lord Jasper is seldom in residence, so we were not aware of his plans. However, Mrs. Peachey claims his lordship would want this and that’s good enough for me. ”
As they moved toward the heavy arched doorway, Tobias remarked, “I am pleased that the others arrived ahead of us, since you are already acquainted with Mrs. Peachey.”
Emeline smiled, remembering how happy the young groom had been to drive her to Grosvenor Square. No doubt Bertram could not resist testing his skill as a coachman.
“Good day, Miss St. Briac!” called a voice just before she stepped through the door.
Looking around, Emeline saw Bertram striding toward her. “Why, Bertram, I was just thinking about you. You certainly made good time on these bad roads.”
“Indeed.” He doffed his cap and nodded to the three travelers. “And now I am off again.”
“Really!” said Tobias in surprise. “Where are you going?”
The young man touched his coat pocket. “Mrs. Peachey has sent me on an important errand,” he said proudly. “I am charged with delivering a letter for her.”
“I hope you don’t have far to go after these two long days of travel,” said Emeline.
His face went ruddy. “Aye. Quite far, it may be! But I don’t mind.”
Mrs. Dawson cleared her throat. “Then be off with you, lad!” She turned to Tobias. “Kindly follow me inside, your lordship. I’ve ordered food, and my daughter Sarah has already begun preparing your bedchambers. Fresh sheets on the beds!”
As they crossed the broad, flagstone entry hall, Emeline looked around, intrigued. “Can you tell us when Woodcroft Priory was built?”
“Of course I can, miss,” she said proudly.
“The oldest ruins are said to date back to the 7th century, founded by Clement, a Benedictine monk. It was the early days of Christianity in Britain, I’m told.
Later, in about the year 1100, the larger priory was built on the same spot.
This house took its place after the Catholic Church was ended in Britain. ”
Tobias turned to stare at her in surprise. “You are quite a scholar, Mrs. Dawson.”
“And why not?” She sent him a quick glance. “I live here. I ought to know the history.”
“Indeed,” he hastened to add. “And we are very interested in hearing about it.”
As they continued on toward the broad staircase, they passed the arched entry to a room where a fire was lit. Emeline couldn’t resist pausing to look inside. The dark shelves built into the walls were only partly filled with threadbare volumes. “Is this the library, Mrs. Dawson?”
“Yes, but you can see that most of the books belonging to the duchess’s father, Baron Fenwick, have been packed away. It’s the coziest room during colder weather, so when we learned you were coming, Mr. Ackerman laid the fire there.”
Emeline’s ears perked up. “Mr. Ackerman…the gardener?”
“Indeed, miss. Because his lordship resides elsewhere, Mr. Ackerman and I, along with my children Robbie and Sarah, are the only house staff living here.”
“We understand that Mr. Ackerman has discovered some artifacts near the ruins,” interjected Tobias, “and that he is conducting an excavation of sorts?”
“Calling it an excavation sounds too fancy. I do believe he has accidentally come upon a few items while clearing ground for a new garden, and now he’s become quite curious.
” Mrs. Dawson paused. “Mrs. Peachey told me that was what brought you here, but you’ll be disappointed if you think he knows what he’s doing. ”
“That’s why we are here,” Tobias replied, nodding. “As it happens, I have some experience with such excavations. One is underway on my own property.”
“We are most eager to meet Mr. Ackerman,” Louise added.
“I see. I’ll show you to your rooms, then, and perhaps after you’ve rested and taken refreshment…” The housekeeper started off toward the stairway, and they had no choice but to follow.
Emeline was about to protest that she would rather speak to Mr. Ackerman first, but Tobias and Louise both sent quelling glances her way. Instead she said nicely, “Thank you, Mrs. Dawson.”
Upstairs, the housekeeper showed Tobias into a shadowy and faintly musty bedchamber, assuring him that the sheets were fresh that very hour.
From the threshold, Emeline could see that his portmanteau waited on a low bench near the four-poster bed.
When Mrs. Dawson frowned and crossed to thrust open the heavy draperies, soft light streamed in.
“That’s better! My daughter Sarah isn’t used to acting as a proper maid,” she explained. “And because we rarely have anyone else in residence, she forgets.”
“There is no need to apologize,” Tobias assured her. “We three are actually quite capable of looking after ourselves.”