Chapter 21 #2
They left him then and continued down the corridor to the bedrooms Mrs. Dawson had chosen for Louise and Emeline.
The first one, for Louise, had leaf-green walls and a pretty corner desk, and Mrs. Dawson directed Emeline through a connecting door to her own room.
She found it surprisingly lovely, painted dusty blue, with two windows that looked out over the ruins to the distant River Alde.
From the bedside, Sarah had just smoothed the last crease on the counterpane of dull gold brocade. “Oh, I beg your pardon, my lady,” she murmured.
Mrs. Dawson shook her head at the fragile, fair young woman who looked to be close to Emeline’s age. “This is Miss St. Briac.”
Sarah smiled at Emeline. “If I can help in any way, miss, please ring.”
“Thank you, Sarah. I will!”
Mrs. Dawson made a shooing motion at her daughter. “Go on then. Mrs. Peachey will need your help in the kitchen.”
The knowledge that Mrs. Peachey was present in the house, perhaps even preparing their meal, felt deeply reassuring. She could hardly wait to seek out the older woman and ask her a score of questions.
Before long, Mrs. Dawson had gone away, and Emeline was alone for the first time since leaving Chesterfield Street.
It was rather a relief to see that the connecting door was closed, and she guessed Louise was resting.
Opening her portmanteau, she found the book about ancient coins loaned to her by Antonio Panizzi and sat with it in a chair near the window where the light was best.
The drawings were all so small and minutely detailed, however, that Emeline’s attention soon wandered.
It was a task for another day, she realized.
Standing, she leaned against the casement and looked out at the ruins of the priory.
Only a crumbling series of arches remained of the ancient structures Mrs. Dawson had described.
Emeline felt insignificant as she thought of the people who had spent their lives here over the centuries, now lost in the shifting sands of history.
What had happened to the original priory that dated back to Anglo-Saxon times?
Could Hart’s Viking sword, discovered near the ruins, tell a story of an attack?
Remembering the terrible Viking raid on Lindisfarne Priory that was carefully recorded in history books, a shiver ran down her back.
Just then, a movement caught her eye from behind one of the arches and a very tall man with the look of a cadaver came into sight, carrying a shovel.
He wore a wool cap, pulled low over his brow.
Remembering that only a handful of servants lived at Woodcroft Priory, she straightened.
Surely this was Cyril Ackerman, the gardener who had discovered the artifacts!
Suddenly, all the uncertainty she had felt since arriving at the priory melted away.
It seemed the adventure had truly begun.
Without pausing to consider the wisdom of her actions, Emeline hurried out into the corridor, determined to present herself to Mr. Ackerman. However, as she rounded the doorway, she nearly collided with Sarah, who was carrying a stack of towels that tumbled toward the floor.
Emeline caught them in mid-air and handed them back to Sarah. “I am so sorry. I was in a hurry, and I wasn’t thinking!”
“Is anything wrong? Did you need help?”
“I think I saw Mr. Ackerman outside and I was rushing down to speak to him, that’s all.” Emeline gave a wry laugh. “I can be impetuous.”
A warm smile lit Sarah’s face. “We need a bit of that here, miss.”
“May I ask you a question?” Emeline met the maid’s brown eyes. “Have you lived here all your life? Did you know the late duchess?”
Sarah nodded. “My mum was born here, too, when Her Grace was just a little girl. My pa was the stable master, but he died.” She swallowed. “I did know the duchess, a little. She came here to live for a year or more before she died.”
Did that mean that Hart’s mother had left his father, and they lived apart? Somehow, having heard about the duke, this did not surprise her. “What was she like?”
“I was no more than twelve when Her Grace passed. Before that she spent most of her time in her rooms.” After a pause, Sarah added, “Her Grace certainly doted on Lord Jasper.”
“Yes, I imagine so,” Emeline murmured, reflecting on the lengths Hart’s mother must have gone to in order to keep this property separate from her marriage—and then, later, bequeath it to her second son.
Such arrangements were virtually unheard of.
“May I ask which bedchamber belonged to the duchess?”
Sarah turned to look down the corridor. “The last door leads to Her Grace’s rooms. Since her death, no one is permitted to enter or disturb any of her possessions.”
“Not even…Lord Jasper?”
“’Twas his lordship who gave the order,” whispered Sarah. “No one goes in except my mum to occasionally dust and tidy up.”
“I see.” Emeline felt a chill.
“I should get on with my chores before I am missed.”
“Yes, and I must go in search of Mr. Ackerman.” She reached out to touch Sarah’s sleeve. “Thank you! You’ve been very helpful.”
The maid flushed. “It’s a pleasure to have someone to talk to, miss.”
“For me as well.” The words caused Emeline’s heart to ache anew for her lost love. “Everything is very different here.”
With one last smile and nod, Emeline hurried away down the corridor. On the landing at the top of the stairs, there was a large window that afforded an even better view of the ruins.
Mr. Ackerman was still there, leaning on his shovel. Now she could see that he was staring down into what might be a trench, a smaller version of the one Mr. Cartwright made at Amity Park! Had the gardener begun excavating in earnest, on his own? And if so, what else had he discovered?
Emeline lifted her skirts and fairly flew down the stairs.