Chapter Twenty-Eight
Justin checked his pocket watch for the hundredth time and suppressed a sigh.
The clock in the drawing room thrummed like a metronome, the silence thickening as Rhys Billings tapped his walking stick against a booted calf.
In his thirty-three years, Justin had been made to stare down wigged professors and ghoulish school masters; later he learned to deal with cajoling businessmen, crooked politicians, and power-hungry officials.
But the well-dressed dandy was a new breed.
Justin checked his watch again, seeing that the smallest hand had only inched forward another thirty seconds.
They had been waiting for a full twenty minutes with no sign of Cordelia.
Mrs. Norris had been sent to fetch her, and although Lady Billings had assured them that she would take tea in the library, he had an inkling that she’d joined Mrs. Norris in the search.
Rhys cleared his throat. “I’ve heard you are making improvements to the Hollyhead grounds,” he said.
Justin nodded. “A new irrigation system.”
Rhys considered it for a moment. “I could rather use one of those at Halton House. Though the estate is known more for its livestock than crops.”
Justin took a sip of tea, hoping that Mrs. Norris had laced it with something that could immediately put him out of his misery. Justin felt as though he was getting a glimpse at his possible future and shuddered. He tried to convince himself he was happy to be leaving it all behind.
Justin and Rhys had already covered the weather, horses (a topic at which he was entirely inept), and their schooling (Rhys at Oxford, Justin at Cambridge).
He wondered how exactly high-born men put up with the drudgery of day-to-day conversation.
Perhaps it was not such a shock that Will Nichols created such problems for himself.
“Is that right?” Justin muttered.
The two men resumed their survey of the drawing room, until the door slammed open. A few ornamental vases on top of the fireplace shook.
“I have never been treated in such a way…” He heard Lady Billings’s voice trail off as Cordelia entered the room, closing the door behind her.
Justin stared at her, mouth agape. Her hair was only half up, the rest of it curling in messy tendrils nearly to her waist. Her day dress was wrinkled, and her fingers were stained with ink.
Cordelia’s brown eyes were alight with… was it mischief?
He had a wild thought that Portia had possessed her body, but then he remembered her holding the mallet in the garden, swinging up onto Brutus’s back, and laughing with the farmers’ wives.
This was Cordelia, who she truly was, without airs or graces about her.
“I’ve been dragged from very important business, apparently to meet with you, gentlemen,” she said, in a matter-of-fact voice. She went to the sideboard to pour herself a cup of tea.
Rhys looked just as stunned by her behavior, but then quickly resumed his guise of country gentleman. “Yes, well, Lia. I was thinking that our discussion in the yard the other day ought to be ratified by the duke, wouldn’t you agree?”
Cordelia smiled at Rhys. “No.”
His eyes widened. “I… I beg your pardon?”
“No. I will not. I will never,” she said, maintaining her smile.
“What!?”
Justin nearly jumped as Lady Billings burst into the room. She was fanning herself frantically as she regarded the young woman. “This simply cannot be!” she shouted. “It simply cannot!”
“And why would that be, madam?” Cordelia replied, also raising her voice. “Have you forgotten that I have my own mind? I am within my rights to refuse any offer presented to me!”
“Your rights?” Lady Billings parroted, her whole face reddening. “And what rights do you have, pray tell? To lose your home? To let your sisters fall to ruin? To continue to disparage your own reputation and the Rothesay name?”
“In a word,” Cordelia said, drawing in a deep breath, “yes. I do. I retain all of those rights.”
In spite of the scene before him, Justin found himself suppressing a grin.
“Well,” Lady Billings said, doing her best to compose herself, at which she was doing a rather poor job.
She produced a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her cheeks.
“Just wait until dear Lady Prudence hears of this foolishness. Half the ton know already that you and,” she pointed her fan accusingly at Justin, “you have gone well beyond the bounds of propriety.”
Justin knit his brows together, “I have no idea—”
“Ha!” Lady Billings squawked. “Spending over an hour in the company of Mr. Collins’s fiancée? Balderdash! I have investigated the matter myself. And until you can offer a reasonable explanation, I’m afraid I must take my story directly to Lady Prudence herself.”
“Then take it to her,” Cordelia said, her voice deathly calm. “And tell her directly that I do not give a fig about what she has to write about me.”
Lady Billings’s face blanched.
Cordelia began to quit the room before she added, “It’s drivel only read by toffs and bored housewives anyway!”
Cordelia slammed the door so hard that one of the expensive oriental vases that had been rocked to the edge of the fireplace mantel from her earlier entrance fell off, crashing to the ground. Justin placed his hands in his pockets, looking first at Lady Billings and then at Rhys.
“Can I offer you something to drink?” he tried, but Lady Billings was halfway out of the room.
“Absolutely not!” she snarled. “And I shan’t be attending tonight either, I can assure you of that as well!”
“Well,” Rhys said, drowning out the sound of his mother’s raised voice echoing off the halls. “Thank you for the… exciting afternoon, Rothesay,” he said, the corner of his mouth turning up as he offered him his hand.
“The pleasure was all mine,” Justin replied, returning the firm handshake.
“Cordelia—Lady Cordelia, is a much braver soul than I am,” he added. “I wish you the best of luck with the ball this evening.”
Justin was not sure what he meant by that, but he saw the man off anyway. As soon as they were both packed away in their respective carriages, he went in search of Cordelia.
*
Cordelia was feeling strangely elated by the time she returned to her bedroom. It was half past two o’clock in the afternoon. She was hungry and her hand ached and her back protested, but they were almost finished with decoding the cipher, and she was not going to let anything stand in her way.
Her three sisters regarded her for a moment, taking note of her white face and triumphant expression, but there was little time for dilly dallying.
“I-I-I th-think we’ve f-found it,” Hermione said.
Cordelia did not answer. Instead, she rushed over to the dressing table. Portia held the page they’d been using to scribble out the words. There were nearly twenty letters in total, each containing its own cipher and others containing two.
“Tell me,” Cordelia breathed, holding a hand over her heart.
“The last piece of this puzzle/ will be found underground/ amongst friends you must go again/ tangled in roses I am waiting to be found.”
Cordelia held a hand to her lips, chewing on the end of a fingernail that had not been marred in ink. There was a knock at the door and the three of them gasped, Portia simply giving them a quizzical look. When she realized someone meant to disturb them, she yelled, “Go away!”
“Dears,” Mrs. Norris’s voice was pleasant, but harried, through the wood grain of the door. “I-I have Mr. Peverill and the duke who would wish to speak with you.”
“Tell them we are not ready!” Portia replied, going to stand by the door.
“Tell them we absolutely insist.” Cordelia recognized the deep baritone of Henry Peverill, and when Portia’s shoulders tensed, she knew that Portia heard him as well.
“Tell them, Mrs. Norris, that if they do not open the door this instant, we will be forced to use brute strength!” Peverill shouted.
Then a calmer voice, which was almost certainly Justin’s, chimed in, “For heaven’s sake, Peverill.”
Mrs. Norris added, “I have the master key here.”
“Or other means!” Peverill added.
As the argument ensued, Cordelia paced, turning the rhyme over and over again in her head.
“P-p-perhaps he m-means the g-g-garden,” Hermione said, her voice low and contemplative.
Cordelia shook her head. The word that continued to jump out at her was underground. Then suddenly, she had a flashback. Among friends, she’d thought as she was trapped beneath the rubble at the abandoned abbey.
“My God, it’s the mausoleum.”
Portia had opened the door a crack to better yell at Mr. Peverill and their voices invaded the room, snapping her back to reality. Then, Portia slammed the door shut, wedging a chair beneath the knob. It jiggled as someone tried to yank it open.
“The m-m-mausoleum?” Hermione echoed.
“Yes,” Cordelia said, “it’s underground, and mother loved roses. She loved them so much that father had them etched into her tomb. It’s there; that’s where it has to be.”
“Th-then th-th-that’s where we g-go,” she replied, her voice suddenly determined.
Portia, huffing like a bull, marched to the window and threw the latch open, hanging her body out the sill. It was not a far drop, but it was enough to put Cordelia’s heart in her throat. “Portia… you can’t be serious,” she said.
“What?” Portia replied, yanking the sheets off her sister’s bed until she found the one she wanted. Frantically, she began twisting it. “Help me,” she said, and without a second thought the three of them went to her aid.
Cordelia caught the clank of Mrs. Norris’s keys as they tried the lock again. Then, hearing voices raised in the hall, a loud thump hit the door. Bea gasped. “What’s going on?” Portia asked.
“They’re trying to break down the door,” Cordelia answered, keeping focused on the task at hand. “Who is going to belay us down?”
“Stick one end under the foot of the bed. That ought to do it,” Portia replied, already pulling on the bedpost.
Standing, Portia, Hermione, and Cordelia heaved the heavy bed closer to the window as Bea let the length of bedsheet fall outside the window.
Cordelia and Portia counted to three and lifted the bed half an inch off the ground.
Hermione folded the end of the sheet beneath the bed and went pale as she regarded the door.
Indeed, the thumps grew louder as it nearly came off its hinges.
“Go!” Portia yelped, pushing Hermione out the window.
When she was safely on the ground, Cordelia turned to Bea.
“Up on my back, you,” she said, bending over so Bea could scramble on.
Cordelia glanced out the window. If she squinted her eyes, it really wasn’t that much of a drop.
Besides, she had just rejected Rhys and insulted Lady Billings; she was not about to allow herself to become suddenly sheepish.
Tasking a deep breath, she held the sheet firmly in her hand and began to climb down. Bea squealed in excitement next to her ear, and Cordelia blew out a sigh of relief as her feet touched the ground.
“Now you!” she shouted up at Portia, who promptly began her descent. She looked awkward trying to manage her bad arm and the fussy sheet, but she was steadily climbing down.
Then suddenly, three faces were present in the window.
“Blessed angels!” Mrs. Norris cried out. “What in God’s name do you think you’re doing?”
“Finding the Rothesay treasure!” Portia replied, making an obscene gesture.
It was short-lived. A loud rip sounded and Portia screamed as she fell in mid-air.
Hermione and Bea also yelled, and Cordelia thought her stomach might jump out of her throat, but Justin and Mr. Peverill caught the end of the sheet before Portia could hit the ground.
Slowly, they lowered her safely onto the grass.
Cordelia laughed and clapped her hands. “You always seem to be in the right place at the right time!” she shouted up at Justin, shielding her eyes against the sun.
“We’ve let you get a head start, but don’t worry; we’ll catch up,” he replied, his smile nearly taking her breath away.
Portia was already running, her golden hair gilded by the sun.
“We’ll catch you!” Peverill yelled after them as Cordelia turned and ran, her cheeks smarting from laughing.