Chapter 28 #2
Wesley put his hands on his hips. “I’ve seen your nursemaid skills, don’t forget, and they leave much to be desired.”
“That’s enough, Wes,” his grandfather said. “I’ll brook no disrespect for an officer, especially one who gave so much for his country.”
Mr. Keith rose. “Thank you, Colonel. Perhaps you might advise me on the best route and supply a letter of introduction should I encounter any obstacles, and perhaps to present to the officer in charge?”
“Immediately.”
“And of course we shall fund the journey, Lieutenant,” Mr. Overtree said. “That goes without saying.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Wesley bit back the retort on his lips, He wouldn’t make it far otherwise—never goes anywhere on his own shilling.
Wesley knew it would reflect poorly on him to disparage the man willing to go and help the injured war hero.
Was he doing it to impress Angela? He’d noticed the two spending time together.
Well, there was a woman Wesley would like to impress as well.
That night, Sophie lay in bed, unable to sleep, reviewing the events of the day.
She thought again of hearing the letter read.
How her heart had leapt to hear her portrait had been found in Stephen’s hand!
Even as she hated the thought of all he had suffered, and was suffering still, she thanked God for the confirmation that Captain Overtree was indeed alive.
She was thrilled at the news. Drop-to-her-knees grateful. And a little confused.
She had begun to wonder if Wesley might be right—that God meant for them to be together. But now this. . . . She felt dizzy at this reversal of fate and feelings. Her battered heart sore but beating a little faster at the thought of Captain Overtree’s return.
If he learned she’d briefly entertained the notion of a future with Wesley, would he think her unfaithful—in thought if not in deed?
And what about Wesley’s accusation that Stephen had married her out of revenge?
If he had, would he ever truly love her?
Whatever the case, knowing he was alive changed everything. She hoped Wesley realized that as well.
Even so, Sophie had been touched and impressed when Wesley offered to go to Belgium.
But she had seen the look Mr. Keith had given her.
Did he fear Wesley would do more harm than good, perhaps even intentionally?
She would never believe it of him. Whatever Mr. Keith’s motives, however, she was glad he was going to the captain’s aid.
He had also agreed to carry a letter she’d written to the captain, and promised to deliver it in person.
Sophie lay awake so long, she grew hungry again. Her stomach rumbled its protest. She supposed she could call for Libby and ask her to bring her something, but she hated to wake the kind maid when she had probably just gone to bed. No use in both of them being up.
She rose and wrapped her dressing gown as far around her as it would go, the ties covering her belly if the sides did not.
Taking her candle, she went all the way downstairs to the kitchen larder and cut herself a wedge of cheese and a slice of bread.
She ate them right there at the worktable with as much relish as if in a Royal Crescent dining room.
On her way back through the hall, Sophie found herself looking up to see if she could spot the squint holes in the musicians’ gallery.
There it was—the plaster mask on the gallery wall, its jester face grinning down at her.
Sophie gasped. The eyes were glowing! A shiver scurried over her like spider legs.
The eyes flickered another second, then faded.
Someone walking through the secret passage with a candle?
Miss Blake would not be there at this hour. Then who was it . . . Winnie?
Sophie wasn’t sure. Was she brave enough to investigate? She would at least position herself near the priest hole and see who emerged.
Grateful for her candle, she climbed the stairs, passed her own room, and peered around the corner but saw no one in the alcove.
She crept to the corridor’s end, feeling self-conscious and guilty, as if the ancestors staring so somberly down at her knew what she was doing.
She worried a servant would see her sneaking around and suspect her of a late-night liaison.
Or worse, one of the family. She looked over her shoulder to assure herself she was alone, then approached the hidden door. Dare she?
Gingerly, she positioned her fingers behind the filigree and pulled open the panel as she had seen Miss Blake do.
The priest hole was dark, except for the dim moonlight from that high small window.
She slipped inside and closed the door behind herself, heart pounding.
For a moment she stood there, listening.
Her candle cast flickering light and shadows around the small room—the single bed, tiny table, and cross on the wall.
She waited but heard nothing save a faint whistle of wind.
She told herself to relax. She was doing nothing wrong. No one had forbidden her to explore the hidden passages. If a neighbor was welcome to do so, would a daughter-in-law be any less so? She hoped not.
With this justification, she stepped to the pivoted timber beam and pulled it up, feeling a little stitch in her back as she did so.
She would have to be more careful. A soft whisper of air guttered the candle.
She waited to make sure the flame would remain lit before squeezing into the passage and allowing the timber to close behind her.
She walked forward, as Miss Blake had done, then turned left at the T.
She found the first squint and looked out, but saw nothing unusual. She walked on.
She came to another intersection of passages she didn’t recall encountering the first time. Then again, she had been focused on following Miss Blake and not on any side passages not chosen. Or had she taken a wrong turn already?
She found herself at the top of a narrow flight of stairs. She heard a sound, something sliding open or closed, wood upon wood. A rush of air blew out her candle. Sophie’s heart lurched. She stared at the red ember of wick until it faded to black.
Scuff. Another sound in the distance. Sophie held her breath. Scuff-scuff. Footsteps. Someone was in the passage with her. The slow footsteps were coming in her direction. . . .
Suddenly a hand clamped over her mouth and a body pressed against her back. She opened her mouth to try to scream, but then she recognized the voice whispering in her ear. “Shh . . . Sophie, it’s me.”
Kate. In the stairwell behind her.
What was she doing there? And who was coming down the passage?
Sophie stilled, and Kate removed her hand. The footsteps came closer. From where they stood, tucked into a little recess at the top of the stairs, she saw no bobbing light. Was it someone who knew the way so well, he or she needed no light? Or had his candle blown out as well?
Would the person be able to pass without tripping over Sophie’s protruding slippers and abdomen? She tilted her feet to one side and willed herself slim.
The shuffling footsteps passed by. Sophie could see nothing. The darkness was that complete. She sensed a moving figure. A shuffling gait. The faint smell of woodsmoke.
She and Kate waited where they were for a minute or two until the footsteps faded away. Sophie thought she heard the quiet click of the timber falling back into place, but couldn’t be certain.
“Who was that?” Sophie whispered.
“I don’t know,” Kate replied. “I couldn’t see anything. My candle blew out.”
“Mine too,” Sophie said. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for Gulliver. Winnie is worried about him, and I thought I heard him mewing through the wall. What about you?”
“Your friend Miss Blake showed me the priest hole and this passage.”
“She’s the one who showed me as well. I wondered if she’d been in here when I spied that cobweb in her hair. I asked Winnie, but she said Angela has not been up to her room in months.”
“And Angela told me you were too scared to venture any farther than the priest hole.”
“I’m not the frightened young girl she thinks me.” Kate stepped beside her, her shoulder pressing into Sophie’s. “Let’s follow and see who it is.”
Sophie wasn’t sure she was brave enough to pursue the shadowy figure, but she’d rather stay with Kate than stand there in the dark alone. “Right behind you.”
She stayed so close to Kate that she stepped on the back of her heel. “Sorry,” she murmured.
Then Sophie asked, “Where did you come from? Where do those stairs lead?”
“The kitchen. Shh . . .”
As they passed behind the family bedchambers, the sound of muffled voices reached them. They paused to listen.
“Steal me blind, will you? I shall have my revenge.”
A second voice replied, too quiet to make out.
The first voice added, “I warned you the last time not to take any more from me.”
“That’s Grandfather . . .” Kate breathed, surprise and concern in her voice. “But who is he talking to? I can’t make out the second voice.”
“I’m not sure,” Sophie whispered. “What are they talking about?”
“I don’t know, but it doesn’t sound good.”
Kate eased open the timber, slipped out easily, and held it for Sophie. She wriggled out, stumbling as she did so, and her shoes scraped the floor.
“Shh,” Kate warned, then inched open the hidden priest hole door. From the corridor came the sound of rapidly retreating footsteps. “Uh oh,” she whispered. “Do you think they heard us coming?”
“Probably, if we heard them.”
Kate led the way to the colonel’s door, still ajar. She knocked once, and opened the door wider. “Grandfather?”
Behind her, Sophie could only glimpse the top of his head over Kate’s shoulder.
“Hello, Kate. What a surprise. What are you doing up this late?”
“I was worried about you. I . . . heard voices. And footsteps leaving your room.”