Chapter 21
The next days blurred together in a whirlwind of activity. Every trace of the school was dismantled, room by room, book by book, slate by slate.
As planned, all the items were boxed neatly and gathered into one of the main parlor rooms.
From there, once all the women, and Emily and Annie, who had been deemed the most trustworthy of the girls, declared the space clean and free of school items, the men carefully loaded the boxes into a wagon out back, covered them with a tarp and a few baskets of vegetables as a disguise, and then sent the entire load off to the Marwood Dairy.
Now came the painstaking task of staging the now-empty spaces with items that had never belonged there previously.
The kitchen utensils spread out into empty cubbies and shelves, small figurines and books were moved about the parlor and library, and Rosalind fetched a few chests of her childhood toys and books from the attic to arrange in her schoolroom so that it looked as though the place had been untouched since she and Harry had studied there as children.
Dr. and Mrs. Ashcombe were very busy about town, gathering letters from the tenants and tradesmen most amenable to Thornefield, but it was Honoria who succeeded in convincing the curate to write in the end.
“I simply asked him if he thought I, as a woman, was deserving of education,” she said in explanation.
“Once he had agreed to that, which he did readily enough, I was easily able to appeal to his better angels about the inequality of the classes. I think he agreed with me when I began talking—he only needed to be convinced that it was worth endangering his own position for the betterment of his flock.”
“I am not sure I could have convinced him,” Dr. Ashcombe said, smiling with delight.
“When Honoria wants something,” Adrian said drily, “she has a way of getting it.”
The night before the inspection, Oliver returned. He was travel-stained and weary, but he held with him a letter from Adrian’s solicitor and an accumulation of documents regarding the will.
“The second witness,” he said, breathless, not even pausing to take off his coat before sharing the news, “there is a problem with the second witness. Look there, on the last page.”
Adrian scanned the documents and then raised his eyes to Rosalind, a smile lurking in those dark depths. “I think we have him, Miss Thorne,” he said, his smile deepening.
***
Friday morning dawned yellow with sunshine and birdsong. It was an unexpectedly cheerful atmosphere for a meeting that seemed marked with the tenor of an execution, and Rosalind dressed carefully in a severe navy gown with long sleeves, pinning her hair back as simply as she could.
She knew, with her coloring, that she tended to look small and weak—today was not a day to risk either impression. She wanted to appear formidable and, if that was not possible, at least sober and sedate.
She walked downstairs to breakfast and, though unable to stomach a bite herself for the nerves that attacked her on every side, chatted easily with Harry as he wolfed down a double portion of eggs, some toast, and a cold slice of ham.
When he had finished, Rosalind checked the clock and offered cheerfully for Harry to take the cob on a turn around the property.
“What?” he asked, amazed. He was fully recovered now, from his illness, but this would mark the first time he had been allowed alone on horseback since the dangerous incident that had first thrust Rosalind into Adrian’s world. “Alone?”
Rosalind smiled lightly. “This is not permission for you to tear loose about the countryside, brother. Just a gentle ride with the cob through the forest paths. I believe, after watching you endure under Lord Marwood’s patient instruction, that you are capable of this responsibility. Am I incorrect in thinking so?”
Harry flushed with pleasure. “No,” he said quickly. “No, I shall keep the animal in line, I promise you.” He glanced at the clock as well and added wistfully, “When must I return?”
Rosalind smiled despite her worry. It was a question Harry would never have asked before his training with Adrian.
The lessons had done more than simply teach him how to handle a horse—they had also taught him to buck less against the bridle himself, and to embrace boundaries rather than flee from them.
“I believe if you are back for the noon meal that will be sufficient,” she said. “Please stay on our estate grounds, so I might find you easily should I need you.”
“Thank you,” he said, impulsively catching her up in a hug before hurrying out the door.
She watched him go, a tinge of guilt mixing with her delight.
She knew he was safe to handle this responsibility, but she also understood her real reason for getting him out of the house was not so altruistic.
She needed his impulsive and defensive nature far away from Edmund Crewe and the magistrate, lest Harry say something that would plunge the whole matter into trouble.
Adrian arrived ten minutes later, and assembled in the parlor with her, Mrs. Hollis, Honoria, and the Ashcombes. Oliver was to arrive a little later, Adrian claimed.
“Do you think it is too large a showing?” Rosalind asked him in a low voice, nodding to the others in the room. “I fear it makes us look guilty, to have assembled such a large group for the inspection.”
“On the contrary,” Adrian replied calmly, looking at her with that steady gaze that had a way of calming her worst fears, “I believe it makes you look supported. It is a sign of the community standing behind you, which will only aid in your case.”
At the top of the hour, the magistrate arrived with Edmund a step behind him again. He was let in by the butler, and went first to the parlor to greet the mistress of the house.
“Miss Thorne,” he said gravely, gesturing to a pad and pencil in his arm. “I regret this intrusion most thoroughly, and I hope you understand it is a matter of duty alone that would encourage me to impose so on your hospitality.”
“I understand completely,” Rosalind said coolly. She had no desire to punish the magistrate, but Edmund’s twinkling delight over the lawman’s cloaked shoulder irked her. “Please, you are welcome to inspect whatever Thornefield has to offer. Please feel free to ask me any questions as well.”
“I shall be accompanying His Honor,” Edmund interjected gleefully. “Two sets of eyes are better than one.”
“Indeed,” Rosalind responded, “and no doubt you are very motivated to find something within these stately halls.”
“Even the most stately houses hold secrets, Miss Thorne,” Edmund said, lowering his voice to a threatening level.
“I would like you to accompany us on our inspection,” the magistrate said to Rosalind. “In the event I should have any questions.”
Adrian stood as well, but the magistrate held up his hand. “Miss Thorne’s presence should be sufficient, Lord Marwood.”
“I believe I have some pertinent information—” Adrian began, not so easily daunted.
“And I shall hear it when I return,” the magistrate said crisply. “Business first, my lord.”
Adrian looked at Rosalind, and after a moment she nodded to the couch. He sat again, but his eyes told her she was not alone.
She turned to the magistrate, careful to avoid Edmund’s gaze. “Where do you wish to start, Your Honor?” she asked quietly.
“Your schoolroom, Miss Thorne,” he said, without hesitation.
They walked upstairs together, past the bedrooms with doors wide open and linens pressed and clean, past the family portrait gallery and the guest rooms, to the long wide schoolroom at the far end of the house. Rosalind opened the door and stepped back to allow the two gentlemen to enter as well.
The magistrate walked slowly around the room, peering at the old nursery books, small dolls, and long-untouched toys lining the shelves.
Edmund was not so respectful. He picked up objects and flipped through them, opened every cabinet in the room, and even knocked on the wall panels as though searching for something hollow and hidden.
Finding nothing, he whirled on the magistrate. “Well, she would not use the schoolroom, would she? Doubtless she would hide them away in the kitchen or library. We should go there next.”
“I shall determine where we go next,” the magistrate said coolly. He examined the carnage left behind by Edmund. “I regret the disarray, Miss Thorne.”
“I shall tidy it later,” she said, glad this room, at least, had passed the test.
Next they proceeded to the library, where Edmund insisted on pulling out whole shelves of books to look for hidden papers. He went through the desk as though there were secret drawers in every corner, and even bent into the fireplace to look for loose stones.
The magistrate examined the room carefully as well, but observed Edmund’s efforts with obvious distaste. At one point, Edmund stood up straight and caught Rosalind smiling at him.
“What is so amusing, Miss Thorne?” he snapped.
She nodded to the fireplace, and the soot on his fingers. “I am flattered, Mr. Crewe, that you think me so embroiled in intrigue as to squire away secrets in the very stones of my fireplace. Alas, I fear I am more dull than that.”
Edmund’s face flared with a blush of fury. “I will not argue whether or not you are dull, Miss Thorne, for deception does not an interesting woman make.”
Rosalind was gaining confidence with every passing moment. She stepped back, gesturing to the hall. “By all means, Mr. Crewe,” she said. “Do feel free to search the rest of our humble abode for any deception you might find.” She shot a glance at the magistrate, and saw him hide a smile.
From there they proceeded to the hall, to both drawing rooms and the music room, and then down to the kitchen and the servants quarters. No matter what Edmund disrupted, he and the magistrate found nothing.
As the minutes crawled by, Rosalind watched Edmund become more and more fevered in his attempts, just as the magistrate’s lips grew tighter and tighter with annoyance. At last, they ended in the parlor.
The group gathered there were still sitting calmly in their place, but Rosalind saw that Adrian had laid out twelve character references neatly on the central table in a place of prominence during her absence.
“For your convenience,” he said gravely, standing as they entered the room. “Your Honor, I presume it would aid Miss Thorne’s case were a few local people with key influence to endorse her management of the estate.”
The magistrate walked forwards, thumbing through the letters with silence. Edmund shook his head, his anger reaching a peak.
“You gave them too much time,” he said, his voice raising as he talked to the magistrate. “They removed all evidence of their crimes! Can you not see that? Are you blind?”
“Take care, Mr. Crewe,” the magistrate responded, his voice calm, his eyes still on the references before him. “You are verging on contempt, good sir.”
Edmund sputtered and stepped back, shooting a glance at Rosalind. “You will not get away with this,” he said breathlessly.
She shrugged innocently. “I am not certain what you think I have gotten away with, Mr. Crewe—”
Suddenly the door opened, and in strode Oliver, glancing up at the clock as he did so.
“Did I miss the inspection?” he asked, in a casual way that brought a bubble of laughter to Honoria’s lips.
“We are just concluding,” the magistrate said, turning to fix a steady eye on this newcomer. “And who, sir, are you?”
“This is my good friend, Mr. Ferrand,” Adrian said, coming forward to introduce Oliver. “He has some pertinent information to the investigation, I believe. Mr. Ferrand travelled to London with the will presented by Mr. Crewe, and checked his witnesses personally.
He was accompanied by my solicitor, who has signed the relevant documents… Oliver?” he gestured to the papers in Oliver’s hand.
Oliver nodded, handing them over to the magistrate.
“As you can see, the will has been forged, or at least is called into very dangerous standing in the eyes of the law. The second witness, listed… there,” he pointed to a line in the text, “was in fact dead at the date he was said to have signed the document, buried in his own Hampshire parish. The clerk of the parish was willing to swear to it. Flip here…” he moved the papers to reveal a certificate of death. “There, you have proof of it.”
The magistrate’s color slowly drained from his face and he raised his eyes, all friendliness gone, to Edmund. Rosalind would not have liked to be caught in the crossfire of that gaze herself.
“No grounds present appear for this matter to proceed,” he said.
“I will promise an immediate and full report of my findings to the trustees and to the Prerogative Court and, Mr. Crewe, I think you would be safe in guessing that your trespassing on Thornefield grounds is no longer upheld in any way by the law or the officers therein.”
He turned to Rosalind, relief creasing his brow. “I beg your pardon for any ill this has brought to your house, Miss Thorne.”
“It was a pleasure to see you as always,” she answered sweetly, barely containing her own relief.
Edmund followed the magistrate out of the house, with Rosalind close behind, but he turned on the gravel to look at her before taking his leave. There was something in his eyes then, that startled her. Not malice, or anger of any sort, but fear.
“Mr. Crewe,” she said, advancing down the steps towards him against her better judgment. “Wait.”
Behind her, in the house, she knew Adrian would be close at hand.
Edmund hesitated, a muscle in his jaw moving in annoyance. “Surely you do not wish me to trespass any longer, Sister.”
“I just do not understand,” she ventured, “why? What had you to gain from all this?”
He looked back at her, the fear still pulsing in his eyes.
“Are you… in some sort of danger?” she asked, thinking of what Adrian had said about who was pulling who’s strings in this entire plot. Edmund did not look, at this moment, as though he was anything more than a pawn. “Do you need—?”
“Your charity? No, Rosalind, I need nothing of the sort.” Edmund whirled on his heel and walked away.
She watched him going, wondering what drove his steps with such urgency. What was he running away from, and need she fear it as well?