Chapter 17
Charlotte was no longer concerned that Lord Stanley might be poisoned.
He guarded his food and drink closely, and she even noted with relief that the butler himself attended to his refreshments in the evenings rather than entrusting the task to the footmen serving the rest of the company.
She liked to think her letter had inspired this sudden vigilance—a thought that afforded her a small, grim satisfaction.
Yet as the house party wore on, Charlotte found herself growing increasingly frustrated. During the day she could not continue her investigation, being confined to the schoolroom with Tom and lessons.
Her only opportunities to observe the guests came in the evenings.
She attempted conversation with the ladies whenever possible, but many regarded being approached by a governess as an impertinence and responded with cool indifference. More often than not, she found herself relegated to the corner beside the spinsters.
She observed Wolverton as discreetly as she could, yet he gave her nothing to work with. He appeared perfectly congenial with everyone alike, favouring no particular guest. If anything, he spent the greater part of his time in Lord Stanley’s company.
To compound matters, Mrs Dent showed no signs of relinquishing her dislike of her.
Meals sent upstairs were increasingly bland, the tea perpetually weak, and there was a noticeable absence of maid service.
More than once, Charlotte found herself scrubbing the schoolroom floors herself.
The additional work left her precious little time to make progress.
One afternoon, while carrying her empty tea tray back to the kitchen—a task Sarah would ordinarily have performed—Charlotte paused as hushed voices drifted from the scullery.
‘She didn’t run away, Holly, I’m telling you. All her money is still under the floorboard—only I knew about it. She would’ve taken that.’
‘Shh. Don’t say another word,’ Holly whispered urgently. ‘And don’t tell anyone, you hear me?’
‘But shouldn’t Mrs Dent know? It’s this house. I swear it’s haunted. I keep hearing footsteps in the walls. I’m frightened, Holly...’
At the sight of Charlotte approaching, they fell silent at once and hurried off to their duties.
Charlotte’s skin prickled.
Haunted? Footsteps in the walls?
Was it possible Lucy had not run away after all? She had not taken her savings.
Yet she had left behind a note, so it was entirely possible she had simply forgotten it in her haste—especially if she had fled to Gretna Green to marry. Perhaps she intended to return for it later.
And yet the maid had sounded genuinely frightened.
Charlotte made a mental note to speak to Sarah later. She could often learn more from the maids than Charlotte ever could.
She returned to the schoolroom deeply troubled, only to find Tom in an equally restless state. He continually glanced toward the window instead of his books.
‘What is the matter with you today? Why can you not sit still?’
He bent over his studies, though he continued to fidget and squirm in his chair. Even the infernal mazes failed to hold his attention.
‘Do you think the guests have gone riding?’ he asked hopefully, clearly attempting another diversion.
Charlotte shut the book with a soft but decisive thud.
‘Right. That is enough for now. Go and fetch your kite. We are taking this lesson outdoors.’
Tom whooped in delight and bolted from the room. Fresh air might serve two purposes: settling Tom and perhaps allowing her the opportunity to observe more of the guests.
It was a glorious day—crisp and golden. They took turns flying the kite while Charlotte surreptitiously watched the guests strolling through the pleasure garden. But she was disappointed to find only the younger set taking the air. Soon she discovered that all the older gentlemen were still abed.
Well, at least they cannot engage in villainy whilst asleep, she thought sourly.
She had only just relaxed her attention when a sudden gust yanked the kite string, wrenching it violently from her grasp and sending it spiralling into the upper branches of an oak.
‘I’ll get it!’ Tom shouted.
Before Charlotte could protest, he was already halfway up the tree.
‘Tom! Come down this instant!’ she cried, her heart lurching into her throat.
He did not listen. A branch snapped sharply beneath his foot, and he barely managed to scramble onto another.
There he clung helplessly to the trunk, quite stuck.
Panic seized her.
‘Tom—stay still! Do not move!’
Gathering her skirts, Charlotte reached for the first branch.
‘Let me guess, Miss Lucas...’ a voice rolled over her like distant thunder. ‘You are teaching him geometry?’
Charlotte turned and nearly groaned aloud.
Of course. Of course he would appear at precisely this moment.
Lord Stanley stood at the foot of the tree, arms crossed, looking far too amused—and not entirely unaware of the glimpse her climbing had afforded him of her ankle and calf before he politely averted his gaze.
Charlotte dropped her skirts at once, heat rising to her face.
‘Please,’ she said quickly, before he could remark further. ‘He is stuck.’
She need not have asked. He was already removing his coat.
‘If you do not mind, Miss Lucas,’ he said, handing it to her.
Charlotte accepted it—and became instantly aware of the warm scent of sandalwood and spice lingering in the fabric. She suppressed the absurd urge to inhale more deeply.
He climbed with swift efficiency, powerful limbs navigating the branches with practised ease. Yet halfway up he paused.
‘This is as far as I dare,’ he called. ‘The upper branches will not support my weight.’
He looked up. ‘Tom, throw the kite down first.’
Tom obeyed at once.
‘Now place your foot on my shoulder.’
Using Lord Stanley as a human ladder, Tom descended with remarkable ease. A moment later, he dropped lightly to the ground after the boy.
‘Uncle, did you see? I climbed all the way up!’
‘Very impressive,’ Lord Stanley replied dryly, brushing leaves from his sleeve. ‘But a sensible general knows when to retreat before charging into battle. What would you have done if I had not appeared?’
Tom glanced at Charlotte without hesitation. ‘She would’ve saved me.’
‘Ah.’ Lord Stanley lifted a brow. ‘A governess and a tree-climber. Miss Lucas continues to reveal hidden accomplishments.’
Charlotte managed a smile. ‘Master Tom, that was not amusing. I nearly fainted from terror.’
Tom snorted. ‘You are not the fainting sort, Miss Lucas,’ the boy replied matter-of-factly.
She laughed softly—he was entirely correct.
But her amusement faded as she noticed Lord Stanley studying her with curious concentration, his lips pursed as though considering some private thought.
‘Well then, Tom. Miss Lucas.’ His gaze lingered on Charlotte in particular. ‘I shall expect to see you this evening. Make certain you attend.’
Charlotte could not understand his insistence upon her presence when, for the last several evenings, he had barely acknowledged her existence, seemingly far more engrossed by the polished conversations of Miss Pearson and Miss Fraser.
He was dressed for riding, which Tom immediately noticed.
‘Oh, Uncle, please may I come with you? I can canter on my pony now!’
Lord Stanley hesitated. ‘Perhaps tomorrow, nephew. Your father and I have business to attend this afternoon. It was arranged yesterday, I am afraid.’
Tom moaned, though he relented.
They returned to the schoolroom, where Charlotte succeeded in extracting one lesson from him before allowing him to spend the remainder of the afternoon in his tree house. He returned at dusk cheerful and ravenous.
To her surprise, at last, he had begun to relinquish some of his reserve towards her.
As evening approached, Sarah finally returned, and Charlotte wasted no time recounting the conversation she had overheard while dressing for dinner.
‘She was speaking to someone called Holly,’ Charlotte explained. ‘The maid shared a room with Lucy, so they must have been closer than the others.’
Sarah collapsed dramatically across her bed. ‘Why would she leave her money behind?’
Charlotte slipped into a lavender evening gown with a high collar and long sleeves. The colour suited her complexion perfectly, though she was far too distracted to notice it herself.
‘It makes no sense,’ Charlotte said as she fastened the buttons of her gown.
Sarah dragged herself upright with exaggerated misery to assist with the back fastening before falling onto the bed once more in theatrical exhaustion.
‘Perhaps she intended to return for it.’
Charlotte shook her head. ‘With the Odd Fellows lurking about? I cannot persuade myself of it.’
Sarah grumbled as she rubbed her foot. ‘Very well. I shall speak to the maids and discover what I can. Though the old crone is working me to the bone—I scarcely have time to breathe.’
Charlotte cast her a sympathetic glance. ‘Perhaps I ought to speak to Mrs Wilberforce. I am quite certain Mrs Dent is doing this deliberately. Though...’ She paused thoughtfully. ‘Now that you are cleaning the rooms, perhaps you might examine the guest chambers at the same time?’
Sarah shot upright. ‘Oh no. Absolutely not.’ She shook her head with vigorous determination. ‘If I am caught, there will be hell to pay.’
Charlotte seized her by the shoulders.
‘Sarah, think sensibly. The sooner we discover something connecting them to the Odd Fellows, the sooner we may escape this wretched situation.’
‘Your situation,’ Sarah muttered darkly. ‘I am perfectly fine. I am not currently wanted for murder.’
‘Really... Are you quite fine?’ Charlotte retorted, pointing accusingly toward the blister on Sarah’s foot. ‘Look at you, you miscreant. Very well, when I receive my dowry, I shall see you properly provided for.’
Sarah’s expression suggested an internal struggle between conscience and greed.
‘Fine!’ she burst out at last. ‘But I want a cottage for my retirement. With a garden.’
Charlotte pressed her lips together. ‘Now you are being unreasonable...’
Seeing Sarah’s expression harden once more, she relented with a sigh. ‘Very well. A small cottage.’
Thus suitably bribed, Sarah relaxed back against the pillows.
‘What exactly am I to look for?’
Charlotte moved towards the door with a shrug. ‘I do not know. Letters perhaps. Anything bearing a symbol. Something they all have in common.’
She paused mid-step. ‘Oh—wait a moment.’
She crossed to her portmanteau, rummaged briefly within, and withdrew the parchment Matthew Stanley had given her.
‘Look here at this symbol. I believe it may be their emblem.’ She pointed to the rose entwined with a winding vine. ‘If you go whilst we are at dinner, then you will be quite safe.’
Leaving Sarah to examine the parchment, Charlotte hurried out to join the party downstairs, realising she was already late.