Chapter 28
Of course she agreed to help him find the secret passageway, but by the time Charlotte returned to her chambers, her mind was in complete disarray. Two footmen followed in her wake and stationed themselves outside her room.
The moment she entered, she accidentally kicked an empty chamber pot, sending it clattering noisily across the floor. In the adjoining room, Sarah stirred and opened the door, hair tousled and eyes bright with alarm.
‘Did you discover who the Odd Fellows are?’
Charlotte did not so much as blink. ‘You are to congratulate me, Sarah. I am engaged to Lord Stanley.’
Sarah stared at her, wide-eyed.
Charlotte wandered distractedly towards the washstand, poured herself a glass of water with shaking hands, and drank it in great gulps.
‘Huh? What? How?’
Charlotte recounted the entire catastrophe—the concealment in the library, the confrontation, and finally Wolverton’s murder—before sinking heavily into the armchair beside the fire, looking utterly exhausted.
Sarah sat slowly opposite her, stunned into silence. ‘Murder,’ she whispered at last. ‘Right before your eyes. Good heavens, miss... your life is truly in danger now.’ She fetched a blanket and wrapped it gently around Charlotte’s shoulders.
‘I know,’ Charlotte said flatly, too tired and numb to feel much of anything any longer.
‘Who was the third man? This Falcon? It could be anyone...’
‘One of the guests, I'm sure.’ She let out a weary breath and briefly closed her eyes.
‘So if it is a false engagement... how do you plan to end it?’
‘I have not the faintest idea,’ Charlotte sighed.
‘If he ends it, you will be ruined.’
Charlotte gave a dry laugh. ‘My reputation was ruined the moment I fled home. I sealed my fate long ago.’ She stared into the fire. ‘I shall end it myself once we have caught the Odd Fellows. Then we shall go our separate ways.’
Sarah nodded thoughtfully. ‘Unless...’
‘Sarah.’
‘No, hear me out. What if you truly married him? You would be protected for the rest of your life—even if the remaining members are never discovered. And he does not seem nearly so terrible as you once thought. Well...’ she added cautiously, ‘once one looks beyond the arrogance.’
Charlotte gave her a pointed look. ‘Absolutely not. Me? Marry the Ice Baron? Never. You know perfectly well he detests being trapped in anything, least of all matrimony. Although he seemed serious enough to go through with it tonight, I am certain he would come to resent me in time.’
‘It did not sound as though he was particularly unwilling this evening,’ Sarah observed, rising to the fireplace where a kettle was heating. She returned moments later and handed Charlotte a cup of tea.
Charlotte opened her mouth to retort, then hesitated.
‘I believe,’ she said carefully, ‘that he had set his cap on Miss Pearson, and I unfortunately happened to interfere with his plans.’
‘Did he say so?’
She faltered.
Against her will, she remembered the look on his face when he had announced their betrothal. Calm. Certain. Almost pleased.
Surely it had all been part of the performance.
‘He admitted he intended to ask for her hand,’ she sighed.
Sarah smiled faintly. ‘Well, that is a shame. You would have made a lovely couple.’
Charlotte shot her a warning glare.
‘If you do not mind, I should like to attempt some rest before I am dragged into yet another life-threatening escapade.’
Sarah wisely refrained from further commentary and withdrew to her room.
Charlotte lay down, but sleep would not come. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw either Wolverton collapsed on the floor—or Lord Stanley’s face as he had declared before half the household that she was to be his wife.
Would he truly have gone through with it had she not stopped him?
Should she have allowed him to?
He had, after all, only been trying to save her reputation.
Charlotte tossed restlessly beneath the covers. No—she had done the right thing.
Even if his intentions were good. Even if he was trying to protect her.
He need not have done so in such an arrogant, high-handed manner.
In any case, she had no desire to imprison herself in a loveless marriage like her parents’.
She was certain his heart was not likely to be touched by a mere mousy governess—especially when Miss Pearson had been his first choice.
Besides, she could not forgive his treatment of her at the start of their acquaintance. She huffed softly. There was no excuse for it, she concluded stubbornly. He had been a brute back then—unnecessarily so.
But then, unbidden, she recalled the wounded look on his face when she accused him of being uncivil and ungentlemanly.
Had she been too harsh?
She winced. Perhaps she had been unfair.
Charlotte agonised over the matter but could not decide whether to commend herself for her good sense in refusing a loveless marriage to the Ice Baron—or reprimand herself for being unreasonably severe with the man.
At last she abandoned all effort to rest and began pacing the room instead, much to Sarah’s annoyance through the thin adjoining wall. On one occasion Sarah opened the door, fully prepared to scold her, but one look at Charlotte’s troubled expression persuaded her to retreat again without a word.
When the appointed hour drew near, Charlotte wrapped a shawl tightly about her shoulders and lit a candelabrum. The corridors beyond her room were bitterly cold and almost entirely dark, the candlelight throwing long, wavering shadows against the walls.
The footmen immediately fell into step behind her.
She descended the staircase quietly and made her way towards the library, where several more footmen already stood guard outside the door.
Without a word, she entered to find the Baron seated near the fireplace, in the very spot where Wolverton had been.
She glanced towards where they had hidden the body, but the bookcase had already been moved back into place and the space cleared. She briefly wondered where Lord Stanley’s men had taken Wolverton. An outbuilding, probably.
Still frustrated but determined to remain practical, she adopted a businesslike tone.
‘My lord, how is it that you are unaware of these secret passageways in your own mansion?’
Her question came out more sternly than she intended, earning her a raised brow.
‘I assure you, there were no passageways when I resided here. Matthew must have installed them later... though for what purpose, I cannot imagine,’ came his dry response. He watched her wearily as she stood before him.
Charlotte nodded. ‘Then we ought to begin here.’ She pointed towards the wall dominated by the great fireplace. ‘I am certain the passageway must be on this side of the room.’
He did not immediately move, but instead rose and studied her before replying slowly, ‘You look exhausted.’
Before she could object, he crossed towards her and gently clasped her wrist, guiding her to the nearest sofa. Then he sat beside her.
Charlotte drew an involuntary breath. Surely no gentleman had ever sat so close to her before—or was it simply that no other gentleman had ever made her conscious of it? She firmly pushed the thought aside.
‘Hmm, and...’ He pursed his lips as though reading her mind. ‘You are still annoyed about the engagement. I apologise for that. But given the state in which we were discovered, I assure you it was the only solution that occurred to me.’
In truth, she was no longer angry about it. Merely confused by her increasingly contradictory thoughts regarding the man seated beside her.
‘I daresay I cannot fault you for your quick thinking. We did look... ruffled,’ she replied. ‘I suppose I shall eventually find it in myself to forgive you.’
A wry smile tugged at her lips.
‘Excellent.’ Apparently satisfied with his small victory, he rose. ‘Now, let us begin.’
Together they searched the walls, pressing along panels, inspecting every alcove and nook, and examining carvings for hidden catches or levers. Half an hour passed with little success. Her hands became dusty, her skirt hopelessly crumpled, and her arms began to ache.
After some time, they began removing books from the shelves lining the wall, hoping to discover a mechanism hidden behind them. But there were hundreds of tomes stretching from floor to ceiling across the entire wall. At this rate, they would remain there all night.
Then, on one of the upper shelves, a volume caught Charlotte’s eye. The spine bore a now-familiar symbol: a rose entwined with a vine.
She climbed the ladder and reached for it.
Strangely, the book felt far too light.
Charlotte examined the marking more closely.
It was the same symbol she had seen on the parchment Matthew Stanley gave her.
.. on Wolverton’s snuff box... on Boulton’s ring.
.. yet she had never looked closely enough to notice.
Here, enlarged upon the spine, the truth was unmistakable.
What she had first taken for a vine was not a vine at all, but a serpent coiled around a rose.
A sudden chill swept through her.
‘I believe this is the Odd Fellows’ symbol,’ she said quietly.
Lord Stanley took the volume from her and examined it grimly. When he shook it lightly, something rattled within.
He opened the hollowed-out book.
Charlotte peered over his shoulder, curiosity overriding decorum. ‘Well? What is it?’ she demanded, annoyed that his broad frame blocked her view.
He turned. Resting in his hand was a large black wrought-iron key.
They exchanged an instinctive look of understanding.
Whatever this key unlocked, it had been deliberately concealed.
Excitement coursed through Charlotte.
‘We must determine what this key opens.’ Lord Stanley lifted it towards the candlelight, studying the symbol stamped inside the cover. ‘A snake strangling an innocent English rose. A fitting emblem for a secret society devoted to ruining young women.’