Chapter Two
“Y ou want help doing what?” Liam folded his arms across his chest. “I’ve been caretaker here for over thirty-five years, and I’ve never heard anything so outlandish.” He’d been feeding the horses when Gabriel found him and was now leaning against the closed stable door.
“Ahhm...” Gabriel cupped the nape of his neck and examined his shoes. “Do you remember my father’s project, you know with Edwin, the university, human genetics...”
“That’s why the girl was here the other day? They want stuff from you? Now? Have they no sense of decency?”
Gabriel looked up. “She didn’t know,” he said, his voice louder than he intended. Calmer, he added, “Her boss sent her; she was expecting to meet Dad.”
“Some kind of boss, that.” Liam frowned.
“Yes, he sounds awful, but I want to honor Dad’s wishes. It was important to him, this project. They’re planning to analyze Edwin’s genes to find the reason for his longevity.”
“Good food, lots of leisure, plenty of cash, not being sent to fight in a war?” Liam unfolded his arms and pushed away from the door.
“There’s that, but maybe, there’s a little more to it. In the eighteenth century, nobody, not even the aristocracy, lived to be a hundred.” Gabriel shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
“So, they want his bones?”
“Only some of his teeth, I understand.”
Liam raised his eyebrows. “And you and I have to open the ancient casket and desecrate your ancestor’s remains?”
“Yes, for science.” Gabriel glanced at the older man. “If you’re willing to help me.”
“Would I let you do that by yourself?”
“Thanks, thanks so much, Liam.” He put a hand on his shoulder.
“Let’s get this done. I’ll pop into the flat to get my toolbox. Back in a jiffy.”
They entered the Renwood family vault. Gabriel’s breath turned shallow to cope with the stale and musty air.
He paused, his eyes adjusting to the dark.
A mere two months ago, he had interred his father’s ashes in this very building, never once expecting to be back so soon.
Without meaning to, his father had left the two hardest tasks to him, saving Renwood Hall and supporting this science project.
“A shame you can’t properly air the place,” Liam grumbled.
In silence, they descended the stone steps to the crypt beneath the private chapel and entered the gloomy chamber. Built at the same time as the Hall, it was large enough to accommodate the remains of God-only-knew how many Renwoods.
Liam switched on the light, and five bare lightbulbs illuminated the barrel-vaulted ceiling. Gabriel rushed past the urns of his parents who had broken with tradition and opted for cremation while the other Renwoods rested in their wooden caskets on marble plinths.
With long strides, he headed for the far corner of the rectangular room. “Let’s see where you’re at, Edwin.” He shivered.
Should he have accepted the help from Delia’s team?
Somehow, he’d been uncomfortable with the idea of having a bunch of scientists poke around his ancestors’ bones.
It was a ghoulish undertaking at the best of times, but he was determined to see this through for Dad’s sake. Thank God for Liam’s help.
Gabriel stopped in front of a large walnut coffin and crouched to read the inscription. The brass plaque was covered with a layer of greenish oxide, but the letters were discernible: Lord Edwin Kirwan, third Earl of Renwood.
Gabriel beckoned to Liam. “I found him.”
“Right.”
“The lid is screwed on, and the hinges of the fastenings seem well-preserved.” Gabriel dropped Liam’s tool bag to the ground and opened it. The caretaker joined him, pointing a flashlight at the fastening.
“Can you see enough?” Liam asked.
“Yes, thanks.” Gabriel knelt beside the coffin and applied the spanner to the first nut. It didn’t budge. He tried again but only succeeded in breaking the bolt in half. The nut clattered to the sandstone floor. “That’s one done.”
“We’re ruining the casket, Gabe.”
“I suppose so, but the damage’s done now. We might as well finish the job.” He moved to the far side of the casket. This nut was looser, and he managed to twist it off without destroying the bolt. Two more to go.
At the opposite side of the coffin, bolt three and four broke at the merest touch of spanner to nut. Now to the most awful part.
He fished two face masks from the tool bag and handed one to Liam. “We’d better wear these. God knows what kind of fungi are growing in there. The body should be decomposed but...”
Liam made a face and donned the mask. “Better get it over with,” he said, his voice muffled.
Gabriel pulled the mask over his mouth and nose. “We should, you know, push the lid a little to the side to access the face. No need to see the whole corpse.”
Liam nodded and positioned himself beside Gabriel. “All right then.”
They applied their muscle, and the heavy walnut lid inched to the side, revealing a grayish skull. The smell wasn’t as bad as expected—musty and dusty but not breathtakingly foul.
Gabriel coughed. This was unpleasant business, but the faster he worked, the quicker this would be over. He took the pliers and broke off three teeth from his ancestor’s lower jaw. “Sorry Ed.” He dropped the teeth into a handkerchief, folded it, then put it into his pocket.
They moved to the opposite side of the casket and manhandled the lid back to its original position. Gabriel fastened the intact bolt. “That wasn’t too bad.” He straightened, took off the mask, gathered the tools, then dusted himself off.
“He’ll be haunting you every night, searching for his teeth.” Liam chuckled.
“I’ll tell him to take the case up with the University of Renwood, which he helped establish if I’m not mistaken.”
“Little did he know what they’d do to his remains a couple of centuries later. Scientists are an ungrateful lot.” Liam got up. “Gabe, let’s get out of here.”
“Sure.” Gabriel crossed the chamber, but this time, he paused in front of his parents’ urns. He stroked each ceramic vessel, one new, the other a decade old, then left the crypt behind Liam.
~ * ~
“I have the DNA sample for you.” Gabriel, leaning against his walnut desk, offered Delia a smallish tin box in his outstretched hand.
Teeth. Good. “Wonderful.” She took it from him, careful not to touch his fingers. “And thanks for making it available to us.”
She popped it open to check its contents—three teeth still attached to a sliver of jawbone. He’d been thorough.
“With pleasure.” Silence fell, and it wasn’t of the comfortable sort.
She ran her fingers along the rim of the metal box and hesitated, pretty sure it would be callous to leave his office the minute she had what she’d come for. Should she sit? Probably best.
She sank into the nearest leather armchair. Gabriel, following her lead, took a seat opposite her. Some small talk was required. She glanced at him. “And how are you coping?”
“Not well.”
He fixed her with his cerulean-blue eyes, and she imagined the faint glitter of tears. Oh dear, she shouldn’t have asked. Pandora’s box was now wide open.
“Where’s Renoir?” A dog surely was a comfort in trying times.
“He’s outside with Liam, the caretaker.”
“Ah.” She drew in a breath and met his gaze. “Is there anything I can do? You’ve been so kind and supportive and...”
What an empty phrase. What would she be able to do for him? She wasn’t his therapist nor his friend and had never once met the dad he was grieving for.
“Oh, no.” He fell silent but didn’t make any move to end their meeting.
“Is there any activity that brings you joy, takes your mind off things? Gets you into the flow?” Show her a scientific article about genetics, and she’d forget the world around her in an instant.
“I paint.” Another pause. “Haven’t done it in years, though. I studied fine art but had to retrain as an accountant to help with the upkeep of Renwood Hall.”
“Perhaps you should pick it up again, if you have the opportunity, I mean.” What on earth was she trying to do? An amateurish attempt at grief counselling?
But she couldn’t extract herself from this situation. Something kept her pinned to her seat. He was like a polar bear on an ice floe, and she couldn’t watch him drift off without at least a feeble attempt at tethering him.
“I was planning... I mean, I have a suitable canvas lying around. I generally paint portraits.”
He’d never ask her, but if she wanted to help him, she’d have to be his model. Should’ve let him drift away on his ice floe.
If she was being honest, what she was about to offer wasn’t exactly altruism in its purest form.
She needed to stay on his good side in case John forced her to get more DNA samples from some long dead earl or countess.
Professor Winter had the ear of the dean and thus held her career in the palm of his hand.
“I’ll pose for you. But not in the nude.”
“Jeez, Delia, I mean, I would never.” Both broke into laughter. “Are you sure? For a full figure portrait I’d need five or maybe six sessions? The rest of the time I’d work from reference photographs.”
“Yes, I’m sure.” She whipped out her phone and opened the calendar app. “When will we start?”
“When would suit?” The corners of his mouth quirked up.
She scrolled through the week. “I have a few hours Thursday afternoon.”
“Perfect. You’re absolutely sure?” Faint lines appeared on his forehead.
“Yes. On the one condition that we keep this a secret between us.” She leaned forward. “If so much as a whisper of this arrangement reaches the crowd I work with, I’ll have to deal with stupid teasing and endless innuendoes until another victim’s found. And that could take a while.”
“Oh, yes, of course. I’m unlikely to meet any of your colleagues, but I won’t tell a soul, I promise.” He placed a hand over his heart with mock-solemnity.
“Good. See you on Thursday then.”
~ * ~
G abriel stared at the doorway Delia had stepped through and shook his head. Delia the geneticist. How would he paint her? He knew nothing about her other than that she’d be a wonderful model.
An oval face framed by soft waves of dark red hair, a lithe figure with perfect, almost stern, posture, and clear green eyes arresting in their intensity.
The situation was a little surreal, but it filled him with a soft sort of joy. It’d be good to have pleasant company while doing what he loved. But was he asking for too much? A full-figure painting would take a few sessions, but he’d warned her, and well, she’d volunteered, hadn’t she?
He’d better have a thorough plan for the painting before they got started; maybe even do a few composition sketches. His skills were bound to be rusty. He envisioned a full-length portrait to showcase her elegant posture.
Where had he put that large canvas again? The one he’d planned to use for a portrait of Vanessa before she’d broken off their engagement. The storeroom behind the blue room? That was where it was. He kept his gaze on the carpet and slouched off in search of the stretched canvas.
What would he ask Delia to wear? He wanted it to be something special, feminine, eye catching. She seemed to be the practical jeans-and-T-shirt sort of woman, and he doubted her wardrobe contained anything that could be described as festive.
Would she fit into one of the dresses from the collection?
He veered off his path, propelled forward by this new idea.
The collection would have to be sold, of course, among a great many other things, but before he sent them off to the auction house, he could ask Delia to wear one of the ballgowns for the portrait.
He'd reached the spare bedroom that housed the Renwood dress collection, carefully tended and added to by each countess since the late 1800s. The newer gowns hung in the built-in wardrobe, all sheathed in garment bags. It’d have to be one of them since he couldn’t ask Delia to squeeze herself into some ancient whale-boned corset.
Stretching the length of the room, the open wardrobe revealed dress upon glamorous dress. He focused on the floor-length gowns. Pushing the clothes hangers apart, he opened each garment bag, appraising, evaluating.
The choice was easy. Only one dress fit the bill—burgundy silk shot with threads of forest green. A sumptuous ballgown from the late 1950s that his grandmother had christened ‘the pomegranate dress.’
He eased it out of its protective cloth covering and spread it on the bed. Glorious. The perfect color for Delia too. It had some sort of integrated bra, and he hoped it would be comfortable enough to wear. Tomorrow, he’d drop it at the dry cleaners.
He turned on his heel, trudged to his office, then slumped into one of the leather armchairs.
There were still two days to get through before Delia would pose for him and plenty of unpleasant tasks to fill his time with.
The family finances were in a more desolate state than his father had let on.
He’d probably imagined he’d be able to rectify things before Gabriel took over.
Liam and his wife Mary were great emotional support, but they couldn’t help Gabriel find solutions for what was shaping up to be a financial disaster. No matter what, he’d always come up with enough money for their wages; his job as accountant made sure of that.
But would he be able to hold onto Renwood Hall or would it crumble around his ears while he was incapable of doing anything to stop it?
He should give everything to the National Trust—Renwood Hall, the park, the gatehouse, the chapel and the stables. It’d be a relief and a horrible loss at the same time. Severing the last thread that connected him to his family would set him free but also launch him, untethered, into the void.
And what about Liam and Mary? They’d have to leave their apartment in the Hall’s newer wing. Gabriel couldn’t do that to them. They were getting on and would find it difficult to settle someplace else.
He rubbed his brow with both hands. Things were dire, and he was in no shape to make far-reaching decisions. Too emotionally raw. Creating this painting would be a reprieve, a break, and he was more than thankful to the young scientist who pitied him enough to give up many of her afternoons.
Well, he had climbed into the family vault for her and messed with Edwin’s ancient skull. One day he’d be in there turning to dust alongside his parents and all the other Renwoods who’d been bad with money and incapable of moving with the times.
He shook his head. Enough with the pondering. He needed to concentrate on the files and ledgers before him. With his good head for numbers, there was a sliver of a chance he could hold onto Renwood Hall by opening it to the public. Provided he could raise the money for the necessary renovations.