Chapter 20
If the people are forced to consume their oats and other grain, where is the rent to come from?
I didn’t need to read any more, for I had an idea what accounting record Lord Browne had found—the ledger that had leapt from its shelf on my very first morning as Wilhelmina.
Whether Michael or the woman in white, something not of this world had made that particular volume fall for a reason.
I might not know much about dark sorcery or folklore and the like, but there was one thing I could do.
Carefully reshelving the remaining journals, I hurried from Lord Browne’s study and made my way downstairs to the main floor, heart racing with every step.
Death at Lady Catherine’s hands would have been a simple thing to thwart. But supernatural goings-on coupled with sorcery? I was ill-equipped.
I thought back to the vision I’d had in the hallway the night before—the shadow looming behind Lady Catherine, the different girls, the repeated phrase.
It reeked of wrongness, knotting my gut until I wondered why.
Why so many? And did many Wilhelminas mean Lady Catherine’s own daughter had died long, long ago?
First things first. A glance at the entranceway longcase clock to my right told me three more hours had passed—it was five o’clock.
Not long past the golden hour, dusk painted the foyer in hues of gray and shadow.
Odd that no one had yet lit the chandelier, but I supposed Lady Catherine’s disposition had sent the house into disarray.
With a shrug, I made my way to the sideboard, situated outside the parlor, and made quick work of lighting a candle before crossing the foyer to enter the darkening library.
Where had I placed the volume? On which shelf? I was sure I had hidden it between something about bees, and … I couldn’t recall. Either way, it should be near her ladyship’s desk.
Holding the candle aloft, I turned the corner to make my way down the main aisle, and—
I halted, blood turning to ice as a silhouette, seated behind Lady Catherine’s desk—in profile—came into focus.
“M-mama?” I called, mustering all I had to temper the sudden vise that gripped my chest.
Only for the fizzle of burning tobacco, I’d have sworn my imagination had run wild, but as the silhouette took a drag, it slowly turned.
“Over here, dear.”
It was her, thank God. My heart fluttered as I neared, its rhythm countering each step. For though her flesh-and-blood presence should put me at ease, it hindered my current task.
“Shouldn’t you be a-bed?” I asked, placing the candle upon the desk. “Why are you sitting here in the dark?”
“Ah,” Lady Catherine said, voice unusually soft, glancing out the window once more. “I wondered if it might be over.”
Taking the chair opposite, I pursed my lips. “Whatever do you mean?”
Turning her attention toward me, she smiled around the bit of her pipe. “Did you break your fast, dearling?”
“Mama … it’s suppertime,” I replied, my voice gentle, now certain she’d not yet recovered. Where was Aggie? “Shall I escort you to your room?”
“I can’t hear her right now.” Eyes bright in the light of the candle, Lady Catherine lunged forward, over the desk, and I reared back with fright. “I need her gone. But the means frighten me. Freedom … I suppose it’s worth the price.”
“Wh-what price, Mama?” I ventured, knuckles blanching as I grasped the arms of my chair. “Is it something I can help you with?”
“I think so.” She smiled then, a bright, peaceful smile that illuminated her entire face. Sitting back in her chair, Lady Catherine closed her eyes and lifted an idle hand to absent-mindedly fiddle with the charm at her throat.
I glanced over my shoulder, toward the very spot where the book I sought had once landed on the polished wooden floor, and sighed. First, I needed to tend to Lady Catherine.
I rose and circumvented the desk to assist her.
“Come, Mama. I’ll take you upstairs.” But as my gentle hand connected with her shoulder, Lady Catherine stiffened and bolted upright, turning in her chair to rake her eyes over me.
“Wilhelmina?” she snapped. Gone was the gentle lilt from a moment before, replaced now with a no-nonsense tone that meant business. “What in Heaven’s name are we doing in the library? In the dark?”
My brows drew together as her clipped question set my pulse alight.
“I found you here, in the dark, Mama,” I replied, swiftly stepping back as she rose up from her chair. “You have been a-bed since yesterday. Since your episode.”
“Episode?” she echoed, lips pursing. “My dear child, are you unwell?”
With a scoff, Lady Catherine whipped out a hand to touch my forehead, and I froze.
“No, Mama.” My words were but a breath as I desperately fought to understand what was happening. Could one snap out of an episode in the space of a blink? Was this usual?
“Cool to the touch,” she confirmed, then glanced about. “Mistress Lynch is in need of discipline. How could she allow the house to go dark? Come, come. It’s not safe to wander about without light.”
With a firm hand, Lady Catherine grasped my arm, but I held steady—even as she moved to step around the desk.
“I came to borrow a book and happened upon you,” I announced.
“A book?” Her brows furrowed. “There’s little of interest here save records and papers. Have you suddenly sprouted political leanings?”
Forcing a smile to my face, I shook my head.
“I had thought to educate myself on the estate itself and the land hereabouts. I remembered you noting that Lord Browne had thought to turn his hand to beekeeping. I sought to familiarize myself with the process, lest the solicitors steer conversation toward the running of the estate.”
I held my breath as Lady Catherine stared at me, a quizzical look on her face. One beat, two—
“Very well,” she said with a nod, before turning on her heel and striding toward the exit.
I loosed my breath, but quickly straightened as she paused halfway down the main aisle.
“Tomorrow morning, be prepared to demonstrate your overall progress.” She threw the command over her shoulder. “And if everything is to my liking, I’ll have Mr. O’Dea tour the land with you. Learning about the estate will only enrich your knowledge and impress the solicitors.”
“Yes, Mama,” I replied, counting each step she took as she continued toward the door.
Before grabbing the candle and scurrying to find what I came for.
I slept, tossing and turning, but not from things that went bump in the night.
Like Lord Browne, I could not make heads nor tails of the accounting record.
It recorded no figures, no sums, but names. Names of tenants and villagers, and it appeared she’d noted whether they were loyal to either her or Lord Browne.
At first, those under Lady Catherine’s “protection”—for there was, in fact, a column citing whether each tenant or villager had subscribed to whatever that meant—were few and far between, even after Lord Browne’s death in 1832.
But when 1845 rolled around, every inhabitant on Browne land, under Browne care, were afforded this “protection.”
A frustrating goose chase is all it was.
Still, I’d schooled my face, broken my fast, and descended upon the library as Lady Catherine had decreed. And now I sat, patiently, waiting as her ladyship evaluated my work.
“The script is perfect,” she murmured, setting aside the page and a half of newspaper articles she’d had me copy, all observations on the queen’s proposed visit.
Queen Victoria had apparently pushed back her promised visit to Ireland yet again, fearing for her own personal safety after donating the measly sum of two thousand pounds to the Irish relief effort …
and blocking a ten-thousand-pound donation from the sultan of the Ottoman Empire.
What was there to fear? Anyone with enough feeling left to care had neither will nor strength to harm her precious majesty.
“Your speech is adequate, script is adequate, and I’m pleased with your etiquette,” Lady Catherine announced, steepling her hands beneath her chin. “I’ll have Mr. O’Dea ready the carriage.”
I had prepared for this. With naught gained from the accounting record, I thought to use this opportunity to examine the final lead I had left.
“Would it not, perhaps, be a more enlightening experience if I rode myself?” I asked, my gaze never wavering from her face.
“That way I could really get a feel for the land, versus the scenery from a window?” My palms grew clammy, clasped in my hands as they were, but I kept my voice steady, even as Lady Catherine’s eyes widened.
“My dear, have you ever ridden a horse before?”
“Of course, Mama.”
“Not a bare-backed ploughhorse, child. Properly, with a sidesaddle and rein.”
I pressed my lips together. I could ride. I could even hunt. Teddy had taught me. “Yes, Mama. I was taught as a child and was brought on the hunt often.”
Lady Catherine’s face paled as she leaned forward. “What, exactly, was your position in the house of the Moore-Vandeleurs? Because not once in my life have I ever heard of a grand family teaching skills to a tenant’s daughter that are best taught to their own children.”
There was a sharpness in the question, a sharpness that cut me to the bone. As if her words would flay me open and reveal me for the liar she thought me to be.
And yet … the twinkle in her eyes sparkled with mirth. I wished I could make sense of it—of her—but now was not the time.
“As I’ve said before, my father wasn’t a tenant. He was Colonel Moore-Vandeleur’s land agent, and as such, he secured the position of valet for my eldest brother. And when the time came, I served as lady’s maid to his wife, Lady Grace. Lady Grace is fond of the hunt—”
“She most certainly is.” With a smile, Lady Catherine sat back in her chair. “I met her once or twice, many years ago. A kindhearted soul, if memory serves. I should imagine she’s also responsible for your knowledge of letters and numbers?”
A kindhearted soul, indeed. Lady Grace had been kind enough until that day. The day my world came crashing down, a runaway train that would take months to rein in.
“With such a gentle mistress, it must have been hard to leave service when you wed,” said Lady Catherine.
My brows furrowed. “Pardon?”
“You were wed, weren’t you? Mistress Lynch mentioned you may have been a mother.” Lady Catherine’s voice dipped low, laden with grief and kindness.
I placed a hand over my heart and nodded.
“I’m that sorry, Maggie,” she whispered, reaching an upturned palm over the smooth wooden desk. An invitation. A moment shared between two grieving mothers who had lost everything. “There is no greater hurt in this world than losing a child.”
Tears stung my eyes, and I reached out my hand to cover hers. She clasped it.
“You are strong, Maggie,” Lady Catherine said, and I jerked in response. She had never, not once, called me by my name. Not from the moment I’d signed the contract and stepped foot in her carriage. My eyes widened as they met hers—determined, steely. “But never lose sight of who and what you are.”
My chest tightened against the pounding of my heart. “A-and what’s that? What am I?”
“A woman meant for so much more than whatever life has already thrown your way.” With that, Lady Catherine released my hand and sat back in her chair. “I’ll call Mistress Lynch and have her put together a basket for yourself and Mr. O’Dea. I do hope the rain holds off.”
With a quick push, Lady Catherine rose from her chair and turned on her heel to inspect the weather beyond the window.
“Have Beth riffle through my trunk for a riding habit. You’ll need to be properly attired.”
“Yes, Mama,” I whispered, knowing I was dismissed.
A woman meant for so much more than whatever life has already thrown your way.
It wasn’t what she said, but the way she’d said it—with urgency and fire, in a way that screamed listen to me.
I didn’t know if it was a warning or a cry for help.
But I had to push it to the back of my mind.
Because right now I had an opportunity to check the land for myself and determine if an idle group of tricksters could have ridden across the plain … or if the lights I’d seen had no explanation, beyond the féar gortach themselves.