Chapter 2 #2
Cecilia rose immediately to her feet. “David!” she exclaimed as she crossed the room to where he stood by the door. “Oh, I’m sorry, as you are not in my employ any longer, I should address you as Mr. Thornbridge,” she said, teasing.
“David is fine, my lady,” he said, bowing.
She laughed. “It is good to see you! And it looks like Devon agrees with you!” she said, looking him up and down.
He appeared stronger, his shoulders broader.
He no longer dressed in the drab clothing of a city clerk, instead he wore the clothes of a country gentleman: boots, leather pants, a plain light green waistcoat, a white shirt with a belcher neckcloth instead of a cravat, and a worsted-wool brown jacket. He held a slouch hat in one hand.
Cecilia grabbed his free hand in both of hers.
“If we are to continue speaking of these events,” Gideon said, addressing James as he slid down from his chair, “you should see the lay of the land.” He crossed to one bookshelf fitted with cubby holes and drew out a map.
James joined him. “An estate map?”
Gideon nodded. “Revised when I inherited. Thornbridge oversaw the new surveys.”
Cecilia moved back toward the desk to better see the map as it unrolled. The light behind the glass had altered more. The sunshine was replaced by a low ceiling of clouds that pressed the landscape flat and gray.
Gideon pointed out the major landmarks on the map. Cecilia absorbed the survey markings.
“May I look from the terrace?” she asked. “It will help me place things properly.”
“Go on,” James said, not looking up from the map. “Gideon is showing me the sheep path where the wire was strung from.”
“Mr. Thornbridge, will you accompany me and point out everything? Maps are fine; however, I prefer a true view.”
“Certainly, my lady.”
Cecilia and Mr. Thornbridge returned to the front hall for Cecilia’s bonnet and spencer, then retraced their steps to the terrace door.
“How do you think the anonymous note writer gained access to the estate room?” Cecilia asked Mr. Thornbridge as they went to the broad terrace.
It felt remarkably warm outside, warmer than it looked it should.
The sky hung low and unbroken, like heavy wool, teasing rain.
No breeze ruffled the grass, or the trees in the distance that blended into the sky.
She studied the broad terrace that ran along the back of the house.
It was edged on the far side with a decorative balustrade of gray stone.
Beyond the edge of the terrace, the hillside fell away steeply to a dark green pasture dotted with cows.
That seemed odd to her to have cows near the mansion.
Sheep she might understand, but one would think the odor of cows would be too strong near the house.
“There is an old hidden entrance behind that screen of vines,” Mr. Thornbridge said, interrupting her thoughts of cows and pewter-colored weather. He pointed to a tangle of vines that climbed the side of the mansion.
Cecilia walked toward it, studying the area. “Ah!” she said when she found the hidden door. Smiling delightedly, she turned toward Mr. Thornbridge. “It looks to be part of the chimney and fireplace.”
Mr. Thornbridge nodded. “Gideon had forgotten about it as it had been blocked up when he grew up here. It comes out through one side of the decorative panels around the fireplace. There is also a tight, winding staircase that goes to a first-floor warming closet for linens. Once we investigated, we discovered someone had removed the blockage, cleaned the area, and repaired the lock mechanism.”
“Who would do that?” Cecilia asked as they turned to walk toward the other end of the terrace.
Mr. Thornbridge shrugged. He interlocked his fingers behind his back.
“Lord Monteith believes it was done by either his brother or his father, though he has no idea why they would do that. The earl had the outside handle removed and he has the only key to the lock. Now it is secured from the inside.”
Cecilia nodded, then turned back to look out over the expanse of land before them. The edges of things appeared blurred—hedgerows melting into distant fields.
“The front property is primarily farmland and timber stands. Back this way are the functional buildings and activities.”
“How do you mean?” she asked.
He pointed to the northwest. “The stables and some of the estate cottages are up that way. My cottage is in that area.” He turned slightly.
“To the south is the clay pit mine. You can’t see it from here.
It is past that screen of beech trees planted by the earl’s grandfather to screen the mansion from the scarred earth. ”
“Understandable.”
“The apple orchard, the largest in the area, is straight ahead and extends to the stream that runs through the estate and up that ridge. Apples were brought here by the Romans, you know.”
“No! I had no idea. Certainly, these trees are not that old,” she protested.
He laughed. “No, my lady; however, apples have been grown here since those days. Along the stream, on the other side of the orchard, are the wheat and cider mills. The local village is further down the stream. Beyond the apple orchard, up that way are the Roman ruins.”
She turned to look at him, to judge by his expression whether he was serious or teasing. “Roman ruins?”
He nodded and smiled. “The neighbor that borders the apple orchard on the other side says it is a small Roman military outpost. It was discovered not quite two years ago, if I remember right. The owner’s allowing the university types to excavate in the area this summer.”
“I should like to visit the area if I have the opportunity,” Cecilia said.
“Lord Compton, whose property it is on, lets the locals visit anytime with the proviso they don’t take any bits of the old fort away.”
“Has he had a problem with that?”
He shook his head. “Not that I know.”
Cecilia looked out again across the land, whimsically imagining Roman soldiers marching at the edge of the orchard. She silently laughed at herself.
The orchard trees looked flattened in color—their green dulled in the misty air.
The air didn’t feel oppressive, just heavy with possibility.
She lifted her face to feel the slight dampness on her skin.
She stared at the orchard, ordering her thoughts on what they had learned this day, and where their questions and investigation could go next to help Lord Monteith.
Cecilia found that she genuinely liked James’ cousin.
There was no trace of self-pity in him, no bitterness—only a steady competence that suggested he had long ago learned to rely on himself.
The orchard trees blurred at the edges. The hedgerows dissolved in the mist. She inhaled deeply.
And stopped.
Something was wrong. The air tasted different. Not rain, not pasture…
She blinked and turned her head. To the left, at the far edge of the orchard, something darker lifted against the gray sky.
It lifted straight up.
Smoke?
“David, look.” She pointed. “… Is that smoke from a fire?”
“Where?” Thornbridge turned to follow where she pointed. His body jerked. “Bloody hell! The cider mill is on fire!”
He ran toward the terrace doors, flinging them open; Cecilia ran close behind him.
“Fire!” he yelled. “Fire!” he repeated as he stormed into the estate room. “The cider mill! It’s on fire!” he gasped out as other servants ran toward them from whatever duty spots they’d had.
Gideon slid out of his chair. James leapt to his feet.
“The pump wagon. Now!” Gideon yelled, his expression foreboding. The staff scattered.
Cecilia watched, uncertain what she should do as the earl strode out of the estate room and out the terrace doors to take the steps on the north end of the terrace that led toward the stables. James, David Thornbridge, and several footmen followed behind. She followed them outside onto the terrace.
She did not have her horse here, and to ask someone to stop what they were doing to put a horse in harness for her would be the height of impudence.
She had her sturdy half boots on. Cecilia decided she would walk.
It didn’t look that far. No more than the walk from her home in Kent to their village.
She started down the steep hill behind the house, keeping a wary eye out for cow manure.
She had to slow down at the steepest part of the hill and hold her skirts up to keep from tripping.
To her amazement, she heard the rattle of wagons, the earl shouting instructions, and the sudden thunder of horses leaving the stable courtyard. The staff were well trained.
Her eyes scanned the area in front of her for her best path. A flicker of movement through the orchard drew her attention. A man, a silhouette in a long coat and slouch hat, was walking through the orchard, away from the fire.
The fire starter?
Cecilia felt sure of it. Her fingers curled into fists. He was too far away for her to give chase, or even to see him as more than a misty silhouette.
He didn’t run; his movement steady. He climbed the orchard hill. At the ridge, she saw him stop and turn around to look back toward the fire. Cecilia looked as well. The earl and his fire coterie had reached the cider mill. She turned back to look at the silhouette on the hill.
Even at that distance, she felt the turn of his head toward her. He saw her. As they looked at each other with deliberate formality, he bowed. He turned and continued over the ridge.
Cecilia knew the bow was not an apology.
It was an acknowledgment.
The gray, damp air turned into a drizzle, then into steady rain as she continued toward the cider mill. She heard an explosion. Her chest clenched in fear. As the ground leveled out, she quickened her pace.
People were coming from all directions.