Chapter 16
Early moonlight, a nearly full moon, bathed the garden in the type of glow that made Grace’s skin tingle from her fingertips up to her scalp. The latest events in her house probably added to the sense of anticipation. Her imagination probably helped.
And Shams, slipping through the hedgerow as shadowy as the wind brushing bushes in and out of light, probably enhanced the entire ambience. It was the sort of night when mysterious things happened.
Or at least when they happened in books.
All they needed was a bit of fog to complete the entire scene.
It all was absolutely spectacular with waiting adventure.
The moonglow even cast their partially renovated back garden into an almost eerie hue, enough to see hedgerows and whitewashed stone walls, but not enough to delineate shadows or flowers.
Grace gave her head a shake, reining in her wild wonderings. People were searching for a missing Private Pennington and, to her shock, a missing Private Smith, throughout the house and grounds of Havensbrooke. This was no time for daydreaming.
And surely with Frederick by her side, and within the confines of the garden, they were well protected from any would-be spy mischief … to which Smith must be a party.
For a man to go from barely ambulatory to entirely missing hinted at subterfuge.
She sighed. Another person in disguise! It felt a great deal like Venice.
Almost everyone there was pretending to be someone else. Quite suitable for the City of Masks.
The back garden held two small stone buildings, one at each corner. And from the information Lady Moriah conveyed, either could hold the key.
Zahra walked between Frederick and Grace, with Frederick holding a lantern aloft to guide their way. Shams kept near enough to be seen in periphery but not close enough to be caught quickly. The cat certainly knew its own boundaries and desires.
Which, for some reason, reminded Grace of her sister Lillias.
“Let’s try the newer of the buildings first,” Frederick said, leading the way over the cobblestone path, weaving among the plants and stone walls. “I have memories of Father there more than the other.”
“How do you suppose someone created a door to lock a tunnel?” Grace whispered, casting a look out into the shadows of the forest just beyond the garden wall. “Zahra and I never found a hidden door when we visited the chapel.”
“A hidden door?” Zahra chimed in, her voice brightening with interest. “Like those in the pyramids? The ones that look like the wall?”
Frederick and Grace came to a stop and looked down at her.
“Zahra,” Frederick said slowly, lowering the lantern enough to illuminate the girl’s face with more clarity. “Have you found a secret door in the chapel?”
“There are many things to find in this place,” she answered with a shrug, as if discovering secret doors was perfectly ordinary. “But yes. I found a door behind a large curtain.”
Frederick’s gaze shot to Grace’s.
“Was it by the font?” Grace asked, but at the girl’s curious look, she attempted to clarify. “The stone … table near where I found the button last time we were there?”
“Yes.” Zahra’s eyes brightened. “But it was behind the curtain. And covered with a door that looked like a stone. I only saw it two days past, because Shams went behind the curtain and I followed her.” Of course the cat had found it.
“You were at the chapel two days ago by yourse—” Frederick paused and released a slow breath.
There was no point in reprimanding her at this moment.
Frederick knew as well as Grace that Zahra hadn’t gone to the chapel out of defiance.
She was an obedient child usually, but when left without very direct instruction, she roamed.
She’d gotten used to it on the streets of Cairo, and keeping her indoors too long had the same effect on her as it did on Grace.
It made them a bit sad and restless.
“And the door itself looked like stone?” Grace asked Zahra.
“But it was not stone. It was painted. Very clever.” Zahra’s admiration was evident. “I thought it was only wall until I pushed and it moved a little. But it was locked.”
“Did you see a keyhole?” Frederick asked.
“Yes, very large.” She nodded. “Bigger than the one for my room.” She tried to show it with her fingers.
Frederick looked up at Grace. “At least that gives us a little extra hint about the key. We’re looking for a larger one. Likely iron.”
“Your mother said the key was in a wooden box on the upper shelf in one of the garden houses. Do you think your father would have been particular enough to place it among other keys, or would he have kept it separate?”
“I don’t know,” Frederick said, continuing their walk. “He was always particular, but it didn’t seem as though he cared much for the chapel or tunnel beneath, so he could have discarded it with others.”
They’d reached the newer garden building—a stone structure with a peaked roof and small windows, used now for storing garden tools and pots. Frederick tried the door. It opened with a creak that sent a shiver through Grace’s body.
Rather perfect for the surroundings.
“Mr. Leeds is losing his touch,” Frederick muttered. “Brandon says he’s been forgetting to lock things up for months.”
“He is rather distracted from his gardening work with his grandsons at the Front, I believe,” Grace offered at his side. The poor man nearly broke into tears during any conversation. Even when Grace tried to distract him with more knife-throwing lessons.
“I’ll see if the undergardener will give him a hand.
” Frederick nodded, raising the lantern to shine through the doorway.
The space was dim despite the moonlight streaming through the dusty windows, and it smelled of soil and old, damp wood.
Shelves lined the walls, crowded with clay pots, coils of twine, rusted trowels, and years of accumulated garden detritus.
A long table ran the length of one wall, cluttered and shadowed like the rest of the space.
Frederick scanned the area and made to enter when—
“My lord!” Brandon called from the main house, urgency in his tone. “Lord Astley, sir!”
Heat fled Grace’s face.
What now?
Frederick turned from the doorway, his posture immediately alert. “Brandon?”
The butler took a few steps into the garden from the doorway, light glowing from behind him, his usual composure noticeably disturbed.
“My lord, I do apologize, but there’s been a development. A rather urgent one.”
“Is it Mr. Blake?” Grace asked at once.
“No, madam.” Brandon’s face softened for a moment. “Nor Miss Gale,” he added, proving his excellent awareness. But he turned back to Frederick. “If I might have a word for guidance, sir?”
Frederick glanced at Grace, but she waved him on. “We’ll look for the key and then join you once we gather Shams. It shouldn’t take a minute to search.” She took his hand. “Perhaps they’ve found Pennington and need your approval to call the authorities.”
Frederick hesitated, clearly torn.
“Go,” Grace said gently, touching his arm. “We’ll be fine.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I hid a knife in my—”
“Two minutes,” Frederick said, sending a warning look toward Brandon before handing her the lantern. “If you cannot find the key in two minutes, I want you to return to the house.”
Grace nodded and watched him walk away before she dipped inside. Zahra was already deep in the building, along the side of the shelves.
“There,” she pointed to the upper shelf on the far wall. “A small wooden box.”
Grace raised the lantern and followed Zahra’s directive. A wooden box sat between a stack of empty seed packets and some dusty jars. Nothing ornate, just a simple, rough-hewn container with what looked to be iron hinges.
Grace set the lantern down and stood on tiptoe but couldn’t quite reach, her ability to hold herself upright on tiptoe a bit more hampered than usual.
Her hand went to her middle. How could it be that all of a sudden she felt pregnant? She seemed to go from fitting into her gowns with somewhat regularity to nearly bursting the seams within the span of a week.
After reading more about pregnancy in a few other books, she’d come to realize that some women could go without any outer recognition of pregnancy until the fifth month or later, and then, all at once, the baby decided to make himself highly evident.
Particularly for petite women.
“I can reach, Mama.” And without hesitation, Zahra jumped up on the table near the shelf in a movement as fluid as Shams herself.
Speaking of, the cat materialized on the table beside Zahra, giving Grace the smallest start. She frowned at her in rebuke.
But of course Shams arrogantly ignored her and proceeded to jump onto a nearby shelf, her feline eyes glinting in the lantern light.
Zahra clasped the box and brought it down carefully, landing on her feet at Grace’s side. Taking the little box in hand, Grace pushed back a set of old gloves and some sort of wedge-like tool to place it on a rustic table.
The box’s contents revealed several old keys of various sizes, a few buttons, some foreign coins, and—
“There. That must be the key,” Grace breathed.
Lying among the ordinary items lay a large iron key, much bigger than anything for the house.
Unlike some of the other keys inside the box, this one had its own ring.
“You’ll have to take us to the secret door tomorrow, Zahra, and we can attempt to find the tunnel before—”
Grace turned and every ounce of warmth fled her body from head to toe.
Pennington.
His hospital blues were torn and bloodstained from his escape through the window. His face was pale, desperate, and in his shaking hand—a pair of open garden shears, the blades positioned near Zahra’s throat.
Where had he come from? Had he been hiding in the garden cottage all along? Or emerged from the forest, following their lantern light and conversation?
It didn’t matter. All that mattered was Zahra.