Chapter Seventeen
The next morning, Louisa came down to breakfast, almost as full of emotion as she’d been after making love with Thomas.
This might be the day when everything changed.
She could find the will and escape the horrible man who would be sitting at the head of the table when she sat down to her tea and toast. The duke might be here when it happened.
Perhaps they would be able to talk. Would he offer for her again? How many chances was a man like him willing to give? How would she answer if he did?
Perhaps it would depend on whether it was Bonham talking or Tom Smith.
Was it wrong to want them both? Was it wrong to want her money, as well?
Grandfather would be only too happy to tell her she was being greedy and ungrateful.
Going to the duke penniless, out of shame and a sense of duty, was a better opportunity than the life she’d been expecting.
It would have been enough for her, a week ago. But now, it was not. She would not allow anyone to tell her she was wrong, either.
She entered the dining room with her head held high and was surprised to find herself alone. She stood in the doorway for a moment, wary of sitting down, then rang for the butler. He told her that her grandfather had not been feeling well and decided to eat in his room.
It was a trick of some kind. It had to be. Or perhaps he had managed to hear what she’d discussed with Thomas in the garden and gone back to guard his treasure, like a dragon with his hoard. This change of plans was going to make everything more difficult.
There was nothing she could do about it, until Thomas arrived to help her.
Hadn’t she been waiting for him for years?
She’d told herself it was infatuation, but he had always been her hero.
The story they’d shared might be ending soon.
But if she was lucky, this could be the beginning of an even better one.
She must trust that, today, he would do as he’d promised.
She sat down at the table and reached for the toast rack.
She was on her second cup of tea when the commotion began.
She could hear voices in the foyer, a brief discussion followed by the sound of men walking down the hall and doors opening.
Thomas came into the dining room and sat down, sliding her grandfather’s unused place setting to his side of the table and pouring himself a cup of coffee.
Before greeting him, she glanced at his clothes to decide who he was meant to be today. He was the duke, she decided. Not quite so spectacular as he’d been yesterday, but he definitely wasn’t playing the farmer.
‘Good morning, Your Grace,’ she said with a quizzical smile.
‘Good morning, Miss Louisa,’ he said, grinning. ‘Is that raspberry jam I see in the pot?’
‘Blackcurrant,’ she said, passing it across the table.
A man she’d never seen entered the room, picked up the ormolu clock off the mantlepiece and left again.
She watched in silence, then turned to Thomas. ‘May I ask what is going on, please?’
‘I paid a visit to the constable,’ he said, putting a healthy dollop of jam on his crumpet. ‘I explained that I was visiting here incognito when he was summoned to put me out of the house. I was prepared to overlook being thrown into a hedge like a common ruffian, if he would help me today.’
‘That does not explain the clock,’ she said.
He held up a finger, indicating that she must hold her questions while he chewed and swallowed.
‘I told him I was coming with a few men and some wagons to remove your possessions from the house, since we were about to marry.’
‘You did what?’ she exclaimed.
He smiled at her. ‘We came here under that pretence, did we not?’
‘That was not you.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Of course it was. There is no Tom Smith, you know. It has always been me.’
‘I see,’ she said, stifling a delighted smile.
‘While we are enjoying our breakfast, the constable is informing your grandfather of our plans.’ He glanced towards the ceiling as a cane thumped angrily on the floor.
‘Now, he is looking out of the front window at the wagons on the drive and the gentleman carrying his precious possessions away.’
There was a crash as something was dropped and hit the marble floor somewhere in the house.
Thomas smiled wickedly. ‘I hope that was not something valuable.’
‘I hope it was,’ Louisa said, unable to contain her glee.
Somewhere, her grandfather was shouting. He was getting steadily louder as he approached.
‘Was my distraction sufficient?’ he asked, winking at her.
‘We shall see,’ she replied.
A moment later, her grandfather burst through the door of the dining room, dressing gown flapping and head darting wildly from side to side as he tried to decide who he was going to blame.
‘Louisa!’
‘Yes, Grandfather?’ she said sweetly.
‘Go to your room! I will deal with you later.’
‘Of course,’ she said and ran for the main stairs. She hurried up them, stopping when she reached her grandfather’s room and stood in the doorway, considering the space.
The windows looked out over the front of the house.
The sill was no deeper than the one in her room.
She doubted there were any hidden spaces there.
All the same, she walked over to it and looked behind each picture and ornament, examining frames and backings for anything unusual.
The opposite wall separated the room from the hallway.
She could see by the doorway and the straight expanse on either side of it that there could be nothing concealed there either.
Then, she turned to the side walls. The house was too new to have a priest hole.
The plaster was smooth and unmarked on both sides, with no woodwork or panelling that might hide a safe or slide away to reveal a cupboard.
She turned over more pictures and spent some time feeling the frame of the cheval glass.
It looked too narrow to hold more than a single sheet of paper.
The back was smooth and blank and the legs did not sound hollow when she tapped them.
The fireplace was next. It would be inconvenient, and possibly dangerous, to hide something flammable inside it.
The mantlepiece was stone, not wood, and a solid piece of marble was too large to slide or lift.
None of the bricks on the sides were loose.
The mortar was intact and she could find no chinks.
This left the furniture to be searched. There was a wardrobe, of course, and a bureau with drawers. But grandfather’s valet had access to those spaces and might find anything hidden there. He would also be the first to notice if she disordered the linens while searching.
The only thing remaining was the bed.
She smiled. It made sense that if he had something important that he did not wish to share he would keep it very close. He might have it to fondle and crow over but could conceal it quickly if he feared discovery.
This bed had been one of the many things he’d purchased and he’d probably used her money to do it.
The solid mahogany posts were carved in heavy spirals and the dark headboard was nearly six feet tall.
The style was Tudor with velvet hangings that were more appropriate for a king than a baron.
She could easily imagine Henry the Eighth sharing it with one of his many queens.
In those times, there was often a need for secrecy. She tapped thoughtfully on the nearest of the bedposts, then knelt down to look under the bed.
That would be too easy. There was also a chance a maid might discover something while changing the sheets. The same went for under the mattress. The top of the canopy would be too high to reach and not convenient enough.
The headboard was perfect. It was an elegantly carved hunting scene set in a series of six panels, with a border of leaves and vines. She’d been in the room dozens of times, always too downtrodden to see the beauty of it. The curling wood, which looked almost like…
Handles.
There were two in particular that seemed to fade into the background when she stood at the side of the bed, only growing more obvious as she viewed it from different angles. She climbed onto the mattress, pushing the pillows off onto the floor. Then, she fitted her hands into the gaps and pulled.
Nothing happened.
She frowned. It was too perfect. It had to be the answer. She ran a finger along the sides of the panel and undid the latches hidden on each side. Then, she tried again.
There was resistance at first. She feared she might damage it if she tried too hard to open it. If she broke it, her grandfather would know what she’d been up to.
But that was the old Louisa talking. She’d been far too cautious for far too long. If he shouted at her, it would not matter. What could he say that she’d not already heard? She must not let old fears get in the way of what she wanted.
She tightened her grip on the wood and yanked. There was a final creaking sound and the main panels pulled forward revealing a space about six inches deep and several feet wide. She peered into it, then lifted out a bundle of papers and a thick stack of banknotes.
She had never seen so much money in one place before. When her grandfather had given her pin money it had rarely been more than a pound or two. When they were in London, she’d used Percy’s lines of credit to get what she needed. It was a rare thing when she saw ten pounds, all in one place.
But Grandfather had been keeping far more than that hidden away.
He’d been keeping thousands of pounds, ready at hand, while complaining that she was a spendthrift for putting too much sugar in her tea.
There was a bank book with a careful list of deposits showing the small fortune he’d been keeping from them.
She raised her hand to her heart and felt it beating frantically, as if she’d been running for miles. But didn’t one usually have to run when they were escaping from something terrible? She hadn’t taken more than a few steps, but for the first time in years, she felt as though she was free.
She sat perfectly still, taking slow breaths and waiting for her heartbeat to steady. Then she pushed the money aside and turned to the papers. A letter from her parents. A deed to the house. The will. She laid them side by side, reading them once. And again.
Then, before someone could find and stop her, she gathered both money and papers together and rushed with them to the stairs.