-7-

Eliza

Eliza couldn't settle after the men left. She watched the uneasy rise and fall of Jane's chest, wishing that Jem had lingered. She wanted to ask him what he thought of the Linfield's marriage. He was apparently as well acquainted with his lordship as she was with Jane, and hence was the obvious source of insight. She was not one for idle gossip or poking into other's business, but the marriage was clearly ill conceived and had been arranged so swiftly with little to no communication between the two parties that she couldn't fail to wonder how it had ever come about. Everything about it spoke to the notion that it never ought to have been. One only had to look at this room to see that. It was masculine in every detail, and Jane's scattered possessions could not disguise that. This tired room, with its dark wood furniture and domineering bed was clearly intended to be the master's suite, and the adjoining room the mistress's boudoir. Why therefore was Jane occupying it, and Linfield quartered in some far-flung area of the castle? Had the events of their wedding night truly afflicted him so much that he was determined to put as much space between them as possible to prevent a repeat? What sort of marriage did he intend it to be if they were never to bed together?

Linfield did not strike one as the sort to eschew pleasures. And even a man ambivalent to his wife surely entered into the arrangement with the intention of siring offspring. Her mind turned to Jane's recollection of the wedding night and Linfield's curious demands. They made not a ha'porth of sense. Also, whatever had Jane meant when she said she had some experience of such matters? Had her friend engaged in some unfortunate liaison? Was that the reason for the hasty and unexpected marriage?

How foolish of her to have arrived expecting a love match .

Still, it concerned her more that Linfield had been so ready to dismiss Jane's terror as the frailties of a female mind. Jane was no society miss, versed in the art of a theatrical swoon. Nor was she a devotee of Monk Lewis or Mrs Carver that delighted in reading intrigue into the ordinary and concocting macabre flights of fancy. Her faint had been genuine. Her terror equally so.

If Jane persisted in saying that she'd seen a ghost when she woke, what would Linfield do? Throw her into one of the castle dungeons and mislay the key, thrilled to be so easily rid of a wife he apparently didn't wish for.

Only a beast would contemplate such a thing, though of course it was every husband's right.

Was that then, what she thought of him after such a small acquaintance? That he was a monster?

Where was her evidence?

A sneer at dinner, a sullenness of disposition when engaged with his wife, his somewhat combative reaction to her. None of these things constituted evidence of maliciousness.

Perhaps she ought to avoid giving in to flights of fancy herself.

But returning to the heart of the matter, what—if the notion of it being a genuine apparition were discounted—had Jane seen?

A play of light? A reflection? She had heard tell of a special lantern, that when pointed at a silk screen could create the appearance of an apparition. Had one of the gentlemen come by such a device?

Was this then, a prank?

Were they even now huddled together somewhere, laughing over glasses of port and brandy about the glorious jape they'd played? Oh, she would have their very guts for garters. Why did men have to be such inhuman creatures?

No…no, she could not believe it, not of Jem, or Doctor Bell, or even jovial Mr Cluett. Linfield… Well, truthfully, he struck her as exactly the type to engage in such behaviour and show not an iota of remorse. Wasn't the very reason he was mouldering at Cedarton because of some unpleasantness in town? She would have to remember to ask Jem about that. See if he could shed any light on things.

Eliza was half out of her chair, ready to track him down at once before she recalled her charge. Bell had administered a dose large enough to render a full-grown man comatose and Jane was but a wisp of a person, elfin, delicate, half the size of a man. It would be a miracle if she stirred before halfway through tomorrow. And opiates left one with such a ghastly sense of disconnectedness.

She settled back down and rested her head against the chair's leather wing. The room was stuffy and overly warm, making her lids grow increasingly heavy. She would write home tomorrow, explain that she needed to stay longer than anticipated. Maria would protest, but only because her natural inclination was to embroil herself in mischief, rather than shun it. She would have to take care not to allude to the ‘ghost' or her youngest sibling would be here in a trice.

I'm sure you're all enjoying having one less body in the place, she'd write, and maybe that would remind Freddy to apply himself to the matter of finding them a new home. As beloved as their cottage on Bluebell Lane remained, they had quite outgrown it.

She thought of the acres of mattress she had all to herself next door and tried to elbow the armchair into a more comfortable support. It remained rigidly unyielding. "You'd laugh, Jo," she said to her absent elder sister. "Here I am in a castle with a bed fit for a queen next door, sleeping in a chair, and you having never left the comfort of home, have a bed entirely to yourself."

She must have drifted off, for Eliza woke to a soft knock upon the door and found the fire burned down to nothing but embers. "Come," she bade.

The young maid who'd delivered the tea tray earlier entered and bobbed her a curtsy. "Begging your pardon, Miss, but Mrs Honeyfield said I was t' come and sit with t' mistress so that you can get ya bed."

How topsy-turvy the world was, that her rest should be of concern when she had nothing at all to do, whereas this maid would be up before the sun setting fires, and exterminating intruders of the creepy crawly kind.

"I'm sure you would equally enjoy yours."

The girl cocked her head like Eliza's neighbour's spaniel, listening, but not quite comprehending. "Aw, that's kind a ya, but I'll be fine here. I reckon that chair's less lumpy than me bed, and Lady Linfield a lot less twiney than Betsy Cooper who I normally top to toe with."

"Are Cedarton's servant's quarters that cramped? Surely there must have been a staff of dozens upon dozens in the past."

"I don't reet know about that, Miss. It's not that there ain't beds, only…" She screwed her pretty, freckled nose up clearly seeking the right descriptor, "They're not all that nice, and what with it being so nitherin' out…."

"You mean it's freezing and the roof leaks."

The girl laughed. "That's where there's a roof to be had, Miss. Gordy, he's the groundsman, and me cousin on me mam's side. He allus says the roofs were bad when 'is pa were an apprentice to 'is grandpa, and nuffin's been done to reet them since. 'Tis a miracle there're any roofs left at all."

"It did stand empty for a long while, so I understand."

"Aye, true. Near fifty years accordin' t' Gordy. But here's me blathering on when I'm suppose ta be helpin' ya get t' bed. Will ya need my help with that? Mrs Honeyfield said I was ta ask. Though, ah said t' her, I said, she's one who can do it thisen."

Her forthrightness startled a laugh from Eliza. "Yes, you're right about that. I shall manage just fine."

The maid gave a nod. "It's like ah said, a lady what turns up without a maid is a lady what knows how to do buttons. Though lord knows, Miss, we were all of us praying you'd bring one. We're in a right tither downstairs."

"Ah, yes, I'd heard there'd been problems acquiring help, what with all the local superstitions about the place."

The girl gave another frown. "I don't rightly knows about that, Miss. There are always folks eager for work, and no boggarts ever stopped 'em. Leastways, not until that bit of nonsense Jenny Pickhall up and oft and started wagging her tongue." Her gaze ventured across the eiderdown to where Jane's head rested upon the pillows. "I suppose it's true then, that t' mistress has seen the old hag too?"

"Hag?"

"Sorry. Begging ya pardon, the old mistress… Lady Cedarton. She weren't really old, but they say she had an awful temper. Least that's what folks hereabouts say."

"Gordy?"

"Not him, Miss. I reckon he's too afraid of 'er hearing him to risk it. I suppose I ought t' mind my tongue too, but I've never managed the trick of it. Me mam's been saying as much since I was a bairn."

"Well, I'm certain that Lady Linfield's fright was down to something perfectly ordinary that will no doubt reveal itself come daylight."

"Do ya really, Miss?"

"Absolutely." She shot the girl an encouraging smile. Cedarton needed its servants. "It's such an old ruinous building, dark, disorientating, I'm certain she saw nothing more than a reflection in a mirror."

"I expect so, Miss. Though Betsy did go on so about 'er while we was seeing t' the dishes. Said the old mistress sees her ladyship as an intruder and means t' drive her out. That she means t' devour all our souls if we linger."

"Codswallop. Lady Cedarton's not in a position to have thoughts about anyone anymore. She's long dead and buried."

"You don't think there's any truth t' her spirit being restless?"

"None whatsoever. It's a story meant only to scare you. It's a wonder that Mrs Honeyfield lets Betsy blether on like that."

"Ah don't know that Mrs Honeyfield's been paying much accord to Betsy Cooper and her to-ing and fro-ings. She's frightful poorly with her tooth. I shouldn't say, Miss, but you were kind enough t' offer her that tincture earlier, 'av seen her spittin' blood up more than once a day."

Eliza sighed. It was a promise she'd yet to fulfil. Surely Bell would have retired by now, and she might slip into the still room undisturbed. "Thank you for the reminder…"

"Edith, Miss."

"Edith. Although, I'm not sure how much good my remedy will do if the problem is that severe. It sounds very much like the tooth ought to be pulled."

"Mebee. It's what lordship's valet said, but Mrs Honeyfield wouldn't have it. She says it hurts so bad she's feared half her jaw'll pop out with the tooth. But anyways, I'm keeping ya from ya rest."

Eliza pushed to her feet and watched the girl settle into the groove she'd left behind. "I'll be right next door if you need help with Lady Linfield at all."

"As ya say. Goodnight, Miss."

"Goodnight, Edith."

~Ж~

The connecting door did not lead directly between their rooms as Eliza had anticipated, but to a small dressing room, where her clothing had been hung alongside Jane's, which did seem odd, given the enormous armoire in the corner of her chamber. Perhaps it was locked, and the key lost—not such a far-fetched notion in a house as old as this. However, this proved not to be the case. The key sat squarely in the lock of the oak wardrobe. Eliza peered inside. It was quite empty all the way to the top, which scraped the stucco work on the ceiling, apart from one small, aged lavender bag.

Curious. Quite curious. Whyever had her things not been placed in here where they'd be more convenient?

Rot?

There was no smell of it, nor signs of woodworm or moths. She rapped her knuckles against the back panel. It didn't make sense, but then so little about Cedarton did. There was a knot hole near the base that resembled a keyhole in shape. Eliza traced her finger over it, and there was a sharp click. She leapt back, alarmed, fearing she'd find her finger pricked, but there was no ruby bead on her fingertip. Instead, the back of the armoire swung into the space where the wall ought to have been.

A door in the back of a wardrobe? Whatever was the purpose in that?

Oh, Eliza, she could hear Maria's voice in her head, as if she were right by her in the room. I'm most terribly vexed with you. As if it weren't bad enough that you are off enjoying ghastly adventures without me, now you have stumbled on a secret passage and haven't the nous to recognise it. I am delirious with envy.

Was it lucky to discover a disguised entrance to your room that anyone might come and go by without your knowledge? That was also dark and dismal and smelled strongly of mice?

If you even think of sealing it up and leaving it unexplored, I shall disown you as my sister. Maria was so loud inside her head; it was a wonder Eliza could hear her own thoughts. Really, sister, you are so trying. I'm simply beyond myself. How can I be stuck at home and you in a castle riddled with secrets? It is dismally unfair. And you're still hesitating over finding them. Freddy ought to have let me visit Jane.

" You don't even know her. "

Nor do you anymore, not really. You don't even know why she married Linfield.

He's a viscount. Really did there need to be any more reason for it than that?

Eliza shot a glance over her shoulder. All was quiet in the adjoining room. Perhaps, she could just take a peep at where this led.

Armed with the nearest candelabrum, and the armoire key stowed safely in her pocket, Eliza stepped into the hidden passage. The space was narrow, barely the width of a person, and as far as she could ascertain, wove a path between the internal and external castle walls. One presumed it was intended to be used by the servants, enabling them to pass unseen, its existence now forgotten. Cedarton's layout was confusing, but she thought she was heading towards the burned portions of the castle. Would this then take her beyond the black door? The darkness, and the lack of reference points made it difficult to gauge how far she'd travelled. The passage bent and meandered, seemed to curve back on itself more than once, so that before long she wasn't sure of her direction at all. The only blessing was that there were no side tunnels, so that she had only to retrace her steps to find her way out. Eventually, she came upon a tight spiral stair that led down into even inkier darkness. Perhaps she might find her way to the portion of the castle that housed the still room, and hence finally be able to make good on her promise to Mrs Honeyfield.

Down and down, she delved, collecting cobwebs, and stirring up long settled dust, before a small landing branched off to one side, bringing with it a gust of air that almost puffed her candle out.

This new passageway was far wider than the first, enabling her to walk easily without fear of scraping her elbows. A few sharp turns soon presented her with an exit. Faint light seeped around the edges of the frame. Quite uncertain of her location, Eliza put her ear to the grain. It wouldn't do to burst in on Lord Linfield, or Mr Cluett, or even Jem, though he at least might see the humour in her emerging from behind a bookcase or one of the grim ancestral portraits. And while she didn't consider herself the sort of woman who would usually be tempted to a gentleman's bedchamber, how much fun might they have, if she could do so unseen?

Eliza found the latch by touch alone. She couldn't hear a thing and did so desperately want to know where she had ended up. She raised the latch carefully, anticipating the squeal of rusted metal, but it lifted as if recently oiled, allowing her to inch open the door just far enough to peep around the gap. The room beyond was shrouded in darkness, with only a faint orange glow from below. She appeared to be on some sort of gallery. A wooden rail surrounded a narrow walkway. She reached out to her right—books. Row upon row of them. This then must be the library, and she in the upper level of it.

Keeping low and to the shadows, she was able to creep forward and peer down at the central portion of the room.

A single figure, too portly to be Lord Linfield, stood hunched over a gargantuan desk, sorting through a bundle of papers. Several of the desk drawers were pulled open, but the room's numerous lamps were unlit, including the large one on the corner of the desk. The fire had burned low, so that the fellow had to raise each paper to his single candle.

"Drat and damn you for the cur you are, Linfield," he swore.

It was Mr Cluett.

But what manner of mischief was he about?

"It has to be here somewhere. What have you done with it, you monster?" He shoved the sheaf of papers back into the topmost drawer, then turned his attention to the central drawer, rattling it in anger when it failed to open. Petulantly, he cast himself into the desk chair and dug his knuckles into his eyes, only to rise a moment later and snatch a small box off the desktop. The tinkling of notes revealed it to be a music box. George turned it over in his hands, then slid a side panel free and hissed a triumphant "Yes!" through his teeth.

He had recovered the key, which he applied at once to the locked drawer. Another folio was set on the desktop. George licked his fingertips and began to fan through the documents.

Not that one, nor this , she could almost hear his thoughts growing more frantic as the stack thinned, until the last page was turned, and still not having found whatever he sought, he slammed his fist down on the blotter.

Eliza flinched. George too seemed to shrink back over his actions. His gaze darted from one shadowy corner to the next, but never turned upwards to the gallery where she hid.

Satisfied he'd not alerted anyone to his presence, he began a second pass through the papers. "I don't understand. It has to be here. Everything else of import is."

George pulled the drawer free of its housing and turned it over. Only one item remained within. It drifted softly to the hearth rug, from which it was snatched immediately and as swiftly discarded. "That makes no sense." He picked it up again, this time looking at it with considerably more interest. "Linfield, what the devil?"

"You know, desperation is most unbecoming, George."

Cluett started, Lord Linfield stood in the doorway, a glass of spirits in his hand. He came forward revealing himself to be swaddled in his banyan. He sniffed at the disorder wrought upon his personal correspondence, not seeming overly concerned by the intrusion. "You won't find anything of note in there."

"Will I not?" Cluett replied. "It seems to me I've found a puzzle most curious."

"Which was hardly what you were looking for."

"Yet perplexing enough to be noteworthy."

"It is not here, I should add. I made a point of leaving it with my notary, knowing how light-fingered certain of my acquaintances can be."

"No matter, you can retrieve it."

"And why would I ever do that, George?"

"Why?" Mr Cluett's jovial round face twisted itself into an insufferable smirk. "So that we might affect an exchange, of course. Your folly for mine."

"For what? For that?" Linfield stepped closer so that he could see the document over his friend's shoulder. His expression turned saucer-eyed. "Give me that." He made a grab for the paper, but George twisted out of his reach.

"Oh, no. No, I think I shall hold on to this. It's quite the enlightening read. If you wish its return, then you need only restore to me what is by rights mine."

"But it is not yours by rights. When one gambles with the future, one should always be prepared for the consequences should it not pay off."

"I ought to have won."

"But you didn't. Hand over the paper, George." Linfield stretched out his hand, only to have it slapped away.

"I wonder what she would make of this, your poor sweet bride…. What her family…? What your family would make of it? They are unaware, aren't they? Remind me, what did she bring to your coffers, a princely sum? Eighteen thousand, weren't it?"

"Around that, not that it's any of your concern."

George seemed not to hear him, for he continued, "A sum, a blessed sum that would surely evaporate should certain parties happen upon this." He flicked the edge of the paper in his hand. "Goodness knows how many lives could be wrecked, the size of the scandal that would erupt."

"Don't be a fool, George."

"Oh, you don't think it would cause an upset? I think it likely to cause both heartbreak and embarrassment. Let me see, should I read it to you in case you've mislaid the facts? It states that before God and witnesses, Lord Eustace Lionel Linfield, is married to one Miss Ja—"

"You give me that, George, or by God I will throttle the life from you, and then turn your mother out into the streets she grew up on in nothing but her stays."

"It seems to me that is already your intent. And I don't care for your insinuations, my lord."

"I insinuate nothing. Do you even know whose brat you are?"

George lashed out, catching Linfield sharp across the nose. They fell into a wrestle on the tabletop, sending ornaments and papers flying perilously close to the hearth. Then their bodies too, as they smashed down into the chair, sending it skidding across the boards into the bookcase. George had Linfield by the throat. Linfield his thumbs gouging George's eyes. Ought she to intervene? Raise the alarm? She was too slow for either, as the men crashed into one of the many bookcases, causing it to rain its contents down on their heads in an avalanche of leather-bound volumes.

Linfield put his hand to his temple and gazed at his blood-stained fingers in alarm.

"It's just a scratch." George stood and tucked the stolen paper into his coat pocket. He minced closer and offered Linfield his kerchief, only for the viscount to spit and hiss at him like an angry swan.

"Get out of my sight and begone from my property."

George rolled back his shoulders, then straightened his waistcoat, coat, and cravat, transforming himself back into a gentleman. "I leave when the papers are in my hands, and not before. If you're wise, you'll make that soon, or I'll be sure to deliver notarized copies of this to your father and your father-in-law. Men ought to be held accountable for their indiscretions, don't you think?"

Lord Linfield put his hand on a nearby book and hurled it. "Leave." The missile hit George on the knee, leaving him limping towards the exit.

"We'll discuss it after breakfast, shall we?"

"If I don't feed you to the white lady."

Cheeks bloodless, save for the scarlet smear across his temple, and with his hair forming a halo of dandelion fluff around his head, Linfield hobbled over to the desk chair. He sank into it with a hollow moan and rested his head against the desk blotter. "Why this? Why me?" he complained, while drumming out an angry metre with his clenched fist.

Was it quite safe to leave him injured and unattended? Eliza didn't quite know, but nor did it seem a clever point to reveal herself. She was relieved when one of the footmen arrived.

"I heard a commotion. Is everything well, my lord?"

"Get out!" Linfield snarled.

"My lord, you're—" Linfield hurled the nearest object to hand at the servant, which happened to be the small music box. It fell short of its target and smashed into a myriad of pieces.

"Out. If you want to be useful, fetch Bell."

Eliza sensibly took that as her cue too and slipped quietly back into the tunnel between the walls.