Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

A s Lionel was clearly not at home to join her for breakfast, choosing instead to stroll through the woodlands, Cecilia had Peggy bring it to the sitting room which formed part of her suite. She asked Peggy to join her and they talked as they shared tea, toast, and jam.

"So, tell me, Peggy. The Duke. What are your thoughts on him? Is he a good master? A kind man or a cruel one?" Cecilia asked, chin propped up on her hand as she leaned forward. "He certainly seems very… serious at times."

Peggy hastily shook her head. "A very good employer. Generous and kind I would say. He expanded the servant's wing after recovering from his illness and our rooms are very spacious now. Not that they were crammed before. But we have a sitting room of our own and I have a bedroom that could accommodate two very easily, yet I have it all to myself! And he is a man who is very inclined to laugh. He often makes jokes in my hearing. And he is very fond of the funny stories Mr. Blackwood tells of his days at sea."

Cecilia frowned. "I have not seen that side of him. He struck me as a very dark man, prone to glowering."

"Begging your pardon, my lady, but, I think that is the face he presents. I know what you mean and have seen it. He can be very frightening when he scowls. But that is the face he shows only to the outside world. Never in Thornhill."

Cecilia felt a touch morose upon hearing this. He was treating her as though she were an intruder from the outside world rather than his wife in name and deed. It made her feel doubly used and even more determined to win him over.

"I hope that I can be included in the number of people privileged to see him smile soon," she murmured, "this house will be a cold and lonely place otherwise."

"Oh, I am sure you will, Cecilia," Peggy smiled softly, offering the teapot to refill her cup.

Cecilia accepted and sipped at her tea. She did not share Peggy's optimism and found that she was somewhat envious of the side of her new husband that Peggy and the other servants saw.

"Oh, another thing. I seemed to catch the Duke walking into the woods beyond the gardens this morning," she began. "Where could he be going, do you think?"

Peggy looked up to the ceiling, her pretty face creasing momentarily into a look of concentration. "I do not know that he would be going anywhere in particular. Those woods extend for some distance I think. I remember playing there when I was a child. The old mill is there, and beyond that, the farm belonging to John Fletcher and his family. But that is some miles distant and over difficult countryside. I never went that far, though my father took me in the trap a few times. Perhaps he goes to visit them?"

Cecilia smiled brightly, not wanting to make a mystery of it where there might not be one. She supposed he might have some business with his tenants. If Lionel was not at home, then she would have to make use of her time somehow. Her preference would have been to seek him out, to spend time in his company, and to try to show him that she was genuine. For now, she would simply have to make do with using this as an opportunity to explore the castle by daylight.

After breakfast, Peggy left her in order to complete her duties and Cecilia was alone. The castle felt cavernous and lonely. Its stone hallways and empty rooms were oppressive in their loneliness. She wandered for a while, not knowing where she was going or with any direction in mind. She saw many rooms, sitting rooms and drawing rooms, games rooms and libraries, studies, and bedrooms. It seemed there was a room for every pastime imaginable. Many were shrouded in dust sheets, clearly disused. Others were simply empty and with the air of rooms kept clean but rarely utilized.

After climbing a stone, spiral staircase, she found herself in a corridor carpeted in thick, dark blue. Paintings hung on the walls depicting animals and landscapes. Tall windows gave a view of a jumble of rooftops with the Great Hall rising above all like a mountain. She also saw the tower in which her rooms were located and realized that she must now be in a part of the castle close to the Duke's chambers. For a moment she stopped, wondering if they were above or below her. Or perhaps simply further along this corridor.

Her mouth grew dry and her heart skipped a beat at the idea of walking into Lionel's bedchamber. The thought of doing so while he was absent, was somehow more erotic than if he had been there. It would be an intimacy, unguarded and unlooked for. Perhaps, in his rooms, she would find some insight into his nature. A glimpse behind the wall he maintained against her.

She began along the corridor, studying the paintings with curiosity as she went. They had the look of antiquity and each bore a layer of dust. Servants clearly did not come into this passage very often. She wondered why. The paintings were beautiful and would be an adornment to any wall.

She paused to wipe the dust from a rather majestic picture of a sweeping landscape. With slight surprise, she realized it depicted Thornhill, though at some much earlier point in its history. The castle rose above the surrounding forest in stony majesty, smaller and starker. In that painting, it was a fortress rather than a house, clearly still serving the purpose for which it had been built.

As she was about to walk on, something caught her eye. In the bottom right-hand corner of the painting was a signature, scrawled in black paint. Pale daylight behind her provided good illumination and she could read the name… Lionel . She gaped for a moment before then reexamining other paintings. She saw the signature on a landscape depicting St Paul's cathedral. Then again on a picture of a horse and rider. It was the third such painting that made Cecilia stop dead. It hung higher up and so hadn't drawn her eyes immediately. Now that she had seen it though, her gaze was drawn to it as though by a magnet.

It was a picture of Penrose. The house was just as she remembered it. Five stories and robustly square, made of brick with a central tower rising above its chimneys and rooftops. How many times had she climbed the rickety wooden steps of that tower to gaze out over the park and surrounding countryside?

So, Lionel was or had been something of an artist. None of the paintings gave much indication as to their age. The dust that each bore could have accumulated in a matter of months. But the depiction of Penrose was, she thought, how the house had looked in her childhood. There had been some alterations made by Arthur, she remembered, that altered the basic shape of the house. But then the painting of Thornhill as a medieval castle was clearly painted from the imagination, so why not Penrose? Something told her that art was a hobby that Lionel had put aside long ago. It just did not fit with anything that she knew of him.

An abrupt sound disturbed her thoughts. It seemed to come from the far end of the hallway, as though a floorboard creaking from the step of a person.

Yet no one appeared.

The hallway turned at the end through ninety degrees and the noise seemed to reach her from around the corner. She walked along, not hearing the sound again, until she heard a click, as of a door being softly closed. Rounding the corner, again, she saw no one.

"Hello?" she called out.

There was no reply. That sent a chill through her. A servant would respond. Someone who did not wish to be seen would not. And who would be sneaking around the castle, seeking to be unobserved? There was only one door in this section of the hallway, at the far end. Shaking her head at her own timidity, she strode towards it.

Despite her determination, she felt her heart hammering in her chest as she approached the door. Reaching for the handle, she paused, listening for any sound beyond. Then, steeling herself, she turned the handle and flung the door wide.

For a moment, she expected to see some shadowy figure standing on the other side. A specter of the castle's haunted past, or a stranger with nefarious designs. Perhaps Lionel himself. But there was no sign of anyone in the room beyond. It was brightly lit through windows on the far side of the room. The daylight reflected from carpets of a soft, golden hue, illuminating a warm glow along the walls and revealing it in all its glory. Curious.

It was a music room. There was a pianoforte standing before the window and a shrouded shape that looked like a harp. A violin case sat on the shelf of a bookcase which otherwise seemed to be home to sheet music. Cecilia had been taught the pianoforte by a governess but had lacked the patience for the practice necessary to become proficient. The temptation to run wild in the woods and fields with her brother was too great. But her mother had been a master.

Cecilia smiled sadly as she glided her fingers over the music contained on the bookshelf, studying the titles of each. There were works from all the great composers from all across Europe. She paused when she came across one sheaf of paper in particular. It bore no composer name and she did not know the name of the song printed neatly at the top, but the arrangement of notes looked familiar. She tried to recall the melody that such an arrangement would produce.

After a few halting attempts, it came to her. At first, her voice was barely louder than a whisper. Then, feeling foolish at her reticence to sing aloud in an empty room, she began again louder. For a few minutes, she sang, looking away from the music as the memory of the tune returned to her. She lifted her chin and sang to the room, closing her eyes. Memories returned of singing alongside her mother at the pianoforte. Taking childish delight in the music her mother so skillfully brought forth. Though untutored, her voice had a sweet tone, she was told.

The music ended abruptly at the sound of the door. She opened her eyes and saw Lionel stepping out from behind the harp, a door shutting behind him. For a moment, they stood, looking at each other.

"…You have a fine voice," he said, at last.

Cecilia found herself flushing at the compliment. "Thank you. I used to sing this song with my mother. She accompanied me on the pianoforte."

Lionel spread his hands towards the instrument. "Feel free. You may try any instrument you see."

"I have no real skill with instruments," Cecilia told him, replacing the music sheet. "I enjoyed singing along to my mother's playing, that is all. I think you are the first to hear me since she passed."

"Ah," Lionel said, running his hand on the pianoforte and grimacing at the dust, "I think this room has been undisturbed since the passing of my own mother. She and my father died within a few months of each other. She first, of a fever."

Cecilia felt a pang of sympathy at such close bereavements. "My own parents were returning from a grand tour when their ship foundered while crossing the Channel. It was lost with all hands."

"Ah, yes, I had heard of it from Arthur. It must have been devastating," Lionel murmured, somewhat awkwardly.

They were standing apart on opposite sides of the room. And he seemed reluctant to cross the space and be nearer to her.

"It was a long time ago. Time heals all wounds, do they not say?"

"I am not so sure I believe it," he muttered.

"Nor I," she replied.

His eyes rose from where he had been looking down at the pianoforte and met hers. The gaze was bright and she felt that there was something of recognition in it, a shared experience.

"Well, I will not intrude on your memories. Feel free to use this room to sing whenever you wish."

"Singing to an empty room has little satisfaction," Cecilia put in hurriedly, "and I would rather talk with you."

Lionel's face hardened and he gave his waistcoat a sharp tug, making it seem like a suit of armor. "I am rather busy, I'm afraid. I have much to attend to."

"Just not me," Cecilia mumbled beneath her breath, a note of accusation in her voice. She looked up to regard him again. "Except when the need arises. Do you think I should accept being used for your pleasure when it suits and then cast aside? Am I to be a plaything?"

"No!" Lionel snapped immediately. "Never. I would not… Not with Arthur's younger sister…" He trailed off, running a hand through his hair.

"Stop that! I am more than that! Why won't you see me as an equal?"

Lionel exhaled with apparent frustration. "In a few months or so, the scandal will be yesterday's news and we can go our separate ways quietly. There will be no stain on your name or mine. That is the best outcome. I am sorry that… I am sorry for my weakness last night. I should not have given you false hope in such a way. Nor should I have insisted on the rights of a husband if I was not prepared to be a husband in truth. I can assure you it will not happen again."