A Dreadful Splendor (40)

“Like pirates?” I breathed. I couldn’t deny my interest. It sounded like the sort of adventure I would read about in books. “What would they smuggle?”

“Rum, gold . . . people, even. Imagine Audra’s grandfather, Lord Chadwick the third, as a young boy, growing up here. I wonder what he may have seen if his father was involved in that trade. He has a lasting reputation for being cruel. Perhaps there’s a reason.”

“This is very interesting.” However, I knew men needed no reason to be cruel.

He rested his elbows on the arms of the chair and began to twirl the gold ring. “During that last visit, my father had been exploring and found something incriminating. I don’t know the particulars, only what I can glean from their correspondence, but my father was so affected by the elder Lord Chadwick’s reaction that he was too scared to return. Ever.”

“What do you think he saw?”

“I can’t imagine. My father, at least when I knew him, feared nothing. I don’t believe in ghosts, Miss Timmons, but I believe cruel fathers can bear cruel sons.”

I let that thought settle in my brain. “There is a difference between cruelty and evil, don’t you think?”

“Evil is cruelty unchecked, when it’s allowed to flourish.”

I thought of Miss Crane and the men she allowed inside. “I agree,” I said. I silently wondered what old horrible Lord Chadwick had hidden at Somerset. What could so unnerve a young man that he would never return here, or even mention the property to his own son? Mr. Pemberton was looking at me with a similar quizzical expression. For the smallest moment, it felt like we were on the same team, but I had to be careful. I applauded myself on accurately reading people, but this man was still such a mystery to me.

With a promise to do a mock séance for him in the next few days, I returned to my room.

A small package was in front of my door. True to her word, Flora had left a generous sample of hairpins. Most were plain and meant to be invisible in the hair, but some were jeweled and decorated with pearls.

Using my key, I opened the door and found the room as I had left it. I sat at the vanity with the package of pins, wondering if Flora might put the nicer ones in my hair tonight. Then I practically slapped myself!

If I could pick a handcuff, I could open a locked door. And now I had a box full of pins to use.



For lunch I ate nearly my weight in a selection of Mrs. Galloway’s sandwiches and creamy potato leek soup. I had to make up for the breakfast I’d hardly touched. I intended to take a quick nap, but instead slept through the rest of the afternoon and woke with a raging headache. Flora was kind enough to give my regrets to Bramwell for dinner. As a result, the evening meal was brought to my room, where I dined on second and third helpings without having to dress up. Although I purposely limited myself to one glass of wine, needing to be sharp later. Even though Mr. Lockhart said Audra’s room had been searched, there was an intangible pull I could not resist. And since the key had suddenly gone missing, I was motivated more than ever.

Again, I waited until late in the evening, making sure all were asleep. With a box of pins in my grip, I knelt in front of Audra’s lock and gently coaxed one into the opening. I turned my head to the side, with my ear close to the lock, and concentrated on envisioning the inside of the mechanism in my mind. The hairpin advanced bit by bit. At once there was a pressure under my touch. Then the pin twisted on its own. I let go and watched, dumbstruck, as the doorknob turned by itself. There was a resounding click, and the door opened inward.





Chapter Twenty-Five




Lady Audra Linwood

Diary Entry

Somerset Park, January 21, 1852

Dearest,

The tiara did not win him over.

I smiled and twinkled and laughed with all the pretend gaiety I could muster, and yet Mr. Pemberton merely nodded across the dining table in response to my efforts. I suppose he realizes that he does not need to earn my favour in order to inherit Somerset Park. It will be his as soon as Father . . . oh, I cannot even write the words; it makes me ill to think of it.

He is lovely to look at, and I’ve found no hint of malice in his manners or expression, but his apathy is worrisome. He knows my situation. A smile or word of assurance would go far in easing my fretful state.

Strange, isn’t it? How someone like Mr. Pemberton can be closer to the common folk and yet have rightful claim to Somerset Park. And it is I, a full-blooded Linwood descendent, who must coax and win over this man.

Forgive me, Dearest. I suppose this is only my bruised pride talking. Mr. Pemberton can be forgiven for not dropping to his knee and proposing on the spot during our very first meeting. But unquestionably, the second time together, it would have been very much acceptable to speak of marriage.

William was absent during dinner. Part of me finds it admirable that he refuses to fawn over Mr. Pemberton as the rest of us do. Still, our marriage will secure William’s future as well. I wish he would see that. I wish he wasn’t hurting as much as I suspect.

After dinner, someone called out my name as I walked through the halls. I entered the library, but no one was there. I stared up at Grandfather’s portrait above the fireplace. The staff say he haunts this room. Even in death they still fear him. Something admirable about that, actually.

I wonder what Grandfather would have done if he’d had a daughter instead of a son. I can’t imagine him giving up Somerset. He may have been cruel, but he wouldn’t have pinned his hopes on a stranger to save him. Of that I am certain.