A Dreadful Splendor (55)

Me, fancy? That was a new one.

“Thank you, Flora,” I said. I could tell that at last she was comfortable with me—trusting. “I’m glad you’re here too.”

She made to stand up, but then hesitated, chewing her bottom lip. “I heard you and the lord were in the library this afternoon,” she said.

“Mm-hmm.” I kept my answer short. Had the staff overhead us? Did they all know the truth? I practically held my breath while I waited for her to continue.

She shoved her hands in her apron’s pocket. “I’ll never forget when he first came to the manor,” she said. “I thought he was the most handsome man I’d ever seen. You should have seen him and Lady Audra together. They were like two angels or somethin’.”

Supper lay heavily in my stomach. I remembered how I had blushed when our hands touched. “I can tell you admired her,” I said.

Flora sniffed. “I have to tells you, Jenny.” Her voice quivered. “A few nights before the wedding, I saw somethin’. Somethin’ I ain’t never mentioned. I wonders now if I may have imagined it, but then sometimes I think it may have been real. I’ve told no one, except Maisie when I visit her grave.”

My ears perked up. “It’s all right if you share it with me,” I said. “The only people I talk to are ghosts.” I reached across the table and touched her arm. “What did you see that night?”

She adjusted her white cap, then took in a few breaths. “I was workin’ late in the kitchen, gettin’ everything ready for the wedding feast. I had pies to cool, but I didn’t want to go into the cold cellar.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “I hates it there.”

I remembered how Joseph had been so reluctant to get the preserves for Mrs. Galloway.

“Instead, I took ’em out to the back garden to cool. It was dark, so I didn’t see him until he stumbled into view, walking like he’d been drinkin’.”

A quick knock interrupted her. Flora clamped her mouth shut and shook her head as if scolding herself. I feared the intimacy between us had been broken. The knock came again, making Flora rush to answer the door.

With her back turned, I easily slipped the knife out from under the table and placed it back on the plate.

“Evenin’, m’lord,” Flora said, head bowed.

Mr. Pemberton was dressed in his dinner finery. His style was impeccable, as always, and his golden hair seemed to steal all the light in the room. However, there was a weariness to his posture that did not fit his usual demeanour. He saw the empty plate, then nodded to me. “I’m glad to see you’ve eaten. I was worried you’d fallen ill.”

“Mrs. Galloway’s stew is hard to resist,” I said timidly. Our last conversation ended with me running out of the library, barely able to hold back my guilty tears. I couldn’t imagine what he thought of me.

“Oy, forgive me, Jenny,” Flora said, running to retrieve the dishes from the floor.

Mr. Pemberton gave her a quizzical look, then he put his attention back on me. “The night air is particularly refreshing,” he said. “The greenhouse was a favourite of Audra’s, and I thought you might want to see it.”

There was nothing in his tone to hint at the confrontation of our earlier conversation. He was a better actor than I’d given him credit for. Still, I could not turn down his invitation, and certainly not in front of Flora. I had to be mindful of the staff gossip.

“Yes,” I said, forcing a smile.

“I’ll wait in the foyer.” And with that he turned and disappeared.

Flora blew the air out of her cheeks. She nodded to the armoire. “Wear a scarf; the wind is biting tonight.”



When I reached the main entrance, Mr. Pemberton was waiting, top hat in place, an umbrella tucked under his arm, and a lantern in his other hand.

“After you, Miss Timmons,” he said, opening the door for me.

I nodded. “Lord Chadwick.”

The night air scratched at my throat with every breath. A strong gust blew against my hair, rustling my bonnet. I lifted a hand to hold it down. Before meeting Mr. Pemberton in the foyer, I knew I couldn’t leave the tiara in my room unguarded and risk Mrs. Donovan discovering it. Instead, I took it with me, wearing it beneath my hat, carefully tucked close against my curls.

“I should ask Flora how to earn your favour,” he said. “She must be a confidant to feel comfortable calling you Jenny.”

“She calls me Jenny because I invited her to do so,” I replied. I was grateful again for the wide brim of the bonnet. Our last conversation rang in my ears with a tired shame, turning them red.

We paused at the top of the steps. “It’s raining,” I said unnecessarily.

He put up the umbrella, holding it in the hand that was closest to me. Once again, he preferred a barrier between us.

With the dim light of the lantern, we made our way past the stone lions, then to the side of the house, following the footpath to the back gardens. I moved to the side to avoid a large puddle. The umbrella moved with me, keeping me dry. I had no time to appreciate the gallant gesture; my mind was tumbling over possible scenarios of what Mr. Pemberton really had planned. Was he leading me to the parish constable? Was he going to send me off into the night with only the clothes on my back? Was he going to push me off the cliff? I shivered against the chill.