A Dreadful Splendor (73)

A strange flutter filled my stomach. The key had really been in the fireplace! I told myself it was only a lucky guess. There was no way I was a conduit for the other side.

“You’ll never guess what he’d put there.” She looked around, waiting.

“A new will disowning his ridiculous family,” William said.

“Deed to an unknown property?” Dr. Barnaby guessed.

She shook her head. “You’re terrible at this game. I’ll give you a hint. It’s smaller than a dinner plate.”

“A love letter,” Mr. Pemberton said. His answer surprised me so much I didn’t look away when our eyes locked for the hundredth time that evening. I couldn’t tell if he was hoping to build suspense for his own séance. I tried to ignore how hard my heart was pounding.

“Miss Timmons?” he prompted. “We’re waiting for your guess.”

My cheeks were burning. “It must have been important, but only to him,” I said. “Something he wanted to keep secret, even from his own family.”

“Family secrets,” William murmured. “How unoriginal.” He turned his attention to the lovely guest. “Tell me, Miss Gibbons, do you always take such joy in retelling a grieving family’s misfortune?”

Mr. Lockhart smoothed his mustache with the napkin. “Miss Gibbons is merely constructing a game for us to play. I’m sure the details have been embellished by her lovely friend. No harm if the mystery is playfully revealed.” He coughed. Finally.

Miss Gibbons lifted her glass for another refill. She impressed me with her ability to put away the drink. She looked at me. “Inside the box was a school medal.”

“That’s rather sad,” I replied. “The medal must have been important to him. Why would he lock it away instead of sharing it with his family?”

“So true,” Dr. Barnaby added quietly. “But if the seer knew about the fireplace, then why have her arrested? Seems rather unkind to the poor girl.”

Good ole Dr. Barnaby! He was defending me without even knowing it.

“Poor girl!” Miss Gibbons rolled her eyes. “The sentimental value of the medal was nothing compared to the jewels she was stealing. Regardless, I hear she’s set for the gallows. I told my friend she should wear her father’s medal to the hanging.”





Chapter Forty-Five




Lady Audra Linwood

Diary Entry

Somerset Park, May 4, 1852

Dearest,

It is the night before the wedding. My hand is shaking from excitement and fear. Everything is falling into place. My true life starts tomorrow. I am sad to leave you behind, though, Dearest. You’ve been my constant companion all these years. However, I must say goodbye to everything that reminds me of Somerset, including you. You have served me well and kept my greatest secret. No one knows, not even my love. At first it was a fun way to snoop on the staff. Now it is my salvation!

I have packed my bag and stowed it away in a secret location.

I know it is foolish to put all of this down here, but I will hide this book well. I wonder if anyone will ever find it. Maybe I’ll even return one day and retrieve it!

At dinner, I said I was fearful tomorrow would never come. Mr. Pemberton raised his glass at me from the other end of the table as if congratulating himself on a successful business deal. I might have felt guilty for abandoning him if not for the fact that Somerset is already his.

William, though, stared at me throughout the meal. I can still feel the burn from his glare. I am wondering if he has snuck into my room and found this diary. Does he know? I shudder at the thought. Father’s death rattled something deep inside him, and now it has finally surfaced.

When I look at William now, I am reminded of Grandfather’s eyes. Can you inherit cruelty like hair color? And if so, am I capable of what Grandfather did? Perhaps leaving Somerset is the best thing for me and my baby.

Midnight cannot come soon enough.





Chapter Forty-Six




I sat at the vanity taking out the hairpins one by one. Although my stomach was satisfied, my mind was amok with visions of the gallows. A sliver of panic wedged itself like a splinter under my skin, impossible to ignore. No matter how confident Mr. Lockhart professed to be, I couldn’t rid myself of the image of him standing in front of the jury, covered in cuts and bruises, losing track of his argument.

And what of Mr. Pemberton? I had begun to trust him, only to find out he had his own secrets. Was he using me to cover his own crime? I rubbed my arms, suddenly chilled. Did he know about the dungeon?

Cruel fathers bear cruel sons.

He had admitted his own father struck him so hard it left him with a scar.

The wind howled outside as the last embers in the fireplace crackled. A strange weight settled over the room. I glanced at the door to make sure the key was in the lock. I had the oddest notion of—

“Help me.”

The pin froze in my hand. It was only a whisper, but it was most assuredly a female voice, and it was in the room with me. Something creaked. In the mirror I watched the wardrobe door open slowly. I was still as a rock until it finally stopped moving, halfway open, like a mouth caught midyawn, showing nothing but black within.

My emotions came to a boil. Frustration and fear had combined and exploded with a fury. No more! I rushed to the wardrobe and flung open the door the whole way.