A Dreadful Splendor (81)

I groaned in frustration. He was still adamant about hosting the séance to expose her killer. He had told me she deserved more than the story everyone had given her death.

I pushed him from my mind; he made it impossible to think clearly.

I needed to understand what happened that night, after Audra tucked her diary away for the last time. She was as real as ever. The shell of my ear still burned, as if she had pressed her lips there and read her diary to me. Her yearnings for her mother, her desire for a friend, kindled a spark within me that made me feel less alone.

I flipped through the first few pages again. Who was “Dearest” with the sad eyes? And what secret did they share to help Audra escape?

Someone in this house knew more.

I considered everyone on the property, even Joseph the affable stable hand, but I couldn’t imagine a likely match. It had to be someone who knew all the secrets of Somerset Park, someone Audra trusted implicitly. The beginnings of an idea rippled just beneath the surface, but then a clap of thunder sounded outside. I looked out the window at the churning clouds and the thought slipped away.

Audra wrote about hearing a voice call for help—just like I had. But I no more believed in family curses than I did ghosts. The same person who had haunted Audra was now turning their trickery on me. Most likely to lure me to my own death, or at the very least make me leave Somerset. Did they know about Mr. Pemberton’s plan to evoke a confession? Or was the guilty party convinced Audra’s ghost would be summoned for revenge?

Some men are the devil himself, Audra wrote. I agreed. Ghosts had nothing on the cruelty of real men. Thunder rumbled again, this time closer.

I left her room, making sure that no one saw me slip down the hallway. I had the diary tucked under my arm; it was simply too precious to leave behind. I wasn’t stealing it like the tiara, I reasoned, but it was priceless nonetheless. And I knew exactly who I had to tell first.

I ran down the stairs, jumping the last two steps. Bramwell came around the corner carrying a stack of letters. His bushy eyebrows rose in surprise.

“Beg your pardon, Miss Timmons,” he said. “Are you in need of assistance?”

I nodded. “Is Mr. Pemberton in his study? I need to speak with him directly.”

Bramwell straightened. “His lordship is at the stables.”

“When do you expect him back?”

He frowned. “I believe they left an hour ago. Dr. Barnaby arrived in time for lunch and accompanied him to see the new foal.”

My rushed excitement turned to anxious worry. Dr. Barnaby was a cheater and a liar. And now he was with Mr. Pemberton, who was wholly unaware of the conniving nature of his best friend. I had to go there at once.

I stowed the diary in my room before grabbing my coat and bonnet. In addition to keeping it away from Dr. Barnaby, I didn’t want to risk it becoming wet and smearing the ink. Then I took the forest path toward the stables as fast as I could.

I emerged into a fine mist. Fog had crept in from the sea. I ran into the stables, feeling my heart keep time with the running footfalls of my boots.

Esmeralda was in a large pen with her mother, looking well. Mr. Pemberton had his back to me and was speaking with one of the stable hands. He was dressed in his riding attire and high boots. His blond hair was mussed by the wind, the honey color like a jewel in contrast to the greyness of the day. There was an ease to his stance that was so unlike his usual rigid posture. He laughed, and it struck me how at home he seemed among the horses.

I craned my neck, but I could not see Dr. Barnaby.

“This is a pleasant surprise,” Mr. Pemberton said as he saw me approach. His smile was as natural as his stance. “I was going to call on you before I left the main house, but I didn’t want to disturb you.” His manners were genuine, and the relaxed charm suited him much more than the harsh lord I’d met the first night. “I’m glad you came of your own volition,” he added, almost sheepishly.

Looking at him in his riding attire, all fresh and full of vigor, I would hardly have guessed he’d been up all night birthing a foal. There was an infectious energy about him I’d never sensed before.

“Bramwell told me Dr. Barnaby would be here,” I said.

“Oh?” There was a pause, and I suspected he was willing me to tell him the reason for seeking him out.

I stayed quiet.

“He just left,” he finally answered. “He has a full roster of patients to visit. Besides, he didn’t want to get caught in the rain.”

Esmeralda nudged his hand. He bent on one knee and patted her nose.

“How is she?” I asked, taking a step closer.

“Esmeralda is perfect,” he said. The adoration was hard to miss. “Here, come. You can pet her if you like.”

Hearing him say the name of my favourite character, a name I had used as an alias myself, gave me a small thrill. I took off my glove and tentatively held out my palm. The foal leaned into my touch. Her coat was warm and velvet soft.

I wanted to keep this moment for ourselves, with no thought of Audra. I wanted to keep Esmeralda our story alone. So I held my tongue for a moment longer, indulging in the strange pocket of escape we had created, knowing it would burst as soon as I revealed my reason for coming here.

“Your ride is ready, m’lord,” Joseph said, standing with a coat draped over his arm.

Mr. Pemberton stood and slipped his arms through the coat sleeves. A fine chestnut horse was saddled and off to the side. “May I offer you a ride back to the manor?” he asked me. “We could have Joseph bring around the step. I don’t suspect you’ve had much experience riding in London.” His tone was serious, but a grin pulled at the corner of his mouth, and I wondered if he knew how disarming it was. I believed this was the most smiles I’d seen from him since arriving here.