The Art of Inheriting Secrets(59)

“My guess is that she wished for you to decide for yourself.”

“That would be like her. But I can’t help thinking she’s set up a last treasure hunt.”

He peered at me. “D’you think so?”

“Yes, I do. It was something she did for my birthdays and special occasions. She loved the anticipation of me solving the puzzle.”

His hands were still. “Poor, dear Caroline. I’m glad to know her childhood didn’t ruin her.”

“What do you know about it?”

“Not very much. I’m not a man for gossip”—he cocked one wild eyebrow my way as he reached for his glass of water—“but it was plain things were not right in that house.”

“The way I’ve heard it, from people who do gossip,” I said with a wink, “is that Roger was a cruel man, and Violet drank heavily, which made her mean and erratic.”

He nodded. A single pea occupied his fork, and I watched him eat it, chewing with the thoroughness of a cat.

I said, “I hate to think of my mother living that way. One of her old friends said that my mother was stuck with Roger when her mother died—she had no money of her own.” I frowned. “And that doesn’t actually make sense to me either. Why wouldn’t Violet provide for her daughter, give her the independence she valued herself?”

“Violet was erratic at the end. Alcoholic. Ruined her looks.”

It felt like something was right on the edge of my brain, a fact I’d overlooked, something that—

“Oh!” I sat forward in my chair. “Maybe my mother left something in Violet’s room. All of the books and paintings in the house are gone, except for those in her old bedroom and everything in Violet’s room.” I slapped a palm down on the table. “That’s where it is, whatever the clue is.”

He gave me a thumbs-up. “Start there, then.”

“One more question, George, if I might.”

“Ten more, a hundred more.”

“Jocasta said none of these estates survive on the rents and crops anymore. How do you keep Marswick Hall so well?”

“Ha! Not so well, girl. You saw the puddles in the entryway. It’s threatening to fall down at every turn. The plumbing knocks and screams. The windows are drafty. Everything drips and leaks. In the winter, it’s freezing.”

“But?”

“We allow weddings on the grounds and tours every third Sunday, which I hate, but it had to be done. But the main thing is a camp for children down on the shores of the lake.” He pointed toward the west. “Eight weeks, full every year. Science camp, I gather.”

“I see.” I looked toward the blurry view of fields, thinking. “One of the tenants suggested a local farm market, and one of the others keeps chickens and pastures them. Obviously, there is lamb. Wonder if there’d be any value in going organic or something like that.”

“It does seem to make a certain sense, with your background.” He coughed, the sound rattly and unproductive. “Crops and livestock are not always the most lucrative.”

“Right,” I said, “but maybe we’d take it up a notch.” I was thinking maybe I could become the Alice Waters of Hertfordshire, something very high-end for all those discerning commuters in their gigantic kitchens.

“Perhaps. Janet,” he called over his shoulder, “let’s adjourn to the study, have our crumble there.”

I wheeled him back down the drafty, drippy hallway. It was a place that should have been alive with dozens and dozens of people, not just one old man and his niece and their servants. It seemed sad somehow. If I were to make a go of the estate, I’d want Rosemere to have lots of people in it somehow—a school, perhaps, or something along those lines. People would bring it back to life, chase away the ghosts.

When we arrived in the study, my phone was buzzing in my purse. I ignored it, but a moment later, it came again. “Sorry,” I said. “I just need to make sure this isn’t an emergency.” As he laboriously moved his body from the wheelchair to the armchair by the fire, I glanced at my screen. It was the contractor’s number. “Hello?”

“Good afternoon, Lady Shaw. Do you have a moment?”

“Sure. What’s up?”

“I’m afraid I have some bad news. Two bits of bad news, actually, both related to the rain.”

I sank into the other chair. “Tell me.”

“We’ve lost a part of the roof on the main house. It’s on the north end, which was the worst part of the house anyway, but the collapse hit one of the walls, and I’m afraid we’ve got a bit of a mess on our hands.”

For one long minute, I let the information sink in. Not that I knew what “a bit of a mess” meant in real time or how much more money it would cost, but the understatement wasn’t understated enough for my tastes. I thought of the hold on the money from my mother’s house, and anxiety squeezed its way up the back of my neck, landing at the base of my skull with a fist. “What else?”

“There was also a substantial collapse in the ruins. The abbey.”

“Oh. Well, that’s not as bad, right?”

“Unfortunately, a skeleton was revealed, and we’ve had to call the authorities out to take a look, so all work is at a standstill until they sort it out.”