The Art of Inheriting Secrets(60)

“Did they bury people in the abbey? Was it a grave?”

“There is”—he cleared his throat—“some concern that it might be the body of a girl who disappeared in the seventies.”

“Oh.” I took a breath, blew it out like a puffer fish. “I see. All right. I’ll be there as soon as I can. It will be an hour or so, I’m afraid.”

“No worries. We’ll be here.”

I hung up and held the phone loosely in my palm, hands in my lap. “They’ve found a skeleton at Rosemere, at the abbey. They think it might be the girl who disappeared in the seventies.” Her name came to me, Sanvi. “That would have been my friends Pavi and Samir’s aunt.”

He nodded, eyes clear as they ever had been. “What else?”

I rubbed a hand around my neck. “Part of the ballroom roof collapsed and took down a wall. I don’t know which one.” I shook my head. “I am in so far over my head. What made me think I could do this, tackle such a huge job? I just don’t have the resources or the knowledge or—”

He held up one large hand. “No point worrying until you have the facts. I’ll have Robert take you over there. Ring me later, and let me know what you’ve learned.”

“Right. I will. And I also need the accountant’s name.”

“Done.” He stood, and I crossed over to him so that he wouldn’t have to walk on his aching feet. “You needn’t fret, Olivia. You’ve a fine mind and plenty of friends. The estate is your legacy, and you’ve stepped up to the challenge brilliantly.”

I touched my heart. “Thank you.”

“You know,” he said, raising his chin ever so slightly, “what might help in the long run is an advantageous marriage.”

I half smiled. “You’re teasing me, right?”

“A little,” he conceded. “Only a little. The wealthy have always married for reasons of dynasty, my dear. You’ll want the right sort of person when the time comes, and a brilliant marriage could be of help.”

On one level, I understood his intentions and the reality of the world he had occupied for the whole of his life. Given my “love” connection with the man who was now suing me, maybe it couldn’t get much worse. On another level, the American one, it was completely absurd. “Thank you,” I said. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Go now. See to your home.”

My home. Fat chance.





Chapter Fourteen

On the way to the house, in the insanely pouring rain, we passed a brutal smashup on the A1, and as Robert was holding forth on the overcrowding of the roads, my phone blipped with a text.

Samir wrote, Is it true they found bones at Rosemere?

Yes, I texted back. Not the house but the abbey. I’m headed there now. Roof down in ballroom, wall down, all rain related. Terrible day!

Want moral support?

I closed my eyes momentarily. YES please. It’s been one thing after another. Tell you more later.

All right. I’ll see you soon.

You use complete sentences in texting.

Can’t help it. Reading background. What’s your excuse?

Editor.

I like it.

:)

For the first time since I’d heard the news about the lawsuit last night, some of the tension eased in the back of my neck. I desperately wanted to talk this all out—the problems with the house, the challenge of the eventual purpose, how to support it, and how to get it into shape in the short term. Was I out of my mind?

Maybe. Real doubt plagued me, carried by the dark weather and the new challenges.

But I couldn’t leave until I figured out what my mother wanted me to know, and I had to start with exploring the things in my mother’s and grandmother’s rooms. She’d left those for me, and I needed to explore them, but the thought of being in the house alone unnerved me. Even having construction workers in some parts wouldn’t be enough.

I needed help.

The road into Rosemere was sloshy with rain, puddles and potholes making the journey from the main road through the trees slow and jolting. All the heavy trucks and equipment, coupled with the abundant rain, had made a mess of it. Mentally, I added another task to the endless list in my head—the roads needed to be graded and filled or whatever one did to make the potholes go away. The task fluttered in my imagination, leading off into the faraway distance, unconquerable.

The rain also made it difficult to navigate to a position where I could see the damage to the back of the house. Looking up meant a face full of water, and the mud was deep. I was glad of my wellies as I gathered my coat and umbrella. “You can let me out here, Robert. I’ll walk up to the abbey.”

“In this mess, my lady? I’d be happy to wait and carry you up there.”

I shook my head. “The road is going to be a mud pit. Easier for me to walk than you to drive. Thank you so much.”

Opening my own industrial-strength umbrella, I stepped out of the car and into its shelter and sloshed my way across the back garden to the base of a great old oak. It didn’t stop the rain entirely, but at least it was enough to give me a chance to look up—

To the gaping hole now scarring the entire northwest corner. The roof had collapsed inward, leaving only the beams, and stonework had crumbled beneath it, taking down most of the third story wall and some of the second story. Rain poured through the hole. I imagined a pool of muck forming in the ballroom.