The Secret of Pembrooke Park(124)
“Of course, many of the servants and our neighbors knew that the girl was not really ours. But they were ready to keep our secret in unspoken bond against the usurper, Robert Pembrooke’s killer. When the need arose, we said she was the daughter of relatives in the north, recently orphaned.” He shrugged. “We are a small community. Far from city laws and legalities. There were few to question except the one we were most determined not to tell. Her own uncle.
“So yes, while younger people or those new to the parish don’t know, some of the older folks knew or at least suspected who Leah really was. The servants may have whispered among themselves about Miss Eleanor’s fate but never said anything to Mr. Pembrooke, as far as I know. Though he did check the parish records, as I said, so perhaps he’d heard some rumor she still lived.”
He shook his head. “The rumor may even have fostered Eliza Smith’s mistaken belief that she was that daughter.”
Abigail wondered if the same rumor had fueled Harriet’s hope that a closer heir of Robert Pembrooke’s still lived.
“You may wonder why I continued to work for the man,” Mac went on. “I feared to leave would be to risk Clive’s wrath and his suspicions. But I detested him—detested working for him. How relieved I was when he and his family abandoned the house two years later.”
Mac glanced around the room once more. “I don’t think Clive had ever heard of a secret room—just went all over the house and grounds searching for a hiding place. He helped himself to some gold and silver in the family safe, having found the key in his brother’s desk. He dressed his wife in Elizabeth Pembrooke’s jewelry, and took to wearing Robert Pembrooke’s signet ring, once it had been returned to the estate after his funeral. I made no effort to stop him. But even that didn’t quench his desire for more, his certainty that there must be a treasure worth far more—a pearl of great price—hidden elsewhere. And in a sense, he was right.” He looked at Leah fondly. “Thank God he never found you. And he never shall, as long as it is in my power to prevent it.”
Abigail said, “But surely after all this time . . . If he meant to come back for Pembrooke Park, or for Eleanor, he would have done so by now.”
Mac’s eyes glinted cold and hard, like glass. “He might have been transported or imprisoned and unable to return as yet. Or sent his son Miles to continue his quest.” He shook his head. “Until I find solid evidence that Clive Pembrooke is well and truly dead, I shall never feel our Leah is safe to resume her rightful name and place.”
Mac went to the jeweler’s box on another shelf. “I also hid away a few of your mother’s things for you, Leah.” He ducked his head. “Sorry—it’s how I think of you now.”
“Never be sorry, Papa. It is how I think of myself as well. I like the name, truly.”
“I hoped it would only be temporary—that I could give these to you long before now. I wanted you to have a few family heirlooms once you were able to reclaim your home.” He opened the box, swirling a work-worn finger through dainty gold chains and pearls before handing it to her. “There are also several pieces of jewelry still in your mother’s room. And a fine gold snuffbox and ruby cravat pin left in the master bedroom after Clive Pembrooke and his family left. Never understood why they didn’t take more with them. But I had secreted away these few things for you, for when you grew to womanhood.”
“I am nearly nine and twenty, Papa,” she said, amber eyes sparkling. “I think that moment has come and gone.”
“But there’s something else I really wanted you to have.” Lifting the lid from a bandbox, he pulled forth a hat ornamented with flaccid, dusty feathers, a tiny stuffed bird that had lost its beak, and a spray of silk hydrangeas. In truth, Abigail thought it the ugliest hat she had ever seen. She glanced awkwardly at Leah, to gauge her reaction.
Leah pasted on a smile. “It is quite . . . something.”
“Don’t be polite, lass. Even I can see it’s hideous. It was awful twenty years ago, and time and dust have not improved it.”
He turned the hat over and reached inside. “That’s why I chose it.” He pulled from it a small hinged box, set the hat aside, and opened the lid, exposing a velvet-lined jewel case. Inside glistened a ruby necklace and matching earrings. The jewels Elizabeth Pembrooke wore in the portrait.
“I wanted you to have these, especially. Another reason to hide the portrait.”
“They’re beautiful,” Leah breathed, lightly fingering the deep-red gems. She looked up at Mac, eyes shimmering with tears. “Thank you, Papa.”
He ducked his head again and sent a self-conscious glance at Abigail before saying almost shyly to Leah, “I like hearing you call me by that name, though I suppose I should give you leave to call me Mac now, as everyone else does.”
Leah shook her head, the motion causing one fat tear to escape her eye and roll down her cheek. “I am not everyone else. I am your daughter. One of your four children. And I always shall be.”
Abigail’s heart twisted to see answering tears brighten Mac Chapman’s eyes, and his stern chin tremble.
Chapter 27
On Sunday, Abigail, Louisa, and their parents attended church together. On the way over, Abigail noticed Mamma wrap both hands around Papa’s arm as they walked side by side. He bent his head near hers, and she chuckled at something he said. Abigail’s heart lightened. Maybe her family’s change of circumstance and the move to Pembrooke Park was having some benefit after all.