The Secret of Pembrooke Park(66)

“Yes. That’s the drawing room on the ground level, and a lovely bedchamber and dressing room above.”

“Your bedchamber?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I thought Louisa would like it.”

He said nothing, but his gaze lingered on its windows.

From the side of the house, her father came striding toward them, hand extended, smile creasing his thin, handsome face. “Gilbert! How good to see you here, my boy.”

“Mr. Foster. A pleasure to see you again, sir.”

The two shook hands.

“I saw you from the windows,” her father said. “I hope you don’t mind, but I was eager to greet you.”

“Not at all, sir.”

“We were just coming in to find you,” Abigail said, hoping that the servants had not already eaten all the cake.

In the spacious, sunny drawing room a few minutes later, the three visited together over tea and slices of cake, her father asking Gilbert questions about his family and his new position. Then he asked, “How long can you stay?”

Gilbert glanced up at the clock on the mantelpiece. “I should return in time to dress for dinner.”

That didn’t give them much time. Abigail smiled at Gilbert. “Before you go, may I show you those house plans I mentioned?”

Gilbert met her gaze with a knowing look and rose. “Very well.”

He bid her father farewell, and he and Abigail excused themselves.

As they crossed the hall, Abigail asked, “May I tell you something in confidence?”

His eyes roved hers. “Of course.”

She led the way into the library and stepped to the map table. Behind her she heard the door latch click and turned in surprise. Gilbert had shut the door, and now walked toward her, a small smile on his face.

Abigail licked dry lips and looked away. She retrieved the old plans from their drawer and spread them atop the map table, her hands slightly unsteady.

“You really wanted to show me house plans?” he asked, his voice tinged with surprise.

She shot him a questioning look. “Yes. . . .” Realization dawned, followed by embarrassment. “Did you think it a ruse to get you alone? My goodness, Gilbert. You were in Italy too long.”

He sighed playfully. “Can’t blame a man for hoping . . .”

She turned away sharply, but he touched her arm, his voice apologetic. “Abby . . .”

She gentled her voice and faced him. “You should know that Mamma has written to me. She mentioned that you have called on Louisa since your return.”

“Ah. . . .” He finally had the decency to look sheepish.

She inhaled and turned back to the plans. “Yes, I really wanted your opinion on these plans. You see, there are rumors of a secret room somewhere in Pembrooke Park, and if it exists, I want to find it.”

“A secret room?” he echoed, brows rising.

“Yes. Supposedly it hides a treasure of some sort, though the former steward assures me those rumors are nonsense. Still, I would like to find the room.”

“Have you anything to go on beyond the rumors?”

“A little. I’ve received a few letters from someone who used to live here. She mentioned studying the plans for clues.” Abigail decided not to mention the dolls’ house to Gilbert when he already looked skeptical.

“And did this former resident find the room?”

“She hasn’t said. Yet.”

He gave her a doubtful glance.

“Just look at them, Gilbert, and tell me what you see.”

“Very well.” He sighed. Offended, or disappointed?

He began a casual survey, then frowned and bent his head closer to the drawings.

“May I have more light?”

“Certainly.” She went and drew back the drapes all the way and opened the shutters.

Gilbert pored over the drawings. “These are a series of renovation plans. Do you happen to have the original plans?”

“I don’t know about original. But these are older. Before the west wing was added.”

She spread another set beside the others.

He compared the two. “Yes, see? At some point, the tower was added in the corner there. Probably mid-1700s, when many modernized their ancestral homes by adding water closets. A cistern on the roof collected rainwater, which then ran down through a series of pipes drawn by levers below. Then at a later date, another wing was added in front of the tower.”

He looked up at her, eyes alight with interest of a different sort now. “Perhaps it is time you gave me the tour of the house.”

Satisfaction. This was the inquisitive Gilbert she knew.

Together they walked from the library into the main hall. There, he pointed up. “This is the original hall, open several stories high to allow the smoke of open fires to dissipate in the days before chimneys. You can see that staircase is a later addition, as well as the gallery above it.”

They walked through the morning room and into the dining room. Gilbert glanced around, then stepped to the corner of the room and pressed his hand against a panel of wooden wainscoting. The panel slid open.

Abigail’s heart lurched and she hurried forward. “Did you find it?”

“I found the hoist from the kitchen belowstairs.”

“Oh. I hadn’t noticed that before.” Embarrassment singed her ears.