Chapter Seventeen

If she was completely truthful, it was more the fact she wasn’t really ready for him to go home at all. It was too nice being with him and she had loved that brief touch of their hands. She had pulled away before she took hold of his properly and scared him off.

Although, with how it all panned out in the end, she was awfully pleased that, in the twilight of a long, summer’s day, Alex escorted her back to the cottage. It was, after all, Alex who saw the smoke curling out of her partially open front window. ‘Hey, look at that!’ he cried. ‘Smoke!’

‘My cottage!’ Elodie started running towards it, until Alex grabbed her and pulled her back towards him as easily as if she was on a bungee rope.

She sort of boing-ed back to him, he thrust her behind him and then he began hurtling towards the cottage. ‘You stay back!’ he yelled.

Elodie faltered, but she fell back. It was impossible to keep up with him anyway. All she could do was shout after him: ‘Be careful!’

When Alex pulled up in front of the cottage, he stopped and sniffed. ‘It’s that stuff you used to smudge the place with. The sage,’ he called over his shoulder. He ran over to the lounge window, then banged his fists on the glass. ‘Bloody hell, Elodie, it’s set the pewter box on fire!’

‘Impossible!’ She hurried over next to him and waved some smoke away. Coughing, she peered through the neat little panes; but, sure enough, the smoke was coming out of the box and filling her lounge, then drifting out of the window. Nothing else was on fire; nothing at all.

She could have sworn that she didn’t leave the box on the windowsill.

And she knew for a fact that the box was still closed when they left to go to the Dragon, but the key was sitting in the lock, almost defiantly.

’Who did that?’ she asked, tears springing to her eyes. She didn’t know if it was worse that someone had gone into her little house uninvited or that someone had set the precious box alight. Without thinking, she walked over to the door and pulled it fully open. The smell of sage was incredibly strong and that, combined with the smoke, made her choke. Her house looked like a Victorian opium den and her airways were constricting. What a horrible end to the evening! ‘Bloody hell!’

She felt a hand on her shoulder and then she was gently pulled away from the door.

‘You’re not staying here tonight,’ said Alex. ‘It’ll kill you. I haven’t forgotten finding you in the squash courts last year. Let me check what’s going on.’

‘Can I at least come in and get my inhaler?’

‘No. I’ll get it – where is it?’

‘Upstairs. In the bathroom.’

‘Okay. Stay there.’ Alex disappeared into the smog and came back with it. It was just as well, because the more agitated she was becoming about the fire, the more she started to lose the capacity to breathe, and the more her chest tightened.

‘There you go.’

He handed it to her and she grabbed it gratefully. ‘Thank you.’ She took a big puff of it and sat on the grass outside the house, taking a few gulps of fresh air before going to the window pane again. She peered inside, knocking pathetically on the glass like the ghost of Wuthering Heights’ Catherine Earnshaw. Alex had opened the window wider and managed to douse the smouldering contents of the box with a vase full of water and the beautiful roses from Margaret’s garden which had filled the vase were lying on the floor.

Alex looked up, seeming to register the fact Elodie was at the window and came over to see her. ‘Are you okay? Blue lips don’t suit you.’

‘I’m fine. What’s going on?’

‘Exactly what it looks like. Someone opened the box and set fire to the contents. I’m coming out now, but just tell me where I can grab you some overnight things first. You’re coming to the Hall tonight.’

‘The Hall?’

‘The Hall.’

‘Oh!’ Then she remembered the weekend case she still had packed from her last trip to her parents’ place in the South of France. She’d washed everything there and just repacked the case. Sure, it had flimsy stuff in it, in the hope of nice warm weather; but she never really wore any of her holiday clothes in Suffolk – so what was the point in taking it all out again at home, just to repack for her next visit? ‘You could try the top of my wardrobe in the main bedroom. There’s a pink overnight case. I’ve got enough in there for tonight.’

‘Great. I won’t be a minute.’

He found the bag exactly where she said it would be and lifted it down easily. It was quite light, but he assumed it must have everything she needed in it. He was glad she had already taken her inhaler and crushed the horrible image of her having some kind of attack and dropping dead at his feet that night.

She hadn’t looked particularly well when she was peering in at the window before. One more thing to blame Piers for. She’d told him her ex had taken to smoking cigars and that had made the whole condition worse. She’d been hospitalised for it once, apparently. But he felt he had no right to comment on it and had cursed Piers long and hard for that one.

And secondary to his worries about Elodie, were those about how the sage had just happened to light up and how the box had just happened to open up.

He pushed the thought out of his head. The most important thing was to get Elodie back to the Hall and sort out a bed for the night. It was almost ten o’clock and it was getting quite dark.

Elodie was hovering about outside the cottage and she looked like a restless spirit herself. She reached out to try and take the bag from him and he held it up, out of her way.

‘No. I’ll carry it.’

‘But you’ve got the box and stuff,’ she said and reached out again.

‘And I’m happy to carry them all. Come on. I’d pick you up and carry you too if I could, but it’s not very practical right now.’ He began to walk towards the Hall.

‘But Alex—’ She suddenly stopped and doubled over, fighting to inhale. ‘Wait … a second … please.’ She took another puff of her inhaler and stood up again.

‘Look at you. That’s just with walking up here.’ Alex slowed down and continued, trying not to show how worried he was about her. ‘I’ve opened all the windows. The place will be quite safe tonight and we’ll see how it is tomorrow. Why didn’t you tell me how bad it is?’

‘How bad what is?’ she asked, breathlessly.

‘The asthma.’

‘Because it’s too embarrassing to admit it! It’s because of London and …’ Her voice trailed off helplessly and Alex felt the anger boil up again. Bloody Piers!

‘But what if you had an attack at the cottage? What if nobody was around to help you?’

‘I’m fine,’ she insisted. ‘It hasn’t been like this for a couple of weeks—’

‘A couple of weeks,’ he interrupted. ‘Well that says it all, really. Weeks.’ He felt his face close up. She was impossible. She could have died. ‘Have you even told your parents? I bet you haven’t. I feel like ringing them up myself!’

‘I wouldn’t want them to worry, and anyway, I don’t often have a houseful of smoke.’

‘Regardless. I just want to …’ It was his turn to trail off. I just want to look after you. I just want to be there for you.

Fortunately, they were almost at the Hall and it was easy to change the subject. A red and black motorbike was parked diagonally across the drive and that meant only one thing. ‘Look! Cassie’s back. That was a short trip. D’you think she’s had a falling out with the latest boyfriend?’

‘Is she still with Tom?’ asked Elodie.

‘Kate’s brother? No. That was doomed to failure. Even Kate warned her that he’s a serial boyfriend. I think the latest one is called Sam.’

‘Oh, I can’t keep up.’

‘Me neither, usually. Let’s see what she says.’

Alex led the way into the Hall and shouted through the open door. ‘Cassie! We’re here!’

‘Who’s we?’ Cassie popped her head out of the lounge. ‘Elodie! Hello!’ She looked freshly scrubbed and smelt of bergamot shower gel – in contrast to Elodie, who thought she must look like something the cat dragged in.

’Hey Cassie. Sorry to spoil your evening. There was a slight incident at my cottage. I can’t sleep there tonight.’

‘You’re not spoiling it. Fire, flood or pestilence?’

‘Fire. Sort of. It’s been a weird old night.’

She was, she realised, dog-tired. The wine, the walk, the box, the fire and the asthma attack had drained her. The world started to go a little woozy and she wobbled her way into the lounge where she collapsed into a big, squashy armchair and, closing her eyes, rested her head against the back and tried to concentrate on breathing.

Alex’s voice floated above her as he squeezed her shoulder. ‘I’ll make some coffee. You sit there, don’t worry. Cassie, can you take this upstairs please?’

‘Sure!’ Cassie’s voice was cheerful, but Elodie didn’t have the energy to even smile in response. There was a sort of breeze and the smell of sun tan lotion and fabric conditioner that she associated with her overnight bag, and she assumed Alex had passed it over her head to his sister. Cassie’s footsteps trotted out of the room, followed by Alex’s, and she felt herself falling asleep. It wouldn’t do. It wouldn’t do at all, if she napped now. Would it?

She woke up about half an hour later. That was quite lucky – she could quite easily have napped the night away in the chair and she wondered, sleepily, what Alex would have done in that case. She shifted in the cosy armchair and opened her eyes.

Alex was sitting on the sofa and had the box on his knee. There was a pile of black sogginess to one side of him – the sofa looked none too respectable with that there – and he was holding a piece of charred paper in his hand, examining it with a magnifying glass.

‘Welcome back,’ he said. ‘I was going to give you another half hour then carry you upstairs. Do you want to have a look at this?’ Finally, he looked up at her and her heart broke just a little. He appeared worn out and confused. ‘There’s not much to see, but you might be interested in what there is.’

‘Hmmmph.’ She made a non-committal sort of sound and hauled herself out of the chair. Her chest still felt a little tight, but she was breathing more normally. The sleep must have helped. She went over to the sofa and sat near Alex, the pile of wet, mushy charred paper between them.

‘These are the contents of the box. Or what’s left of them anyway. The top ones are ruined – that’s the pile down there.’ He nodded to the blackened rubbish. ‘But this one was on the bottom. I don’t think the fire got to it properly and the water didn’t soak all the way through to it.’

‘It’s just as well the fire stayed in the box’ She shuddered to think of what might have happened to the cottage – and also, there was a chance that she might have been in the cottage at the same time as the fire. If it had spread and if she’d been in her bedroom asleep … It didn’t bear thinking about.

‘Indeed,’ replied Alex. ‘And this piece of paper I’m looking at has something written on it. I wonder if they were Georgiana’s letters?’

‘I think we can safely assume it was Georgiana’s box and Georgiana’s letters, even if Lucy hid it away. The key was in the tomb after all.’

‘That’s what I think. Do you want to have a look?’

‘Yes, please!’

‘Here. Be careful, it’s fragile.’

He passed the piece of paper over to her, along with the magnifying glass. She bent over it and squinted through the glass.

She could just make out some spidery, brownish coloured ink which may have, at one time, been black. The edges of the sheet were charred and breaking away in her hands, but there was something written in the centre that looked like ill, orry, ho he is.

‘Oh,’ said Elodie, ‘I wonder what it all said originally?’

Deep down, though, she knew exactly what it said. The writing was horribly similar to that poisonous little note she’d found under the floorboard in the attic.

You will be sorry. I know who he is.

Elodie put the letter on her knee, heedless of the ash and cinders that were dropping from the old paper. ‘And the rest have been destroyed. Am I correct?’

‘Sadly, yes.’ Alex reached over and took her hand. ‘They didn’t want us to read them. Something too private to share, perhaps?’

‘Maybe they were love letters,’ she said weakly. She would hazard a guess there were a few blackmail letters in there too, if that fragment was anything to go by. The letter she had found in the attic must have been pushed under the floorboard in a hurry to be stashed away later – either by Lucy or Georgiana. She no longer knew. Nasty notes saved from one sister to another – for whatever payback each one of them could take. The rash, silly decisions of argumentative siblings. It was dreadfully sad.

Elodie stared at the paper and at Alex’s hand on top of hers. If they were love letters, they would have given them both tender memories. It would have been the ideal time for them to slip back into the Georgian era – Ben holding Georgiana’s hand whilst they exchanged letters; but nothing. It was like a barrier had been put up. It had to be Lucy.

Please don’t tell.

The little voice that whispered in her ear was desperate.

Please don’t.

Elodie loosened her hand from Alex’s and rubbed her temples. ‘We were never meant to read these. We have to respect her privacy.’

She didn’t say whose privacy.

Elodie looked back at the sheet – and watched, helpless, as it curled in on itself from the edges and disintegrated completely, the pieces fluttering to the floor like tiny black snowflakes. And it was gone. Just like that.

She closed her eyes briefly and imagined a little girl with reddish blonde curls pushing the box into the crevice under the bridge. She imagined her dropping the key into a little purse and hurrying away back to the Hall, dreadfully sorry for what she’d done, blaming herself for what had happened.

Poor little thing. She was only ten.

‘I think it was Georgiana’s box of treasures,’ Elodie said flatly, ‘and I think we already guessed too much of what she was hiding. I don’t think there’s anything we need to pursue in here.’

Elodie stood up and brushed the ash off her knees. It hardly seemed wrong to do so, as the floor was covered with the flurry of black stuff anyway and it had added to the mess on the sofa. ‘I think I’m ready for bed now. It’s been too much today. I need some rest.’ She yawned. ‘Which room am I in?’

Thank you. Thank you!

Elodie was careful not to let Alex see any reaction at all. Whatever was in that box was not meant to be discovered. And she would destroy the note she had found, just as soon as it was practical.

I loved her. I did. I tried to help. I’m sorry.

‘How can you be so matter-of-fact?’ Alex asked, looking at the ash. ‘That paper just self-destructed!’

‘It happens.’ Elodie couldn’t deal with questions as well as a blackmailing eighteenth century pre-teen. ‘Now, where am I sleeping?’ She just wanted to be pointed towards her room and left alone. She remembered the lovely bathroom and the fresh scent of Cassie’s bergamot shower gel and for a milli-second wondered if she had time for a bath. Then she decided that falling asleep in the tub and being rescued from near-drowning by Alex was not really a good way of spending what little was left of the day. Although the idea of being in his arms was very pleasant indeed, and half-drowning didn’t seem too bad if that was the case. She shivered, remembering the squash courts last year. It had been terrifying, until he burst in the door and ran over to her. She still didn’t know how he’d known where to find her.

‘The pink room.’ Alex dragged his gaze away from the ash. ‘The spare one. It’s small, but it’s nice.’

‘Great.’ Elodie yawned again. The lounge was vaguely imploding around the edges of her vision and she knew she had approximately ten minutes left in her before she collapsed in a heap where she stood.

‘I’ll take you up.’ Alex stood up and captured her hand.

She gave it to him willingly. ‘Alex, can I ask you a question?’

‘Of course.’

‘How did you find me in the squash courts – that time?’

He paused and looked at her, then shook his head. ‘You know, I’m not really sure.’ He began leading her through one of the corridors, up the stairs and along to a door tucked into the corner of the wall. ‘I just somehow remembered something vital I needed out of the storage. And I started to run up there, like I had to break the world record. And then I found you. We were lucky.’ He squeezed her hand, as if he understood how it might have panned out. ‘Anyway, I’m pleased it happened that way. Look. You’re in here.’ He pushed the door open. Almost immediately, Elodie’s nose was filled with the smell of rose pot pourri … and cardboard. Lots and lots of cardboard.

‘What the—?’Alex snapped the light on and Elodie winced as the brightness attacked her retinas. She squinted past him and saw boxes and boxes of stuff piled up on the bed, on the floor, and all around the room. There was one little channel through the middle of it all, but no way she or anyone else could sleep on that bed.

Alex ripped open the nearest box and pulled some bubble wrap out. ‘Bottles of wine!’ The next box contained books. The next, dozens and dozens of quirky bits of stationery. ‘It’s all stock for the gift shop. I am going to kill Cassie. Seriously, I am going to murder her. Good Lord, when she said she’d directed people in with deliveries, it might have been nice if she’d told me where she’d directed them to! Ah, no – she said the spare room, didn’t she? She did – she did tell me.’ Alex swore roundly and stared at the mess in the room.

‘So where do you think my overnight case is?’ Elodie shuffled a couple of boxes of pocket money toys around, as if the case would magically reappear beneath some windmills and bouncy balls.

‘I told her to take it to the bedroom. There’s only her room and mine left to sleep in. I mean, she— Oh, no. She can’t have …’ Alex stared at her. ‘Elodie, I’m so sorry.’

‘What about?’

‘Let’s just say it won’t be in her room.’ He turned and took her by the shoulders. ‘I didn’t engineer this, I swear it.’

‘Ah, I see.’ Elodie smiled. Cassie was incorrigible.

‘Yes, I think we’d best check my room. I’m guessing there’s a pink overnight bag in there.’ He turned her around and pushed her gently out of the room. Along the corridor, past the bathroom and to another door – his room. There, on top of the very comfortable looking king size bed was Elodie’s overnight case.

‘Oh, thank goodness!’ She headed into the room like a homing pigeon. Five minutes and counting before she collapsed in a heap.

‘I’ll be downstairs if you need me,’ said Alex, starting to leave the room. ‘On the sofa.’

‘No, you won’t!’ Elodie turned to him. ‘You’re in here, Alex Aldrich. Right here. With me.’

‘Elodie!’

‘You can’t sleep on the sofa, it’s covered in crap. Please. Sleep here.’

And with that, she flung the case on the floor, heard it burst open and dropped onto the bed, on top of the duvet.

And Alex swore later that within a minute, she was fast asleep.