Chapter 8

 

I slept late the next morning and only woke when a soft tapping at the door roused me. I wrapped myself in a thin cotton dressing gown and opened the door, which was now apparently unlocked. Thomas and Mrs. Greene both stood outside my door.

Thomas looked ill-tempered and Mrs. Greene appeared to be cheerful in equal and opposite measure. He spoke first. “Mrs. Greene has been fully apprised of the situation with your ankle and your need to stay here and recuperate.” He did not look me in the eye as he said this, instead toying with his hat. He was dressed to work outdoors.

“My need to stay here,” I repeated.

“Yes, you poor thing,” Mrs. Greene cooed happily. “I’ve already summoned the doctor, he’ll be here in an hour to look at your ankle. I do hope it’s not broken!” She beamed.

“Mr. Norcliffe, how long do you anticipate my recuperation shall require?” I looked at him intensely, and he knew I was asking about my unwilling detainment.

“Until we all know you are quite sorted and shall have no lasting ill effects, Miss Gilbert.”

“Oh, and here’s good news for you.” Mrs. Greene clasped her hands together. “My granddaughter Martha is arriving today. She’s a schoolgirl, such a bright thing. She would dearly love the chance to converse with an educated lady such as yourself.”

Thomas looked impatient to conclude the conversation. “Fine. Miss Gilbert, do heed the advice of the doctor and Mrs. Greene today. We wouldn’t want you to overexert yourself and exacerbate the injury.”

I took this to mean that Mrs. Greene would be my jailer for the day. “As you command, my charming host,” I replied sarcastically.

He gave me a sour glance and walked away.

“Tut, tut, Miss Gilbert! Your pain is making your tongue nasty today. I’ve already sent Peter to the village to fetch his mother. For some reason she’s not here this morning.” Mrs. Greene shook her head disapprovingly, and I remembered I had never told her about my now-aborted intention to leave today. “I’ll send Justine up to help you get dressed and settled into the library to wait for the doctor.” She turned and followed Thomas down the hall.

“Not the library, if you please, Mrs. Greene. Perhaps the parlor,” I called after her. The library was very low on my list of relaxing spaces at the moment.

“Certainly, my dear,” she agreed easily, as if I were a holidaymaker, rather than a virtual prisoner.

 

The doctor, a small middle-aged man named Dr. Thornbury, quickly determined that my ankle was only sprained. He prescribed rest and elevation.

Mrs. Greene soon had me established in a chair with a footstool and several pillows, along with books, my notebooks, and as much tea as any three people could want.

Justine bustled in and out several times. She was washing my filthy clothes from the prior evening. She had fished for details as to how exactly the clothes had come to be so dirty and my ankle had been injured, but I did not satisfy her curiosity. I merely replied that I had tripped and fallen while out for an evening walk.

“You should have called for me, miss,” she had exclaimed. “I would have come out for a walk with you, and this never would have happened!”

“I had already sent you home, unfortunately. But I shall endeavor to remember that the next time I go out for an evening stroll,” I said dryly.

Later I heard Mrs. Greene and Justine whispering conspiratorially in the hallway outside the parlor about difficult patients. There was some old coolness in the relations between the two women, but they were united in this complaint about me. So glad I have done some good for this household, I thought grumpily.

In the midafternoon, Mrs. Greene reappeared with her arm around a girl’s shoulders and a wide smile on her face. “Look who we have here! Miss Katherine Gilbert, please meet my granddaughter, Miss Martha Selby. Martha, this is Katherine Gilbert. She is a scholar and a writer who is here writing about old Wainforth Manor. Can you believe it?”

Martha was a pretty girl of perhaps fifteen years, rosy-cheeked and slim-hipped. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Martha,” I said politely. “Mrs. Greene tells me you are in school?” I was a little surprised that the granddaughter of a servant would still be in school at her age. Most other girls of her social class would be entering into their own service jobs.

“Yes, Miss Gilbert. I attend the Ryedale County Day School for Young Women. I plan to become a governess.”

“That’s wonderful.” I meant it. She spoke with poise for her age, which would be a necessary trait for a governess. “And what brings you to Wainforth? Just a visit with your grandmother?”

Martha looked at Mrs. Greene, who gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head. “Indeed, miss. We have a few days’ holiday from school, so I have taken the opportunity to visit with Grandmother.”

I thought to myself that I would prefer to keep my hypothetical granddaughters away from Wainforth altogether, but so be it. “Wonderful. Well, sadly I am a boring creature at the moment, but you are very welcome to sit here with me at any time. Mainly I have just been reading and writing.”

“Thank you, miss. I shall.”

“And will you be joining Mr. Norcliffe and me for dinner?”

Again she looked to her grandmother, who nodded. “Yes, miss. I look forward to it.”

“As do I.”

They both left, no doubt to catch up on their own family conversations. Something about Martha plucked at my imagination, but I could not place it.

After I was alone again in the quiet parlor, my thoughts returned to a subject I had been avoiding—the bones in the priest-tunnel. Were they somehow related to Father Francis’ warnings to me? At the time it had seemed like a huge number of individual bones, but had my overworked imagination exaggerated the memory? I shuddered. I already knew from his own lips that Thomas had a childhood interest in bones. What if he had dumped those bones there at some point? There had been no skulls visible, at least that I could recall, so I could not count that way. Were the skulls…removed prior to disposal? Did Thomas have yet another ossuary hidden somewhere? It was too horrifying to contemplate.

Justine chose that moment to pop back into the room. “Humph!” she said loudly.

I fairly jumped out of my skin, still thinking about skeletons. “Yes, Justine?” I asked mildly.

“Oh, Mrs. Greene is trying to keep Miss Martha out of my way. She clearly wants her associating with the likes of you, not the wretched lowly likes of me. Silly, if you ask me, considering Mrs. Greene is hardly the Queen of England herself! She’s not too good for service, but her granddaughter will be,” she harangued. She halfheartedly dusted a clean table.

“She must be a bright girl, to be studying to become a governess.”

“I would have no idea, since I haven’t spoken to her. I only wanted to say hello. Not like I was going to smudge coal dust all over her.”

“Mrs. Greene hustled her away, did she?”

“That she did, miss! Never have I ever.” Justine bustled out again.

I returned to pondering skeletons and Mrs. Greene’s aspirations for her granddaughter.

 

Later in the afternoon, Peter came and helped me up the stairs to rest and change before dinner. “I’ll be needed in the kitchen and dining room later, miss, to get everything set for the meal. Will you be all right to get yourself downstairs again? Or shall I ask Moth—erm, Justine to help you?” I had not seen Peter and his mother, Justine, speaking to one another while working in the house, I suppose just coincidentally, or perhaps they were avoiding personal talk per Thomas’ request.

“No, no, I’ll manage. Thank you, Peter. I shall hold tightly onto the railing on the stairs.” It was true. My ankle was still sore and quite swollen, but it was already improving. Within another day or two it would good enough for me to leave Wainforth Manor. The real question would become whether Thomas would allow it. Amazing how quickly I had gone from practically begging him to be admitted into the house to begging to be let out again.

As I shook out my slightly more formal dinner dress, one of two that I had been alternating between, I remembered that I had a fresh red ribbon for the waist. I found the little box from the shopping trip in Wainforth Village, which had only been the previous morning but felt like ages ago.

The pretty deep red ribbon slipped easily through my fingers. The shopkeeper had known other Norcliffes, as she had said, but not Thomas specifically. I wondered if the old Mr. Norcliffe had inspired that sentiment or if she was referring to other awful cousins somewhere. I snorted as I thought of a whole county of Norcliffe relatives, varying from merely unpleasant to criminally cruel, as I had accused Thomas out on the moor last night. The important question for my immediate wellbeing was where Thomas Norcliffe landed on that scale. I recalled that he had responded to my taunt only obliquely. “If I am as you say I am…”

I threaded the ribbon around the waist of my dress and tied it into a simple knot. As I limped down the stairs, I held tightly to the rail as I had promised Peter.

My footsteps in the hallway were very slow and quiet. The occupants of the dining room had not heard me approach. Their low conversation continued as I drew near, and I stopped before I reached the open doorway. I felt much more sanguine about eavesdropping since I had become much more practiced at it lately, and it was a venial sin compared to the way Thomas had practically kidnapped me.

I immediately recognized Thomas’ deep voice, but he spoke in a much gentler tone than I had ever heard from him. “There you are, my dear. It looks lovely on you.”

I peeped through the space between the door and the frame, just above a hinge, and saw that he had fastened a necklace around Martha’s slim throat. One of her hands held her long hair to the side, and with the other she touched the chain at her neck. “Thank you, sir.” She turned around to face him and smiled up at him prettily. “You are too generous.”

“Nonsense, you deserve it,” he replied. To my surprise, he reached out and touched her cheekbone gently. He continued, “I hope you know, if you ever need anything at school, write to me and I’ll see to it.”

It was an affectionate gesture. Was he wooing Mrs. Greene’s adolescent granddaughter? I boggled at the idea. The thought of this grown man with his wide shoulders, big hands, and sun-bronzed skin, and her innocent, sweet smile…My throat clenched. I wasn’t jealous—that would be true insanity. The man was completely dangerous.

She was gazing at him adoringly, and I narrowed my eyes. Clearly Martha was not afraid of him. If Mrs. Greene knew about their interaction, she might grasp at the chance to elevate her granddaughter’s social class by quite a few notches. Martha should be warned about him, his secrets and his skeletons and his whispered threats. I decided to find a moment to speak with her before I left Wainforth.

I quietly backed up a few steps, then walked forward again, coughing. When I entered the room, Thomas and Martha were moving to their seats at the table.

“Good evening,” I said, moving to take my seat as well. “Mr. Norcliffe, we really must discuss my departure date.” I jumped straight into the topic foremost on my mind and looked at him directly.

Peter moved around the table, delivering several dishes of food.

“Yes, Miss Gilbert. How is your ankle this evening?” Thomas served Martha and himself some pork, then passed it to me.

“It is improving rapidly, thank you. I believe that possibly even tomorrow I shall—”

Martha interrupted me. “Oh, I should have inquired earlier, please forgive me. How were you injured?” She was holding a dish of rosemary potatoes.

I directed a cool gaze at the girl. “Clumsy me, I tripped and fell while out for an evening stroll.” I turned back to Thomas. “As I was saying, I believe that possibly even tomorrow I shall feel quite recovered enough to be on my way.”

“So soon, Miss Gilbert! In fact, I have taken the liberty of asking the doctor to come by and revisit your progress. Dr. Thornbury is totally unavailable tomorrow—something about a cousin’s new baby—but he promised to come around on Friday. So you will have to stretch your patience with us just a bit further.” He smiled predatorily, showing me a lot of his teeth. Was he enjoying my captivity, the beast?

I fluttered my eyelashes at him ridiculously, feeling irritated. “Fine. Thank you ever so much, Mr. Norcliffe. I shall use my unexpected additional time here to write up information about the illustrious history of the Norcliffe family to accompany our feature on Wainforth Manor.” Now Thomas’ expression echoed my irritation, and I felt much better for it. “Perhaps I shall start with you and work backwards. Were you a popular boy in school?” I propped my elbow on the table and placed my chin in my hand, pushing my plate away with only a few bites eaten.

Martha looked back and forth between us, eyes wide open, fork dangling loosely in her fingers.

Thomas relaxed the crease between his eyebrows and leaned back in his chair. “I’m sure that you, Miss Gilbert, would be among the first to correctly surmise that I was sadly not a particularly popular boy at school. However,” and here he leaned forward again, “I don’t believe that the Norcliffe family history is interesting enough for your readers.”

“There we shall have to disagree, Mr. Norcliffe. I’m sure there are many interesting tidbits I could pry out of these walls.”

“Perhaps I could distract you with a better offer.” He shifted his gaze from me to Martha and laid a finger aside his nose. “You may be interested to know we have a secret hidden passageway—” I laughed aloud, perversely amused by his sheer audacity. The vision of the bookshelf-door swinging slowly would remain in my memory forever. He continued, quirking his eyebrow at me, “—that was used to move Roman Catholic dissidents, priests and other believers, to and from the house in times of persecution.”

Martha gasped. “A secret passageway! May I see it?”

“Of course, of course!” Now Thomas was enjoying his role as magnanimous host. “After dinner. Bring a candle and meet me in the library.”

A vision crept into my mind of Martha wrapping herself around him in feigned terror at the sight of the dark, damp tunnel.

“I shall come along too!” I blurted. I could hardly believe I was volunteering to go back into that horrible place, with a possible madman alongside me. I did not look over at Martha’s glossy brown curls or the necklace gleaming on her perfect décolletage. “What an excellent addition to my father’s book. Readers will surely enjoy uncovering one of Wainforth Manor’s old secrets. Assuming you don’t mind revealing such a mystery to the public?”

“I don’t mind at all. Nothing to hide, of course, and regardless, no one would be able to find the other entrance. But what about your ankle?”

“I will be fine as long as we go slowly. So you’re absolutely certain there’s nothing in this tunnel you would not want known?” I asked, thinking about the pile of bones.

“Quite certain.” He stared at me calmly. I guessed he had removed the bones, or ordered someone to do it, the sneak.

 

My second visit to Wainforth Manor’s secret passageway was much less eventful than the first. Thomas was in a fine mood after dinner, probably due to Martha’s rapt attentiveness to him. In the library he showed us both a small wooden lever on the edge of a shelf that activated the door, which was counterweighted. I could easily imagine my shoulder blade pressing the lever as I had attempted to remain out of sight along the wall. I grimaced at my own changeability, remembering how I had come to volunteer for this tour. My feelings toward Thomas swung back and forth between needing to escape and wanting to draw even closer.

We carefully stepped down the stone stairs I had so precipitously descended once already. On the landing, I remembered the oil paintings. I glanced about, but there were clearly no paintings in the tiny area.

“Mr. Norcliffe, do you currently use this tunnel for any purpose? Perhaps extra storage for wine or unneeded decorative objects, maybe old paintings or similar?” I hinted broadly.

“No, nothing is stored here, Miss Gilbert.” He held up his candle and looked me straight in the face. “The wine is in the cellar, and surely such a damp environment would be terrible for paintings.” His expression did not change, but he watched mine closely.

“Surely,” I murmured. I wondered why he had needed to remove the paintings and where they had gone.

Martha did affect some girlish terror at the dark, enclosed space, but soon she was a little bored, and my ankle was sore. I did not object when Thomas recommended we turn back to the house after only a few minutes’ walk through the tunnel. I knew the bones would be gone anyway.

At the top of the stone stairs, Thomas took a small folding knife out of his pocket. I looked at him sharply, wondering if he was up to something, but he merely wedged the tip into a small crevice carved in the stone at the top of the door area. He gave it a little upward flick, and the heavy door creaked into motion again. I never would have found that hidden lever in the dark, and I doubted I could even find it again now after having watched Thomas use it.

Once back in the library, Martha took her leave. “Good night, Mr. Norcliffe. Good night, Miss Gilbert. Very pleased to have made your acquaintance today.” I uttered some polite agreement. She continued, “I will go and find my bed in Grandmother’s room, then. Shall I see you both tomorrow?”

“I, apparently, am going nowhere tomorrow,” I said without too much acerbity, despite my words.

Thomas shook his head. “I will be attending a business meeting all day tomorrow and will not return until late in the evening. But I will see you at breakfast the following day.”

Martha nodded. “Good night,” she said, and left the room.

I waited until her footsteps subsided. “Not a very romantic parting from your admirer,” I observed.

“My—what?” He laughed. “Martha is a child, Katherine.”

“I know you gave her that necklace.”

“You really don’t know much, please understand.” He ran a hand through his hair.

“Then tell me, Thomas! You are detaining me here on the flimsiest of excuses. I have no idea if you’re about to murder me, or if I’m technically just kidnapped. I hope you know there’s no one at home to ransom me back!” I waved an arm vaguely in the direction of Peterborough.

He took one step toward me, the candle he still held flickering with his movement. The glow illuminated the underside of his jaw. “You came to me, Katherine Gilbert, wanting to be let in. I did, and now you’re addressing me as Thomas.” I had barely realized I had used his Christian name. “You learned a few bits and pieces about things you shouldn’t have, and now you expect to walk away like it’s nothing?”

“I learned nothing! Well, I learned some about the architecture of your house—is that what you’re so worried about? I won’t write about the silly tunnel, if you want. Half the big houses around here have them anyway.”

“Not about the house,” he said with some frustration.

When he did not elaborate, I asked, “Then about what? What do you think I discovered that makes me so dangerous?”

“I don’t yet know what you’ve learned, and I cannot let you go until I do. But I cannot ask you without saying too much.”

“Is it something about you? Believe me, I find you odd, but I cannot claim to have unearthed any of your secrets. I have an imagination full of dreadful possibilities and a few vaguely dire warnings—”

Thomas was silent.

I continued slowly, “Father Francis knows something, doesn’t he? He keeps warning me off, but he’s told me nothing, Thomas. Nothing of substance, anyway. I am of no danger to you.” I laughed humorlessly at the very idea that Thomas was actually afraid of me, rather than the opposite.

He shook his head sadly. “I cannot risk it. I don’t know you. You stay here until I sort this out.”

I laid a hand on his upper arm, feeling the warmth of his skin through the jacket sleeve. “Please. I’ve done nothing, I will reveal nothing of a personal nature.”

He had gone very still, and after a moment he crossed his other arm along his chest and covered my hand where it still rested on his solid arm. “Another day or two. Just stay here and out of trouble for another day or two.” Without looking me in the eye, he turned and left the library.

I exhaled unsteadily as I watched him walk away. He had squeezed my hand when he removed it, and the touch lingered after he was gone.