Page 53 of War of the Wedding Wagers
Picking up a sconce of candles from the wall, for they threw a much better light than her single candlestick, she headed for the tower. Yes, it was dangerous, the stairs crumbling, but Sir Frederick had helped the ladies navigate their way to the tower and that was exactly where Amelia was going now.
Was Pernilla becoming an obsession?
But if Pernilla was real, and so misunderstood, would it not be honoring the young woman to at least find out her real story? Yes, she had the letters that Lady Pendleton might dismiss as contrived or perhaps even written by someone else conducting a ghost or treasure hunt.
No, Amelia was certain there was something else to be discovered.
And if the three of them had made a general search of Pernilla’s tower room, they certainly hadn’t looked very hard. The moment they’d discovered the so-called letters—and it had been the fake letter written by Lady Pernilla—they had considered their job done.
But what if there was more? More that proved that William was indeed worthy, and that Lady Pendleton did her ancestor a grave disservice by dismissing her as a foolish and easily led young girl. Almost as if she deserved her premature end.
For some reason, the need to get to the truth was becoming an obsession.
So far, Amelia had discovered a treasure trove behind the loose brick Pernilla had used as a letter box. It was the perfect location because it was a general area where no one—not even William—would be questioned about accessing.
But could there be a loose brick in Pernilla’s tower room where she kept more personal correspondence?
Pushing open the door, she stepped inside, placing the candle sconce in the bracket on the wall. With the large waxing moon, a surprising amount of light filled the room. Easily enough to begin a thorough search.
And with Amelia’s mind so busy, she might as well turn her energies to something that would at least satisfy her curiosity, even if it didn’t result in the bounty for which she might have hoped. That was the way of life. But if she didn’t try, she’d regret it by the time it was time to go home.
Amelia was a methodical young lady. Therefore, she began at the bottom of the brick wall and began to work her way around, her hands carefully feeling for any roughness that might indicate a cavity.
After an hour or so, her knees and hands were stiff and cold, and she’d found nothing.
Huffing out a sigh of frustration, she sat on the wooden kist at the end of the wooden four poster and surveyed the room. Could the drapery hold something? Unlikely, though she did rise and shake out the curtains, which yielded nothing except dust.
What about the kist? Had they thoroughly searched that? Leaning over once more, though her back ached, she raised the lid and stared into the darkness. She couldn’t see anything, but she plunged her hand to the bottom and carefully felt for something like a letter on the base, beneath the fur-lined cloak that had been folded and kept there for what might be a hundred years.
In frustration, she tapped her fingernails as she tried to think where else she’d failed to look.
And then she had to tap them again, for that didn’t feel right. With her ear to the wooden sides, she tested the sound.
Hollow?
She was sure of it.
With a fiercely beating heart, Amelia looked about for something she could use to prise up what she was sure was a false bottom.
*
Sir Frederick hadspent a rather fraught afternoon between tempering Caroline’s enthusiasm for phaeton-riding with unsuitable men and consulting the physician in town for aremedy for the insistent pain in his thigh occasioned by his war wound.
He was not going to bring attention to it by receiving a personal visit from the physician, so he’d made a rather clandestine trip into the village under the guise of riding into town to see the blacksmith.
Now, he was back in the conservatory, feeling slightly undone by Caroline’s rather hysterical outburst that her brother was trying to ruin her life. Yes, he had been waiting at the end of the drive to halt the phaeton and inform Greene he did not give permission for Caroline to go bowling about the countryside, unchaperoned.
But what other caring brother would not have done the same thing?
He was just contemplating rising and going to his bedchamber to take the powders the physician had prescribed him when Miss Fairchild entered.
“There you are, Sir Frederick! I’ve been looking for you,” she announced to his surprise, gliding over, her eyes alight with something he couldn’t quite identify. The last time they’d parted, she’d seemed quite determined to ensure he got no ideas regarding the possibility of any romance between them.
So, he was therefore astonished when she added, in quite urgent tones, “Please, will you accompany me to St John’s Church at your earliest convenience? To speak to the parson.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Her excitement was so great that she didn’t even register the irony in his tone.
