Page 38 of Every Duke Has His Thorn
When they were finished with the ground floor, they proceeded to the first floor.
“I know there are at least two urns in the long gallery,” the lady told Marina. “My brother brought them back from Italy after his Grand Tour, so they aren’t old enough to hold our treasure.”
The urns in question, Borghese bronze urns, were displayed on an Elizabethan oak chest.
“You may search them,” Lady Barton said to Marina. “I shouldn’t monopolize this endeavor.”
She did so. “They’re empty.”
They walked the gallery and found no other urns. They encountered the housekeeper and she assured them there were none to be found in her drawing room or bedchamber. With the exception of the schoolroom, the rest of the rooms on the floor were bedchambers or dressing rooms. None of the remaining rooms displayed an urn.
“Miss Davies, shall we proceed to the second floor?”
The only urn they found on the floor was in the buff bedroom.
“My nephew normally occupies this bedchamber,” Lady Barton said under her breath. “If not for his books, it would be hard to tell anyone used this room.”
Marina didn’t comment, but she did examine the books displayed on several surfaces in the room. They were mostly ancient history tomes with a few architecture books thrown in. She was unaccountably pleased with the duke’s taste in reading material.
The lady looked inside of a gray metal urn situated on a low chest of drawers. “Empty. What a strange piece. I’m sure it belongs outside in a garden, but my nephew chooses to display it here.”
Marina thought she knew why. It was a lovely urn, with a reeded body and delicate finial. She wondered what other decorative ideas the duke might have for Barton Hall if he were to make changes to his home.
“We’ve searched every urn in the house.” Lady Barton shook her head. “Perhaps we should take the day to think about the last clue. There might be something we’re missing.”
“I agree, Lady Barton.” Marina followed the woman from the room and down the stairs until they were in the entrance hall.
“Until tomorrow, Miss Davies.”
Marina curtsied, and the lady exited the entrance hall for the drawing room.
“Do you know where I might find Sir Joseph?” she asked a nearby footman.
“He went up to the green bedroom to check on the restoration work, miss.”
She would go back upstairs and see what projects her father wanted completed that day. After all, they weren’t employed at Barton Hall to search for treasure.
Chapter Sixteen
Again seated in the library, Preston asked Mrs. Barnes, “You’re sure the girl is from Blackpool?”
“Aye, Your Grace. Her only reference is from an innkeeper in Blackpool as well.”
The housekeeper stood in front of his desk, declining his invitation for her to take a seat. “Was there anything else, Your Grace?”
“No, Mrs. Barnes. Thank you.”
Despite being taught to ignore the staff, he often thanked them. He’d been told he was more approachable than others of his rank. He attributed the fact to his closeness to the servants of Barton Hall and his short time rubbing shoulders with the aristocracy in the hallowed halls of Eton and Oxford.
The housekeeper exited the room. He looked at the carriage clock on the corner of his desk. It was nearly eleven o’clock. He’d promised to escort his aunt into the village before the day grew too warm.
Desiring to speak privately with his aunt, Preston chose to drive his new gig to the village. The open carriage would be more comfortable in the warm weather and they would have no attendants to overhear their conversation.
The lady wore a large hat which shielded her face from the sun but which would prevent his seeing the expression on her face as he told her about his suspicions.
When they were comfortably seated in his new gig, he said, “Aunt, the maid Anne is from Blackpool, as was my former steward. We have an unknown man wandering the estate, and Miss Davies is sure Anne lied about speaking with a man in the kitchen at the dower house.”
“Now I understand why we are bumping along the road in this gig rather than a luxurious traveling carriage,” his aunt replied wryly. “And don’t forget, food is now disappearing from the dower house kitchen.”
