Page 9 of Winterset
“Aye. Only the tallow candles remain.”
“Very good.” A well-bred man like Mr. Jennings would hate the stench of the cheaper tallow candles. They might even turn his sensitive stomach. “And his ancestors’ portraits?”
“Bexley has removed them from the walls and packed them safely in the attic.” She indicated over her shoulder to the far corner of the cramped space, where we now stood. “And every member of the Lockwood family is now proudly displayed in the entrance hall.”
I nodded my approval. “An army of my grim-faced Lockwood ancestors will be the perfect welcome party, don’t you agree?”
“I most certainly do,” she said.
“And tonight’s dinner—”
She held up a hand, stopping me. “Bexley has taken care of everything.”
“You see? We have nothing to worry about. We will soon be rid of our unwelcome guest,” I said, but despite my confident words, I could only hope that proved true.
Now was not the time for fear but faith.
I did not like the idea of creeping through the narrow servants’ passages or crouching in cramped priest holes, but I would not have to live like a ghost forever, only until Mr. Jennings retreated back to his fancy London lodgings.
Beside me, Mrs. Owensby wrung her hands. “I must admit, I’m having misgivings. I do not like lying to the master of the house, Kate.”
“Nor I,” I said. “But it is for our mutual benefit. A gentleman accustomed to the finer things in life, like Mr. Jennings is, could never be happy here. We are only helping him reach that conclusion sooner and saving him a great deal of time and effort.”
“I’m sure you are correct, but I do hate the thought of treating the master poorly.”
“You need only remember how poorlyhehas treated Winterset.” I turned away from the window to face her. “Two years Mr. Jennings has traveled theContinent, and not once did he send funds to care for his estate. His behavior was dishonorable, and he is unworthy of your respect.”
“That may be true, but I still don’t know if I can do this.” She pressed a hand to her stomach, as if to still her nerves.
“Because you, unlike him,” I glared out the window at Mr. Jennings, “are a person of the highest integrity.”
It was true. Everything Mrs. Owensby did, she did with dedication. Seeing Winterset fall into such a sad state, even if by no fault of her own, had been unbearably hard for her, for all of us. She took pride in her responsibilities, and that included serving the master of the house, even if he did not deserve it.
I inched closer to the window to view Mr. Jennings’s progress to the door.
Mrs. Owensby gave me a disapproving look. “You must be careful—”
“I will be careful. I promise.”
With a nod, Mrs. Owensby walked to the stairs and took hold of the rope railing to safely descend.
I lingered at the window, wanting one last look at the man who was about to invade my home before I hid.
He was inspecting the fountain now and shaking his head. The pump had broken not long after Papa’s death, and without funds to fix it, it was now filled with stinking sludge. I’d considered cleaning it myself but had decided the stench would keep would-be intruders away.
A moment later, Mr. Jennings stepped back, his gaze rising up the house.
I dashed the curtain closed before he could see me and pressed my back to the wall.
The time was nearly upon me, and I needed to hide before he entered the house.
The smart thing for me to do would be to lock myself in the priest hide up here in the attic. It was well hidden, and I doubted he would inspect this part of the house anytime soon. I glanced at the book on my bedside table.The Mysteries of Udolphoby Ann Radcliffe. The book had belonged to Mother. I’d planned to reread it for what had to be the fiftieth time in the past two years to pass the time, but if I was going to get Mr. Jennings to leave, didn’t I need to know as much about the man as possible? Although I would not be able to see him, as I would be concealed in the priest hide, I’d at least be able to hear him. It did not feel right leaving Bexley and Mrs. Owensby to deal with this on their own. It was, after all, my plan. I wanted to help in some small way, so I decided to hide on the ground floor and gather information to use later.
I descended the attic stairs two at a time, then hurried down the corridor toward the main staircase, which led down to the entrance hall. No sooner had I reached the landing than the knob on the front door rattled, as though Mr. Jennings were attempting to open the door. Luckily, at least for me, it was locked. Then an ardent knock on the door sounded from below. It had been two years since anyone had darkened our doorway, save the post-boy, and my heart felt as if it would beat out of my chest.
Bexley was already halfway to the front door when I started down the stairs. He must have heard my steps because both he and Mrs. Owensby stopped and spun to look at me.
Mrs. Owensby’s eyes widened. “Katherine Lockwood!” She gritted the words through her teeth. “You must be jesting.” And when I reached the base of the staircase, she gave me such a stern look that I had half a mind to march back up the stairs and hide in the attic.
