Page 55 of Winterset
“I’m not suggesting you host it tonight,” Lord Markham said, holding out a hand to stop me. “We all know you need time to get your estate in order.” He laughed lightly.
The Daltons also laughed.
I pretended to laugh.
I was sure Markham hadn’t meant to, but I felt instantly humiliated.
Gads.Wintersetwasa laughingstock.
Perhaps I should host this reading to prove my worth. “On second thought, I would be delighted to host a reading ... in one month. Now, if you will excuse—”
“A month?” Lord Markham interrupted. “Wars are fought and won in less time.”
It was true, but a month was already a stretch. I felt my frustration rising. And even if I were able to make Winterset hospitable for guests, I did not have a proper staff to host such a party. I had only two servants—well, three if I counted Charlie—but that was not enough. It would be impossible to repair my house, hire staff, and plan an event. But how could I not? “I am making many renovations,” I said. “And Mrs. Owensby will need time to prepare a menu.”
“Nonsense,” Mrs. Dalton said. “Your Mrs. Owensby could plan and prepare a feast fit for a king in less than an hour.”
Were we speaking of the same Mrs. Owensby? Mine was barely proficient in plating a sandwich. Finally, I spotted Charlie across the courtyard and stepped away. “Fine,” I acquiesced, if only to break away from the group. “A fortnight.”
“A fortnight.” Markham grinned. “I am holding you to it, Jennings.”
I was sure he would.
Oliver
Bexley greeted me at thedoor with a bow and presented a salver. On it, another missive. “This was delivered while you were out, sir.”
I took the missive and, recognizing Damon’s handwriting, stuffed it in my pocket. “Bexley, have Mrs. Owensby meet me in my study straightaway.”
“Is everything all right, sir?” he asked.
“I am not certain. Please summon Mrs. Owensby for me.”
“Right away, sir.”
Before going to my study, I went to the library and retrieved one of the books with the drawings inside. As I strode to my study, I flipped through the pages, stopping on a sketch of a willow tree. I perched myself on the edge of my desk and examined the drawing. The tree trunk was drawn in the center of two pages, and the weeping boughs spread to fill both pages. It was extraordinary.
“Good afternoon, sir. Would you like your lunch served in—” Mrs. Owensby’s sentence cut off when she saw the book I held, or more precisely,the drawingin the book.
“No lunch for me today.” I snapped the book closed and set it aside. “But I had an interesting conversation at church today and wanted to ask you about it. Did you know that Winterset has several priest hides? Secret passageways too?”
“O-of course, sir.”
“Why did you not point them out when you showed me Winterset?”
She bit her bottom lip. “They are derelict, sir. I didn’t think you would find them interesting.”
“Ah. Another misunderstanding between us. Let us rectify this one immediately. Why don’t you show them to me.” I stood, gesturing to the door. “And be sure not to forget a single spot this time.”
“Certainly, sir. I should be happy to show them to you, but first I must—”
“Whatever else you were doing can wait. I would like to see these secret spaces now.”
She swallowed hard. “Certainly, sir. There is an entrance to the old servants’ passageway right behind you.”
“The bookcase? How clever.” I walked around the desk to inspect the case but did not see any latches or hinges to pull it open.
“The small blue book,” Mrs. Owensby said. “Tip it toward you to release the latch, and it will swing open toward you.”
