Page 40 of The Lady’s Guide to Deception and Desire
“We’re contemplating an evening ceremony!” said Rosamund, thinking on her feet. “I want to see the chapel by moonlight, to decide upon where lamps and arrangements should be placed.”
“And my uncle didn’t think to take you there himself?” Mr. Studborne looked rightfully sceptical.
Rosamund gave a beaming smile. “Apparently, there’s a door into the chapel from somewhere on the ground floor, not far from the other end of this wing. There are stairs, are there not, which lead downward at that point. We might follow them and attempt to locate this inner entryway.”
How easy it was to lie, thought Rosamund, once you began!
Mr. Studborne narrowed his eyes. “I'm guessing you’ll attempt to find this door regardless of whether I accompany you. In which case, I hardly have a choice. You cannot wander without a lamp.”
As Rosamund had thought,there was a staircase at the far end of the gallery—one tucked into the corner, narrow and bare: more for the use of servants than the noble residents of the house. Following it downwards, they came to a door correctly positioned for access to the chapel.
A tall-backed chair, elaborately carved from dark wood, had been placed in front.
Mr. Studborne sighed quietly. “It looks as if my uncle wishes to deter entry via this means.”
“It’s only a chair.” Rosamund tugged at one arm. She could guess why it had been placed there. The door behind had a sliding lock but no sign of a keyhole.
Reluctantly, Mr. Studborne set down his lamp and helped shift the piece of furniture.
The chapel was entirely dark, silent and chill.
The glow from their lantern reached only a few feet around them.
“I’ve not been in here since… I don’t know when. Are you sure this is where you’d want to…” His voice, somewhat melancholy, trailed off.
“Oh yes!” Rosamund tried her best to appear cheerful. “Some flowers will transform the place, you’ll see.”
She wasn’t sure she sounded convincing. It was hard to imagine anything joyful taking place beneath this vaulted roof. Even were the place filled with blooms, it would retain a dolorous air.
“Pink roses, I think.”
Mr. Studborne followed behind as she approached the altar.
There were candles arranged where there had been none before, and the wax looked freshly melted. Beside was a small wooden carving, like a child’s toy.
Rosamund transferred it into her palm: a snake, polished smooth, with a pattern etched on its back.
Quickly, she replaced it.
“Hold the lamp up, if you would.” She turned to Mr. Studborne, motioning for him to move further down, to walk the length of the aisle. As he did so, the shadows pressed around her.
It was a relief to see him walking back again, the golden glow of the lantern coming closer until he was beside her once more, the light encompassing them both.
“Was it helpful?” He blew out his cheeks.
“Yes, thank you.” Rosamund felt a sudden weariness coming over her. What was she doing? Bessie wasn’t here.
But, there was still the crypt.
She’d promised herself, hadn’t she—that she wouldn’t rest until she’d seen it. Taking the lamp from Mr. Studborne, she moved to the door the duke had shown her. If it were locked, she’d have to forget this notion but, like the other, leading into the main body of the abbey, there was no keyhole.
Only a drop bolt, which slid upwards easily.
“What are you doing?” Mr. Studborne’s voice held a note of alarm.
“I want to see.” She was through, the lamp revealing a flight of stairs spiralling downward.
“Miss Burnell!” The voice behind her was sharp. “You can’t! It’s the middle of the night. Besides which, the duke doesn’t like anyone to… Come back!”
