Page 6 of An Amiable Foe
Marianne cut through the library on her way to the kitchen, deciding to approach the drawing room from the front entrance rather than the back after she had called for tea. Now feeling like a fugitive in her own home in her attempts to avoid the uninvited guest, she held on to the wood newel of the staircase that led to the upstairs and peered around it into the main hall. No sounds could be heard, so she crept forward in a furtive fashion to the kitchen, unable to entirely mute the clip of her boots against stone. She reached the kitchen, out of breath from the unaccustomed stealth, where Mrs. Malford looked up at her in surprise, her hands deep inside a capon.
“Ye might’ve rung, Miss Marianne, if ye be needing something, even if we’re preparing Mr. Osborne’s dinner. Annabel, ye’d best be getting started on those potatoes.” Turning back to Marianne, she asked, “Will ye be taking dinner with him?”
Marianne hesitated still. Was it indeed what she wanted? Continuing with her latest resolution that Mr. Osborne should not have full run of the castle before he could see her as the true owner of it, she came to her decision.
“Yes, I will be joining him for dinner. In the meantime, Annabel, please see that tea is brought to the yellow room for Miss Fife.” Still hoping she might avoid Miss Fife’s presence at dinner, she added, “Along with something substantial in case she is hungry.”
“Yes, miss.” Annabel left the potatoes and paring knife, bustling over to stoke the fire and put the kettle on.
Sarah entered the kitchen. “Miss Marianne, I’m glad to find ye. Charlie put Mr. Osborne’s belongings in the blue-papered room off the eastern tower.”
Marianne could not stifle the laugh surprised out of her. “You placed him in the blue room? But the bed is the worst we have in the castle. Are you hoping, as I am, that he will not be induced to stay?”
Sarah was too earnest a maid to respond lightly to such a comment, even made in jest. “Ye must see, miss, that the blue room was the only one we could put him in. The chimney does smoke a bit, but there’m not so many cracks in the wall that he ’ull freeze to death at night. Ye can all-a-most see your breath in the rooms on the west wing. Mr. Osborne asked to have the bed from yer parents’ room brought to ’im as soon as it might be arranged.”
Marianne sobered at the thought of her beloved parents’ bed being used by this heartless interloper. It was only the memory of her mother’s kindness that made her choke down the response she would like to have given.
“I suppose it is only right. I hope he may not find it too uncomfortable until his room can be made up properly. I should not wish his death from smoke or cold, although I little wish his presence.”
On those words, Marianne escaped from the kitchen before she could do something silly like burst into tears—or into a bout of mad laughter from an excess of emotion. All the servants were looking at her with such sympathetic eyes which made it worse.
No sounds came from within the formal drawing room, and she dared to open it and slip inside. The room was empty, lit only by the dying fire, two candles in the sconces, and the one she held in her hand. She walked over to the corner of the room, next to the rounded wall of the northern tower that held her favorite spot, and sat on the stone ledge that formed a perfect, natural seat for her. Years ago, she had placed cushions on each side, and somehow the spot felt like a hug from her father. Her feet did not quite touch the floor, and she swung her legs back and forth. The only sounds in the room were the slow ticking of a standing clock, and the crackle of logs in the fire. Mr. Osborne had found the room ugly, but he surely could not think it so once he had seen it like this. The soothing atmosphere was all she needed to pour out her heart.
“Papa, what would you have me do? Mama would tell me to give up. That it is time to take the cottage as Uncle intended. But it’s not what I want. I have done everything I could to honor your memory and to run Brindale as well as if I had been your son. Robert always warned me that I should be prepared to abandon it the day my uncle died without an heir, but I was sure Uncle would makemehis heir. The truth is—” Her voice failed, causing her to stop for a moment, but she had to get all the words out. “The truth is, if I leave this castle, I will be leaving you. And then I will truly be orphaned.”
The fire snapped loudly then, just as the clock began to ring the hour with deep gongs. The second gong had not yet sounded when a terrific crash came from the antechamber outside of the drawing room. The noise could only be from her stack of books, which had fallen. And that could mean only one thing—that someone had been standing there, listening to her.
CHAPTERFOUR
Perry froze at the resounding crash he had just made. In the seconds that followed, no sound reached him from inside the room, but he didn’t stay to find out whether Miss Edgewood would come to inspect its source.Who leaves piles of books in a darkened corner, anyway?
Earlier that afternoon, after the encounter with Vernon had thwarted his mission to inspect the stables, Perry made a half-hearted attempt to locate his bedroom but found it impossible without a candle to light the way. He had instead returned to the drawing room with the goal of finding a servant or a candle, but once he reached its depressing familiarity, he was loath to leave it again.
He had to admit that his initial impression of the castle had not excited his curiosity. He dreaded beginning the exploration of his new property for fear he would find little to rejoice in. The drawing room, taken in with fresh eyes, showed itself to be as sad a room as his first glimpse had impressed upon him. He wandered around it, looking over its frayed curtains, the dark burgundy walls so blackened with age they had nearly lost all traces of color, the large oppressive furniture that littered the walls and occupied some of the center of the vast space, and the stone ledge along the far wall that forced upon one’s senses the medieval origins of the castle. There were two doors on adjacent walls of the drawing room. One led to the main hall and the other…
Suffering from the oppression of his surroundings, he grabbed a candle set in a holder on the side table and decided to enter the other door. Perhaps he could explore the castle before the dinner hour.
The door led to a passageway that appeared to follow the inside perimeter of the castle. Its corridor continued on to the outer edge of the rounded stone wall and, after a few feet, led to another room. He crossed the living space, which held an armoire and a four-poster bed that might do for visitors, if he could rig up a system for privacy. What possessed the former owners to decide a passageway was the ideal space to put a bedroom?
The following room was the library, which was modest, despite the vast space. He didn’t linger. Curious as to the workings of the castle, he continued on, crossing two more rooms containing beds and old furniture. But as with the first bedroom, they were in passageways, and it seemed the placement of furniture was more for the purpose of filling the room than it was to offer a weary soul a place to sleep. The rooms he went through appeared to be squarish in nature rather than shaped like the slice of a pie. He knew the center held the main hall and central staircase, but what about in the basement? Was there an oubliette at its center? Skeletons chained to the wall with rusted irons? Such a thing was beginning to seem less fanciful.
After he traversed a few more cold, dark rooms, the corridor broadened, and he came to a wide wooden door set in the stone arch, which opened when he lifted the iron latch. This one led to a spacious room with more of a lived-in look than the rooms he had thus seen, and it had the benefits of candlelight and a small fire burning in the grate. Elsewhere, the original trappings of the castle were in evidence, dusty medieval armor in one place, frames blackened with soot in another, and cracked vases that could just as easily be a hidden treasure from the Ming dynasty as a cheap replica. As a whole, not one room he visited inspired him with satisfaction over his new acquisition. Rather, it was hard to keep the pulse of panic at bay, because there was no hope of readying the castle for guests in such a short time.
Throughout his inspection, only this room had given him the first hint of promise that some parts of the castle could be turned into something lovely. Its many feminine touches led him to guess that it had once belonged to Miss Edgewood’s mother. The papered yellow walls retained their brightness, showing evidence of cleaning. The sitting room had also been given a modern touch with its short bookcases, sofa table, comfortable chairs, and wide fireplace. In fact, it was so tastefully done he was not sure he would need to make any alterations.
A series of miniatures caught Perry’s eye on the sideboard, and he started toward them before stopping short at the unexpected sight of an older woman sleeping in a chair. He had not realized the room was occupied. A tray of tea was in front of her, although the plate contained nothing but crumbs. She did not dress with an eye to fashion, yet neither was she wearing the clothes of a servant. It could only be Miss Edgewood’s companion. It was a relief to find out that she had one, in truth. He had begun to wonder.
Not wishing to wake the woman, he had continued silently across the room to study the miniatures that were set in three frames. He had no trouble recognizing that of Miss Edgewood as a girl of no more than ten years of age. Her eyes held a softness she appeared to have lost when she became a woman, and her smile was mischievous. Darling, actually, if he were being honest, with a pronounced dimple on either side. The other two miniatures could only be of her parents, painted by the same hand. Her mother had been pretty, but it was the father whose portrait caught Perry’s eye. His expression retained the same sort of playfulness that could be found in Miss Edgewood’s miniature. Mr. Edgewood’s eyes seemed to communicate something from the grave. It was compelling enough that Perry took a step backward. What could have caused their deaths, both of them, at such a young age?
The woman behind him stirred, and Perry quickly moved out of her line of sight in case she chose that moment to open her eyes. He had no wish to strike up a conversation with her. Pretty young women, he had learned to charm. Old companions held no intrigue, and in his experience were more likely to trap him into conversation for a lengthier stretch of time than he could possibly desire.
With noiseless steps, he slipped through the door left cracked open, entering the corridor on the far end of the room, now curious as to what lay on the other side of it. He had been walking for some time in his exploration before he’d come to this room and surely must have reached the full perimeter of the castle. This stretch of the corridor, like the others, was dark without any sun coming through the window, and he had set his candle down in the yellow room and forgotten to retrieve it on his way out. However, there was a sliver of light from the room ahead, and he heard a young woman speaking through the open door. It could only be Miss Edgewood addressing a servant. He inched forward.
She seemed to be carrying on a conversation, and he peered into the room from the doorway that was cracked open, quickly stepping back again to avoid being seen. He was now enlightened as to his whereabouts. He had come full circle, as the saying went, for here he was back in the drawing room, but on the opposite side from where he’d left.
His quick glimpse had revealed Miss Edgewood, seated on the stone ledge on the far end of the room almost facing him, her legs swinging as though she were a child. Now, hidden in the dark of the corridor, her bright image remained lit in his mind as though he could still see her. If he had not heard her voice continuing to speak from where he stood, he would have been sure she must have seen him. But it appeared she had not.
Her speech was conversational but muffled, and Perry strained to listen. A silence stretched before the distinct words could be discerned.
