An Heiress at Heart (32 page)

Hortense was Lady Thornborough’s lady’s maid. She had taken the train along with a few manservants in order to see to the luggage. “That reminds me,” Lady Thornborough said. “Martha has been delayed in London. She was a bit under the weather and unable to travel. We expect her in about a week, but in the meantime we will need a lady’s maid for Mrs. Somerville.”

“Of course,” Mrs. Carter replied. She indicated a servant who looked no more than twenty, who was standing just inside the hallway. “Mary is skillful at hair dressing and keeping the wardrobe in order, and does a fine job helping out when we have guests. Might she do?”

Mary gave Lady Thornborough and Lizzie a shy smile.

“I’m sure she will do just fine,” Lady Thornborough said matter-of-factly. She beckoned to the girl. “Please come with us now, Mary. I’m sure Mrs. Somerville could use your help.”

When they reached the wing where the sleeping rooms were located, Lady Thornborough said to Lizzie, “You will be in your old rooms, of course.”

“Rooms?” The word was out of Lizzie’s mouth before she could stop it.

“I’m speaking of the nursery, too, of course. Perhaps you will find a new use for it as a library or sitting room. We will redo it as you see fit. I know you always loved the view from there.”

Mary went ahead to open the door for her.

Lizzie stepped through the doorway into the room where Ria had spent so much of her childhood. The room had a high ceiling and two large windows, giving it an airy spaciousness. Two large wardrobes lined one wall, and a vanity table stood near one of the open windows. As Mrs. Carter had indicated, one of her dresses had been pressed and set out on the bed for her.

Lizzie wandered around the room, her fingers gliding gently along the soft counterpane as she passed the bed on her way to the open window.

No wonder Ria loved the view. It was spectacular. Rolling green hills as far as the eye could see, dotted with small stands of trees and crossed here and there with roads and footpaths. In a nearby pasture, four horses munched on grass, lazily enjoying the sunshine. One chestnut mare with a white blaze on its nose lifted her head up, sniffing the breeze. It turned, and Lizzie could have sworn the mare was looking directly at her.

“Who are you?” Lizzie said softly, as though the creature could hear her. It was as much a question for herself as for the mare.

“I beg your pardon, madam?” Mary asked.

Lizzie turned away from the window. “It’s nothing.”

She inspected the rest of the room while Mary set out her comb and brushes on the vanity table. She opened the door on the far side of the room and peered in.

The room that had been Ria’s nursery was, like her
bedroom, large and airy. Its warmly painted walls and polished floorboards gave it a welcoming air. Small tables and chairs stood near a generously large fireplace. Ria may have complained about Rosewood, but Lizzie felt her presence here even more than she had in the London home. She went to a bookcase filled with children’s books and read a few of the gold-embossed titles on the spines. So many books! All belonging to just one child.
Oh, Ria,
she thought,
what wealth you had. What I wouldn’t have given to grow up here.

Lizzie chided herself for that thought, reminding herself that she’d been raised in a loving family, something Ria claimed she’d never had. She thought of her parents, of the love she was sure had been between them. Sam Poole must have loved his wife very much indeed, if he had forgiven her for such a great sin as she’d committed.

A new idea surged into Lizzie’s mind. She had believed it impossible for Geoffrey to love her if he knew about her past. However, if Sam had forgiven Emma for her indiscretions and had even taken in her daughter as his own, might there not be hope for Lizzie? Would Geoffrey’s love be strong enough to withstand so many terrible revelations?

If Sam had done it…

Had he, though? Had everything really happened as she and Ria had surmised?

Lizzie turned her attention to the place where Ria had told her the letters were concealed. They were behind a loose board in the wainscoting near the window. Eagerly she scanned the wall. It looked smooth and continuous, showing nothing that would indicate an opening to a secret compartment.

“Of course it wouldn’t,” Lizzie said under her breath. “That’s why it’s a
secret
opening.”

She hurried over to look at it more closely, but was almost immediately interrupted by Mary, who appeared at the door with a hairbrush in her hand. “If you please, madam. Lady Thornborough gets ever so cross if she is kept waiting for tea.”

So close,
Lizzie thought.
I’m so close to knowing the truth.

Suppressing her frustration, Lizzie followed Mary back into the bedroom and closed the door behind her. She would have to wait until she was alone before she could search the nursery more fully.

While Mary was tending to her hair, Lizzie kept returning again and again to the idea that she might somehow find a way to tell Geoffrey who she really was, and that she loved him. Her foolish heart conjured up scenes where Geoffrey forgave her wholeheartedly and took her gladly into his arms.

She tried to be rational, to replace those pictures with one that was far more unsparing. With Freddie an ever-looming threat, and her desire to protect both Tom and Lady Thornborough, Lizzie might well remain trapped in her deception forever. A life shared with Geoffrey was a dream she might enjoy in solitude, but which could never become a reality.

                                                          
Chapter 30

L
izzie rose before daybreak. She was not sure she had even slept. She had been waiting for the moment when she could search the room in the light of day, but before the servants began their rounds.

She had been unable to do anything the day before except accompany Lady Thornborough on a tour of the house and spend the evening with her. Even after the long journey, the old woman had stayed up surprisingly late, and Lizzie felt bound to sit up with her. Today she knew she would have few moments when she wasn’t surrounded by servants. If she wanted to investigate the nursery alone, this was her best chance.

Lizzie found her dressing gown and slippers and then opened the door to the nursery.

She walked to the first window and looked outside. These windows enjoyed the same overlook of the pastures as those in her bedroom. The predawn glow cast a soft light on the mist-covered fields.

Lizzie dropped to her knees and began to feel the
wainscoting. She carefully tugged at each section in exactly the way Ria had described. But nothing moved.

She worked her way past the first window and toward the second, her anticipation growing. She had to know the truth about herself. If the worst happened, she could at least claim some justification for calling herself a Thornborough. She also wanted very much to know if her mother had truly had an affair with Sir Herbert, and if Sam had somehow forgiven her. Lizzie wanted to believe such a love was possible in this world.

She kept moving, faster now, tugging hard, willing with her whole soul for something to move. Her frustration increased as each board remained stubbornly in place. What if someone had found the loose board already? What if it had been repaired, and the contents behind it were now sealed forever?

She was forced to pause when she heard steps in the hallway. The housemaid was coming to build up the fire, sooner than Lizzie had anticipated. She would be worried if she did not find Lizzie in bed.

Lizzie ran to the nursery door. She threw open the door only to find herself staring into a maid’s shocked eyes. Lizzie put a finger to her lips, then spoke quietly. “It’s all right. I couldn’t sleep. I—I thought I’d search through some of my old books for something to read.”

“Shall I light a fire in there, madam?” The maid kept her voice low to match Lizzie’s.

“No need. You may tend to the fire in my room, as usual. I’ll be in directly.”

“Yes, madam.” The maid curtseyed and continued on, but did not bother to hide her puzzled expression.

Lizzie closed the door and returned to her search by
the window. “It must be here,” she kept repeating to herself. “It must.”

She was nearing the end of the wainscoting when finally a board moved beneath her hands. She pulled it harder, jubilant when it came off. Behind where the board had been, there was a gap in the plaster, just as Ria had described. It had not been repaired. The letters would be there. The letters
must
be there.

Lizzie flattened herself on the floor to get a better look through the opening. Inside was very dark and she could see nothing. She slipped her hand in and began to feel around, hoping she would not come upon some bug or mouse who might have taken up residence there.

The space was long and narrow, following the line of the thick exterior wall. Lizzie reached even farther, her arm straining farther into the space. Her hand brushed against dust and grit, but little else. Fighting disappointment, she shifted her body into awkward positions in order to reach in as deeply as possible. “Please,” she whispered. “Please be here.”

At last her hand hit upon something. It was a smallish lump that was pliable like cloth and gritty with dirt. Breathless with anticipation, she took hold of the object and gingerly pulled it forward. It took some work to get it through the gap and into the open.

She was looking at a square packet about the size of a small book, wrapped in cotton cloth and tied with brown string. It was covered with a thick layer of dust, evidence that it had lain in that secret place for a very long time. These had to be the letters! Here, at last, would be some answers.

Lizzie fumbled with the string in her haste to untie it,
loosing a small shower of dirt. When she finally got the string off, the cloth fell away to reveal a small, leather-bound diary.

A diary?

Lizzie fought off a surge of disappointment. “No,” she groaned. She’d risked too much for this moment. This could not be all there was. She lay back down and reached into the opening again, grasping into every possible corner, unable to believe there was nothing else in there. But her fingers found only more dust.

She could hear the sounds of the maid stirring the fire in the next room, followed by gentle clinks as she finished her task and put the fire implements back on the metal rack. What if the maid decided to come in here after all? Lizzie could not risk being found like this.

With a frustrated sigh, she pulled her arm back out and sat up. She used her hand to sweep the loose dirt back into the hiding place before setting the board back in its place. Satisfied that she had left nothing that would catch the eye of a casual viewer, she stood up and brushed a few remaining pieces of dirt off her dressing gown.

She moved to the door adjoining the bedchamber. She peeked in and saw the maid exiting through the other door to the hallway. The maid had done as she’d asked and moved on.

Lizzie moved to the chair by the fire and placed her feet near the grate, glad for its warmth after the chill of the nursery. She contemplated the diary in her lap. What could have happened to the letters? She tried, desperately, to think of possible answers, but could come up with nothing. Might the diary contain a clue?

She opened the diary and flipped through its pages.
The entries were dated at about the time Ria met Edward. They contained the typical musings of a love-struck young girl, bringing Ria back to life for a time in a way that gave Lizzie both sadness and pleasure.

Eventually she noticed that two small envelopes had been tucked inside, near the back. Could these be the letters Ria had told her of? Ria had spoken as if there was a whole stack of letters, not just two. Lizzie pulled them out and examined them. Each one had the same address.

To Mr. B.W.

Sennoke Post Office

To be left until called for.

Lizzie’s heart jumped. It was her mother’s handwriting—she was sure of it. Her mother had a particular way of writing her
b
’s and
d
’s tall and straight, in a way that left them curiously at odds with the rest of her more conventionally slanted letters.

With shaking hands, Lizzie carefully unfolded the brittle papers and read the first letter.

March 18, 1823

My Dearest Bertie,

I can only surmise that you have not come because some unforeseen circumstance has hindered you. I pray that this is only a temporary delay and that I will soon be in your arms again. It is true that I had been ill for several weeks, including the morning we last met. But I am recovered now.

Could you not send me some word? P. tells me you no longer have messages for him to deliver. He tries
to make excuses for you, but they are weak, and not in keeping with your strong character. I must see you soon, for I have vital news to tell you.