To Walk in the Sun (Wiggons' School for Elegant Young Ladies - Book 1) (24 page)

The restlessness ate at him. There was
nothing for him to do, not while they were in his home because he
could only go from his library to the stairs, and into his room.
The only route that did not have curtains opened at the moment.
Besides, though Tess’ students were in the dining room, several
times he was interrupted by teachers and girls to retrieve a book.
Not that he was doing anything when they arrived. He tried to work,
but gave up after a few moments. Why torture himself? There was no
point when it would only bring a headache. And with Tess as his
secretary, he hoped to go without those for a very long time.

He paced and walked toward the door leading
to the patio. Even had the sun been shining, it was late in the
afternoon and the area was sufficiently shaded at this time of day.
He couldn’t remember the last time he sat outside. Even when the
sun didn’t beat down here, he remained inside. Of course, he would
normally be asleep.

Vincent turned the handle and stepped
outside. He paused and waited. No pain. He closed his eyes and
inhaled the cool, crisp fall air. He opened his eyes once again. It
was good to be outside in the day and he would make a point of
spending more time on this terrace in the future. Doing what, he
had no idea. But at least he no longer felt like a creature of the
night.

Voices caught his attention and he glance to
the south side of his estate. Servants were clearing the wood line,
cutting trees and limbs, chopping logs into pieces small enough for
the fireplaces. He had no idea if the house already had enough wood
for the winter but it was the only job he could think of that would
keep the men outside and alert.

The plan was all well and good for the
daytime, but what of the night? How could he protect the students,
teachers and especially Tess? He scanned the wooded area. Was
Percer watching him now?

“Sir, you are outside,” Wesley exclaimed with
surprise.

Vincent smiled and turned. “Very strange, I
know.”

Wesley straightened. “Actually, it is about
time.”

Vincent chuckled, not affronted by his
servant’s chiding tone. “Is there a reason you wished to see
me?”

He cleared his throat. “Yes, young David has
returned.”

Wesley’s tone and demeanor changed to one of
gravity. Vincent feared what he would be told. “Send him to
me.”

Wesley stood back and allowed the young man
to pass.

“What news do you have?” Vincent asked.

The boy twisted his hat and looked up at his
employer, fear on his face. “Lord Parham is dead, sir.”

Vincent knew he should remain upright, stiff
and authoritive, but found it difficult. He willed himself to
remain standing when he wanted to sink down into one of the chairs.
He was the employer and in charge of this household after all.
“How?” he demanded.
Please let it be a natural death.

“They think he took too much medicine.”

He focused on the young man. “Was he
ill?”

“No, injured.”

“How so?” Vincent demanded.

David’s eyes grew round and he took a step
back. Vincent immediately regretted his harsh tone. It was not
David’s fault, he was just the messenger. “Tell me what you know,”
Vincent continued in a calmer voice.

“Sir,” Wesley stepped forward. “Perhaps we
should take this discussion inside.” His eyes scanned the
surrounding wooded area.

Vincent glanced around as well then nodded
his head and followed David and Wesley back into his library. “Did
you see something, someone?”

“No, sir. But, one cannot be too careful and
I would hate for Percer to learn of what few plans we have or what
we have already determined,” Wesley explained in a hushed tone.

“Yes, you are right,” Vincent sighed and took
a seat behind his desk. He focused on David. “What did you
learn?”

“The housekeeper said Lord Parham had been
shot with an arrow.”

“How on earth did that happen?” Wesley
asked.

“Nobody knows, but most believe it was an
accident. Perhaps someone who missed an archery target.”

“Was a target, or arrows, found in the area?”
Vincent asked, though he already suspected what the answer might
be.

“No, sir. Which is why the housekeeper
doesn’t believe it was an accident either.”

“Go on.” At least someone in that household
had some sense.

“The arrow got him in the shoulder and he was
on the mend, but still in a lot of pain, I guess.”

“How much medicine?” Vincent stood and walked
to the decanter of brandy.

“A whole bottle,” David answered in awe.

Vincent whipped around a looked at him. “Of
what?”

“Laudanum. The doctor had left a full bottle
to get him through his convalescence and Parham drank the entire
thing.”

Vincent’s stomach turned at the thought. He
knew from experience that even the slightest bit over what a doctor
recommended could make a person sick. Even though he had built up a
tolerance, he could not drink over one-third of a bottle without
becoming ill. Parham should have been passed out before he could
have finished half of it.

“Did no one think it strange that he would
drink an entire bottle of laudanum? A fraction of that would have
relieved his pain and put him to sleep.”

“That is what the housekeeper said. She
doesn’t believe for a minute he drank it on his own.”

Neither did Vincent. “So, who helped
him?”

The boy’s eyes grew big. “That is just it,
sir. Nobody knows.”

“Could you not find out any other
information?” Vincent demanded. “Who else was in the house? What
visitors had there been? Are any employees or servants now
missing?” With each booming question the boy sank further back.
Vincent forced himself to quiet his tone. “Did you learn anything
else?”

“Only that the door from the parlor leading
outside had been left open all night. The footman insisted he
locked it with all of the rest of the doors before he went to
bed.”

Vincent returned to the decanter and poured
himself a drink. Somehow Percer had gotten into the house and
killed Parham by forcing the laudanum down his throat. Even though
he had no proof, he would continue to remain diligent in his watch
over Tess and the estate. He just hoped Trent was well. Not only
did he not wish any harm on the man, but he now knew his daughter
as well and did not want to see her suffer in anyway.

* * *

“We have looked everywhere.” Rosemary sighed
and sank down onto the top step of the long, dark stairway.

“There has to be some place we have missed,”
Eliza insisted and paced along the hall.

“She is not on the very top floor,” Sophia
offered.

“Nor this one,” Rosemary groaned. “We have
looked in every room, closet, armoire, anything big enough to hide
a body.”

Eliza stopped her pacing and stared at them.
“Are you sure we did not miss any room on the main floor.”

“No, I mean, yes,” Sophia answered,
exacerbated. “She is not there and I wonder if she is even in this
house, or alive for that matter.”

Eliza knelt down and looked her in the eye.
“I know what we saw, as does Rosemary. You cannot deny that he was
carrying his wife in the hall.”

Sophia sighed. “I suppose so.”

“Then, it stands to reason he has hidden her
away somewhere.” Eliza stood and resumed her pacing.

Rosemary straightened and brightened. “We
never looked in the cellar.”

“Why would he put her in an old, dusty, moldy
cellar?” Sophia asked. “This is his wife after all.”

“How many cellars have windows?” Eliza asked
pointedly.

Rosemary jumped to her feet, ready to
continue the search. Eliza started down the stairs. Sophia groaned
again and stood to follow.

Most carefully did she always avoid the
cheerful light of the sun,

and was wont to spend the brightest days in
the most retired

and gloomy apartments

Wake Not the Dead

Johann Ludwig Tieck

Chapter 20

Eliza peeked around the corner and into the
kitchen, then turned back to her friends. “It is empty.”

“At this time of day?” Sophia questioned.

“Dinner isn’t for hours,” Rosemary reminded
her.

Sophia strained to looked past her friends.
She’d never known a kitchen to be deserted at any time of the day.
“I just don’t want to be caught,” Sophia insisted.

“Are you going to be a ninny the entire
time?” Eliza asked. “Maybe we should make you stay here.”

Sophia’s eyes grew wide. “No. I would rather
go with you than be left alone, here.” She looked around the
smaller dining room. The walls were papered in an ornate, yet dark
pattern of gold and brown. The chocolate colored, velvet curtains
were pulled tight against the daylight. Not that there was any
brightness today. Black, iron scones were spaced along the walls at
even intervals, and must have come from before the reign of Queen
Elizabeth. The fireplace, on the opposite wall, was large enough to
roast a boar and the floorboards below their feet were worn, and
darkened, almost black in this poor lighting. Though a lovely
cream, green and brown rug graced the floor beneath the table, it
did not help deter from the positively gothic feel of this
room.

“Sophia, come on,” Rosemary hissed.

She turned to find her friends had moved
through the kitchen without her, and Sophia hastened to catch
up.

Eliza pulled open the door to the cellar,
took one step down and stopped. Rosemary peeked over her shoulder.
“It is very dark.”

“I didn’t bring a candle,” Sophia reminded
them. “We should come back when we have one.”

Eliza rolled her eyes and moved past her
friends and back into the kitchen. She stood in the center of the
room and looked around then retreated back into the horrid dining
room. Eliza returned a moment later with an ornate candelabrum and
lit the three center candles.

Rosemary squealed with delight and clapped
her hands. “It is perfect.”

“Yes, perfect,” Sophia offered in a dry tone.
Perhaps Miss Crawford was right. They should stop reading horrid
novels because right now, she felt like she had stepped right into
the middle of one. And just like the stupid heroines in those
books, she followed her friends into the dark abyss when everything
inside her screamed to turn and run away.

A damp chill surrounded her ankles the
further they descended into the darkness. This was a very bad idea,
yet they continued on, with slow, careful steps until Eliza
announced they had reached the bottom. Eliza raised the candles
above her so they could look further into the room. Cobwebs hung
from the rafters and Sophia suspected more than a few mice had
taken up residence in this space.

“Come on,” Eliza whispered and moved forward.
Rosemary was practically plastered to Eliza’s back and Sophia
wasn’t all that far behind her. They turned the corner and Eliza
gasped. “Look at all the wine.”

Rosemary and Sophia stepped around her.

“Look how clean it is.”

Sophia had to agree. The rows of wine bottles
that lined the walls did not even have a speck of dust on them. How
very odd.

Eliza spied the sconces on the wall and began
lighting them to brighten the room. In the center was a chaise
lounge covered in dark red upholstery. A cream and cranberry satin
blanket had been tossed across the bottom and a pillow rested in
the carved, dark, heavy wood chair. A table had been placed between
the two items of furniture. An unlit lamp sat in the center and a
glass, full of red liquid, sat beside it.

Rosemary walked over and peered down. “Do you
think it is blood?”

Sophia sighed, marched forward and took it
from the table. She was about to sniff it to determine the vintage
of wine when someone, or something scrapped along the inside of the
wooden door centered on the opposite wall.

Rosemary and Eliza screamed. Sophia dropped
the glass. It broke, splattering the contents on the floor among
the chards of glass. She turned and ran after her two friends.

* * *

“Miss Crawford,” Vincent yelled from the door
to the library. He brought his palm to his head, immediately sorry
for his volume. It was almost as bad as the ear-splitting screams
of three young ladies who just ran up his stairs.

She hurried down the hall from the parlor.
“What is it?” Her eyes and tone were anxious.

“Did I not demand that the
children
remain quiet?”

“You demanded they remain on this level of
the house,” she reminded him.

“Had I been asleep in my bed those screeches
would have still awakened me,” he barked and marched back into the
library.

Tess followed. “If you would like, I will go
see what has disturbed them.”

Vincent shook his head and held up his hand.
“No.” He grabbed the bell pull and yanked.

Wesley materialized in a matter of seconds.
“Yes, Lord Atwood?”

“Why were those girls running through the
house screaming?” It had been such a peaceful few days without the
pain in his head. Now it was back in full force. All because of
them
.

“I believe something must have scared
them.”

Vincent snorted and walked to the sideboard
and poured himself a brandy. “Obviously! What exactly frightened
them
this
time?” He pinched the bridge of his nose then took
a long drink.

“I shall find out what I can and return,”
Wesley offered and quit the room.

“I can go ask,” Tess suggested.

His eyes bore into hers over the rim of the
glass. “You,” he bit out, “will stay right here until we are at the
bottom of this.”

She slinked away from him.

He should not be coarse with her, but they
were
her
students.