Guilt descended. Phoebe was a good person, not to mention an extraordinary judge of character. How could her perception of Mr. Bauer contrast so with her own and Mr. Rowe’s? Ella was confident in the details in her mother’s journals, but a small seed of doubt vexed her. She and Mr. Rowe could be completely wrong in their assessment. What sort of friend would she be to cast shadows on Phoebe’s beau?
Ella and Phoebe moved to the corridor just as the men were approaching the White Parlor. But then they paused. Mr. Bauer looked directly at them both, but he made no motion, gave no greeting, and continued down the corridor.
Ella froze. Given Phoebe’s account and her own personal observation of their conversation at the assembly rooms, she’d expected a very different response.
The men continued talking quietly amongst themselves.
Phoebe’s face drained of color. Moisture filled her red-rimmed eyes, and a fat tear skipped down her cheek. “He didn’t greet me. Not even a smile!”
Ella gripped her hand. “Perhaps he didn’t see you. They were all talking, and—”
“He saw me, Ella. And he said nothing. Nothing!”
Eager to avoid a scene, Ella wrapped her arm around Phoebe’s and guided her from the parlor, down the same corridor the gentlemen had just traversed, and to the east staircase. Ella was not exactly sure what she had just witnessed, but his dismissive behavior toward the woman he was allegedly courting gave her a little more evidence to support her suspicion: Mr. Bauer was not to be trusted.
Chapter 12
AS THE HIREDcarriage slowed along Keatley Hall’s outer walls and turned through the arched entrance, Gabriel knew that he would no doubt encounter many acquaintances.
But he was not here to reunite with friends.
Gabriel was here for one reason only: to investigate Mr. Bauer.
He angled his head to look up at the majestic manor house with its red-brown stone, impressively symmetrical facade, and uniform steep gables that soared into the stormy pewter sky.
The sight transported him to the past and opened access to a bittersweet part of his mind that had been sealed for so long. He’d been seven years of age when he first made this drive. Over the course of the next several years, the people here became his family—including the Wildes. Returning to Keatley Hall felt, in many ways, more like a homecoming than if he were returning to his parents’ house in Manchester.
As the carriage rounded the looped drive, energizing activity met him. Carriages and wagons lined the drive, servants bustled to and fro, and gentlemen—some of whom he instantly recognized—milled about the grounds, but it was the sight of Mr. Wilde standingat Keatley Hall’s main entrance that really made Gabriel feel as if he were stepping back in time.
The wind sweeping down from the west gables flapped the folds of Mr. Wilde’s fawn-colored frock coat. He was speaking with a servant, and he turned as Gabriel’s carriage approached.
He recalled Philip Wilde as a robust man with broad shoulders and a barrel chest, but time had robbed him of those brawny features. His hair, which had been fair like his daughter’s and had always needed a cut, was wispy and sparse. His once-ruddy oval face was pale and thin, his shoulders stooped.
The carriage stopped, and the servant opened the door and Gabriel stepped out.
When their eyes met, Mr. Wilde’s bushy gray brows rose. He chuckled and placed his fists on his hips. “As I live and breathe! Dare I say young Gabriel Rowe?”
“Not so young anymore,” Gabriel quipped and extended his hand.
Mr. Wilde laughed again and shook Gabriel’s hand emphatically before he clapped his hand on Gabriel’s shoulder. “Ella told me you’d be attending. I wasn’t sure I believed her, but here you are, in the flesh.”
“I’m grateful for the opportunity to return.” Gabriel handed his satchel to the waiting footman.
“I’m sure you want to rest after the journey, so I’ll not keep you. We’ll speak later, but it is good to see you here, Rowe.”
Gabriel followed the servant in through the main doors, through the screens passage, then to the great hall. The familiar scent of age, dust, and woodsmoke greeted him. A fire simmered in the broad hearth on the chamber’s north end, and a faded, rectangular tapestry depicting an ancient pastoral scene hung over the mantel. Gray lightfiltered in through the bank of tall leaded windows on the opposite wall and reflected on life-size oil paintings in gilded frames. Flagstone slabs grounded the entire space beneath his boots, and in the center of the chamber stood a large table. Ornately carved chairs with faded-crimson velvet pads lined the oak-paneled wall.
He followed the footman through the crowd toward the east staircase, and they began the ascent to the third floor—the attic floor. Once there, he was engulfed by boyhood memories as he ducked beneath the low threshold and stepped onto the uneven floor. The floor creaked under his feet with each step, a sound so distinctly familiar it almost sent chills up his spine.
At some point the attic had been divided into small rooms for students, and it appeared that he was to lodge in one of those rooms during his stay. The footman stopped at a chamber near the end, and Gabriel peered inside. It was comforting in its plainness. Rough planked floors. Two low beds on each side of the narrow room. A small chest with three drawers, a washbasin, and a single wooden chair. Two hooks hung on the wall, but it was the window that drew his attention. He’d never been fortunate enough to be in one of the dormitories containing a window.
“Dinner will be in two hours, and the guests will gather in the great hall and ground-floor parlors an hour prior.” The footman placed Gabriel's satchel on the nearest bed and extended the bedchamber key toward him. “Will there be anything else?”
“Yes.” Gabriel tucked the key in his pocket. “Has Mr. Bauer arrived yet?”
“He has.”
“Thank you.”
