Agnes nibbled at one of the biscuits, watching Maeve from the corner of her eye, still looking uncomfortable.
Maeve waited.
Agnes seemed to steel herself then set her plate aside coming to some conclusion of her internal debate. There was a stiffening of her spine, a raising of her chin, before her eyes lifted to Maeve’s. “Come with me… yer ladyship. Er, if’n you don’ mind. We shall have to be very quiet, mind, with the McCaskles now installed.”
Maeve nodded and followed Agnes below stairs, past a number of bedchambers, almost all of them empty. Agnes paused only once, to grab a candle from the kitchen and light it, then led Maeve down another flight of stairs into an elaborate wine cellar.
“Close the door, ma’am,” she whispered.
The hair on Maeve’s neck raised, though she did as Agnes asked, even going a step further, and turned the lock.
Full wine racks of dusty bottles lined two of the three walls. Maeve had no doubt they were worth hundreds of pounds. Along a third wall, another case of shelves that was only half the length, held various other liquors: whiskey and rum. Brandy, she guessed, smuggled during the war. These bottles alone would have kept the house in riches for the next twenty years. Beside that shelf was a tasting table of scarred wood with two stools.
Agnes shot a fear-filled look over her shoulder.
Maeve gave her an encouraging nod.
Resignation tinged with bleakness emanated from the younger woman. She turned away and went to the tasting table. Agnes removed the two stools then, despite her slight build, shoved aside the table, went down on her knees, and tugged at a considerable piece of the wall at its base. She tugged out a velvet bag the size of a thick book.
Trepidation sent Maeve’s insides into a chaos that rivaled a storming of the house guards. Agnes stood and set the bag on the table and Maeve’s hands grew clammy. Instead of opening the bag, Agnes stood back and clasped her hands in front of her and, in a silent plea, left Maeve to the task.
Maeve approached the table and ran her fingers over the luxurious texture of the fabric. She untied the strings and opened the bag. Inside she found bank notes and a smaller, leather purse full coins. Nothing Maeve could blame the girl for using. She glanced over at Agnes whose arms wrapped her stomach, a stance much too fearful for mere coin. Maeve took the edges of the bag from the bottom and upended it, spilling the entire contents on the table.
Her breath caught.
Jewels—diamonds, emeralds, sapphires in a variety of settings: ear bobs, bracelets, necklaces, pins—of the likes Maeve had never seen. She picked up a ring with a large square cut ruby. She recognized this particular piece of jewelry. It was the ring Corinne had worn in the painting Brandon was brooding over when Maeve had returned from Oxford’s ball. She set it down with the other pieces and went through the other treasures. A book. She picked it up and flipped it open. “Rowena’s memoirs.” One or two pages in she said, “Begins in 1798”—she paged to the back—“through 1818, or thereabouts.”
“I saw her writin’ in it all the time, ma’am. I-I thought it might be important like.” Agnes’s hands entwined, her features twisted in anguish. “It’s all there, milady. I never used any of the jewels. As you can see there were plenty of blunt. I was real careful. Using just what we needed…” her voice trailed off in a tremor of despair.
“I believe you, Agnes.” Maeve kept her own voice soft and nonthreatening. “Where did you find it?”
“In the safe, milady. I knew the combination, ye see. Miss Rowena never even told the housekeeper. She didn’t trust her. But she trusted me,” she said fiercely. She gulped for air. “Not long after we—Miss Rowena and Lady Corinne and me—departed for the country, she told me that if anything ever happened to her to look after the house.” Agnes’s eyes filled with pain. “She musta knew she were in danger.” One tear trekked down her cheek.
“Go on,” Maeve said softly.
“’Tweren’t long after I got back home, we had housebreakers. I never been so scared. I knew they’d be back if’n I din’t take precautions. I-I stuffed the blunt in the bag with the jewels and the book with her scribblins’ in it, and hid ’em. I left the safe open, so as when they come back, it’d look like somest beat ’em to it.”
“Is the safe still open?”
“Far as I know, milady. ’Tis in her office under the stairs.”
Maeve couldn’t help admiring Agnes’s mettle. “How on earth did you manage to keep others out for a year?”
“Me, Mary, and Stephen, we kept the lights on. Made certain there were shadows in the windows, making it look like somest lived ’ere and was always about. Course, we couldn’t do nothin’ till the housebreakers returned for another look and found the safe raided.”
Stunned by Agnes’s story, Maeve stared back at the gems winking up at her. It was an incredible tale. One that took courage and fortitude to carry out. Maeve turned back to Agnes, realizing the real gem in that cellar was standing right before her.
“Did you happen to mention any of this to Lord Harlowe?”
“No ma’am. I din’t have the chance. We was s’posed to speak the one night he stayed here. But he run outta time, and I couldn’t tell ’im. Not with Mary and Stephen sittin’ there. They’re young and coulda slipped up and said somethin’.”
“Yes, I see what you mean.” Maeve tapped her chin with her forefinger. “Was there anything else left behind? Notes and such?”
“Just papers his lordship took. Some other things, I don’t know what.”
The muscles in Maeve’s neck strained. The danger her young staff had been in and managed to divert awed her. “All right, Agnes.” Maeve replaced the contents in the velvet bag and tightened the strings. “Go to bed. I’ll take care of this with his lordship.” She inhaled deeply and released it in a slow stream. “As I said, I’ll need your assistance in filling the positions for the rest of the house. But you are hereby officially declared as my own personal maid and companion. Cavendish Square’s most revered employee. We’ll sit together tomorrow morning and determine the extent of your duties and set about hiring a cook, and the like.” Maeve couldn’t help herself, she wrapped an arm about Agnes’s shoulder, hugging her. “Thank you for trusting me, Agnes. I won’teverforget it,” she said softly.
The breath rushed from Agnes’s body in a huge shudder. “Thank you, milady,” she muffled against Maeve’s shoulder. “Thank you.”
