Chapter Eleven
When Harriett failed to hear from Gerard, she questioned the stable boy, who swore he put the note into his lordship’s hands.
“Did he read it?”
“Too right ’e did, Lady Harriett.” He grinned. “And he cursed something savage.”
“There was no return message?”
Jed hesitated.
“Tell me, Jed. Quickly.”
“Not a message, exactly, milady. First, ‘is lordship said, ‘no. On no account.’ Said it loud, and tore up the paper. Then ‘e grabbed my arm lookin’ quite fierce and said, ‘I order you to forget about this, Jed.’” Jed shrugged. “After that, ’e just walked away, milady, shaking ’is ’ead.”
Since then, there’d been no word, and she’d found no sign of Gerard, although she’d searched for him around the estate.
Harriett decided to keep to her plan. She’d considered every detail to make it all go smoothly. She’d sent the maid away while still in her petticoat and stockings, but her stays had been unlaced. It would have seemed odd to Sarah otherwise, and as she was assisting her mother, Sarah might mention it to her. If only she had something seductive to wear, but she was limited for choice. Her mother had decided not to send for any more clothes as their stay was to be a brief one.
Harriett could not explain away any possible damage to her evening gown. It must be either the grey she’d worn to the funeral—which was dreary before the sad association, the cream percale which was so difficult to get in and out of, or the yellow stripe with the mismatched flounce. She washed and perfumed her body, brushed her hair until it shone, and left it down around her shoulders, it was after all her best asset and Gerard seemed to admire her hair. She successfully managed the fasteners on the yellow gown, and added the spencer. Pleased with her good management, she rested on her bed. This time she was determined not to close her eyes, although, that was unlikely as she was wide awake with anticipation. The clock struck half past ten. She hoped her father would be asleep. Harriett gathered up an unlit candle in its holder, the tapers and flint, and slipped from her room.
The night air was heavy and humid heralding rain. A heavy bank of clouds covered the moon. When she reached the hall, she stopped at the walnut table to light the candle, but even with its flickering glow, the trip to the library was precarious. The house seemed a different place at night, filled with strange dark shapes, a sense of menace lurking in every corner. Memories of Harrison’s grisly end would not leave her. The clock struck a quarter to eleven, and by the time she reached the library door, her knees threatened to give way, and her heart raced in her chest. The lofty room lay in darkness. She closed the pair of doors behind her, and holding the candle high, hurried to the area of wall where the tunnel was located. She counted the acorns, until she found the right one. Pressing it, the section obligingly swung forward, and she stepped inside smartly, before she could change her mind.
The panel banged shut behind her.
In the dim light she found herself enclosed in a ghastly, stuffy space, with a low ceiling. She walked straight into a cobweb, and squealed, tearing frantically at the wisps clinging to her face and hair. The rank smell of mice droppings made her want to gag. She had an irrational horror of the tiny creatures; they ran so fast on their little legs you never knew where they were headed. She doubted they knew either, for once, one had raced under her skirts. The skin on her ankles flinched at the memory as she continued determinedly down the roughly hewn steps.
More confident with a level rock floor beneath her feet, she picked up her skirts with her free hand and ran, her candle flickering. It seemed a very long way to the door, and the confined space threatened to send her into hysterics. She slipped the bolts and darted outside dragging fresh air into her lungs. Her candle guttered and promptly went out, the blackness of a country night descending.
She knew herself to be at the base of the Venus temple, and ascended the steps, stubbing her toe in her thin slipper in the process. Mama would scream with horror when she saw the state of these shoes. Before she reached the temple floor, a figure appeared above her.
“G…Gerard?” she called in a loud whisper, her knees threatening to betray her and send her tumbling.
“Of course it’s me, Harry.” Gerard leapt down the steps and seized her arm in a vice like grip. “What are you about? You said in your note you’ve discovered something.”
He sounded cross and not at all glad to see her. Harriett faltered. Had she gone mad to consider a clandestine night of love with him?
The moon sailed free from the clouds and bathed the temple in its silvery light, the marble columns romantic and mysterious. “Come into the temple, I’ll tell you there,” she said.
“Tell me now.” Gerard sounded almost savage.
“Someone searches the library during the night.”
“What makes you think so?”
She pushed at Gerard’s hard chest, but he didn’t budge an inch. “Let’s go into the temple.”
“Tell me right now,” he repeated. “And then go back to bed.”
“You didn’t seem to mind meeting me before this.”
“I…I can’t keep doing it, Harry.” His tone softened. “It’s becoming too…dangerous.”
“Then come to the library,” she said, accepting that making love in the temple was now impossible, for several heavy drops of rain had just fallen on her head. “I’ll tell you there.”
There was silence. Harriett shivered. “You’re getting cold,” Gerard said, “Come on, then. Show me.”
Returning to the horrid passage, Harriett held up the candle while Gerard lit it with her last taper. He had to duck his head as they walked along, brushing away cobwebs. Harriett tried not to think of spiders. Something rustled at her feet and she squeaked, louder than any mouse could manage.
