When the driver opened the door, she bounded out, propelled by her desire simply to see the duke. Thegravel of the circle drive crunched beneath her boots, a deafening sound. A chirping bird in the distance sounded as if it perched on her shoulder. Every sense was heightened; fear hounded every step.
Isobel mounted the cascade of steps, certain that servants or guards would stop her and demand their business. Clipping up, she waited to be called out. Surely hired carriages couldn’t simply drive up to this imposing home and expel strange women to knock on the door.
No one came, and Isobel knocked. Four firm raps on the giant oak planks of a door strong enough to resist a battering ram. The sound barely registered, swallowed by the sheer magnitude of the structure.Calmness, Isobel ordered herself.Hold the satchel rather than squeeze it in a death grip. Breathe as if you are on dry land.
After an eternity, the giant door swung slowly open. Isobel’s heart stopped thudding and ran away inside her chest.
A stout butler, his expression as inscrutable as a sandstone pillar, stared down at them.
“May I help you?”
Isobel swallowed. “How do you do? My name is Miss Isobel Tinker. I am a colleague of His Grace, the duke...” she spit out the next bit, “...having served as his cultural attaché on his most recent mission. To Iceland. I have business with the duke, if you please.”
The butler stared at her, saying nothing. Behind him Isobel could see a flurry of activity. Servants rushing to and fro. Someone pushed a potted fern on a cart. A man with a length of rope chased after a dog.
Oh Lord, Isobel thought,there is some palace-related crisis. I’ve come in the exact moment of Bedlam.
She said, “If this is an inconvenient time, I can—”
“And who else may I say is calling?” intoned the butler. He stared at Samantha.
“Oh,” said Isobel, “I am accompanied by my assistant. Miss Samantha Smee.”
The butler narrowed his eyes, considering this. He said nothing more and made no move to admit them. Time stretched in excruciating silence. Isobel wondered if, in her extreme anxiety, she’d actuallysaidthe words rather than simply thinking them. Had she spoken English? Had her request so shocked the man he’d entered a trancelike state?
Isobel was just about to turn and tiptoe down the steps and search for perhaps a servants’ entrance when a young woman strode past the door. She paused, squinted out at the steps, and then joined the butler at the door.
“What is it, Norris?” asked the young woman. She was eating a stalk of celery.
The butler leaned in to whisper in her ear.
The girl’s eyebrows rose, she cocked her head, and extended the stalk of celery, tapping the air accusingly. “But you’re the girl who rescued Reggie! On the boat, with Jason. Thank God! Perhaps you can reason with him—and just in time. Come in, come in. Norris, don’t just stand there, fetch Mama!”
Chapter Twenty-Five
The Dowager Duchess of Northumberland had a gentle face. Grief had hollowed her beauty, age had creased it, but her smile was genuine.
“He’s not allowed staff to tidy the library,” Lady Northumberland said, leading Isobel down a wide corridor. Servants passed swiftly around them like salmon swimming upstream. “Even I have not been allowed inside. There’s no hope for it tonight; the door will have to be locked to hide the mess.”
“Tonight?” asked Isobel.
“Oh yes, the ball,” said the dowager dismissively. “My daughters insisted. I put it off as long as I could, hoping the duke could get on his feet. But it’s been a month. The girls believe some social interaction may help matters.”
A ball, thought Isobel.The palace-related crisis was not a crisis at all, it was a party.
If the duke was as bad as gossip suggested, a crisis was still highly likely.
Isobel ventured, “It has come to my attention that the duke is... at an impasse.”
“Yes, well,” tsked the dowager, “there’s nothing for it, is there? He is who he is. The girls and I have not been able to rouse him. I blame the unresolved deathsof his brothers. He never reckoned with the loss. Here at home, we were forced to carry on, but he was always working, doing his duty for the country, running about—always running. Since he was a boy, the notion of rest or stillness tortured him. And now here we are. There is nowhere else to run. There is quite a bit of stillness, I’m afraid, when one is a duke.”
They came to a stop before a closed door.
“Quite,” said Isobel. “I... I am grateful that you have allowed me to look in on him.”
“I’ve kept his uncles away; they are circling like vultures naturally. But he’s spoken so fondly of you. And to have returned poor Reggie to his parents? My brother was overwhelmed with gratitude and relief. But how can I make your visit more pleasant?” She made a scoffing noise. “When you see him, you’ll acknowledge the futility of this question. There is nothing pleasant about his current... state. We are grasping at straws, I’m afraid. But tea never hurt. Perhaps you can coax him to eat. What do you think?”
Isobel had no idea what to think. Her theory that he was being tortured by an unfeeling family was entirely wrong obviously. The notion that the estate was in penury or ruin had been, if true, very well disguised.
