If the house party attended by those Grand Fellows was the very same gathering Matthew Stanley had hosted the previousyear, then the Wolf himself might well have been amongst the guests.
If Charlotte could discover who had attended, she might be one step closer to identifying the true killer—and perhaps even uncovering the masterminds behind the Odd Fellows themselves.
Yet it was equally possible the Wolf had attended any number of house parties, so she resisted leaping to conclusions. She needed answers—but how was she meant to find them?
Perhaps Mrs Dent, the housekeeper, might know something.
Chapter 12
Charlotte and Sarah devised a plan—simple and sensible. When they moved to the big house, she would remain as inconspicuous as possible and quietly make enquiries regarding last year’s house party, whilst Sarah did the same below stairs.
If they managed to uncover the true killer and possibly identify the Grand Fellows, Charlotte would then confess everything to Lord Stanley and demand he clear her name—and offer her some sort of protection from the secret society. At least then she might cease looking over her shoulder for the rest of her life, fearing the gallows, or worse still, that the Odd Fellows might find her first and finish the job.
At least, that was the theory.
The difficulty lay in making enquiries without attracting notice. Invisible governesses, she reasoned, did not invite gossip or scandal. They blended into the wallpaper and caused no trouble whatsoever. If she poked around asking questions, no matter how quietly, it would draw attention to herself. Yet it was a risk she must take. She had no choice.
What intrigued them both, however, was Lord Stanley’s sudden desire to host a gathering of his own. Was it merelycoincidence—or had her letter prompted it? Was he attempting to lure out the Odd Fellows himself?
They concluded it was possible, but Charlotte could not afford to rely upon mere possibility. She needed certainty. And for now, at least, she was certain of one thing only:
They could trust no one.
Lord Stanley visited again to assist with the arrangements, and every corridor echoed with the thud of trunks and the barked orders of Mrs Wilberforce, who was determined to orchestrate the move to Alderley Park with military precision. The poor gardener looked ready to collapse over his shears.
‘See that the rose bushes are properly pruned! And keep an eye on the carnations—they’re sensitive to frost! And ensure all my herbs are carefully tended in the hothouse,’ she commanded, as though a few months’ absence might plunge the estate into ruin.
The gardener nodded miserably, spade in hand.
The following morning, they set off. The carriages creaked and rattled along the country lane on the short journey to Alderley Park. The sky was a washed-out silver, and the air held the crisp promise of early autumn. Charlotte drew her pelisse closer about her shoulders against the chill.
She sat with Sarah and Tom, who was unusually subdued.
His eyelids drooped, his curls stuck out at odd angles, and faint shadows ringed his eyes. Sarah had spent half the previous evening scrubbing mud from his clothes after some unknown escapade.
‘Where are we going?’ he mumbled, rubbing sleep from his face.
‘To stay with your uncle at Alderley Park for a few weeks, Master Tom,’ Charlotte replied cheerfully.
His voice was soft, but it trembled. ‘I don’t want to go there.’
Charlotte studied him—the way his small hands fidgeted, the flicker of unease in his gaze. He looked as though he remembered something he wished to forget.
‘You’ll see—it won’t be so bad,’ she said gently, placing an arm around him.
To her surprise, he did not resist. He leaned against her shoulder—a small, silent surrender.
As the carriage rounded the final bend, the landscape unfurled into endless green. Rolling meadows stretched towards the horizon, dotted with sheep and silver birch. Charlotte longed to step out, to feel the wind on her face, to breathe something untroubled for once.
Then her gaze lifted—and she caught her breath.
Before them loomed a vast, black-stoned mansion with pointed turrets and tall, narrow windows that glittered like a thousand cold eyes. It rose from the earth like something half dream, half nightmare—a Gothic fortress against the pale sky.
‘Good heavens,’ Charlotte murmured. ‘It looks as though it eats governesses for breakfast.’
Even Sarah gave a small, nervous shiver.
But what startled Charlotte most was the sight awaiting them in the courtyard.
