The Rake Revealed (10 page)

Camille took a cautious step forward. A secret panel that led down to the cellar? Or would it go directly into the tunnels that were supposed to vein the rock that stood beneath the foundations of Kirkham Hall? She edged forward, peering inside, and could make out steep steps leading almost immediately downward. It smelt of damp and dirt and darkness. She wondered how many other people, specifically smugglers, knew about this ingress into her house and shivered at the thought. It was one thing to know that Lord Tapscott had managed to find his way inside with the familiarity of one who had been to been here many times, quite another to think of strange men walking about the place. She glanced down at the rug, bending to peer at the weave. Yes, sure enough she saw several large, dark imprints that could only belong to a man’s boot. Somebody had used that entrance at some stage, although it was impossible to tell when. The room’s stillness suggested that the silence had not been broken in some time, but it had taken on an eerie air now. Camille touched the rug and was relieved to discover that the dirt was quite dry. What had once been mud had quite dried, so the room had not been used in a
little
time then. At least, that is what she told herself.

She wondered if this was the
only
secret passage to be found. Somehow, it seemed unlikely. In a house like this, situated where it was, she could imagine it might contain all kinds of hidden passageways, just waiting to be discovered. Ned had once told her that she would love his house.

‘My dear, it is full of surprises!’ When she had asked him what he meant, he’d merely waved a hand. ‘I think I would like to surprise you. It will be most enjoyable to see those pretty green eyes of yours open wide.’

She had forgotten the comment quickly enough, but now, she was beginning to see what he meant. His house really
was
full of surprises.

‘I think I might have this sealed,’ she said, wrinkling her nose at the smell drifting up from below. Especially if she had a fancy to use the room as her own personal retreat. It was cozy, there was a delightful view and it was tucked away just enough to offer her a sense of privacy. However, she would not rest easy knowing that somebody might emerge from beside the fireplace at any time. The room was charming. She would start Gillie and her sister Agnes on cleaning it up today and she would organize a carpenter to come as soon as possible.

She had half expected that Tapscott would return, intent on some devilment or the other, but it was Mr. Morosett that paid a call the following afternoon. Camille received him with a warm greeting, but privately she thought that he had wasted no time in returning. He must
really
like French miniatures. She had thought to bring them out of their cabinet to be cleaned and had stood them on a table in the main drawing room. She did not particularly want Mr. Morosett in her green parlor.

‘Mr. Morosett, how nice to see you again,’ she said when Gillie had shown him in. ‘As you can see, I have found your pieces.’

Morosett smiled, his eyes traveling to the six figurines she had set out for him. He surveyed them for a moment, moving forward slowly and Camille could swear that, far from being pleased, he was somehow irked by her handiwork. It wasn’t anything in his expression, more a subtle shift of the body.

‘You found them? My dear lady, how very clever of you.’ Considering the manner in which he had droned on about them, Camille had thought he would be delighted, rushing forward to study them, but instead he came across and took her hand, bringing it to his lips for a kiss that lingered far too long for her liking. ‘You look magnificent today, if I may say so.’

She glanced down at her dress, a midnight blue cambric just lately arrived. It was pretty, yes, but magnificent? ‘Such praise. You will make me blush.’

‘And I would enjoy doing so,’ he purred, finally releasing her hand. ‘Now then, what have you found for me?’

He walked across to the table and surveyed the miniatures, picking each up in turn and turning them over to study the maker’s marking on the underside. ‘Yes,’ he said slowly, ‘they are delightful, but there are two missing.’

‘Missing?’ Camille repeated. She had just been wondering if she should offer tea. She didn’t particularly want to. That kiss had made her feel uncomfortable and she was hoping this would be a fleeting call. If he wanted to take the wretched miniatures home and stare at them at his leisure, she had no objection.

‘Yes, two pieces. A matching pair. One shepherd, one shepherdess. Such a popular cast for figurines that they can often be overlooked, but the ones I am thinking of were from the Chantilly region and it is so hard to find quality pieces from there any more.’

A shepherd and shepherdess. She thought of the ones she had seen in her earlier search and almost groaned out loud. They were undoubtedly about somewhere, moved to one of the other display cabinets and she would be forced to ransack each of them until she found what he wanted. For if there was one thing that Camille knew perfectly well, Mr. Morosett was the kind of man who remained focused on whatever he was after.

‘I am sure they will be here somewhere.’

‘Indeed, but it is so difficult if one doesn’t know what one is looking for. Would you permit me to make my own search? I will not discommode you by insisting that you accompany me on my search. As you so rightly pointed out the other night, such passions are not for everybody.’

She wasn’t sure that she had phrased it exactly like that, but she was relieved that he was prepared to go and look for himself. ‘Be my guest. There are a great many display cases in the yellow drawing room, but they are in other rooms as well.’

He smiled at her with more warmth than she had seen so far. ‘You are very good to me.’

‘Not at all,’ she murmured. ‘I will wait for you here. Please, take your time.’ So that he did not come back with further ridiculous requests. She was beginning to suspect that she had fallen into a peculiar part of the world where people went about indulging themselves in all manner of eccentricities. By now, the more mundane country obsessions of shooting and fishing looked positively dreary compared to what most people seemed to enjoy.

After he had been gone on his quest for ten minutes, Camille’s conscience began to niggle at her. It was really rather rude to let a guest wander around by himself. She should be helping him. At the very least she should be keeping him company. With a sigh, she rose to her feet and went in search of Mr. Morosett.

He was not in the yellow drawing room. He was not in any of the rooms that she had assumed he would be searching. Puzzled, she walked towards the back of the house and put her head through the door of the green parlor, currently being reclaimed as her own retreat. At first glance she saw nothing amiss. The room appeared empty, but something made her step into the room, her eyes automatically going to the panel beside the fireplace.

Which was open!

Camille stared at it, thoroughly disconcerted. The panel was open and there was no sign of Mr. Morosett. Did that mean that her guest had gone down those extremely steep stairs that led… to wherever it was that they went? It seemed highly unlikely that those miniatures would be down there. She walked forward slowly, but of course there was nothing to see. Not without a candle, anyway. Pressing her lips together, she turned to go in search of one. She had had her doubts about Morosett all along and this certainly seemed to be very odd behavior. He could not have known that the panel was there, unless he had prior knowledge, and why would he, unless he was a smuggler as well?

‘
C’est ridicule
,’ she muttered, annoyed and alarmed in almost equal amounts. What did the man think he was up to?

Seizing a candlestick from the hallway, she lit the wick and headed back towards the green parlor. Before she reached the door, however, she was hailed by Mr. Morosett’s lazy accents.

‘Oh
there
you are. I returned to the drawing room, but you were gone.’

Camille turned slowly to stare at him. He was, indeed, behind her, standing in the doorway of the library. ‘Mr. Morosett…’

‘Were you looking for me? I found what I was after, as you can see.’ He held up two small figurines, both of them clearly a shepherd and a shepherdess. She glanced back over her shoulder towards the green parlor, wondering if, perhaps, the madness that seemed to haunt the area was catching.

‘But I looked in there,’ she said, almost to herself.

‘Did you? Perhaps you did not see me. I am afraid I was indulging myself among your shelves. You have quite the collection.’ He sounded faintly quizzical.

‘Yes, I suppose that is true. I did not see you.’ Should she mention the panel? No, she decided, perhaps not. Something odd was happening, but she had no desire to share anything with the man before her. Apart from anything else, she simply did not trust him. He might be as passionate about French porcelain as he said, but that panel had most assuredly
not
been open before his arrival. ‘I am glad you have found what you seek, Mr. Morosett. Please feel free to take them away with you and examine them at your leisure.’

‘That is very generous of you,’ he was still looking at her curiously, as if he could not quite fathom her behavior. His eyes went to the candlestick in her hand, one thin eyebrow arching a little. Was this the attitude of a guilty man? But what was he guilty of? Camille was sure that
something
was going on, but she could hardly accuse him of anything.

Pardon me, monsieur, but I believe you opened a secret panel in my parlor.
Even to her own ears it sounded ridiculous.

‘Unfortunately,’ she said, trying very hard to sound as if wandering around with a lighted candle was the most normal thing in the world, ‘I have an engagement or I would ask you to stay to tea.’

‘Of course. I understand completely. I am afraid I rather burst in upon you today. I shall see you at the Fallston ball tomorrow night?’

‘Of course,’ she said, trying not to sound too abstracted. ‘So grand it is, to have a ball in Lymstock. I am very excited.’

‘Hardly Almacks, but it should be tolerably amusing. Once again, please forgive me for intruding.’

She uttered all the necessary platitudes, assuring him that it had been a pleasure. A box was arranged for the figurines, Gillie packing them into it carefully. It took a good fifteen minutes before Camille saw him out the door and when it shut behind him, she blew out a breath.

‘Gillie, run and tell Hibbert to get the carriage ready. I am going into Kingsdown.’

While the girl hurried off to relay this request, Camille returned to the green room. She stood for a long moment, staring at the panel, now shut.

Enough was enough. Before nightfall she would have a carpenter in this house and that panel secured. Otherwise it was doubtful she would get a wink of sleep.

Chapter Five

Her dreams were far from pleasant, involving a great deal of running as she went from room to room, looking for something she could not name.

So it was that she woke heavy-eyed to a gray morning that was filled with rain. She lay for some time, thinking about Kirkham Hall, Tapscott, Morosett, and the strange goings on that seemed to be happening in her home. For there
was
something going on. An odd atmosphere pervaded the place and it was making everybody jumpy.

She had managed, by considerable badgering, to engage a carpenter to come to the house and secure the panel the previous afternoon. At first, he had thought her mad when she asked him to put some nails in the frieze, but she had shown him how it opened and he’d gaped at the dark aperture for a long moment before getting down to the job. It had helped, knowing that nobody would be emerging though it again, but Camille knew perfectly well that there would be other tunnels. Tunnels that, in all likelihood, Lucius Tapscott knew of. She could ask him, of course. Except that would mean contacting him specifically and she was loathed to do so. Besides, he seemed to employ them for his own uses so it seemed doubtful that he would tell her anything.

It had occurred to Camille, in the early hours of the morning while she had fidgeted and waited for sleep to come, that whatever was going on, his lordship was smack dab in the middle of it.

She sighed and pulled the blankets up to her chin. It was cold.

A short time later, Merry put her head through the door, smiling when she saw Camille was awake. ‘Morning, m’lady. Tis a nasty one, I must say.’

‘Good morning, Merry.’

The girl came in with a mug of chocolate on a tray, which she deposited by the bed before moving to reinstate the fire. Camille’s morning chocolate in bed had quickly become the established custom and she reveled in the luxury of it. Sometimes, she did not rise for another half an hour, but stayed curled up in bed reading. It was a pleasant way to start the day.

Tonight, she had the ball, her first in nearly three years. As Mr. Morosett had said, it would be a tame affair compared to the glittering events in Paris or London, but she knew she could expect a certain amount of pomp. Fortunately, the first of her two ball gowns was ready. She had thought to cry off from the engagement, thereby saving her the problem of trying to avoid Lord Tapscott, but she had changed her mind. Perhaps she could wheedle some information out of him about the house. If she told him how concerned she was, would he not take pity on her and tell her what he knew? She thought about it for a moment before deciding that no, it was likely he would not, but she could probably rely on him to offer to spend the night to protect her.

The day passed with unusual tedium, hours dragging on interminably. Camille finished her book on the window seat in the yellow drawing room, the better to see the pages as it was dark in the rooms, the grey skies leaking daylight reluctantly. There were no callers that day and for that she was grateful; she was in no mood for polite conversation. When Voltaire was done, she went to the library to find something else with which to engage herself. She picked Bunyan’s
Pilgrim’s Progress
, a worthy tome that she had tried to plough through several times before putting it back in favor of a copy of
The Houses of Osma and Almeria
and
St. Clair of the Isle
, both of which were far more interesting.