“Mr. Fielding”—Bascomb’s paw of a hand stretched across the desk as if reaching for her—“bolted from Rose Abbey in the middle of the night, wearing nothing more than a nightshirt for his sprint down the hill to Portsmith. Boniest knees I’ve ever seen on a man. The idiot is fortunate he didn’t trip on the way down the road in the dark and break his neck.”
“Mr. Fielding?” Edwina asked.
“Your predecessor. He refused to return to collect his things. I had to send them on to Portsmith at great expense to myself.”
There was a vengeful spirit roaming the estate, at least according to McDeaver. The specter of the final abbess who presided here. She hadn’t left Rose Abbey quietly, sacrificing herself and the group of nuns who’d lived here. The abbess had refused to accept the rule of her sovereign, claiming she only answered to God. The nuns had been raped and slaughtered, the abbess run through with a sword. Whatever wealth the abbey had possessed was never found. The abbess, McDeaver insisted, still haunted Rose Abbey to this day.
Absolutely ridiculous.
“Perhaps Mr. Fielding had a delicate constitution,” she replied. “I, however, do not.”
Edwina didn’t believe in ghosts. Nor vengeful nuns. The exodus from Rose Abbey was more likely the result of Bascomb being a difficult master. She had pointed out to McDeaver, during his macabre recitation of the butchering of innocent nuns, that there was a staff in place at Rose Abbey. Surely if the abbey was haunted, it would be difficult for Lord Bascomb to keep servants as well.
McDeaver had shot her a churlish look.
When the pony cart had pulled up in front of Rose Abbey, a maid had promptly opened the weathered doors and greeted Edwina. True, the girl was somewhat timid. Pale. Her voice had trembled as she’d introduced herself as Meg.
Edwina’s trunks had been unceremoniously launched out of the pony cart to land in the dirt. McDeaver had snapped the reins and started back down the road toward Portsmith without so much as a goodbye.
“Could it be possible Mr. Fielding found the working conditions not to his liking?” she said rather pointedly to Bascomb.
Bascomb’s lips twitched once more. “I can’t imagine, Collins.”
More rain pelted the windows. The fireplace hissed as dripping moisture found its way down the chimney. Finally, Bascomb gave a sigh of resignation, apparently coming to some sort of decision. He shoved a messy stack of papers toward her. “There is a desk set up in the library for your use. Perhaps you can sort through these tonight in return for a bed and a warm meal.”
Edwina schooled her features, careful not to let the triumph show in her face. Bascomb could bluster all he liked, but it was clear he needed help. A great deal of it. Ledgers were strewn all over the study, as well as papers, inkwells, bits of string, and what looked like a stuffed ferret. “I would be happy to, my lord.”
“But I’m sending you back to Portsmith tomorrow once the weather clears,” he groused. “Don’t bother to unpack.”
“I understand completely, my lord.” Edwina picked up the stack of papers. She would have preferred to be allowed to change and wash the dirt from her hands and face before starting such a monumental task, but the fact remained Bascomb wasn’t tossing her out. At least not yet. “Where would I find the library, my lord?”
“Go back to the staircase and then down the hall on the other side.” His attention returned to his desk, pencil flying across a piece of paper. She tried to catch a glimpse of what he was sketching, but all she could make out was the shape of a peaked roof.
Edwina came forward and picked up the stack of papers at the edge of his desk. Struggling with her wet skirts and the correspondence, she made her way out of the study. Rain battered the house as the wind howled around the stone. She could almost make out the sound of the waves crashing violently against the cliffs outside. The hill Rose Abbey sat atop ended with massive, unscalable cliffs above the ocean. Purposefully, Edwina knew, to avoid Viking raiders who had once plied the coast. Rose Abbey’s isolation had allowed the nuns who lived here to flourish, forgotten by the rest of the world for hundreds of years.
Until someone had remembered and their peaceful existence had ended.
Chapter Two
Exhaustion seeped intoEdwina’s bones as she made her way out of the study. Perhaps it was her fatigue that accounted for the heaviness settling about her shoulders. Or the sadness that suddenly filled her.
Damn McDeaver and his lurid tales.
After marching back to the staircase leading to the second floor, she turned to head down the opposite side of the house and caught sight of her trunk sitting in the foyer. A woman stood before the battered trunk, dressed all in black with a lace cap perched atop her gray-streaked hair. Painfully thin to the point of gauntness, the woman was all sharp bones and angles. A sour expression hovered about her lips, the woman evidently not the least pleased at the sight of Edwina. Or possibly it was the muddy trail Edwina was leaving across the floor.
“I am Mrs. Page,” the woman announced without preamble, her voice as sharp as the rest of her. “Lord Bascomb’s housekeeper. I’ll have your things”—she cast a withering stare at Edwina’s trunk—“taken upstairs. A room has been prepared for you.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Page. I am Miss Collins. Lord Bascomb’s secretary.”
“Indeed.” A brow raised at Edwina. Mrs. Page had eyes like bits of jet, flinty and hard, with little interest in Edwina other than annoyance. “I see he wishes you to go to work immediately.” She nodded to the papers clutched in Edwina’s arms. “Not unexpected. Mr. Fielding left quite a mess in his haste to escape Rose Abbey. Please follow me and I’ll escort you to the library.”
“There isn’t a parlor or—”
“All His Lordship’s secretaries work in the library.” She shook her head. “Much to their displeasure. Follow me, Miss Collins.” Her skirts rustled softly as she set out down the hall to the left of the stairs. “This portion of Rose Abbey is original.” She gestured with one hand. “And was once the residence of the abbess. This wing is smaller, with fewer rooms, but it does contain the library, which was once the private quarters and office of the abbess. When the first Lord Bascomb took ownership of the property, he chose to build around her original home instead of tearing it down or allowing the stone to fall to rubble as he did to the remainder of the abbey and the church. That first Lord Bascomb was not a religious gentleman.”
“I saw the ruins outside Lord Bascomb’s study.”
“The entire backs of both wings face what remains of the original structure. Lord Bascomb’s study is directly opposite the library but on the other side. The entire west wing was added in increments by each succeeding Bascomb.”
