CATHERINE (Pride & Prejudice continued.... Book 2) Read online

  “It’s okay if I stay here, right Mum?” Phillip turned worried eyes toward his mother. “I won’t get into any trouble.”

  “I know you won’t. Now run along like a good boy and I shall be along shortly.”

  With one last glance over his shoulder, Phillip picked up the bucket and hastened down the hall to Button’s stall. Once out of ear shot, George indicated with quick nod for Mrs. Sheraton to follow him out into the courtyard.

  “Mrs. Sheraton…”

  “We do not have much time…”

  They both spoke in unison. With a slight nod, George indicated for Mrs. Sheraton to speak first.

  “I haven’t much time. I asked for permission to go to Northwick for some personal needs and will be expected back within the hour. Why are you here with my son, pretending to be a common laborer?”

  In his line of work George often made life and death decisions based on his read of a person’s character. Such was the case of Mrs. Sheraton. As she hadn’t sounded the alarm at Creighton Castle when he demanded to see her, he deemed her trustworthy of his mission.

  “I have reason to believe Viscount Stanhope is a traitor to England and, if possible, will break into his house and find evidence. As for your son, I met Phillip yesterday when he… well let us say he was a young lad with time on his hands and I decided to give him honest pay for honest labor.”

  Neither of them broke the silence while Mrs. Sheraton, with pursed lips, absorbed what he’d said. George was about to ask if she were all right when she finally spoke.

  “I can bring you in through the servant’s entrance. The chimney in the front parlor has been smoking something awful. You will arrive with me to affect repairs. The Viscount isn’t expected for at least a week, but there’s no guarantee he won’t return earlier.”

  George blinked at the rapidity of her statements. Never in his wildest imaginations had he ever thought to just waltz into Stanhope’s house and have free rein.

  “How do you know this will work?”

  Mrs. Sheraton’s face lit up with a beautiful smile.

  “Because when Mrs. Harris, the housekeeper, heard I was going to the village, she tasked me with hiring someone to fix the chimney. I believe God almighty has provided you with a way, Lord Kerr. The question now is – will you take it?”

  “Aye, Mrs. Sheraton. I’ll be the best chimney sweep ‘is Lordship’s ever ‘ad.”

  “Excellent,” she breathed out a heavy sigh. “Next, let’s discuss Phillip and his duties.”

  They spent the next few minutes talking about her son and George assured her he would keep Phillip was safe until she could be with her children.

  “Might I ask, Mrs. Sheraton, how is it that you know me?”

  “My father, Mr. Power, was the vicar at Adborough Hall until his death a few years ago.”

  “Mr. Power was your father?”

  George was completely flabbergasted. He vaguely remembered the Power’s children, a boy and a girl.

  “I married my husband when I was but sixteen and Phillip was born shortly thereafter. We moved here to Cambridgeshire as that’s where my husband found work. He was a baker by trade. Then he enlisted and was shipped off to France. At the time, we didn’t know I was pregnant with Sally.” Mrs. Sheraton slipped a hanky out of a hidden pocket and dabbed at her eyes. “Poor Ronald didn’t even get to set foot on French soil. He fell overboard on the crossing and drowned. With no money and nowhere to go, I took any job I could to feed my family.”

  “What about your brother? I remember you had a brother.”

  “Hamish? I do not know where he is or what he is doing. It’s like he was taken from this earth on a fiery chariot. No, Lord Kerr, I was on my own with two small children and when the opportunity came to work on the Viscount’s estate, I took it. My only regret is that Mrs. Puddicombe won’t let me see my babies as much as I’d like.”

  George hesitated with telling her Phillip no longer stayed at Mrs. Puddicombe’s. He decided to leave it alone. For now, Phillip was safe with him and they’d deal with Mrs. Sheraton’s daughter at a later date.

  Phillip returned and hugged his mother tight around the waist.

  “I’m so glad you’re ‘ere… here, Mum.”

  “I love you so much Phillip and want you to stay with Lor—, Mr. Bryant, and I will come see you in a few days.”

  “All right,” Phillip sniffled into her skirts. Mrs. Sheraton crouched down, placed both hands on top of Phillip’s thin shoulders and made him look her in the eye.

  “Phillip, listen to me carefully. I trust Mr. Bryant more than you could ever imagine and know he will keep you safe. Will you promise to stay here so I won’t worry about you?”

  Several seconds crawled by before Phillip nodded his head in assent. Mrs. Sheraton tugged him in close and hugged him. “That’s my darling boy.” She then stood and faced George.

  “If you have any tools, Mr. Bryant, bring them along. You may as well return to the house with me so you can fix the chimney.” She turned to her son and leaned down to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Watch the stars, Phillip and know that I am looking at them with you and remember to say your prayers.”

  “Yes, Mum.” Phillip looked at George with eyes full of tears. “Is there anything you need me to do, Mr. Bryant?”

  Against his will, George felt the strings of his heart tug. Where was that cold detachment he was so proud of?

  “Make sure Buttons has a good brushing and clean out the rest of the stalls before laying out new hay. I’ve heard the owner is bringing his horses here over the next few weeks.”

  A spark of interest flickered in Phillip’s eyes, chasing away the sadness for a few brief seconds.

  “Yes, sir,” he said and with a little wave at his mother he turned back toward the stable.

  George gathered some tools and joined Mrs. Sheraton on the county road. As they walked toward Stanhope’s estate, Mrs. Sheraton filled him in on who worked within the big house.

  “I will introduce you to Mrs. Harris. When you are shown into the parlor she’ll assign a footman to you. If she trusts you, she’ll assign John. He’s the short one and quite lazy. He’ll stay out in the corridor and won’t care what you do. If she deems you untrustworthy, she’ll assign Thomas. He’ll come into the room with you and report everything to Mrs. Harris who in turn will report it to Stanhope.”

  “Got it. Be on my best behavior for Mrs. Harris and Thomas. Anything else?”

  “One of my duties is to bank the ashes in the fireplaces at night. For the next three nights, I will make sure the window to the Viscount’s study is not latched. His study is the room adjacent to the parlor you will be working in. I don’t know if you can gain entry during the day while you’re there, that’s up to you to figure out.”

  George marveled at the way Mrs. Sheraton’s mind worked. The War Office could use a few people of her caliber and wondered if he could somehow introduce her to Evangeline. Together they would make a formidable team. Napoleon wouldn’t stand a chance against the likes of them.

  By this time, they’d arrived at the estate. He tugged his hat low over his eyes and walked with a swaying gait, as though he were heavier in weight than he truly was. Within minutes, he’d been introduced to Mrs. Harris, who in turn sent him off to the parlor with Thomas.

  Chapter Six

  “Have a care, Kitty. We do not want you falling and re-injuring your ribs.”

  Mrs. Bennet cautioned Kitty as she stepped outside for the first time since the accident, placing her weight on a walking stick Papa had given her. Originally grandfather’s, Papa relayed the story how Great-Grandfather Bennet used the stick on his grand tour of Europe, hiking through the mountains of Switzerland. She had no intent of traversing a mountain, or even Mount Oakham. The little garden outside would suffice.

  “I will walk with you, Kitty.”

  Mary exited the house and began to keep pace with her, which was about the rate of a snail.

  “Thank you, Mary,”
she said between clenched teeth. “My goal is to make it to the small bench beneath the oak tree, stay there for five days and then return to the house.”

  Mary laughed gaily. “You walk almost as much as Lizzy. I think you will be up and about in no time. Careful here.”

  Mary moved aside and allowed Kitty to skirt a puddle in the path. The rain had finally let up, for which she was grateful. Nobody wanted to return to the house with their hems six inches deep in mud. She grinned at the memory of Lizzy’s story of Miss Bingley’s reaction to her appearance after walking the three miles to Netherfield Park when Jane took ill.

  “Well, you made it,” Mary commented when they reached the bench. “What would you like to do now?”

  “I think I shall rest for a moment and then continue.”

  Kitty settled on the bench and used the walking stick to raise her foot off the ground. Yesterday, Papa showed her how to prop the cane against a piece of furniture, such as the garden bench and then place her foot on the stick. He’d told her, with a derisive laugh, how he’d injured his own ankle playing cricket at Cambridge.

  She loved the attention he bestowed upon her, knowing how much he missed his Lizzy and her quick mind. Kitty never tried to compete with her sister for Papa’s attention. How could she? Most of her time she’d chased after Lydia, trying to no avail to keep her out of trouble. Much good that did her. She still behaved with the utmost impropriety and someone else cleaned up her mess. Thank goodness for Mr. Darcy.

  For almost a quarter hour Papa had regaled Kitty with stories of his time spent at Cambridge, until a shadow crossed his face. She knew, without him saying a word, his thoughts had traveled to one classmate in particular and the pleasantness of the moment slipped away. With a ‘you’re a good girl, Kitty’ and a pat on her hand, Papa retreated to his book room and when he attended supper that night, his eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot.

  The guilt she wore like a heavy shawl sometimes threatened to overwhelm her. With a small sniff, to keep the tears at bay, she shook her head and struggled to stand, waving off Mary’s helping hand. The past was the past. What was done could not be undone and she’d have all her empty life to reflect on it.

  “Let us keep going, Mary.” She leaned on the stick and began walking around the edge of the garden. “I am determined to surprise Mr. Wilson when he arrives on the morrow.”

  “I think you should head back to the house. What if you overtax your ankle and re-injure it?”

  Kitty took another few steps and conceded Mary was right.

  “All right.” She turned and started toward the house. “Last one there gets to choose the game for tonight.”

  “You are pretty cheeky for a turtle,” Mary laughed out. “I am tempted to dawdle, if only to win.”

  “You know I would like to play Dictionary. It is the only way to keep Mama from hovering. Do you think we could invite Papa to join us?”

  “Good gracious, no! If we best him at Dictionary his world would turn upside down.”

  “True, but maybe we were wrong, allowing him to think we are silly girls.”

  They both walked in silence, broken only by Kitty’s puffs of air as she struggled with the walking stick. Finally, they reached the parlor doors and she collapsed on the closest chair.

  “We should invite Papa,” Mary said after Kitty had regained her breath.

  “What changed your mind?”

  A sly grin lifted the corners of Mary’s lips.

  “We shall wager extra pin money for our trip to London. Papa will never suspect we could win.”

  “You are devious, Mary. But Papa is very learned and well-read, he may win. What can we wager in return?”

  “Complete silence and no interruptions for one month upon our return.”

  Mary’s eyes sparkled and Kitty chuckled before saying, “We should invite Papa.”

  They nodded in agreement.

  After dinner, they cajoled their father into a game of Dictionary and before a half hour passed, Mr. Bennet was down two pounds. Surprised, and secretly pleased, he didn’t mind having his purse lessened and spent the rest of his evening wondering how he’d missed the fact his two remaining daughters had such an extensive grasp of the English language.

  He determined to peruse his dictionary on the morrow, and if they challenged him again, he’d be ready. Silence for one month complete was too precious to lose.

  ***

  The first day in Stanhope’s parlor, George concentrated strictly on the chimney itself and quickly determined it required a new damper. Thomas watched him like the proverbial hawk, straying no more than three feet away at any given time. George received perverse pleasure in accidentally bumping into him as he moved around, making sure to transfer soot from his clothing onto Thomas’s pristine footman’s tunic. Later, in the afternoon, his ploy was rewarded as Thomas kept careful watch near the door but came no further into the room.

  “Mrs. Harris wants you to clean the master’s fireplace in the study,” Thomas said when he arrived the second day.

  “Aye. I’ll take a look after I’ve checked out the roof,” he lumbered by Thomas and proceeded outside.

  He had permission to enter the study, but with Thomas hovering like a mother hen, there wouldn’t be much chance to scope out the room. He’d have to wait until that evening. As it was, when he’d descended from the roof, after checking out the mantle and flashings, the footman John stood outside the study door.

  “Where’s the other bloke?” George asked John.

  “Mrs. Harris has another assignment for him.” John replied, his tone indicating the assignment had nothing to do with work. “How come you don’t got a climbing boy?”

  George knew most chimney sweeps employed small children to climb inside the chimney to remove the soot.

  “Don’t need no climbers today. I’ll bring the little blighter tomorrow, if ‘e hasn’t run off.” George walked past the footman into the parlor, then turned and gave him a curious look when he didn’t trail behind like Tom had. John didn’t know he had the inside scoop from Mrs. Sheraton. “Ain’t you gonna watch me? I might decide to pilfer a few pretty baubles.”

  “I wouldn’t if were you. ‘is Lordship’s right mean if crossed.” John’s attention was diverted by a maid walking down the hall. “Besides, I got better things to do. Why, hello, Betsy…”

  George entered the study and partially closed the door. He could still hear the banter and innuendo, coupled with a few giggles, but the two servants paid him no attention. All he needed was a few precious minutes to rifle through Stanhope’s desk. He laid a blanket in front of the fireplace, removed the thick gloves he’d worn and moved back to the desk. Wasting no time, he opened one drawer after another, discovering nothing of import or anything out of place. The only thing of interest was a small miniature of a young girl, secured by a ribbon to a packet of letters. She looked vaguely familiar, however if she were Stanhope’s daughter, it would stand to reason she’d have some of his features. Poor girl.

  He quickly checked the address on the letters, to determine if this was where the French connection could be found, but they were addressed to a law firm in London. He recognized the name and notched another strike against Stanhope. The man who owned the firm was notoriously corrupt and ruthless. George filed the name away in his mind. When he had time, he’d pull it back out and digest this morsel of news.

  He pushed away from the desk and stood and with a practiced eye studied the room. If he wanted to hide something, where would the most likely place be? His gaze drifted across a large bookcase, a richly embroidered Queen Anne chair with a small table and lamp beside it, past the fireplace he was supposed to be working on and finally a cumbersome, heavily tufted divan. He moved over to the bookcase and studied the titles. George was almost through the second row when the pitch of voices changed outside the door.

  Quickly, he moved to the chimney and pulled on his work gloves. He’d just reached up the chimney with one arm when the door ope
ned fully. Mrs. Harris stood in the entrance, a deep scowl on her face. Almost as though she were angry at finding him working.

  He lowered his arm and shook off the soot onto the blanket, stood and faced her.

  “Can I do anything fer ye, Mrs. ‘arris?”

  “You’ve been here two days. What is wrong with the chimney in the parlor?”

  “The mantle, flashings and cricket work just fine.” George quietly thanked God for his useful memory of trivial facts. He scratched his head through the dirty, woolen cap. “I removed the damper. It’s cracked which made it difficult to move and blocked the flue.”

  “Can it be fixed?” she demanded.

  “Aye. Got one back at me shop and can replace it on the morrow.”

  “Good. The Viscount may return at any moment and I want this mess cleaned up.”

  “Aye, Mrs. ‘arris. This chimney only needs a good cleaning, nothing more. I’ll be gone afore ‘e’s back.”

  She gave him a curt nod and left the room, the keys attached to her chatelaine clanging with every angry step. Oh yes. He’d be long gone by the time Stanhope returned, hopefully with evidence of his treacherous allegiance to France. Tonight, he’d return through the study window Mrs. Sheraton promised to leave unsecured.

  ***

  That night, nearing midnight, he crept through the ornamental bushes beneath the study window. With the moon at near fullness and the sky clear of clouds, he had no trouble moving around in the dark. The only thing that could alert the night patrol was Stanhope’s dog. However, George had befriended the beast, bringing him treats over the past two days and allowed the animal to learn his scent. If the dog did show up, he’d be rewarded with a nice scrap of cooked ham and not raise the alarm.

  Without much fuss, he gained entry to the study, pulled the heavy curtains across the window, lit the candle he’d brought and began a thorough search of the room. No book was out of place, nothing was hidden under any cushions or even beneath the area rug. Frustrated, he sat behind the desk.

  If he were Stanhope, where would he hide important papers? He placed the candle holder on the desk and leaned back deep in thought, his index finger worrying his lower lip. His contemplative gaze fell on the opposite wall and it was then he noticed that the flickering of the candle light revealed a slight incongruity with the painting hung over the fireplace. It seemed as though the shadows were deeper on one side.