Mesmerized (24 page)

“You mean, could it have come from an earlier
time? And maybe the Martyrs didn’t even know of its existence?”

Olivia shrugged. “I don’t know. It just occurred to me that maybe it was wrongly assumed that the treasure belonged to that Lord Scorhill. It seemed the likely explanation, but no one really
knew
that the martyred family built that room or put the gold box in there.”

“Let’s look at the room,” Stephen suggested. “I have to put the box back, anyway.”

Olivia stared at him. “But that is the secret room. You cannot show it to me.”

Stephen quirked an eyebrow. “Frankly, the secrecy of the room bothers me less right now than a number of other things. Anyway, all you will know will be the location of the secret room. If you turn away or close your eyes, you won’t see the mechanism of how the door operates, and, believe me, without that knowledge, I don’t think anyone could open it.”

“All right. If you are certain.”

“Positive.” Stephen wrapped the box once again in its velvet covering, then picked it up and tucked it under his arm.

They left the study and went up the stairs to the bedroom wing, walking past the family’s bedchambers. Several doors down from the last of the bedrooms used by the family and their guests, Stephen turned a corner and opened a door. Inside lay a smaller chamber than the one in which Olivia was residing, furnished in the style of Louis XIV.

Stephen stepped back to allow Olivia to enter, then went in after her and pushed the door, not noticing that it did completely shut. “We rarely use this room,” he told her as they walked to the middle of the room. “It is one of the smaller guest rooms, and it’s occupied only when the house is exceptionally full. It is not a favorite room of guests. I remember one cousin who stayed here when I was an adolescent who demanded that my mother move him to another room.”

“Why?”

“I’m not entirely sure. I think it was because of the cold.”

“It
is
chilly,” Olivia commented, rubbing her arms. “I presumed it was because the room was not in use.”

“Yes, but even when there is someone staying here and we have the fire lit, it isn’t a particularly warm room. It’s on the north side, and the fireplace doesn’t seem to work well.”

“Should I close my eyes now?” Olivia asked.

“Yes.”

She did so, and to her surprise, he bent down and kissed her lightly on the lips. Her eyes popped open, and Stephen chuckled.

“Sorry. I could not resist.” He hesitated for a moment, then kissed her again, more lingeringly this time. He was still carrying the velvet-wrapped box under his arm, which made an embrace awkward, so
after a moment, he stepped back with a sigh. “All right. Close your eyes.”

Olivia, feeling a little giddy from his kiss, closed her eyes again and also turned around to face the other direction, just for good measure. Behind her, she heard Stephen crossing the floor.

Behind her, Olivia heard a click, then the swish of something moving. Stephen said, “All right. You can look now.”

Olivia turned. Stephen stood beside a narrow door, a piece of the wall, actually, that had swung away from the rest of it. Beyond it lay a small, dark room. She walked over to join Stephen and looked inside the secret room. It was small, the size of her dressing room at home, and it had no furnishings except for a small, narrow wooden table. There were no windows, so that the place lay in a perpetual gloom. Stephen stepped inside the room, ducking to go through the low doorway, and crossed to the table to set the box upon it. He turned to Olivia.

“Come in.”

Olivia hesitated, then took a step inside. She stopped abruptly. The room was frigid. However, it was not the cold that stopped her, but the sense of something hovering in the air, heavy with menace and evil. It pushed against her body, its tendrils slithering around her. Thick and black, it tugged at her, curling around her throat….

Dragging in breath with a gasp, Olivia jumped back out of the room. She stared at Stephen, trembling,
unable to speak, her eyes wide and her face drained of color.

“Olivia?” Stephen frowned in concern, starting toward her. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

She shook her head, unable to formulate what she had felt as she entered the room. Her stomach churned, and she felt weak and dizzy, as she had earlier when she had touched the small golden casket.

Stephen joined her in the bedroom, his arm going around her. “Did you see something again?”

“No. But it was—I felt it. I—there is evil in that room.”

“Evil?” He glanced back at the inner room.

Olivia did not follow his gaze. She could not even bear to look into the room again. She turned and walked over to the small straight chair by the door and sank down on it. Stephen watched her for a moment, then turned and closed the section of the wall. Once it was closed, there was no indication of where the line of the door was.

He went to Olivia and squatted down in front of her, taking both her hands between his. “Is it like it was downstairs?”

“Yes. But worse.” She looked at him. “You must think me foolish and weak.”

“No, of course not. I have never seen you to be either one of those things.”

“I feel it. But I couldn’t stay there—the feeling was too strong. I felt his presence in that room. I
couldn’t go inside. It was as though he were pushing on me, smothering me.”

Olivia shivered, and the shiver set off a score more inside her, radiating out from her core. She wrapped her arms around herself, unable to stop her trembling. She felt chilled to the bone.

“Here. Let’s get you to your room,” Stephen said, standing and pulling her up with him.

He put his arm around her and walked her around the corner and down the hall to her room. He found one of her shawls lying across the back of a chair and wrapped it around her shoulders. The room was not cold; it was, in fact, quite pleasant. But Olivia could not stop shivering. He guided her over to the bed and opened the chest that sat at the foot of it. He pulled out a light knitted blanket and wrapped it around her, too. Then he took her in his arms and held her gently, the warmth of his body soaking into hers.

“I’m sorry,” Olivia began.

“Hush,” he told her, smiling. “I enjoy this.”

She chuckled and relaxed in his arms. The shivering had stopped, and for a moment she let herself luxuriate in the warmth. A movement in the hallway caught her eye, and she turned, looking out the door. She stiffened.

Irina stood in the hallway, looking in at them. She said nothing, her face carefully blank, just watching them.

Stephen felt Olivia’s movement in his arms, and he, too, looked up, following her gaze. For a long
moment, the three of them simply stared at one another. Then Stephen’s arms dropped from around Olivia, and he walked over to the door and closed it firmly.

“Stephen!” Olivia said on a gasp, part astonishment, part amusement. “Miss Valenskaya caught us in a compromising position. You just made it even worse.”

He shrugged. “It’s my house. I don’t care to be spied on.”

Olivia groaned and sat down on the edge of her bed, shedding the blanket he had wrapped around her. “I wonder what tale she will carry back to the others.”

“I find it hard to care.” He stopped beside her, his hand wrapping around one of the posts of the bed. “Are you all right?”

“I think so.” Olivia shook her head. “It has been the strangest day. I feel as if I am disconnected from myself.”

After a moment, she went on softly. “My grandmother used to tell us that she communicated with my grandfather—after he was dead, that is. And with her dead parents, too. She liked to say that she knew things before they happened. She frightened me terribly.” She cast a sideways glance at Stephen. “She, of all of us, was the most deserving of the term ‘mad Morelands.”’

“Olivia…”

She shook her head, smiling. “No, let me finish.
Kyria and Reed and the others always laughed off the nickname, but it bothered me. I think it was because I would think about Grandmother and wonder if it was true. She was an absolute harridan. She bullied everyone. Poor Great-uncle Bellard was terrified of her. Anyway, I remember once she told me that I was like her, that I had the second sight. She said I could see things and hear things that others could not. That was what scared me the most about her, I think. I told myself that everything she said was absurd. I didn’t want to be like her. I didn’t want to believe any of that was possible. I think that is why I started investigating mediums, discovering their tricks and exposing them.”

“You wanted to prove that it wasn’t possible?”

Olivia nodded. “Most of all, to prove that I would not, could not, be like her. And now…”

“You are not like her,” Stephen said decisively. “Whatever you have seen, you are not mad. And you certainly are not a harridan. You are a thoughtful, witty, compassionate and altogether remarkable woman. Don’t you remember my telling you that?”

Olivia smiled at him. “Yes.”

Stephen moved closer to her, and unconsciously she leaned toward him. His lips brushed hers. “If I stay here any longer,” he said, his voice husky, “I really
will
put you in a compromising position.”

He kissed her again, a light, firm peck on the lips, then turned and left the room. Olivia sighed and lay back on her bed. Just that light kiss, his very close
ness, had her whole body thrumming, and she knew that, if she were honest, she would much prefer to have been compromised.

Supper that evening was subdued. Mr. Babington was still lying in his bedroom in his unconscious state. No one else could bring themselves to be very lively, even Belinda, whose recent scares had made her much quieter. Madame Valenskaya was obviously distressed over Mr. Babington’s state, and during the course of the evening, she waxed sentimental over her attachment to the “dear man.” Olivia, sitting beside the medium in the drawing room after supper, began to suspect the woman was tipsy.

The following morning, Olivia and Stephen began a search of the library for books regarding Blackhope and the Scorhill family, having already examined all the books to be found in Stephen’s study.

“Whatever it is we are seeing,” Olivia reasoned, “it has something to do with this house during the Middle Ages. If we could find a history that gave us information about the house during that time, perhaps it would help us.”

St. Leger agreed, and they went to the library after breakfast to begin a thorough search. Olivia enjoyed spending the time with Stephen, but after a morning of searching, they had little to show for their efforts.

“I never realized how many arcane and useless books we had in this library,” Stephen commented as
they sat down at the library table for a rest and a revivifying cup of tea.

“Mmm. The Moreland library is like that, especially the one in the country seat.” She grinned. “I think even Great-uncle Bellard hasn’t read all the books there.” She paused, resting her chin on her hand, elbow propped on the table. “You know, I have been thinking about that dream I had. I keep feeling that Lady Alys was trying to tell me something.”

Stephen sent her a quizzical look, and she blushed. “Yes, I know. I sound nonsensical, thinking that some long-dead person—if, of course, she even existed—is communicating with me. But I cannot help feeling somehow connected to her. Why did I dream about that gold casket? And why did she say that to me about holding on to things that are precious?”

Stephen shrugged. “All right, I’ll go along. Why?”

“I don’t know!” Olivia said in frustration. “That is the problem. But, you know, I have been thinking and thinking about the dream, and I think—I know this will sound odd, but I think some of the things were missing.”

“What?”

“They were not in the box you showed me yesterday. That girdle I saw her put in, for instance. And there was a rather pretty chain with a smaller cross hanging on it, as well as a large bracelet—a wide golden band—that were not in your box. Yet there was an elegant little dagger in it that was not in there in my dream.”

He frowned. “I don’t know that any of that is significant. If the Martyrs’ treasure does come from the era of Sir Raymond, then by the time it reached the Lord Scorhill, who was beheaded, any number of things could have been added to or taken from the casket—lost or stolen or sold, even melted down to make some other piece of jewelry. There is no reason to think that all the jewelry would have survived.”

“No, I suppose not. And yet, it seemed as if she was trying to tell me something.” Olivia groaned, putting her hands to her face. “Oh, dear, I sound idiotic even to myself, thinking that a woman who doesn’t even exist is trying to tell me things in my dream.”

“At this point, I am not discounting anything,” Stephen told her. “You know, it is your mind working in your dreams. I have heard of people who have lost something and in a dream saw where they lost it. They had just forgotten what they knew. Perhaps this is something like that.”

“Perhaps.”

“What was it she said to you?”

“I wish I could remember exactly.” Olivia pressed her hand to her forehead. “You know how dreams are. At the time it seems so clear, and then you begin to forget the exact details. But it was something about keeping the things that are precious to you safe. Or maybe it was storing the things that are precious.” She started to speak, then stopped.