Summerset Abbey (18 page)

T
he dim hallway stood silent and dark like a tunnel, stretching out in front of her. Most of the gas lamps lining the walls had been extinguished, leaving the shadows long and ghostly. Victoria waited, hardly daring to breathe, listening with every fiber of her being. A delicious shiver ran through her. This was the most fun she’d had since coming to Summerset.

Once she had ascertained that all was quiet, she slipped back inside her room and picked up her typewriter box by the handle. She shifted her weight to the other side, trying to balance. Why did these things have to be so heavy? With her free hand, she settled a large leather pack over her shoulder. It held her shorthand book, her old course work from Miss Fister, several copies of
Botanist Quarterly Review,
paper, and extra candles. She wished she had something warmer to wear than her nightgown and dressing gown, but she hadn’t wanted Prudence to get suspicious when she came to help her get ready for bed. She would start a fire when she got there.

Victoria tiptoed down the hallway, past all the family state-rooms. If she could get past them without detection, she was free unless she ran into a night watchman. She wasn’t even sure whether her uncle had them, but it stood to reason.

It had taken her a week of poking about Summerset’s southern
wing before she found the room she was looking for. The south wing of the home had been unused for several generations. Summerset had over one hundred rooms, but only thirty or so were in regular use. Another twenty were kept clean for large house parties, and the rest were barely maintained and only inspected on occasion for dry rot, leaks, or broken windows. Not even the servants went back there to clean, which made it perfect for her needs. When they were children, they had played hide-and-seek in the dusty rooms until Colin had fallen on a loose step and broke his arm, but Victoria still knew her way around.

She silently opened the servants’ stairwell and paused. The faint sounds of voices, punctuated by quiet laughter, reached her from the bottom. Did they ever sleep? Her heart gave a pang and she wondered whether Prudence was down there, laughing with that young Susie she was always talking about. Maybe Susie had replaced her in Prudence’s heart, she thought jealously.

Instead of going down, Victoria went up a flight and then exited at the next landing on the other side. This was the floor the young men were relegated to. Far from the girls on the other side. The lights were few in this hallway, but where she was going there were no lights at all. She’d brought a box of matches, but the fear of being alone in the dark on that side of the house coiled in her stomach. She now wished she’d never listened to Colin’s ghost stories when she was in pigtails and pinafores. It didn’t help that she was now walking through the hallway known as the statue gallery. Every few feet on either side of her, a niche, curving into the wall, held some new and terrifying statue. Even gentle St. Francis of Assisi glowed ghostly and pale in the moonlight.

At the end of the hall she took a right turn, leaving the spectral statuary behind. She came to a pair of ornately carved mahogany doors that curved sixteen feet toward the ceiling. They
were so heavy she had to put down her things just to open them. Setting her candle in a niche in the wall that had been made for that very purpose, she unloaded the rest of her things. Then she would have to pack everything through to the other side and do the same. Or she could just leave the door open. When she’d first come back here, she’d been half afraid that it would be locked, sealing off the treasures in that part of the house. Fortunately, the owners had always been too arrogant to think that anyone would steal from them.

A blast of dank, freezing air rushed out at her as she pulled the doors slowly open. A loud creaking noise shattered the silence and her head jerked back stiffly. Beads of cold sweat formed on her upper lip as she waited for Colin, Sebastian, or that rather rude, handsome young man, Kit, to come out and demand to know what she was doing.

When that didn’t happen she eased the door open inch by inch, her pulse spiking at every creak of the door. She would leave it open for her return trip, she decided. Her nerves couldn’t take trying to open and close it again.

She gathered up her things and stepped into a part of the house that hadn’t been heated in generations. It was the oldest part of the estate and she remembered that even as a child, it’d had a chill that the sun never warmed. The scent of the centuries pervaded the wing in the form of mold, damp, and dust.

It seemed as if the walk took forever, but she finally reached the room she’d decided on. Over the past week, she had brought in everything she had thought she’d need, from newspaper and wood for the fire to clean blankets and office supplies such as ink and pencils and blotters. It was easier to move around the house without arousing suspicion during the day, though the armload of wood had been nerve-racking.

She lit the lantern she had brought and the light relieved her with its glow—as long as she didn’t focus on the ghostly shadows it cast along the walls.

The room had no doubt been the study of some austere kinsman from long past. It had been done in blues, long faded, with stern portraits of antecedents. She wondered which one had worked in the study and if he would disapprove of her presence. For surely it was a man who used the large, round desk in the center of the room and the inlaid filing cabinets on either side of the stone fireplace. The cold of the marble flooring seeped through her slippers and she hurriedly set her things on the desk and lit the fire she had already laid out, praying that the flume still worked.

She’d cleaned the room a little yesterday, hoping the scent of beeswax would overcome the scent of dust and damp that hung over the room, but her efforts hadn’t even made a dent in it. On second thought, she rather liked it. She wondered what Nanny Iris would think of her room. She would probably say there weren’t enough books, but she would like the knickknacks from all over the world.

The fire brought more light into the room, killing the last of the gloom and crackling cheerfully. After lighting a few more candles and placing them about the room, she looked about satisfied with her handiwork. Happier than she’d been in weeks, she took out her typewriter and set out her things on the desk. Now she had another secret—a secret place. Her own place where she could work and study in peace away from Prudence’s and Rowena’s prying eyes. Tonight, she wanted to organize her things and study her quarterlies. Perhaps if she worked really hard she could pass the entrance exams and go to college. Or something.

Suddenly there was a loud creak from the hallway and Victoria
froze. Seconds spun on forever as she strained to hear over the sound of her own racing heart. It was the fire. Or a timber settling. The house was over three hundred years old. All houses make noises.

She glanced at the doorknob but couldn’t see a lock on it. It was fine. This was her home. Well, her family home anyway. Ghostly ancestors wouldn’t hurt her, she was blood.

Don’t think about blood
.

Her breath started coming faster and she closed her eyes. If she didn’t calm down, she would have an episode and die here. How long would it take for them to find her body? No. Instead of concentrating on who or what was outside the door, she would concentrate on breathing. One, two, three. Tiny breath. One, two, three. Tiny breaths.

“Victoria?”

The scream ripped out of her chest shattered the still air. She opened her eyes to find Kit staring at her, horror written all over his face.

“Good God, woman. Do you want them to find you? Do you know what kind of scandal that would cause?”

She shut her mouth and sunk into the chair behind the desk. Closing her eyes, she began her careful breathing again.

“Victoria?” His voice came closer and had a worried edge to it. “Are you quite all right?”

She shook her head and kept breathing until she felt her body calming, her lungs opening. Then her eyes popped open and she stared at him accusingly.

“You followed me!”

He stared back at her, his eyes wide. Then he smiled. “I thought you might be sneaking off to do something fun.” He looked around the room. “What are you doing, anyway?”

She tilted her nose. No matter what she said, he was going to tease. He was just that sort and she was not going to let him poke fun at her secret. “I’m looking for the rabbit hole.”

He blinked. “And have you found it?” he asked, his voice amused.

“Not yet. But I remain ever hopeful.”

“And what would you do if you found it?”

“Fill it up, of course. Wonderland seems a nasty sort of place.”

He laughed at that and began wandering around the room, looking at this and that. He didn’t mention the typewriter or her office supplies and she liked him the better for it.

“What are you doing here, really?” he asked.

Something wistful in his voice stopped her from saying she was building a time machine. “Haven’t you ever wanted a place where you could truly escape from everything? Where you could just read and think and be silent?”

He didn’t answer for the longest time. Instead, he busied himself putting another log on the fire and poking at it with the poker.

“Most people don’t want to be alone with their thoughts,” he finally said.

“Maybe they have boring thoughts.”

He stared at the flames and Victoria arose from the desk to join him. The heat felt good. She supposed she should probably feel uncomfortable standing in her nightclothes, chaperoned, talking to a young man who was practically a stranger, but she didn’t. She would be ruined if anyone discovered them here this way, but she didn’t care about that either.

“Don’t you think everyone thinks their thoughts are interesting?” he said, his brow furrowing. “That was confusing.”

“I understood.”

“And, to continue along those lines, I really don’t care if people’s thoughts are boring, except when people with boring thoughts are compelled to share those thoughts with others, namely me.”

Victoria looked at him. His voice had taken on a world-weary tone that she disliked, as though he’d searched the world over for something of interest and had been sorely disappointed. “So what do you care about, Mr. Kit?”

“I suppose this is where I should say my mother, or Britain or the poor, shouldn’t I? Or whatever else is in fashion. But my mother is a fright, patriotism is deadly dull, and I can’t do anything about the poor.”

She frowned. “Don’t say anything that isn’t true. There’s no one here to impress.”

“Are you saying I couldn’t impress you if I tried?” He glanced over at her, a smile playing about his lips.

She stared back at him. “You don’t know me well enough to know what would impress me. I think you’re smart enough not to bother.”

He laughed at that. “Well, I know what would impress most debs, but you aren’t like most debs. Most debs wouldn’t be in an abandoned part of an old castle teaching themselves to type.”

She said nothing.

“So back to your original question. What do I care about? I suppose I care about my friends. I care about being amused. I care about finishing my exams well enough so I don’t disgrace my mother and because once I do, I shall get a sizable annual trust and will be able to travel at will. What do you care about, Miss Victoria? Most young ladies only care about dresses, balls, and making good marriages.”

She picked up the extra blanket and wrapped it about her
shoulders. Then she sank down to the worn, dusty rug in front of the fireplace. “Oh, I like dresses well enough, but balls are boring and I’m never getting married.”

He laughed in disbelief and sat down next to her.

“Oh, you don’t believe me, do you? Well, no matter. I know what’s what, and there is no marriage in my future. I discovered early on that the most interesting women who lead the most interesting lives either don’t marry at all, or marry quite late in their lives. I’m going to travel and read and have all sorts of adventures.” She thought of Nanny Iris as she said this. That was exactly what she wanted to do. She wondered what Nanny Iris would think of a man like Kit.

“And what does typing have to do with that?”

“A girl should be able to make a living, don’t you think? What if I get robbed by marauders in Istanbul? I could work in an office until I make enough money to go on to Cairo.” She didn’t tell him that she wanted to work as a botanist. That secret was just too close to her heart to share freely.

His eyes widened. “You do have it all figured out, don’t you?”

He sounded amused and she shifted. “You don’t believe me, do you?” she asked again.

“I believe you believe that. You maybe even mean it. I just know how insistent family can be, and your aunt and uncle are going to marry you off posthaste. Not before Elaine or your sister, so you may have a few years of freedom yet. Poor Sebastian.”

“Poor Sebastian? What do you mean?”

“Your aunt has already chosen him for Elaine and his mother concurs that they would make a lovely match. Elaine and Sebastian are jolly friends and have been for years, but neither of them are the least bit interested in the other in that way. But I predict it will only be a matter of months before their engagement is
announced. The combined wills of Lady Summerset and Lady Billingsly is a force unto its own.”

She snorted. “Poor Lainey. But my aunt and uncle can’t make me do anything I don’t want to do,” she said, though she was less convinced than she sounded. Wasn’t Prudence in the servants’ hall against her will?

“I don’t think you even believe that.” His voice was kind and she gave him a sideways glance.

“Well, not about marriage anyway. Arranged marriages are against the law, and I am very well aware of my rights. My father made sure of that.”

“Don’t tell me you’re a suffragist?” he said in mock horror. “God save me from a well-meaning suffragist.”

“Of course I’m a suffragist,” she snapped. “All thinking women are.”

He laughed, but it no longer sounded kind. “I find them as boring as the simpering deb. They may pretend to want suffrage, but if a well-born man asked for their hand in marriage, they would give up their political views in a heartbeat.”