02 Puritan Bride by Anne O'Brien

Author:Anne O'Brien
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: England/Great Britain, Royalty, 17th Century, Romance & Love Stories, Fiction - Historical
ISBN: 9781408951095
Publisher: MIRA
Published: 2014-11-26T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

Ensconced once more at Widemarsh Manor, Kate expected a detailed and cynical catechism from Aunt Gilliver but received none, other than the caustic comment, ‘So, you are back at last. And worn out, no doubt, by wickedness and dissipation.’

London, so it seemed, was not to be a topic of conversation. Kate was intrigued but not sorry. She returned the diamond brooch (unworn) and produced a packet of the much-admired knitted silk stockings. The glittering gems were repinned to the dusty bodice and the stockings were received without comment. Kate would never know if Aunt Gilliver wore them.

Widemarsh Manor soon absorbed Kate back into its strange routines of herbal concoctions, dust and dark corners, with Mason ever vigilant.

And the tragic story of Isolde continued to worry and fascinate her.

On a fine morning which promised at least a few hours free from late April showers, Kate took the opportunity to don an old riding habit that she found stored in a clothes press and an all-enveloping cloak, equally ancient but suitable if caught in a downpour.

‘I know what you are planning,’ stated Aunt Gilliver as their paths crossed in the hall. ‘Isolde’s grave. Am I correct?’ Her eyes gleamed with shrewd interest. ‘I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist.’

Kate laughed. ‘You are quite correct, my percipient aunt. Am I so transparent? And perhaps you would consider coming with me for a little fresh air?’

Aunt Gilliver shook her head. ‘My riding days are long gone. It is my intention to send Mason into the herb garden to see if the rain and wind has left us anything we can salvage and use. It will keep us busy. But the exercise will do you good. Go on, before the sun disappears. The secret places of the Priory will not go away. You can afford a day off from your investigations.’

Kate made her escape. It was true. Her knowledge of the Priory had widened considerably, but she had still found no secret caches, no priest holes, no hollow panels—nothing that contained anything like a will. Marlbrooke had left her to it, apart from an occasional amused enquiry as to her progress or a comment on the cobwebs that she was apt to collect in her hair, but it was all very disappointing. A collection of old recipes on yellowed pages in the still-room was the best she could achieve and Mistress Neale had refused to consider any of them, claiming them unfit for the establishment of a gentleman. But the sun encouraged her to cast off her low spirits and anticipate an exploration of the estate parkland.

She had sent word to her aunt’s stable of her impending ride so that the elderly retainer who doubled as head groom and coachman was awaiting her when she arrived.

‘Morning, mistress.’ He touched his cap and gave a nod to a lurking stable lad who promptly scurried into one of the stable boxes.

‘Good morning, West. Will it rain?’

‘Sure to. Here we are.’

‘But that is not my horse!’

‘Aye, it is that, mistress.

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