Summerton by Becca St. John

Author:Becca St. John [St. John, Becca]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Winterbourne Farm Publishing
Published: 2015-12-24T06:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 14 ~ Prisoners of All Sorts

The place was immense, full of twists and turns, impossibly wide hallways, and sweeping stairways leading to elegant galleries. There were narrow stairs and warrens of working spaces for the servants, below stairs. The house would require a massive number of servants, if it were working at its best, which it was not. Not now, not yet.

And there were troubles. The housekeeper gave her an evil eye when they passed through, on their way into the bowels of the hall. They’d had a verbal tussle the day before, when Caroline told her she wanted to tour the servants sleeping quarters in the morning. The woman was in luck. Caroline’s day had been realigned.

Just as well. She shouldn’t get involved. She’d been a fool to imagine herself a partner to Summerton. Weak to fall in love with him, as she was doing. Did he really imagine she could help him restore this massive place? One of many homes belonging to the Duke of Summerton. What ever made him think her qualified to be the mistress of such an undertaking? Ancient halls, priceless art, and history. The history of it all! No wonder the aristocracy were so protective of their lot.

Her heart beat with nerves. She knew nothing about great homes. It would take an artist to see to the renovations and the tasks. Good grief, she’d not know how to scrutinize Mrs. Beechum’s order of things. She was not up to the role, thank you very much. She was not born to it, and it was too late to start training now.

Traversing the original keep to the deep belly of the place, through hallways paneled in dark wood and smelling of linseed, they’d seen everything from stark castle stone to rooms dressed in silk and overseen by cherubs dancing along the cornices.

Fascination drew her in, moth to flame.

And like a moth to flame, it would burn her up to nothing. An overwhelming and hungry beast, it would require more than money to bring back. It needed expert care.

Expansive and varied as her father’s enterprises were, she understood their structure, their needs. She’d been raised within the belly of business…which was a far cry from the hodgepodge of bygone ages lovingly crafted and furnished with treasures acquired over the centuries.

What did she know of such things?

Murder, she must think of murder. They were headed into the cellars, to speak with the newspaper lads.

Ah, yes, she could hear the prisoners. They could not be far now in this dank, cold place. Once below ground, they’d gone from the bustling activity of the kitchens, the servants’ dining area, and further, into storage areas, and now the cellars.

She listened to the chatter as they made their approach.

“Would you stop bouncing on your toes! I’m about dicked in the nob with all your wiggling and talking. We need to think!” one complained, his a voice so young it hadn’t cracked yet.

Surely a frightened child wouldn’t be up to murdering, twice?

“Your grace!” A footman ran to catch-up to them from behind.

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