Page 38 of Impetuous

With a sigh, she threw off her covers and rolled out of bed, going to the door to admit the maid. Bleary-eyed, she let the girl help her into a dress and gratefully downed the toast and coffee that the maid had brought with her. Then she went downstairs to direct the servants in their cleaning-up operations, joining in now and then to help.

Cassandra was both surprised and relieved when the house was back in order again well before eleven. She would have an extra couple of hours to work in the attic, and it would be very easy to slip away now, before her party-weary aunt had even ventured out of her room. So she wheedled a picnic lunch out of cook and set off two hours early for the walk to Chesilworth, leaving behind her envious sister and brothers, who had to remain for their weekly religious lesson with the curate.

The day was beautiful, and Cassandra hummed as she walked along, her lack of sleep forgotten in the enjoyment of the day. With each new day of searching, there was always the possibility that this would be the day on which she found the letters. She pushed aside the thought that the prospect of seeing Sir Philip added to her anticipation of the day ahead.

She stopped when she drew in sight of her home and stood for a moment looking at it. It loomed dark against the horizon, its windows unlit, and for the first time in her life, Cassandra felt a chill run down her spine at the sight of it. She could not keep from remembering that someone had broken into the house two nights ago and had tried again last night. Who was to say that he had not come back after they left and succeeded in getting inside? What if there were someone up in the attic right now, looking for the letters?

For a moment she wished that she had waited for the time when she had agreed to meet Sir Philip, or that she had made up some sort of excuse to get her siblings out of their religious lessons so they could come with her.

She shook her head, willing such thoughts away, and reminding herself that this was her beloved Chesilworth, not some frightening and remote castle from a novel. She knew every inch of it. And even if the intruder had returned the night before, which seemed extremely unlikely, he would hardly have continued to hang about until noon the next day, knowing that someone was likely to come back.

Cassandra refused to be weak and timid. Squaring her shoulders, she settled the small basket comfortably on her arm and marched into the house. There on the kitchen table sat the oil lamps that they used while they were in Chesilworth, and she quickly lit one and started upstairs.

The empty house seemed even quieter than usual today, and she had to force herself not to glance down the dim, dark recesses of the corridors as she passed them on her way up the stairs. On the upper floor, however, she had to walk along the corridor to the back of the house to reach the narrow attic stairs. Her spine prickled as she marched along, and it was all she could do not to whirl around and look behind her.

Cassandra knew that she was letting herself be frightened by nothing, that it was her own mind creating the ominous atmosphere around her, yet she could not seem to stop it. For a moment she even thought about going back downstairs and waiting under one of the trees until Sir Philip showed up, but she quickly dismissed that idea as far too cowardly. Once she was up in the attic working, she told herself, she would forget all this nonsense, and it would be absurd to waste a couple of hours waiting for Sir Philip.

She climbed the stairs to the attic briskly, pushed up the hinged door and climbed inside. She held the lamp up and looked around the attic. The light from her lamp and the small attic windows left the huge room in shadow, but she could see nothing out of place. She started forward, then glanced back at the open attic door. After a moment’s hesitation, she closed the door before she settled down to work where they had left off searching the afternoon before.

As she had predicted, she grew absorbed in her work and forgot the ghostly shadows and dark corners that lurked around her. Sometime later, however, a noise impinged on her consciousness. She raised her head, not quite sure what had gotten her attention. After a moment she heard another faint sound. She rose to her feet and started forward, not even realizing that she was tiptoeing to make no noise. Halfway across the attic, she heard more sounds, but these were clearly identifiable as footsteps along the hall below. Someone was passing right beneath her feet. She froze, her chest tight and her stomach icy.

The steps started up the attic stairs.

Cassandra whirled and ran silently to the side of the attic. She did not want to be trapped at the far end. She ducked behind an abandoned lacquered screen from some former occupant’s chinoiserie period and wedged herself between an overstuffed chair and a tall, slender curio cabinet. Her stomach tightened as the steps came inexorably upward. The trapdoor in the floor opened upward. Cassandra leaned forward, her nails curling painfully into her palms.

The door landed flat on the floor, and a man stepped up into the room.

CHAPTER NINE

IT WAS SIR Philip.

Cassandra sagged in relief. But before she could call out his name or even move from her hiding place, another realization struck her. Sir Philip had said he would meet her at one o’clock, as they had every day. What was he doing here nearly two hours early?

Suspicion, painful as a knife, pierced her. What if he had come here early to look for the letters on his own?

Cassandra did not consider why such treachery on Sir Philip’s part should hurt so much. She only watched, numbly, her heart hammering inside her chest, as Sir Philip glanced around the attic.

“Miss Verrere?” he called, raising his lamp and turning around. “Cassandra, are you here?”

She waited, struggling to make not a sound, as he strode toward the back of the attic, calling her name.

“Damnation!” He returned to the center of the attic. “Where is the girl? Cassandra!”

There was a long moment of silence so profound that Cassandra was afraid he would hear her breathing. At last Sir Philip muttered an oath and started back down the stairs.

He was leaving without looking for the letters! Cassandra’s chest, so tight the moment before, was suddenly filled to bursting, and she catapulted out of her hiding space, sending a child’s snow sled tumbling over on its side.

Neville whirled around, his shoulders still above the floor of the attic. “Cassandra!” Exasperation tinged his voice, stilling whatever remaining doubts Cassandra had. “What the devil are you doing? Why didn’t you answer me? Are you hiding back there?”

He came back up the stairs as he spoke, and Cassandra moved toward him. She felt foolish now, both for working herself up into a state of fright to begin with and then for suspecting Sir Philip of double-dealing.

“Yes,” she admitted shamefacedly. “I was all alone, and I heard someone coming and I…was a little frightened.”

“Well you should be,” he retorted unsympathetically, but he took her hand in his and squeezed it in a way that made her feel better. “I don’t know what you are thinking, coming to this empty house all by yourself—and after we nearly caught an intruder here last night. I could not believe it when your aunt’s butler said you had come over here.”

“You went to Aunt Ardis’s house this morning?”

“Yes. I had to make a courtesy call to your aunt for the party last night, and I hoped that if I arrived this morning, the Moultons might still be abed,” he replied honestly. “I had thought I might have an opportunity to sit and talk with you someplace other than a hot and dusty attic.” He cast a wry glance about at their surroundings.