Mr. Perry’s grin faded. “I can’t wait much longer, whether we dig for mosaics or plant the field. The growing season is slipping away, and I can’t afford to miss it. But I won’t give up my land without a fight. I’ll not stand for what’s rightfully mine to be stolen.”
A similar anger flared within me. I wouldn’t let the viscount outmaneuver us. The memory of him lounging on that sofa, listening to my plans for the valley, stung more than I cared to admit. I gnawed the inside of my cheek, chastened by how easily I’d shared our plans with the viscount.
“I confess I am surprised to hear of such an offer. When I visited Lord Hawthorn earlier, he did not mention it.”
Abigail sighed as she reached for the steaming teapot. “Men are such troublesome creatures.” Her tone held an edge as she poured me a cup of tea. As I took the cup, she hesitated, glancing at me with a mix of curiosity and concern. “I heard you took herbs to the viscount yesterday?”
I froze, surprised. “How did you hear about that?”
“Lucy mentioned it when she stopped by earlier this morning to see if I had anything to help her poor hens start laying again. I didn’t realize you’d gone back to the abbey so soon.”
I nodded, trying to hide my unease. “Yes. It was an errand of mercy, just as Father and I would offer any sick parishioner. But it didn’t change his mind.” Had my actions the appearance of something more like a tendre?
“I say we dig, and dig tomorrow,” Abigail replied evenly. “We shouldn’t hold back and wait for the magistrate’s decision.”
“It would be best to wait for the law to be on your father’s side,” I advised.
She huffed. “Remember your loyalties, Bridget. As your closest friend, I must advise you that we’ve come too far now to stop. Never forget who the Hawthorns truly are. Such men do not change.”
Father would disagree with that sentiment, but my brother’s disappearance had left a void that I couldn’t ignore, and every delay in the excavation felt like another step away from finding him—or at least understanding what happened to him.
I reached for a biscuit, but the taste barely registered. Daniel believed Bramnor’s secrets held the key to something greater if I had but the courage to look, and I needed to prove him right.
Lord Hawthorn had once teased me about the war between us ending. Perhaps he had spoken too soon.
17:Rafe
Time discovers the truth.
SENECA
Two and a half weeks had passed since my fever, and each day my strength returned with Miss Littleton’s remedy. The vicar’s visits were comforting, but I missed her razor wit. The abbey felt strangely dull without her, and I often watched her and Miss Perry digging next door—a quiet race unfolding between us.
Her determination mirrored my own. I didn’t mind her father’s report of their progress: a four-by-ten-foot section of mosaic—Venus and her cupids, the goddess of love, he said with a twinkle in his eyes.
But my attention needed to return to the estate. The road skirting the orchard had become my focus. Progress was slow, but necessary to secure Mr. Talbot’s approval. His suggestion to anglethe service road through the mosaic field nagged at me, though ownership remained disputed.
How I needed more coin! I had written to my barrister, requesting the discreet sale of the abbey’s finest pieces. His delayed response was another frustration. Later that morning, after checking on the men’s progress, I returned to the study, seeking any records or receipts that might prove my uncle had tried to redeem the estate. Mr. Talbot’s accusation of missing taxes loomed over me like a shadow. Reluctantly, I opened my uncle’s diary again, hoping to find something of value to prove the Crown representative might be wrong.
Flipping through the familiar pages, I stopped short—a page had been ripped out. A chill ran through me. My heart raced as I turned to the next entry:
I never want to see his miserable face again. I will never forgive him. I wish he was dead.
Had my uncle killed my father? The rumors had haunted me for years, but seeing his words in ink... I couldn’t bring myself to read further. The past seemed determined to haunt me.
Before I could close the book, shouts echoed from outside. I stood quickly, my leg protesting the sudden movement, but I ignored it and hurried outside. The men had gathered near the road where the orchard began, their brows furrowed.
“My lord,” Mr. Whittle began, “we’ve struck something near the old orchard. It appears Mr. Perry isn’t the only one blessed with ancient ruins. I say it isn’t right to dig up those demons. Best leave them in the soil and cover it all up for decency’s sake.”
Dismay filled me as I followed my groundskeeper outside to the orchard. All the men, seven including Mr. Spencer and the Dixon boys, gathered around me, their eyes wide with terror. Aswe approached the far end of the orchard skirting my property, where the old lane leading from the abbey now took a turn to the right, a mound of dirt waited.
“What did you find?” I asked Mr. Spencer.
My steward pointed to a mound of dirt near several apple saplings waiting to be planted. “We saw men hacking at each other with swords, blood everywhere. These ancients fought like brutes. But there’s more—you’d better come see for yourself.”
“Land’s cursed,” one of the Dixon boys whispered to his younger brother. “Mr. Cobb says ghosts haunt Hawthorn Abbey, howling their outrage, and this proves it. Miss Whittle says she’s heard things in the abbey going bump at night too.”
The only one howling happened to be me, a curse of war and nightmares, but I had no intention of sharing that tidbit. No doubt most of them had heard about it already.
