Chapter Fourteen
Dig day 798: no progress whatsoever, thanks to three interminable days of torrential rain. But the sun is out now. Which is just as well...
Effie was no stranger to remorse.
When one frequently spoke or acted without thinking, which she did as a matter of course most days, remorse reliably often followed. However, this dose was niggling worse than usual because it hadn’t come about because her mind had raced ahead before her mouth caught up, it had come about by telling a lie.
A big, fat and dishonest lie which she wasn’t entirely sure what to do about.
The rain had had a bearing because she hadn’t been able to dig for days, which in turn meant she was all alone at home with her noisy brain going slowly mad. And with idle hands, the Devil had apparently made use of hers.
Although in her defence, not that she could really defend the indefensible, she had not set out to lie. With nothing better to do, she had resorted to busying herself by properly organising and expanding her notes on the dig site, which had rapidly turned into another research paper to send to the Society of Antiquaries. She then followed it by writing a heartfelt letter, passionately explaining the significance of her find and pleading with them to at least read the paper. Then, in a moment of uncharacteristic dishonesty borne out of sheer frustration at their continued and stubborn blatant ignorance, she had taken Eleanor’s advice andnotsigned it Miss Euphemia Nithercott.
Instead, she’d used a pseudonym.
One she was certain they couldn’t ignore.
Maximillian Aldersley—the Tenth Earl of Rivenhall.
Then, before she thought better of it, she had dashed out in the downpour and managed to get it to the post office just in time to make it on to the mail coach. The first pangs of remorse had twanged as she had watched it be spirited away. Two days on and they were still twanging because she had no idea how to break the news to Max. Or if she actually should. There was every chance they would recognise the handwriting, or the location of the dig site, and realise exactly who had really sent the letter and send it back unopened like they always did.
But what if...? She already knew Max wouldn’t take it well.
As if her thoughts had conjured him, two large booted feet appeared at the top of the trench she was crouched in.
‘I am in hell, Effie. Utter hell and I blame you for it entirely. It is a sorry state of affairs when a man looks forward to suffering hours of your incessant talking in a muddy trench doing backbreaking, menial work, simply to get some peace.’
‘Your niece and nephew have settled in, then?’
‘Indeed they have. Alongside their nanny, their father, his mother and one blasted puppy who hasn’t stopped yapping since it arrived. Of all the puppies in the world, what possessed my brother-in-law to get them that one? It is a menace.’ It all sounded idyllic to her.
‘Perhaps it’s nervous. A change of scenery can do that to an animal. Or so I have read. What do your family think of Rivenhall?’
‘The brats seem to love it. Which is a concern as already I am terrified they will never leave now that Eleanor has lured them here upon your flawed instruction.’
‘You did not have to take my advice.’
‘Yes, I did, or I’d never have heard the end of it! So I justifiably blame you entirely for the death of my peace and, thanks to the rain conspiring with youandEleanor against me, what is left of my blasted sanity.’
‘It wasn’t meant to be for your sanity. It was entirely for Eleanor’s.’
‘The trouble with my sister is when you give her an inch, she takes a mile. Just like you, as a matter of fact. Give me a crew of men to manage any day over a couple of meddlesome and manipulative women.’ He huffed out a sigh, looking thoroughly put upon, gorgeously windswept and distractingly all manly. So much so, she was constantly having to remind herself she was a committed cynic regarding men and a pleasingly broad pair of shoulders, strong back and sinfully pert bottom did not alter the fact that Max was as male as the next man and, by default, inherently doomed to disappoint her in the long run. Even if he was her friend and she was unwisely fond of him. ‘Did I tell you she spent the week preparing the nursery? And trust me, it is a little too prepared for a short visit from the brats.’
‘But not too prepared formanyshort visits. Eleanor said you are their favourite uncle, so it is only natural your niece and nephew would want to spend time with you—and only proper you should have the facilities to welcome them.’
‘I am their only uncle, so it is not as if either of us has a choice in the matter.’
‘Regular visits from them will be good for you. Little people are good for the soul.’ So, apparently, was confession. She had to tell him what she had done even though she knew he was bound to explode in outrage.
‘And little feet, I have discovered, also make a great deal of noise on those old oak floors. So do little paws for that matter. I blame you for both.’ He crouched down, bringing his distracting muscular thighs level with her eyes. ‘Your trench appears to be filled with bilge water. We can’t dig that until it dries out.’
‘I know.’ She tapped the wooden pail sat half-full beside him. ‘I thought it might aid the drying if I removed most of the water but it’s proved futile. As fast as I remove it, it fills up again. Clearly, man can drain the Fens all he wants, but the moment they are fed with a little rain they return to type and flood. I blame the peat beneath the soil. There seem to be more old peat bogs around this dwelling than over by the Abbey... But then I suppose the Abbey needed to be built on solid foundations and a wooden house would not.’
Stop procrastinating and tell him. Fall on your sword. Beg for mercy.
‘Are they all as bad?’
‘Fortunately, thanks to your covers on the other side of the dwelling, those trenches seem to have avoided the worst.’ Max had predicted the storm several hours before it had happened and then appropriated every piece of oilskin, canvas and wood at Rivenhall to cover the most important trenches which had yielded the most finds thus far.
