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“We need to check the debris.”
“What for?” he shouted. She recoiled. More calmly, he said, “There won’t be anything to salvage after a decade of exposure to the elements.”
“You tell me!” Evaine was not backing down. “A—a will, perhaps? Or a chest of money? Was your father the hoarding type?”
A muscle in his jaw ticked. “Keeping a pile of gold hidden away wouldn’t have been out of keeping with his character. Or bonds, or stock certificates. He would have put that somewhere nobody would have found it. But he didn’t occupy that part of the house. That was why I had Marina moved into that section before I returned to London. It was a bit closed off and separate from the main house. I genuinely believed she would be safe enough there for a couple of weeks.” Gareth spiked his fingers through his dark hair until it stood on end.
“I…I’m sorry,” she said after a minute. “I know that being here isn’t easy for you. I shouldn’t pester and pry.”
“You’ve done nothing but pester and pry since the moment we met.”
He was not wrong.
“I know. I get an idea into my head and I can’t let it go.” She was convinced there was a chest of money hidden somewhere. Gareth had basically confirmed it was possible.
“Such as trying to change centuries-old laws that unfairly disinherit women?” he said wryly.
“Precisely.”
“I promise that if we get through this monumental task of tearing apart my ancestral home, I will make sure you walk away with enough money to take care of your grandmother and re-enroll at Girton.”
She believed his promise, and was touched by it. “That’s all I want.”
He scoffed. “Liar. You also want to solve the mystery of what is going on around here. You want to know if ghosts are real, and you want to know if I’m as bad as I’m made out to be.”
“I had not actually heard anything about you until we arrived. When we disembarked from the train in Leeds I got strange looks when I tried to hire a cab to bring us out here. The farmer who drove us to the end of your driveway wasn’t given to conversation. We walked from there.”
“You haven’t spent enough time in the village.” He grimaced. “Undoubtedly, you’ll get an earful tomorrow. If we go to Alpeth.”
“In the meantime, we should get back to work.” Evaine studied the clock. What was the significance? “Do you think your father would have hidden valuables behind his favorite timekeeping piece? Or inside it?” She peered behind it but there was nothing hidden between the back of the clock and the plaster wall.
“Underneath it?” Gareth braced one hand on the clock and tried to shove it. Evaine took the two opposite corners, and together, they managed to wiggle it few inches toward the center of the room. Both of them were left panting from the effort.
How the devil had something so sturdy fallen over?
“Nothing. Here. Let’s pull back the carpet and look under the floorboards.” That ended up being a dead end, too. Parquet had been installed with the carpet laid over it. There were no loose boards to pry up. Evaine sat back on her haunches, thinking.
“Which cardinal direction is this?” Evaine said at the same moment the duke spoke. “What if this clock isn’t the one we’re supposed to be searching?”
She placed her hands together and aligned them the way the clock had pointed when it fell over. Straight at the desk. “Hm.”
“I already searched it, remember?” said the duke.
“But all you found were that ledger page documenting the sales of investments that were supposed to be Marina’s inheritance. What if there’s more?”
“Such as?”
“A secret drawer or hidden compartment, perhaps?” Evaine crouched to run her fingertips over the smooth wood. She found nothing. Nor did Gareth, when he conceded to help her.
“None of this adds up. Even setting aside the fact that the blasted timepiece is good as new.” He blew out a breath of frustration. “When it fell, the clock pointed north, by the way.”
“See?” Evaine exclaimed.
“No, I do not see.”
“One of our ghosts wants us to search the north wing.”
“I told you, it’s rubble. After ten years of being left to rot, there can’t be anything left to find.” He spiked his fingers through his hair until it stood on end. Evaine, smiling, reached over to smooth it down again. He didn’t use copious amounts of macassar oil, which she liked. There was nothing worse than a man with greasy hair that smelled like marzipan.
