Gatehaven Page 10

  The earl’s mother and grandmother didn’t approve of the match and didn’t want her near them—or the earl. Edward would need to explain that they were betrothed—and soon—or this problem would only get worse.

  Shannon hurried through the dressing room and into what was to be her room.

  The room was spacious but rather dark, and she only saw one large window. Still, it was a huge improvement over the tiny room in the maid quarters.

  A bed as large as or larger than the one in Miss Foster’s room centered the east wall. Shannon’s eyes were instantly drawn to the bed’s ornately carved headboard. She stepped across the pine floor for a closer look.

  Two dragons were carved into the headboard. Like the carvings at the base of the pillar in Rosslyn, vines grew out of the dragons’ mouths, forming a sort of frame for the entire headboard.

  “According to the Bible,” her father had said, “the dragon and the serpent are symbols for Satan—the devil.”

  A shiver ran down Shannon’s spine.

  The dragons faced each other—one on the right side of the bed and one on the left—and a small cross was carved between the towering dragons. Was it put there by mistake? Or was a subtle rebuke of Christians and Christianity posted deliberately? Shannon’s father would say it was the latter.

  Certainly, the contrast was staggering. Many if not most people would simply call it an inspiring work of art and scold her for reading a deeper, more sinister meaning into it. But Shannon wasn’t reared as many or most people were. She was the daughter of Javier and Rachel Aimee— Huguenots who fled France for religious reasons.

  Shannon disliked the carvings. They caused the same sick feeling she’d experienced in the chapel at Rosslyn, and she didn’t want to have to look at the dragons or have them hanging over her bed while she slept.

  The entire headboard sent chills racing through her. She would cover the headboard with a cloth before climbing into bed that night, and she would keep the headboard covered as long as she stayed in that room.

  Ian expected to share a meal with his host before turning in for the night. The air was damp and a bit chilly. The Frenchman sat in a chair near a rock fireplace in the sitting room.

  “I will sit here and rest while my housekeeper shows you to your room on the second floor. But I am afraid you will be dining alone. Some time ago, I accepted an invitation to dine with the earl and his family tonight, and I will return quite late.”

  Ian stood in the doorway, wondering how to respond.

  “Mrs. Woodhouse is my cook and housekeeper; I call her Cook. She will serve your supper in the small dining room. And feel free to explore my library if you have a desire to read. I was born in France, and I am especially proud of my books on the history of that country. I think you will find them quite interesting.”

  “I am sure I will,” Ian finally said, “and thank you for your kind hospitality.”

  “I am happy for your company, Mr. Colquhoun. In fact, it is my hope that you will stay here even after the vicar returns.”

  Ian nodded and followed a butler out of the room. He had no intentions of staying in Monsieur Gabeau’s home any longer than absolutely necessary. But it wouldn’t be polite to express that view. Besides, he was tired from his long journey and planned to request that he be served his evening meal early.

  After a meal of mutton stew and vegetables, Ian went into the library. Since France had long been an ally of Scotland but an enemy of England, he’d concluded that he might find the history books in the Frenchman’s collection interesting.

  Floor to ceiling bookshelves filled the library on three sides. A rock fireplace dominated the wall at the far end of the large room. Tables and comfortable-looking chairs were scattered here and there. The housekeeper had equipped the library with extra candles as if she’d expected Ian to visit there that night.

  He ran his fingertips along a line of books at eye level. Most of the titles were written in French, but he saw English titles as well. He pulled out a volume, read the cover and returned it to the shelf. On his third try, Ian pulled out a worn black book with an intriguing title, The Secret Religious Movements of France.

  He flipped to the Table of Contents and noticed a chapter on the Huguenots and another on the Reform Movement. A black bookmark protruded from the center of the book. He opened to that page first.

  The chapter was titled “Jacques DeMolay.” Ian took the book, moved to a chair with a lighted candle beside it, and sat down. He had no idea who DeMolay might be, but since the chapter was marked, he decided to read it.

  Jacques DeMolay was born in France in 1244, he read. At the age of twenty-one, he joined the Order of Knights Templar.

  Ian frowned thoughtfully. Knights Templar. He’d never heard of that order and wanted to know more about it.

  The Roman Catholic Church sanctioned members of the Knights Templar, and the knights participated in the Crusades where they were declared heroic men of valor. In 1298, Jacques DeMolay was given the title of Grand Master of the Knights Templar, and at that time, the knights were one of only two groups who still fought the Saracens. As a result, they gained wealth, and DeMolay also gained power and prestige.

  This was a lot of information for Ian to swallow in one sitting. He would need time to digest it all. Still, he continued reading.

  Phillip the Fair was the King of France in 1305. Some insist that he related wild stories about the heresies the knights performed behind closed doors.

  Heresies? Ian could hardly wait to learn to what heresies the author referred.

  On October 13, a Friday, all members of Knights Templar still living in France were arrested and accused of heresy. They were tortured in hopes that they would admit their heresies. Jacque DeMolay was burned at the stake.

  Burned at the stake? Now that was shocking.

  Ian froze. Someone was coming.

  Ian started to put the book back on the shelf exactly where he’d found it. But why should he? He was invited to explore the library by its owner. He closed the book but continued holding it. He intended to finish reading the article as soon as possible.

  The butler and carriage driver entered the library holding a tray with a bottle of wine perched on it. “Sir.” The Scotsman’s smile looked forced. “Monsieur Gabeau thought you might like a glass of port before turning in for the night.”

  “I appreciate his thoughtfulness,” Ian said, “but I think not. I plan to go right up to bed.”

  After the plump butler nodded and left the room, Ian breathed a sign of relief. The Scottish servant hadn’t realized that he and Ian were ancient enemies. But McGregor would soon know that Ian was a Colquhoun. Ian put the book under his arm and followed McGregor out. He was interested in reading about the heresies of which the Knights Templar were accused.

  In his room above stairs, he sat down on a cushioned armchair that looked almost exactly like the one in the library. He opened his book to page 78 and began reading. The article told more about the life of Jacques DeMolay before his execution.

  I have no interest in reading about the man’s life, he thought. I want to read about the heresies.

  Ian turned to the next page.

  Startled, Ian froze. He couldn’t believe his own eyes. The next twenty pages had been torn from the book.

  Who would do this? And why?

  Someone didn’t want him or anyone to read those twenty pages. Now he was even more curious about the heresies of Jacques DeMolay.

  Leon arrived for dinner at Gatehaven that evening and was escorted into the library to wait for the earl. He came earlier than expected because he wanted to meet Miss Aimee, and he was in no mood for another of the earl’s lame excuses.

  Leon sat in the earl’s chair by the fireplace. He was tapping his cane on the floor when the young earl finally entered the room.

  “Sorry for the delay,” the earl said with a trace of nervousness.

  “I am sorry, too,” Leon replied hotly. “You know how I hate to be k
ept waiting.”

  “It could not be helped.”

  “Why?” Leon asked.

  “I have been looking for Miss Aimee, but I cannot find her.”

  “Cannot find her? Whatever do you mean?”

  “Miss Aimee has disappeared.” The earl shrugged and sat down in a chair across from the earl. “She simply vanished.”

  “Surely you jest.” Leon’s chuckle held sarcastic overtones. “It is highly unlikely that a lovely young lady such as Miss Aimee would simply vanish without a trace. Now where is she? I had hoped to speak with her before we went in to dinner.”

  “I am not jesting. I have my servants looking everywhere for her.”

  “I am not amused, my lord.” Leon frowned. “I paid a good deal of money to have a certain package brought here from Scotland. You brought the wrong one. Now this?”

  “Everything is being done to find her. My butler is questioning all the maids as well as the kitchen staff personally in hopes of finding her.”

  “Your kitchen staff? Why would you question them?”

  “I failed to write my mother and grandmother ahead of time to let them know I was bringing Miss Aimee with me. They assumed I hired her as a maid and had sent her below stairs—to—to the maid’s quarters.”

  “The maid’s quarters? Have you lost your senses?”

  “I had intended to tell my family the real reason I brought her here. They know that I bring young women to the estate from time to time and have come to expect it. But before I could explain anything, Miss Aimee disappeared. I would search for her myself,” the earl went on, “but as you know, we are expected for dinner within the hour.”

  “And after dinner?” Leon prompted.

  “We both have a meeting to attend—after dinner tonight.”

  Leon threw back his head and laughed mockingly. “Ah yes. The meeting.” Then his smile vanished as suddenly as it appeared, and his mouth turned down. “I will be returning to Gatehaven for dinner again in one week. By then, I expect you to have found Miss Aimee, settled her down, and told Lady Catherine and Lady Victoria my plans for this young woman and her family. Of course, you cannot tell them everything, but enough to keep them quiet. We will need their help if we hope to achieve my goals. Is that understood?”

  “Of course.” The earl went to the window by the fireplace and looked out. “There is a full moon tonight. Had you noticed?”

  “I noticed, my lord. Why else would we be having dinner on a meeting night? Has everything been prepared?”

  “Everything.”

  “At least you can do something right.”

  Shannon couldn’t sleep. She kept hearing noises she could not identify. After all, she was staying in a strange room. She’d locked her door and covered the carvings of the two dragons as best she could, but she still didn’t feel safe. And the white cloth she used didn’t completely cover the carvings on the headboard. The tail of one of the dragons and some of the vines were still exposed.

  She’d noticed a table with white linen stacked on it just across the hall from her room. Maybe she would snatch one of them and use it to cover the rest of the carvings.

  Shannon stepped out into the darkened hall to retrieve the cloth. The only light she saw came from a lamp over the table. The cloths were stacked in neat piles. She crept across the hall on bare feet and grabbed a white cloth from the top of the stack nearest to her.

  She heard footsteps coming closer. Shannon gasped and stepped back, pressing her body against the wooden door that led to her room as she had done previously.

  She wore a white sleeping gown and robe over her chemise, and it wouldn’t be proper for a young woman to be caught walking about the halls at night in her sleeping attire. Lady Catherine and Lady Victoria would be displeased if they knew.

  Shannon sucked in her breath as ten or more dark figures walked one behind the other, and close to where she stood. They would surely have seen her if they had glanced her way. The dark figures wore identical robes with hoods that covered their faces, and they walked in step as soldiers might with their heads down.

  She’d never felt so powerless in her entire life.

  At the corner, they turned down a different hall and disappeared from view. Later, she would probably regret not following them. But at the moment, all she wanted to do was cover the headboard with the extra cloth she managed to grab, climb in bed, and hide under the covers until she stopped shivering.

  CHAPTER TEN

  IAN CREPT DOWNSTAIRS, gripping the book with both hands, and slipped into the library. All but one of the candles were extinguished, making the room much darker than when he came in earlier.

  He intended to return the book to the proper slot on the shelf before Monsieur Gabeau or his housemaid came in and found it missing. He was given the right to read any book in the library, but he would rather the Frenchman not know the name of the one he found most interesting—just yet.

  He reached up in order to put it on the proper shelf and stopped. Which two volumes was it placed between? Was it between the two books of poetry? Or the two on French history? He couldn’t say which. To put it back in the wrong place might be more telling than to not return it to the shelf at all.

  Ian tossed the book on the small table by Etienne Gabeau’s chair. Tomorrow he would say that he took out the book and read a few pages but didn’t know where it belonged on the shelf. Rather than put it in the wrong space, he left it out for McGregor or the housekeeper to return to the proper place.

  The truth was always preferable to a lie—especially for Christians.

  If the Frenchman asked him if he’d noticed the missing pages, he would simply tell the truth. His honesty might even lead to more information, and he certainly hoped to learn all he could about those heresies.

  He closed the library door—squeak.

  The Frenchman needs to have his housekeeper oil his hinges. From what he’d learned about the man, it might be a good idea to have his brain oiled as well.

  Ian thought he heard sounds coming from outside the mansion. He paused—hoofbeats. Apparently the Frenchman had returned from his night at Gatehaven, and at a late hour. It was well past midnight.

  Had Shannon attended the dinner at the mansion? Had Monsieur Gabeau met her? And would Ian ever know whether or not he did or didn’t?

  Ian yawned and turned toward the stairs. They could discuss the book he found in the library at another tnime. For now, he was going to bed.

  The next morning Ian returned to the maid’s quarters at Gatehaven and knocked on Shannon’s door.

  “Miss Aimee,” he called. “Open the door, lass.”

  When nobody responded, he knocked again.

  Shannon’s bedroom door was partly open. He looked inside, but he didn’t see Shannon or her belongings.

  What happened? Where could she be? She couldn’t have simply vanished. Ian raced back up the stairs—two at a time. He must speak to the maid he met on the previous day. Millie would know where Shannon was.

  Millie stood with several other maids in the middle of the big kitchen, holding a stack of what looked like fresh laundry. The cook stood in front of a long table chopping vegetables, but she looked up when Ian came in.

  “And what might you be doing here, sir?”

  “I am looking for Miss Aimee, the young lady that arrived yesterday from Scotland.”

  He turned his attention to Millie. “I thought maybe Millie or someone else might know where I can find her.”

  Millie put down the stack of clothes on the table by the door, but when her gaze connected with Ian’s, she shrugged and looked away as if she didn’t want to look at him.

  “Millie,” the cook said louder than necessary. “Speak up, girl, and tell this young man what you know.”

  “I know nothing, mum, nothing at all.”

  “She must be telling the truth,” the cook said. “The earl’s personal valet came in here earlier this morning looking for Miss Aimee as well, and we all assured him
that we knew nothing. If Millie knew anything, she would have told the earl’s man. She knows she will lose her job if she ever lies to me.”

  Ian disagreed with the cook’s conclusions. Millie knew something. He intended to find out what it was.

  Millie gazed at the back kitchen door. “I will be going out now, mum, to bring in the rest of the clothes from the line of rope out back.”

  “Hurry then and go. We have a lot of work to do this morning.”

  “Yes, mum.” Millie opened the door and went out.

  Ian gazed at the cook. “It is such a lovely morning that I plan to explore the garden behind the mansion. So I will be leaving you now. But do let me know if Miss Aimee returns.”

  “If you come here again, I will tell you anything I know.”

  Ian went out the back door and stood on the stoop. Flowers in a variety of colors were planted on small plots of ground, and rock pathways surrounded each plot. But where was Millie? He looked for a long line of rope with clothes hanging from it. Millie was sure to be nearby.

  A thick hedge outlined the entire garden, and a metal gate separated the garden from the barnyard beyond. Ian opened the gate and went into the barnyard.

  He noticed a wooden cage where chickens were kept, and to the right of it he saw a line of white cloths blowing in a gentle breeze. Millie would have to be there.

  Millie was leaning over a wicker basket, folding a white cloth. Her back was to him. He assumed she hadn’t seen him yet.

  “Miss Millie,” he said.

  She jerked around. Then she just stood there—staring at him.

  “Sorry. I hope I didn’t frighten you. But I must speak with you for a moment.”

  “I have nothing to say to ya, sir.”

  “I have plenty to say to you. You see, I think you like Miss Aimee almost as much as I do.” He hesitated before saying more in hopes of getting her attention. “She could be in danger.”