“Eliza didn’t trust her,” Mrs. Dowrey said. “She was certain Polglaze had been going through her jewelry box. She was going to dismiss her. That’s what she told us the last time we saw her.” Her frail fingers tightened on his hand again. “The last time we saw you.”
“We were so worried about you, Charley,” the old man said, leaning forward in his chair. “We had nightmares thinking what might have happened to you.”
Alexander didn’t tell the Dowreys that he’d been sold to a chimney sweep; instead he said, “I had the best home a person could wish for. Truly.”
“Such a wee thing you were the last time we saw you, and just look at you now, all grown up.” Mrs. Dowrey’s hand strayed to his cuff, touching the expensive fabric. “You look exactly what Eliza wanted you to be: a gentleman.”
“Yes,” Alexander said awkwardly, aware that his cuff had probably cost more than all of Mrs. Dowrey’s clothing put together. He glanced at Georgiana. Where is Miss Menhennick’s fortune? he wanted to ask.
Georgiana met his eyes, and perhaps she read his question on his face, for she said, “It’s possible there is a hiding place in the walls,” and in that moment Alexander knew that Eliza Menhennick’s fortune was somewhere in the house.
Georgiana looked at her father. “Don’t you think, Papa?”
Lord Dalrymple recognized his rôle. “Yes,” he said. “Old houses like this often have hidey holes.”
“Father’s very good at finding them,” Georgiana told the Dowreys. “He found a smugglers’ tunnel only three days ago. I think we should look, don’t you?”
“Yes,” both Dalrymple and Alexander said.
“Look?” Mr. Dowrey glanced at the parlor walls, his expression bewildered. “But . . . where?”
Alexander looked at Georgiana. She was staring at him intently, clearly trying to tell him something. He stared back, trying to decipher her message, and then realized that her hands were moving on her lap. He glanced down, saw her palms press together and then apart, as if she was opening a book.
“The library,” he said. “Does this house have one?”
“Well, yes,” Dowrey said. “But . . . but surely we’d have noticed . . .”
Alexander stood. “Let’s have a look, shall we?”
The library was a large room, and it was completely empty. No books, no furniture, not even a carpet on the floor. The shutters were closed, the air cold and stale.
Mr. Dowrey murmured something disjointed and ashamed, and went to open the shutters.
“Poor John lost all his money in ninety-one,” Mrs. Dowrey said, her gnarled fingers twisting together. “That’s why we came here. We didn’t think you’d mind, Charley.”
“Mind?” Alexander said. “Why should I mind?”
“Because this house is yours. Eliza left it to you.”
“To me?” Alexander looked around the library, seeing the tall windows, the empty shelves, the wainscoting. He imagined the Dowreys selling off the books one by one, using the money to buy food, coal, tallow candles.
“The books . . .” The old lady plucked at his sleeve.
He looked down at her and saw that her eyes were anxious, pleading for his understanding.
“I don’t mind that you sold them,” Alexander told her. “Truly, I don’t.” He placed his hand over Mrs. Dowrey’s and smiled at her. “Come, let’s look for this hiding place.” He stepped into the library and studied the two long walls of empty shelves. Where to start? He glanced at Georgiana.
“I hope it’s like Cornwall,” she said. “And that we find something.”
Like Cornwall. He nodded to show that he understood: her father was to mirror her.
“I think I’ll start here,” Georgiana announced, and crossed to the right-hand wall. Which meant that the hiding place was in the left-hand wall. “Do you think it will be behind the wainscoting or the shelves, Papa?”
Lord Dalrymple frowned at the shelves, and then at the wainscoting.
“The shelves, don’t you think?” Georgiana said in a bright, girlish tone that Alexander had never heard her use before.
“Definitely the wainscoting,” Dalrymple said. He gestured Alexander to the left-hand wall.
He’s letting me find it.
Alexander’s heartbeat picked up speed slightly. He positioned himself opposite Georgiana and tried to copy what she was doing, to keep pace with her. The wainscoting was intricate, with small, square panels over beadwork. Alexander pushed at each seam, each panel. How long would it take? There must be hundreds of—
“Oh, pish pash,” Georgiana said. “A splinter.”
Alexander raised his head. Really? So soon?
He glanced at Georgiana, lifting his eyebrows, certain he must be wrong, but she gave a tiny, imperative nod.
“Huh,” Alexander said, under his breath. He turned back and studied the wainscoting. It’s right here in front of me. He pressed everything within reach—the railings, the beadwork, the panels—probing hard with his fingers, pushing . . . and one of the vertical casings gave slightly. He felt a leap of excitement in his chest, and pushed harder.
A section of the wainscoting three foot square pivoted inward, revealing a pitch-black hole.
Alexander recoiled back two steps. It took him a moment to catch his breath, to find his voice. “I’ve found it.”
Someone gave his shoulder a reassuring touch. Lord Dalrymple. “So you have. Well done.”
“Oh, how exciting!” Mrs. Dowrey said, clutching her hands together at her breast.
Lord Dalrymple dropped to a crouch and peered into the hole. “It’s not that deep,” he said. “In fact, I think . . .” He crawled forward, vanishing into the darkness.
Alexander shuddered and looked away.
Georgiana’s hand slipped into his, warm and comforting. Alexander gripped it tightly and managed to smile down at her.
After an endless thirty seconds, Dalrymple emerged from the hole. “I think it extends the length of the library,” he said, standing, dusting off his knees. “It’s narrow, but high. As high as this ceiling, at a guess.”
“I’ll fetch some candles,” Mr. Dowrey said, and hurried from the room.
“To think that Eliza was telling the truth!” Mrs. Dowrey said, her thin face flushed with excitement. “All this time, I never believed it.” She stepped closer to the hole, bent awkwardly, and peered into the darkness. “Oh, how I wish I were younger!” She tried to kneel.
Dalrymple took her arm, helping her.
Mrs. Dowrey peeked into the hole. “Oh, my stars! How dark it is.” Her face, when she looked back at Alexander, was alight with excitement.
Alexander smiled at her, stretching his lips, showing his teeth, trying to mirror her excitement, when all he felt was nausea. “How wide would you say it is?” he asked Dalrymple.
“Maybe three feet.”
Alexander closed his eyes for a moment. Fuck. Three feet was narrow. Almost as narrow as a chimney.
Dalrymple helped Mrs. Dowrey to her feet again.
“I wonder if there’s anything belonging to your parents in there?” Georgiana said.