“I know.”
He only wished he’d known years ago when he first met Ivy and assumed she was too desirable, too young and vivacious, to wait for a man who aspired to climb the military ranks. He should have wed her before going to war. With luck he’d have left her with his father and an heir to keep them contented until he came home. Perhaps, if he’d had the wisdom to marry her then, he would have had a reason to return home sooner.
* * *
Oliver had intended to drive to the gatehouse and collect his belongings before he set off for London. But when he reached Fenwick, its mystery beckoned to him once again. This might be his last chance to search for the treasure, if it existed.
It was definitely the last time he would be able to poke about without one of the sisters inadvertently trying to end his life or requiring that he save hers.
He brought his carriage around to the stables, identifying himself to the nervous young groom, and walked back to the house, where Quigley sat dozing against the door.
“Quigley.”
“What? I’ve got a gun—well, it’s you, sir. Why’d you sneak up after what happened today?”
“What are you doing?”
“Standing guard.”
“God. Let me in the house, would you?”
“Why, sir? The ladies aren’t at home.”
He helped the gardener to his feet, wincing as the man’s grimy hand left a soil mark on one of Oliver’s fawn riding gloves. The urn of geraniums, bruised and missing most of its vibrant red petals, sat as it had before Lilac had hurled it at Joseph’s head. The damned idiot. And Ainsley. How had that fool found out about Fenwick?
“No trouble with the magistrate?”
“Not a bit. I told him to go to Ellsworth Park if he had any questions, and that seemed to satisfy him.”
“That’s fine. Be a good man and let me in.”
“Well—”
“Listen to me, Quigley. Trouble comes in threes. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if those two varlets hadn’t traveled with another man.”
Quigley spit on the ground, narrowly missing Oliver’s boots. “The servants would have seen ’im by now.”
“What if, during the mayhem and confusion, the third villain managed to sneak inside the house and hide? He might be lying in wait for the ladies to return.”
“Lying where?” Quigley asked, like a bull about to charge.
“There are hidden passages inside the manor. I know because Lady Rosemary accidentally closed me inside one, and I would surely have expired had her sister not heard my feeble exhortations.”
“Feeble whats?”
“Never mind, good fellow. You know of these passageways?”
Quigley swiped his muddied hand across his nose. “I do. In the time of the Pretender Oliver Cromwell, his soldiers traversed these passages searching for the exiled prince who’d long escaped, as the legend goes. But not all of Cromwell’s men were as fortunate. They haunt the house.”
Oliver was in no mood for a history lesson. “I thought it was Anne Boleyn’s ghost who came to play in one of the bedrooms.”
“That’s true. Her spirit and that of the young lady who lived in the manor at the time are those thought to have trapped Cromwell’s men in the tunnels in order for the young king to escape.”
“Which he did,” Oliver said.
“And lived on to rule merrily over England for a good many years, bless his wicked soul.”
Oliver tamped down a surge of excitement. This legend supposedly held the key to the treasure. “Quigley,” he said in a grave voice. “You risked your life today, and I cannot in clear conscience leave this house without ensuring it is safe for the ladies to return. I will search the hiding places before I go, but I need you to stand watch so that I am not closed in and forgotten.”
“I could go down with you.”
“My eyes are probably better than yours, Quigley. Do not fall asleep on me.”
“I’ll have the footman sit with me.”
“Excellent idea.”
“One caution, sir.”
He curbed his impatience; he had to gather up candles, flint, and tinder. “Yes?”
“There is a passageway below the staircase that no one has ever searched. It’s where the soldiers were thought to be trapped. Be prepared for a skull or two.”
Chapter 30
Ivy dashed up the stairs to her room. Not to the Duchess Suite, where James had attempted to render her useless earlier in the day, but to the small chamber befitting her station as governess. Walker had smeared his sticky hands all over her skirts. She might be accustomed to wearing worn clothes, but at least her apparel had always been clean.