He straightened up but she clutched at his arm.
“Gabriel, Gabriel,” she said in a low, harsh voice, “what is happening here?” She looked so bewildered, so devastated, that his heart went out to her. He was just as disconcerted as his grandmother and as he swept the cold, dirty, draughty room with a frowning glance, he saw that Miss Cott, for once, seemed at a loss as well, standing as if in a daze, her eyes wide and her hands convulsively gripping the strings of her reticule.
It was Livia who took charge.
She brought in the servants who had accompanied them from Bath, and set them to work: the Rose Saloon to be quickly dusted, Holland covers removed, a fire lit, Grandmama and Miss Cott escorted there, tea prepared—makeshift, skimpy, but better than nothing—and served to them.
Bedchambers were hastily cleaned, linens inspected and shaken, pillows plumped, and fires lit there too.
Meanwhile Livia had Gabriel go off to the stables, where a groom of sorts was found, Little Walter he was called. He was a big, shambling man, a nephew of Mrs. Worthing, slow in faculty but eager to help; provisions were scrambled together for the horses, enough, at least, to see them through till morning.
While Little Walter then obligingly went to the henhouse, to produce and efficiently dispatch a pair of chickens, two of the footmen from Bath were sent to the village for food, as the kitchen larder was nearly empty. When they returned, she reviewed their purchases and found, to her relief, that Mrs. Worthing, though her wits were sadly addled, was still able to cook, and with some of the Bath servants assigned to assist her, Livia was able to leave the kitchen with a degree of assurance that everyone would have a decent meal tonight, and breakfast tomorrow morning.
She ran upstairs to look at the bedchambers, getting badly lost on the way there. She had to make her way through what felt like miles of dim corridors, innumerable staircases both long and short, rooms that led straight through from one to the other; as she hurried she caught glimpses of old-fashioned furniture that had been left uncovered, beds beyond counting, magnificent drapery, chandeliers, little tables, large tables, sofas and chairs, escritoires, ornate chests of drawers, washstands, armoires big enough to hold thirty gowns or more. Once she caught her heel in the ragged hole of a once-beautiful Oriental rug and nearly fell. If she hadn’t been so focused on what had to be done, she might have felt keenly the eerie abandoned quality of the house, been unnerved by the labyrinth through which she hastened. It was the look on Gabriel’s face, and that of Grandmama and Miss Cott, too, that propelled her into action: they all seemed as if they had been dealt a physical blow.
They were stunned, and they were hurting.
She would do anything to help them.
She wished she could have gone to Gabriel, put her arms around him, smoothed away the deep crease between his brows.
Told him she loved him, and that it would be all right.
They had stumbled, unexpectedly, into a dark mystery here, but she would gladly throw herself, heart and soul, into solving it; resolving it.
She would work day and night if necessary.
Anything to take away that stunned, lost look in Gabriel’s eyes.
The bedchambers, she was thankful to see, would do for the night. The fires now burning, warm and bright, in their hearths were already banishing the musty chill, and the bedclothes, while obviously needing a good laundering, at least were sufficient.
Gabriel had, very properly, been given what was clearly the suite of apartments for the Hall’s master. His bedroom was immense. Set upon a dais, the bed was contained within four great, carved mahogany posts and a stately canopy above, and was so capacious that Livia stifled a sudden giggle at the thought of herself and Gabriel within it.
A tempting thought occurred to her: to seek him out tonight, if only to offer the comfort of her arms, and nothing more if he wished it.
And if he wanted more?
Why, she would say yes, and joyfully, too.
Their time together in Bath—the day before yesterday—already seemed too far away.
Perhaps, later, she could slip out of her bedchamber and come here, and with her body, her self, make that enormous expanse of bed feel a little smaller, and more intimate?
But no, she dared not.
It was anyone’s guess as to how well they would sleep tonight. And what if Grandmama or Miss Cott should need her?
It was a risk she couldn’t take.
Livia sighed, and straightened the pillows on Gabriel’s bed. Then, with a final glance around, she left his bedchamber and began to retrace her steps.
As she walked quickly through the rooms and along the passageways, up and down the stairs, gradually, quietly, there came to her a feeling for, a sense of Surmont Hall. The possibilities of the place. It was a revelation; an inspiration. Once freed from the neglect of who knew how many years, the dirt and cobwebs cleared away, rugs mended, furniture polished, curtains drawn back . . .