Page 4 of An Earl’s Sacrifice (The Clandestine Sapphire Society #3)

M eredith glanced at her watch pin. Heavens, she was almost late. No one knew of the time she spent in this ruined portion of the Keep. She started to shut the old journal and stopped as the words on the page seemed to leap off.

Folded within the pages, she found a missive and read it over.

The chamber I’ve chosen will serve our purposes well, tucked away from the main thoroughfares of the Keep.

Use the entrance closest to the sea. Here you’ll be admitted and guided to a familiar facade, a safeguard against the curious and the unworthy.

Only those who understand the true nature of our work shall be allowed…

The rest of the text was illegible. A sudden crash startled her. Meredith’s heart seized then pounded furiously against her ribcage until she realized a clap of thunder roared outside. Rain slashed the windows and blew in through the broken glass of one.

With a hand splayed against her chest, Meredith took a deep breath.

She blinked against shadows, stretched and distorted against the walls in grotesque forms cast by the flickering lamplight.

A sharp burst of laughter erupted with the release of that breath and a silent chastisement of the cold fingers that had seemed to curl about the nape of her neck.

She shook off the absurdity with another inhale, this one a tad unsteady.

Blast, she must hurry. The Literary Society was due to meet in less than a half hour.

She pulled the door to behind her because it wouldn’t latch. The wood was warped beyond repair, hence the broken window. The words from the old journal stuck with her though as she rushed down the stairs. Confidentiality ? Secret chamber ? Is that what the author meant?

There would be time to ponder later. She strode down the hall to the steward’s office off the servant’s portion of the kitchens and rapped on the door.

“Enter.” Mr. Ashcroft sat behind a heavy desk that now sported a high shine thanks to her own efforts. Thin gold spectacles rested on the bridge of his nose.

“The ladies are due in twenty minutes,” she said in a rush.

What a hellish day. The undertaking of the Keep’s main library restoration had been a tedious process.

And while she met with the women regularly, tonight was especially important to her.

She was to debut all her hard work. Prove to them Perlsea Keep was not haunted, as the villagers were so determined to believe.

The years of neglect in rotting wood, warped shelves, grimy windows, and tattered curtains had all been replaced.

If it hadn’t been for Mr. Wren of Wren’s Carpentry who’d taken on the task of rebuilding those bookcases and Marigold Tremayne who’d completed the final touches today with new curtains, Meredith would have been sorely disappointed.

She couldn’t wait to invite the women into their new meeting place.

“And hello to you, too,” Mr. Ashcroft teased.

“Apologies, sir. Did you receive the latest London papers in today’s post?”

“Yes, yes. And there is quite the notice, I must say.”

The sudden gleam in his eye stopped her momentarily. “Oh?”

He held out a stack of broadsheets. “Indeed, Lady Pender.”

Meredith hurried over and reached for the stack, halting mid-poise. “What did you call me?”

“Lady Pender. It appears the late earl has met his reward.” He met her gaze. “You didn’t know? I would have thought you’d received notice. You are now a countess.”

Meredith stumbled into a chair before the desk. “No. I… had no notion.”

He lowered the stack and read from the top one.

“Sudden Demise of the Earl of Pender—It is with deep regret that we report the death of Damien Alexander Oshea, 7 th Earl of Pender, who passed away under tragic circumstances on the grounds of his Northumberland estate, Stonemare, at the age of 54.

The earl was found fatally stabbed, and an investigation into this grievous act is currently underway.

The Earl of Pender inherited his title in 1810 at the tender age of 17, following the death of his father.

Throughout his tenure, the 7 th Earl of Pender was known for his strong-willed nature and his dedication to the management of his extensive estates, though his life was often shadowed by personal and public difficulties. ”

That brought Meredith’s head up. She snorted. “Dedication to the management of his estates,” she choked out, thinking of all the work she’d endured over the past three years. And she wasn’t close to completing the tasks she’d undertaken.

Mr. Ashcroft cleared his throat and continued.

“His untimely death marks a significant moment in the history of the Pender family, whose influence has been felt throughout England for generations.

The circumstances of his death have shocked the local community, and authorities are diligently pursuing all leads in the investigation.

“The Earl is survived by his sons, Noah James Oshea and Viscount Perlsea, Lucius Alexander Oshea, who now inherits the title and responsibilities as the 8 th Earl of Pender. Further announcements regarding the funeral will be made at a later date. The family requests that their privacy be respected during this period of mourning.”

Meredith snatched the broadsheet from his hand.

“When the devil was this printed?” She scanned the page and found the date: 31 Mar 1847.

“March? That was two and a half months ago. Good heavens. And no one thought to notify me?” She read through the notice again.

“He… he was murdered…” The paper crumpled in her fist, white spots dotting her vision.

A minute later, the paper was replaced by a glass of brandy. She met the steady gaze of Mr. Ashcroft. “Drink this. You’ve still the literary group to meet with in—” He flipped out his watch. “—ten minutes.”

“I-I don’t think—”

“You can, and you shall. You’ve much to show for since you’ve been at Perlsea. They trust you. They are learning to read because of you. You’ve created a school for their children, much to Mr. Thornfield’s abject horror and to my great delight. The man is a menace.”

Whatever divine intervention brought him to her doorstep, she couldn’t be more grateful. A small smile pierced her. “He still hasn’t forgiven me for hiring you.”

“True. But he also resents your interference when it comes to the children working the mines,” he said grimly.

“Now, drink up. You are the Countess of Pender, the Duke of Rathbourne’s daughter.

I have every faith in your ability to carry forward.

It’s evident you are bringing the work and the community together. ”

Meredith sipped the brandy through a constricted throat. Her eyes burned at the confidence he instilled in her. “Yes,” she whispered. “I can’t let them down. But when word gets out, things will change.”

“Perhaps, but if you act the same, the change will be minimal.”

She nodded slowly. “How wise you are.” Meredith handed over the empty glass. “Thank you.”