Page 42 of An Earl’s Sacrifice (The Clandestine Sapphire Society #3)

“Yes.” Meredith peered at the door, her mind a chaotic storm.

“Yes, Papa has always been most particular.” She spoke slowly as Aylesbury’s words, indelibly seared in her brain, flashed like lighting…

shadowed halls where vintages sleep, truths long buried .

“I’ll be in the dining hall,” she said slowly, even as the hair at her nape lifted and the flesh on her arms raised in prognostic bumps.

Setting the lamp on a table in the empty dining hall, Meredith took her chair, surprised at her outward self-possession when all she wished was to dash straight to the wine cellar to see if her instincts held merit.

The spike in her pulse refused to slow, however.

She folded her hands in her lap, but her foot tapped with an unfamiliar impatience that was far more fitting to that of her friend Geneva’s restless nature.

Mrs. Verity entered with two maids. One carried a plate of small sandwiches, the other a tray of steam rising from a pot of tea.

Meredith stilled her foot that seemed determined to thwart her. “Bartlett?”

“He drove Agnes to the village.”

“Oh, right.” She’d forgotten.

Mrs. Verity turned a sharp-eyed gaze on her. “I believe his lordship accompanied her.”

Excellent, as she had no desire to see her husband . She took up one of the tiny cucumber sandwiches and nibbled on it. “Miss Hale too, I assume?”

“Nay, she did not.” Mrs. Verity’s indignation touched her.

“Agnes will return tomorrow,” she said gently to say some thing. “By the bye, these are delicious.” The housekeeper poured her a cup of tea with a nod and shooed the maids out, then followed them.

Meredith devoured two more sandwiches, gulped more tea, then quietly stole from the dining hall—taking the lamp—hoping she would find the wine cellar unlocked.

Thankfully, the hall leading to the dungeons was vacant.

She paused at the top of the stairs. A cold chill drifted up, raising bumps on her skin.

The flame in her lamp flickered, its dim light barely piercing the gloom below.

It was enough to highlight the treacherous descent of steep, uneven stone steps, while she gripped the rudimentary handrail.

She lifted the lamp, exposing stones worn smooth and tilted from centuries of use.

Her slippered foot hovered over the first step, and she tightened her grip on the lantern and the rail.

The farther she descended the colder the temperature and heavier the scent of mildew hung in the air.

Each step required careful footing. She had to catch herself more than once.

Halfway down, her lantern illuminated a streak of dark moss clinging to the steps.

She stopped, her pulse quickening. One slip, and anyone could easily tumble to the bottom.

She reached the floor of the cellar, exhaling in relief.

“This will never do,” Meredith murmured, her breath visible in the chilled air.

Her mind turned over possibilities as she inspected the space.

Aylesbury’s ancestors hadn’t concerned themselves with comfort or safety—this staircase was a means to an end, not a thoroughfare for the living.

But now, it was necessary, not just for the servants to access the wine but for herself as she combed through the keep’s forgotten spaces.

It needed a sturdier handrail—wood and polished to resist the dampness. No one should have to risk their neck every time they came down here. She pressed the handle of the closed door and pushed.

Unlocked .

Meredith stepped through an arch into a shadowy, stone-walled room and shivered in the damp air.

The faint aroma of old oak and earthen floors blended with the slightly sour scent of aged wine.

She lifted her lamp and glanced around. Narrow barred windows high on the walls appeared as black endless hollows.

The flame cast eerie shadows across the stone surfaces.

Low-lit sconces lining the walls revealed the cellar’s age and long history.

Another arch separated the space into a second chamber.

She ventured slowly in that direction, but it was almost too dark to discern details other than massive oaken barrels.

She backed away from the second chamber and studied the thick wooden racks, heavy and darkened with age.

They stacked against the walls like wooden soldiers and were laden with dusty bottles.

A quick perusal of the labels amid bouts of sneezes found many of the bottles were decades old, hinting at Perlsea’s wealth and its history of collecting fine vintages.

Among the racks were massive oaken barrels, some branded with the Aylesbury family crest. A couple of tables were pushed against the walls for practical purposes.

She set the lamp on one and continued her perusal.

There was a gothic essence to the cellar that was fascinating.

It reminded her of her days at Miss Greensley’s School of Comportment for Young Ladies of Quality and all those nights she, Geneva, Hannah, and Abra had spent reading and romanticizing their favorite horrid novels.

One thing Meredith could gladly claim, she didn’t fear ghosts.

The thought brought a smile to her lips before a gust of wind whistled from one of the narrow windows.

She stopped as another shiver rattled her spine.

Breathing in through her nose and letting it out through her mouth calmed the edge of her nerves.

She closed her eyes, called herself silly, then reopened them, focusing on the toes of her slippers.

The uneven stone floors were worn by generations of footsteps… footsteps that angled to a corner in a shallow depression. For drainage, she supposed, noting a stained trail that trickled to the area. But anticipation rippled through her that spoke of a more sinister past.

Too many of Aylesbury’s words were sending her imagination into wild contemplations, she thought wryly. She raised her eyes to the wide arch that separated the two chambers and picked out one of the dusty bottles and carried it to the light. Brandy.

“Lady Pender?”

The bottle slipped from her startled grasp, crashing to the floor as she spun, nearly slipping on the now aromatic floor. “Oh,” Her hand flattened at her throat. “Mr. Verity, you gave me quite the fright.”

“May I assist you with something, milady?”

“I-I was looking for brandy.” Her voice faltered, but she flung a hand toward the shattered bottle.

“I would have gladly retrieved it for you.” His portly chin doubled as he looked down at the amber pool swirling her feet. He raised a neutral look, meeting her eyes. “There is brandy in the library, milady.”

His insolence set her teeth on edge. In fact, wasn’t she mistress, no— countess— of this castle—of this Keep ?

She drew herself up and adopted Papa’s most daunting superiority. “Mr. Verity, I trust my status is not lost on you. If I choose to select a bottle of brandy from my own cellar, that should hardly concern you.” That sounded horribly smug. But she suppressed her cringe.

An unflattering scarlet crawled into his florid cheeks that went to the tips of his ears.

His blank expression failed in suppressing the sudden hostility that seemed to saturate the atmosphere along with the spilled brandy.

Stiffly, inclining his head, he moved to the wooden rack she’d confiscated the first bottle from and selected another, then wiped it down.

He returned and held it out to her with a respectful incline of his head.

Meredith accepted the bottle, feeling horrid for wearing her father’s skin. It didn’t fit well. “Thank you, Mr. Verity,” she said flustered. Guilt lies heavier than stone . She blinked. Where had that thought come from?

The portly butler went to the arch. “Shall we, milady?”

“Er, yes, of course.” She turned about, took in the vast number of dusty bottles, the wood racks, the large beam that separated the chambers—stopped. “Is that an inscription?”

“Aye, madam.”

She grabbed her lamp from the table. Edging forward, she held the light up, squinting. “ The Dead Bear Witness in Silence. ” Her words barely whispered from her lips and an odd chill stole up her spine.

Ghostly fingers seemed to feather her nape.

From the corner of her eye, where the floor sloped, nearly hidden from view by one of the casks, she took in the drain a second time.

Again, she spun. It was a wonder she hadn’t fallen on her backside, dizzy, where she would have landed in a field of shard glass. “I should like another moment or two.” She faced the butler, speaking with a confidence that had served her well over the years.

His bushy brows rose, and she was quite certain he’d never been so surprised.

Meredith widened her eyes and waited for her intention to sink in.

And, waited.

“But the lights, milady,” he rasped.

She waved out a hand. “You may return in a bit to extinguish them,” she said with a smile she hoped was as guileless as she strived for.

An awkward moment passed before the butler moved to the door. “Of course, madam. Mind where you step.”

The flames flickering upon his exit seemed to pound against the stone walls.

Or, perhaps it was the pulse pounding in her ears.

She waited an entire two minutes before daring to move.

Her gaze went back to that downward trek in the floor.

She set the brandy and the lamp back on the table and considered her next course of action.

The cask didn’t sit level on the floor. She moved to it, reached out and tested its sturdiness.

To her surprise, it appeared empty and rocked fairly easily.

With a rush of excitement, Meredith tugged on the cask, using more force.

Setting her teeth, she moved to its other side and put all of her weight behind her shove, nearly felling her to her knees.

The entirety of a small compartment crafted of heavy oak was set flush with the stone floor.

The wood was weathered and had darkened over the years.

It blended almost seamlessly with the surrounding stone floor.

Reinforced iron bands with adorning rings lay flat on its surface that were similar to that of the Keep’s entry door.

But… no handle. A burst of frustration flooded her.

How the devil was she supposed to remove the top?

Uncaring of the spilled brandy or her best green and cream striped frock, she went on her knees to examine the trapdoor—for that was exactly what it was—straight out of one of those gothic tales she’d so adored as a girl.

Perhaps a hidey-hole used to hide Catholics from the seventeenth century?

A small laugh escaped her, though it edged on the side of hysterical.

Meredith ran a fingertip over the wood. So worn, any splinters had been smoothed into submission.

She came to her feet and grabbed the lamp for better light.

On the far edge of the hidden compartment door, she found a small, nearly invisible catch embedded into one corner.

Again, she smoothed a fingertip over it and pressed.

She felt, rather than heard the latch’s release.

Still, it did not rise enough for her to grasp.

The rings?

Rising, Meredith once more set the lamp aside, her heart thumping erratically.

Sliding her fingers into the two prominent iron rings, she attempted to lift.

They proved difficult and stiff from disuse.

She couldn’t give up now! Going up on her knees, she tugged again, excitement tearing through her with sheer will as it gave way.

The trapdoor was heavy. It creaked and resisted her efforts, but she was strong, and in the end triumph was hers. She could scarcely believe it.

With a rush, she snatched up the lamp again and peered inside the compartment. Too small to hide an entire person .

Several objects appeared to have been hidden with purpose. She knew it through to her soul. She reached in and pulled out the items, each wrapped in faded, oil-stained burlap cloth that shockingly looked to have been protected from the damp and dust.

Carefully, she pulled back the frayed and brittle edges of the coverings of one item.

Beneath an outer layer she found papers wrapped in aged leather—cracked but still mostly intact—with faint remnants of wax seals that had long since chipped away.

It was impossible to tell if the wrappings had preserved any valuable or incriminating information but she had to think, and quickly before Verity ignored her instruction and returned.

Even if he didn’t, if Lucius returned, she was certain the butler would inform him.

She gathered her treasures, five in all, placing them on the table with the lamp and the brandy.

The pockets on her apron held all but the brandy.

She’d have to leave it behind. She went back to the compartment and folded the lid back into place with a resounding thud.

Then she considered the cask she’d shoved aside.

With nothing left in the compartment, it wouldn’t hurt for anyone to see it, she decided.

Unwilling to linger, Meredith took the lamp and the brandy and hurried—waddled, more like—to the door.