Page 20 of Winterset

Oliver

“What did you do ?” Charlie said the next morning.

“I don’t remember.” Other than a few foggy facts, such as going to the tavern and meeting Lord Markham, I remembered very little of what had happened last night. I felt awful, though, like I’d been dragged behind a carriage.

I scowled at my reflection in the mirror, staring at the stitches on my forehead. For the most part, they were straight and smooth, but near the knot, my skin was slightly puckered.

“You might want to delay attending church services a week ... or two?” Charlie suggested.

“Lord Markham made it quite clear that my reputation depends upon my attendance.” That I remembered clearly.

“Right, then,” Charlie said. “Perhaps I can style your hair across your forehead so that your curls will conceal the cut.”

“It is worth a try,” I said. “Would you also pick up some salve from the apothecary? I’d like to try to minimize the appearance of the scar.”

“You sure, Granger? I’ve heard women find scars attractive.”

I laughed out loud. “I sincerely doubt that, Your Grace .”

“It’s true,” Charlie said.

“Just fetch the salve.”

Charlie held up his hands in surrender, then got to work taming my curls. He combed several locks forward and pomaded them in place. It was not my favorite hairstyle. I preferred a more submissive style and, well, less curly, but at least it concealed my blemish.

“I should like to wear my new topper today.” It was my most fashionable hat; perfect for meeting new people.

“I’ll fetch it for you right now,” Charlie said, already moving toward the white room, where my hats were now stored.

Fatigued, I sat on the end of my bed and tried to remember what had happened after I left the tavern last night. Who had tended to my wound? I remembered hearing Mrs. Owensby’s voice, but when I closed my eyes, it was Miss Lockwood’s face that I saw.

Nothing made sense.

My memories were muddled.

Several minutes passed, and Charlie still hadn’t returned with my hat. What was keeping him? I did not wish to be late to the service.

“Charlie?” I called.

A moment later, he walked back into my bedchamber with my favorite topper in his hands. “I don’t know what to make of it,” he said.

“Make of what ?” I asked, standing.

He tipped the hat so I could see inside. Was that ... dirt ?

“What the devil!” I strode across the room and took the hat. I attempted to brush away the dirt, but the motion only ground the soil further into the fibers.

“I have no explanation,” Charlie said. “But I did not do this.”

“I believe you.” Enough oddities had happened in this house that I could not not believe him.

“Can it be cleaned?” I asked.

“Perhaps,” he said. “But certainly not before church.”

I cursed. Although I was disappointed, I had others, though this was my favorite and most expensive hat. “Fetch me another.”

Charlie’s gaze met mine, wary. “I’m sorry, Granger. But they are all like this.”

A pit formed in my stomach. “No. No, no, no .” Not my hats.

I ran through the connecting sitting room to the white room, skidding to a stop. I peeked inside each hat and found that every one of my twenty-seven hats had been turned upside down and were filled with dirt and a twig.

My hats were being used as planting pots.

I gritted my teeth. I’d spent a small fortune on these hats. Charlie had been meticulous in his care of them. I tunneled a hand through my hair.

“Stop!” Charlie said. “Your forehead. Your hair .”

I carefully withdrew my hand and checked my pocket watch. Services started in less than half an hour, and we needed to leave immediately. “I can’t go without a hat.”

“Perhaps there is one in the attic,” Charlie suggested. “I can search, if you’d like?”

“Seeing as mine are unwearable at present, yes. Thank you.” I didn’t relish the idea of wearing another man’s hat, but attending church without one would be inexcusable.

“Right. Of course. Give me a minute to look, and I will meet you in the entrance hall,” he said and hurried down the corridor toward the attic stairs.

I inspected my appearance one last time before I went downstairs. My hair did not look terrible, and my stitches were hidden. I had a little time before Charlie would be down, so I went to assess the damage my candle had caused to the carpet last night.

Sunlight streamed through the library windows. The carpet had been smoothed back into place, but there was a hole where my candle had dropped and caught fire. Another thing to add to my endless list of repairs.

I eyed the bookshelf across the room where I’d seen the lady floating. Like the drawing room, this room did not seem so strange in the light of day—just some furniture, a bunch of books, and a rolling ladder. Although, what was that on the floor beneath the ladder? A book?

How had it fallen?

I glanced at the shelves directly above. On the top shelf, there was an empty space, and another book was partially pulled out of its place too.

I walked around the study table in the center of the room and stooped to pick up the book.

Disquisitions on the Decline and Fall of the Roman Republic by James Cowper.

It was a dense book, and I couldn’t picture Mrs. Owensby or Bexley reading it for pleasure.

I opened the book, meaning to flip through pages but paused on the first page, confused by what I saw. Was that a drawing of a flower?

I turned the page and then another and found they were all filled with charcoal drawings of flowers. Roses and lavender and daisies covered every page. I stared down at the simple sketches. They were quite good. I could not help being impressed.

Who had done this?

The artist had not signed their work, but I knew of only one artist who had lived in this household: Miss Katherine Lockwood.

“Granger?” Charlie stood at the library door, holding a hat by the brim at his side.

I distractedly waved him inside. “Come look at this, Charlie.”

He walked over, and after I handed him the book, he examined several pages. “Are all the books like this?”

The thought had not even occurred to me. I pulled a book off the nearest shelf. To my disappointment, there were no sketches inside it, nor in the several more books I skimmed from the lower shelf. But the book with the drawings had likely fallen from the top shelf.

I climbed the ladder and grabbed a book from the highest shelf. It, too, was filled with drawings, as were the ones next to it and the ones next to that.

“Are they all ruined?” Charlie asked.

“I would not say they are ruined .” I smiled at a particularly good rendering of a rose. “Only altered . Here.” I handed him the book. “See for yourself. The sketches are quite impressive.”

Charlie flipped through the pages and frowned. I understood why too; books like these in my library were expensive. A treasure that only a privileged few could afford to own. And Charlie loved the written word.

“Impressive indeed, but books are not meant to be drawn in but read. And these, I’m sorry to say, are quite unreadable.”

“I can still read the words despite the sketches atop them,” I insisted, and he raised an eyebrow at me.

“I’m not saying it wouldn’t take effort, but it is possible.

” Even if it were not, though, I could not bring myself to be bothered by these sketches.

They were a window into a lady’s soul whom I would never know.

“First, your hats, and now, your books.” Charlie shook his head. “You are taking this surprisingly well, Granger.”

“I should tell you something, Charlie,” I confessed. “I fear you will think me mad.”

Charlie looked up at me, listening.

“Last night,” I began slowly, “I saw a ghost. Miss Lockwood’s ghost.”

Charlie raised a disbelieving eyebrow. I couldn’t blame him; I scarcely believed it myself.

“I know how it sounds. Ghosts don’t exist, and yet I saw her, Charlie. She was floating right here in this very library.” I pointed at the bookshelves near where the ladder was placed.

“Perhaps you only dreamed about her?” Charlie said.

“Perhaps,” I said. “But I don’t think so.”

Charlie’s brow furrowed. “In that case, I worry what else of yours will be ruined before this day is done.”

“Well,” I said, stepping down the ladder and checking my pocket watch, “my reputation if I miss church.”

Charlie handed me the top hat he’d found with an apologetic expression.

Nothing was wrong with it, per se. It was in good condition and not very out of style, but it was brown , and my clothing was black.

“People will think I employ a blind man to serve as my valet.” I laughed lightly.

“Well, it is either this or one of my caps,” Charlie said with a shrug.

“This will have to do, then.” I plopped the topper on my head, and we walked to the door.

We entered the churchyard only a few minutes before the service was to begin. Thankfully, Lord Markham was still standing in the courtyard. I stopped to greet him, and Charlie continued inside to join the other servants in attendance.

“I was beginning to think you weren’t coming,” Lord Markham said.

“Yes, well, I ran into some trouble this morning with my wardrobe. It’s quite a long and altogether boring story.”

“I doubt that entirely.” He eyed my hat with a smirk.

As soon as we walked inside, I removed my hat, careful to make sure my hair fell at the right angle to conceal my wound, and held it low at my side as we entered the chapel.

It was a small but adequately sized chapel with twenty pews on either side of a broad aisle, each filled with parishioners.

All their eyes were on me.

As the second son of an earl, I was accustomed to being noticed, if not seen; usually, when people looked at me, though, they were really only looking around me for a glimpse of Father or Damon.

Today, however, they were looking at me ; matchmaking mothers and their doe-eyed daughters took my measure as if to determine my worth.

Perhaps I would have my choice of young ladies to court here.

I could only hope they’d not seen the sorry state I’d let Winterset fall into.

We continued down the aisle to Lord Markham’s pew in the front row. Once we were seated, the vicar took his place at the podium.

He was an older man with a droning voice that induced sleep more than spirituality. But knowing people were watching me, I did my best to appear alert and attentive throughout the sermon. After an hour and a half, the verbose vicar finally took his seat.

A closing song was sung, a prayer said, and finally, the meeting ended.

Lord Markham leaned close. “Come, Jennings. There is a young lady I would like to introduce to you.”

“By all means, lead the way.”