Suitors and Sabotage(4)

“Yes, indeed.”

By the time the tealess tea was spread out, the strawberries moved closer to the peaches and then shifted nearer the apricot squares … and then back again, the tarts moved in line with the fruit … and then back again, Imogene began to wonder why Mr. Benjamin was taking so long to return. She looked over her shoulder. “Where do you think he has gone? The old castle is not that big.”

“Do you want me to go look?” Emily appeared eager.

“Yes, absolutely. After all, he might be lost on this tiny spit of land that has only one way on or off.”

Ignoring the teasing in Imogene’s voice, Emily shifted as if about to rise, and then her face fell. “Oh, there he is. I missed my opportunity.” Emily straightened. “We were despairing of you, Mr. Steeple. Thought you had fallen down the well.”

The young gentleman stopped partway across the courtyard, the warm breeze fluttering his hair. “There’s a well? I didn’t see that. Where?”

“It was a jest, Mr. Steeple. The well was filled in years ago, for safety’s sake.”

“Oh, that is most unfortunate. I find studying the foundations, the base structure of a building of this age, fascinating. It is nothing short of amazing that the Normans had such advanced knowledge of weight-bearing and distribution principles. The Elizabethans used it to great advantage when they built on top.”

Upon reaching the blanket, he joined them on one of the unoccupied corners and continued to extol the virtues of the castle’s architecture. “The tower would be an excellent vantage point to see the great hall in its entirety. There appears to be a door at the top of the stairs leading into the tower. Is it still function—” He stopped midsentence, staring at the sketch Imogene had rescued from the grass. It was propped up on the basket, out of the way.

Imogene felt the flush of heat rise up her cheeks and spread across her face. She hadn’t bothered to hide her drawing of the old castle; she thought it of no interest to anyone—and yet Mr. Benjamin continued to study it with deep interest.

“This is quite … accurate.”

Imogene rolled her shoulders forward and dropped her gaze to the blanket, wishing she could disappear into the ground.

“Impressively accurate,” he continued.

Suddenly it would seem that the Fates had answered Imogene’s call. The earth began to rumble as if it were thinking about splitting open. However, the noise was not coming from beneath her feet; it was coming from the ruin. Startled, Imogene jerked her head to look over her shoulder. As she watched in alarm, the floor to the great hall collapsed into the cellar below in a cascade of stone and dust.

Jumping up, they backed away from the huge cloud of debris until they could go no farther. The moat was at their backs. And then the rumbling stopped—except for the occasional skitter and plop of an errant rock dropping into the newly formed hole visible through the arched doorways.

Imogene waved the dust out of her eyes, coughing in the thick air.

“Oh dear, that is most unfortunate,” Mr. Benjamin said with more tragedy in his tone than his words implied.

Even Emily looked upset.

Imogene shook her head in dismay. As the dust and dirt began to settle, it became apparent that the floor was not all that had been damaged in the collapse. The front wall of the great hall was leaning in at a worrisome angle. “We might lose the entire face as well,” Imogene said in a whisper of melancholy. The castle was her favorite sketching subject. More than half of her artwork featured the castle in some capacity.… And now it … “Well, it’s not gone,” she said with conviction. “The tower still stands, and with bracing, I imagine we can secure the wall.” She looked over to Mr. Benjamin. He seemed to know about these things. “Would you agree?”

“Most certainly. It is still a beautiful structure—worthy of praise and study.”

Imogene nodded and turned back to stare at the mess. “The lower floor will have to be dug out.”

“Yes, but as you can see, the stairs are still intact. Once the debris around is cleared out—Miss Chively? Is something wrong? Why—Miss Chively, stop! The wall might give way. Where are you go—?”

Imogene ran toward the ruined ruins, her heart hammering. She couldn’t breathe, so acute was her fear. “Jasper!” she screamed. “Jasper! Come, Jasper!”

She listened.

And in the silence, she heard a terrible sound. A whimper. Coming from under the collapsed floor.





chapter 2


In which rubble and a peeved father confound Miss Chively and Mr. Benjamin

“No!” Imogene shouted as she tried to race forward, tried to get closer to the hole—tried and tried … to no avail. Something prevented her from moving. Looking down, Imogene saw a hand on her arm, clamped and holding tight. She looked up at Mr. Benjamin, confused. “Why…? Let go, Mr. Steeple. Jasper is in there. He is hurt.”

Mr. Benjamin immediately released his grip, placing his hand in front of her instead. While not truly barring her way, his stance gave Imogene pause.

“I hear Jasper whining—” she said in a shaky voice. “He is hurt,” she repeated, for, really, what else was there to know?

“I beg your pardon, Miss Chively, but could you wait—just for a moment? I really should check the wall first. It could come down on top of you, and then you will be of no use to Jasper whatsoever.” His voice was calm and matter-of-fact.