Uncertain whether she was being pursued, Sydony raced through the rooms towards the front of the house, flung open the door and, without even blinking, launched herself at the man who was standing there.

‘Barto!’

Halted by his tall form, Sydony breathed his name against the soft lapel where she buried her face. A vague memory of security blossomed into a reassuring sense of safety. It was no wonder, for the hard body she clung to was as strong and solid as an oak. It smelled good, too, like horses and leather and something else. She had never noticed Barto’s scent before…but then she hadn’t been this close to him in years.

The Dark Viscount
Deborah Simmons

www.millsandboon.co.uk

A former journalist, DEBORAH SIMMONS turned to fiction after a love of historical romances spurred her to write her own, HEART’S MASQUERADE, which was published in 1989. She has since written more than twenty-five novels and novellas, among them a USA TODAY bestselling anthology and two finalists in the Romance Writers of America’s annual RITA® competition. Her books have been published in 26 countries, including illustrated editions in Japan, and she’s grateful for the support of her readers throughout the world.

With thanks to my fellow author Terri Valentine for her support, encouragement, and friendship.

Chapter One

Sydony watched dark clouds skitter across the sky with a wary eye, aware that the approaching storm made for an ominous arrival at their new home. The heavens seemed bigger out here, the elements of nature more powerful, or perhaps it was just the strangeness of the countryside that gripped her as she gazed out the carriage window. Her brother Kit would say she read too many Gothic novels, yet there was no denying that their destination was a far cry from the neat brick house they had called home for so long.

The sad truth was that she and Kit were orphans—not the wretched sort forced into the workhouses, but orphans none the less. Their mother had passed away when they were still young children, and she was remembered fondly, if not well. But their father had died less than a year ago, and the wound was still fresh.

An especially deep rut in the road flung Sydony against her brother, and she was grateful for Kit’s solid presence. They had come to lean on each other more since the accident, by both choice and necessity. Their father had been a scholar—a man of books, not business—and, since his death, they had been forced to tighten their purses.

Although only two years Sydony’s senior, at nineteen Kit had kept a clear head. He had never succumbed to the lure of gambling or drinking to excess that made so many of his peers fools and paupers or worse. He might sometimes tease Sydony that she was their only real asset, a beauty who would fare well on the marriage mart, but they had neither the heart nor the funds for a Season in London.

So they had remained together, continuing to lease the house where they had lived with their father. But not long after his death, the owner pressed them for more money. Apparently, he was leery of two young people running a household, and, truth to tell, their various stipends and resources were stretched thin. But where were they to go?

It was then, when things looked rather dismal, that their sagging fortunes finally took a turn for the better. The news that they had inherited property from a distant relative seemed like a windfall. They sold off their furniture, packed up their belongings, and set out immediately for their new home. But now, as Sydony watched leaves chasing across the bleak landscape, denuded oaks stark against the sky, she wondered whether their circumstances had sunk even lower.

She caught sight of a sprawling stone structure rising in the distance just as the heavens burst. The storm was upon them, and so, now, was their future. Sydony drew a deep breath as she clung to her seat. The rough road that had seemed nearly impassable before was not improved by the downpour.

‘That must be Oakfield! Do you see it?’ Kit said, leaning forward and pointing eagerly.

‘Yes,’ Sydony murmured, squinting into the sheets of rain. ‘Though this hardly seems a promising welcome.’

Ever the optimist, Kit ignored her dismay. ‘Well, at least we’ve found the place before the road washes away.’

‘Now, that’s a lovely thought,’ Sydony said. Their lifelong neighbour Lady Elizabeth Hawthorne had warned them that the site sounded remote, but Sydony had not thought it beyond the reach of modern highways.

Kit laughed, and Sydony set aside her misgivings as the coach halted in a thunder of splashing hooves. Without waiting for the coachman, Kit pushed at the door, but the wind and rain were so fierce that he had to use some force to thrust it open. Heedless of the elements, he leapt down and turned towards her, his hand extended. But when Sydony stuck her head out, she faltered, blinking against the wetness and gaping at the scene before her.

The world outside was thick with the unnatural twilight of the storm, blinding rain making it hard to see beyond the feeble glow of the carriage lantern. But there was no mistaking the hulking darkness of a building that rose behind the figure of her brother, eerily forbidding, and yet somehow familiar, as if Sydony had seen it in dreams…

‘Syd!’ Kit yelled, and she turned her attention back to her brother. By the time her slippers touched the gravelled drive, her cloak was whipping around her andthehoodhad been thrown back from her face. Ducking, she held on to Kit’s hand as they dashed towards an arched entrance.

‘Look! It’s medieval,’ Kit shouted, pointing upwards, and Sydony lifted her face to see a vague outline of battlements. She paused, once again, to stare at the forbidding façade of old stone laced with even blacker shadows. Either it was crumbling to pieces or it was covered in some sort of growth that made for an altogether unpleasant aspect.

‘Hurry, before we’re both soaked,’ Kit urged, dragging Sydony inside.

It was too late for that. Sydony’s gown was already plastered to her legs, the cold and wet seeping into her bones. For once, she found it difficult to share her brother’s enthusiasm. Being male and of an age that sought excitement and new experiences, he viewed the move as a big adventure, while Sydony longed for the familiar and a routine that might have chafed before, but now would be welcomed.

As they stood under the archway, Kit banged upon the door, but there was no answer to their summons. When their coachman Henry deposited a trunk upon the doorstep, Kit waved him away. ‘See if you can find a stable around the back,’ he shouted over the storm.

Henry nodded and hurried back to the coach, obviously eager to locate a dry berth, while the Marchants were left standing before the massive doors, rattling the knocker.

‘Maybe they can’t hear us,’ Kit said.

The thought was no comfort to Sydony, who shivered under the onslaught of rain and glanced around her dismal surroundings. ‘It looks deserted,’ she said.

Indeed, it did, for no lights glowed warmly at the mullioned windows. The walkway was overgrown, as was the grass and shrubbery. The solicitor had written a warning that the house had not been kept up over the past few years and that additional staff would be needed. Now, as Sydony stood in the pouring rain, she pondered the exact meaning of ‘additional’.

Finally, Kit tried the door, which swung open after a brief struggle. Inside, all was dark and quiet, with little light filtering in from outside.

‘Hello?’ Kit called out. His voice echoed in the old-fashioned hall with its stone flags. Although open, the space smelled musty, and Sydony was struck by a vision of their cosy cottage with its wood floors, brightly painted walls and cheerful, airy windows. Despite her father’s dusty piles of books, it had always been filled with the scents of beeswax and flowers, fresh or dried.

‘Well, even if there’s no one to greet us, here we are at our own place, Syd. What do you think of our good fortune?’ Kit said, spreading his arms to encompass the dreary area.

‘Astounding,’ she said, tongue firmly in cheek.

As she had anticipated, Kit chuckled at her tone before hurrying to drag in the trunks.

Unfastening her cloak, Sydony went in search of the kitchen, but she found no comfort there. Although no servants were about, the place looked as if they had but recently left in the midst of their labours. Several bowls and utensils cluttered the work table, yet when Sydony reached out to touch them, her gloved finger became marked with dust.

It was almost as though the inhabitants had exited suddenly, but when? Sydony shook her head. If so, they had left no food about to spoil or draw vermin, Sydony noted with a quick glance into the shadowy corners. Even the kitchen was gloomy, and as she glanced about Sydony saw that a window high in one wall had been boarded over. No wonder it was dim.

Thankfully, a window in the other wall remained intact. Stepping towards it, Sydony wiped it with a gloved hand and leaned forwards to peek out. At first she could see only blackness, but then a face swam behind the pane. She let out an involuntary shriek before she recognised their own coachman.

Her heart pounding, Sydony drew a deep breath and straightened as she moved to open the nearby door. Although hardly missish, it seemed she was not immune to the odd mood set by the deserted residence.

‘Sorry, miss,’ Henry said, stepping inside. He slipped off his hat and shook the rain from his shoulders. ‘Didn’t mean to give you a fright.’

‘Certainly not,’ Sydony said, knowing how Kit would roar with laughter. She had thought a childhood of boy’s pranks had inured her to everything, but the new surroundings were enough to unnerve anyone.

As if on cue, Kit appeared in the doorway, a sturdy implement in hand that he must have snatched up from a fireplace. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked. ‘I thought I heard something.’

‘I’m afraid I gave Miss Marchant a turn,’ Henry said.

‘It was nothing,’ Sydony muttered, and, for once, Kit did not pursue it. They had more important things to do.

‘I didn’t see any of the crates we shipped ahead,’ Kit said. ‘Did you see anything in the stables?’

Henry shook his head. ‘My boy Clarence is settling in the horses, but I didn’t see hide nor hair of anyone. The place looks like it hasn’t been used in many a year.’

‘Well, we shall just have to set up our own stables,’ Kit said.

‘I hope you’ll be able to find some decent groomsmen way out here,’ Henry said, looking down at the hat in his hand.

‘You’re welcome to stay on, of course. You and Clarence both,’ Kit said, though Sydony knew they had discussed this before.

‘Thank you, sir, but it just isn’t my home here. I’ll miss the team and all, though.’

‘Of course, we shall take care of them, personally, until we can hire some trustworthy,’ Kit assured him. ‘And you must let us know how you get on at the Fieldings’.’

‘I will, sir.’

Before things turned really maudlin, Sydony cleared her throat. ‘Well, since there seem to be no servants about, I’ll see what I can muster up for our dinner. You and Clarence come on back to the kitchen once the horses are bedded down.’

‘Shall we look for a room for you?’ Kit asked.

‘No, sir. We’ll be just fine out in the stables. There’s a separate area with cots.’

‘Very well. Thank you, Henry,’ Kit said. He looked like he wanted to say more, but it had all been said. Sadly, their groomsmen, their cook and their maids had elected not to move to parts unknown. And right now, Sydony could not blame them. Lest she be tempted to take the mail coach back with Henry and Clarence, she set to work. Throwing her cloak over a chair, she stripped off her gloves and went searching for edibles, while Kit started a fire in the open hearth.

Before long there was a nice blaze going, which put forth both warmth and cheer, though the room itself was not exactly homely. Sydony told herself that a good scrubbing and some bright paint would help, though there was no altering the fact that the house was old, with its own style and quirks. A more pessimistic sort might deem it a medieval horror right out of the most popular novels, but Sydony refused to acknowledge the possibility.

For Kit’s sake, if not her own, she needed to keep such thoughts at bay. Besides, everything would look better in the morning, she told herself as she shook out a cloth and laid it upon a corner of the work table. They would eat here, for, despite her good intentions, she hadn’t the heart to tackle any other room at the moment.

Kit found some lanterns that added more light, which improved the atmosphere, and Sydony was grateful. Not knowing what lay ahead today, she had asked for a packed basket when they stopped for luncheon, so there was cold chicken, salted ham, wedges of cheese, a fat loaf of bread and apples for their supper. Thankfully, at some point water had been piped into the house, and Kit produced a bottle of wine that was most welcome.

But when all four of them were seated, it was a sad little group, everyone well aware of their parting on the morrow. Henry made obvious his disapproval of the whole situation, muttering about a godforsaken place without a soul to even greet them properly.

‘Now, Henry, you are talking about my country estate,’ Kit said, while slicing himself more cheese. ‘Don’t you think I’m suited to be a gentleman farmer?’

‘More suited to be that than a gentleman scholar,’ Sydony said, and they all laughed. But even Sydony’s wit and Kit’s good humour could not entirely relieve the sense of a gallows bird’s last meal that hung over the company.

That mood only grew stronger after the coachman and his boy left for the stables and Kit and Sydony went in search of some beds. It was full dark outside, though the storm had abated, as they made their way back to the hall, its musty smell more pronounced after the relatively odour-free kitchen.

‘Look at this wonderful staircase,’ Kit said, as they approached the steps that led from the ground floor up to the first. It squared off, leading up to an open landing, before turning upwards again, its dark wood carved into intricate patterns that seemed a bit busy to Sydony. However, she was loathe to discourage her brother. Someone had to see the bright side of this experience, and Kit was obviously bursting with some sort of male pride of ownership that failed to move his sister.

When they reached the landing, Sydony lifted her lantern towards the looming darkness. ‘What is this?’ she asked. The glow illuminated heavy wooden planks that appeared to be been nailed across the wall.

‘Maybe they’re covering a broken window,’ Kit said. ‘In a place like this, there might have been a stained glass one that would cost a lot to replace.’

‘But a window in the kitchen is boarded up, as well.’

‘Could be more than one has broken over the years,’ Kit said.

Sydony lifted a finger to touch the raw wood, so out of place among the trappings of a medieval manor house. It seemed that someone had gone to an awful lot of trouble to cover up every inch of what lay beneath, but perhaps that was to keep any air from entering. The house was draughty enough without a gaping hole in the wall.

Upstairs, as they wandered from room to room, Sydony noticed more unusual window coverings, this time heavy wooden interior shutters. ‘The place is closed up tighter than a drum,’ she muttered.

‘Maybe Great-aunt Elspeth had an aversion to light,’ Kit joked.

‘Or perhaps a cyclone came through, blowing out one entire side of the house,’ Sydony said drily.

Oddly enough, it did seem that one side of the house, especially, was battened down, and all the windows facing that direction tightly shuttered. Curious, Sydony tried to open one, only to find it nailed securely. ‘Why, you can’t even loose them.’

‘Maybe the place was shut up after Great-aunt Elspeth died,’ Kit answered, obviously not too concerned.

Sydony turned round, trying to get her bearings. ‘But it’s mostly the rooms facing the rear of the house, as did the landing on the stair, that are completely covered.’

‘Maybe the winds are fierce from that direction,’ Kit said.

‘But there must be closed windows behind them,’ Sydony said. Lifting a hand in front of the shutters, she felt no draught. ‘Why nail them shut?’

‘She probably thought they rattled. You know how old ladies are,’ Kit said, over his shoulder. ‘It doesn’t look like these rooms have been used in some time, so she might well have had them shut up.’ Obviously uninterested, he was already moving on, but Sydony couldn’t rid herself of the notion that something wasn’t right.

Why would anyone nail shutters closed, and only those in certain rooms? She shook her head, turning to follow her brother, but the sensation lingered, fuelling her growing uneasiness about the turn of their fortunes.

When they had finally found suitable rooms, Sydony unpacked some clean linens and made up the beds. Kit was surprisingly helpful, although he jested about pursuing a life in service as an upstairs maid. Though her brother remained cheerful, Sydony knew he must be dismayed at the general condition of the house, which should have been prepared for their arrival by a staff set to greet them.

‘No doubt the solicitor misunderstood our arrival date,’ Sydony said to cheer him, though she wasn’t so sure.

Surrounded by a few of her own possessions, Sydony settled in to sleep with the knowledge that Kit was right in the next room. And yet, the fact that they were the only two residents made the strange house seem preter-naturally quiet, as did their location, far from any neighbours, known or unknown. Only the wind howled its welcome, keeping her awake long into the night and moving into her dreams, where unnatural Gothic settings shifted and transformed into her new home.

The silence woke her. At least that’s how it seemed. Perhaps the foul wind had finally abated. More likely, it was the lack of the usual morning bustle, servants lighting fires and fixing breakfasts, that made Sydony blink confusedly. Here in her new surroundings, all was quiet, except for a faint whistling through the window frames.

For a long moment Sydony lay there as awareness seeped through her. In days past, Rose would be opening the curtains and chiding her to get up and join her father, who would be breakfasting over a book, and everything was as familiar to her as her own reflection. But those days were gone, and as pressure formed behind her eyes at that acknowledgement, Sydony blinked and sat up.

She had Kit and a home and was grateful for both. She even had windows without shutters in this new room of hers, Sydony thought with a smile, and she saw that the morning had dawned bright and clear. The events of the night seemed dreamlike now, a product of weariness and darkness and isolation. She was determined that today would be better, and she hurried through her toilet to go downstairs, only to find Kit already at the work table in the kitchen, eating what was left in the hamper.

‘We need to find some chickens and steal their eggs,’ he said, with his mouth full of cheese, and Sydony felt her heart swell. When he pushed a steaming bowl towards her, she leaned over to give him a kiss on the cheek.

‘What’s that for?’ he asked, between forkfuls.

‘Can’t a sister give her brother a nice greeting?’ Sydony asked.

‘You’re just glad that I found some tea,’ Kit said.

‘You know me too well,’ Sydony said, reaching for the bowl. She could do without some things, but not her morning tea.

‘How did you sleep?’ Kit asked, and Sydony hesitated. No doubt her brother had snoozed like the proverbial log and would take personally any complaints that she had not.

‘It is a bit peculiar, being so quiet,’ Sydony said, as tactfully as possible.

‘We’ll get a new staff soon. Then it will sound more like home. And you won’t have to cook for us,’ Kit teased.

‘I can cook quite well, thank you,’ Sydony said, making a face. And it was true. Growing up without a mother, she had often shadowed the servants at their tasks and had learned enough to make do, if necessary. The sudden loss of her mother also had made Sydony aware of how quickly circumstances could change, and she became determined to fend for herself, whether in the kitchen or on horseback or behind the barrel of a pistol.

‘Will we be able to afford enough servants to keep this up?’ Sydony asked, taking in their new home with a wave of her hand.

‘It is larger than I anticipated,’ Kit said. Rising to his feet, he walked to the window as though concentrating on the grounds, not the house. Typical male. ‘Well, we are to inherit some money, too, so I hope we can manage to run the place, as well as tidy it up a bit. We shall know more when the solicitor arrives.’

‘If he arrives,’ Sydony said.

‘I’ve got to take Henry and Clarence to catch the mail coach in Oak’s Hollow, which is where our man has his office, so I’ll stop in and make sure he’s planning on attending to business,’ Kit said.

‘And find out if he has the household goods we shipped ahead,’ Sydony said. ‘I’d hate to have Father’s books go missing.’

Kit nodded, then grabbed up the coat he had slung over a chair and shrugged into it. ‘Maybe you had better come along. I don’t like leaving you here all alone.’

‘Rubbish,’ Sydony said. The answer was automatic, a response she had made countless times before to her brother, and yet she realized that the circumstances were different now. She was alone in a strange, empty house, with nothing but bleak moorland surrounding her.

‘Fine, then,’ Kit said, without glancing her way. ‘I doubt that you’ll have any trouble, but Grandfather’s duelling pistols are up in the room I slept in.’

The offhand comment was not comforting, and Sydony opened her mouth to tell him that she might join him, after all. But he was already slamming the door behind him, leaving her to the dusty stillness. The companionable moment they had shared in their kitchen seemed all too brief, and even the room itself fell into shadow, as if a cloud had passed over the sun.

She could still reach Kit before he left, Sydony knew, and he would not mock her for joining him. However, a lifetime of keeping up with her brother and demanding her own independence made her loathe to give in to feminine fears, even if it meant defiantly staying in a house with enough peculiarities to make a Gothic heroine swoon.

Although Sydony wasn’t the swooning type, she wondered whether she ought not try to catch up with her brother. Pushing back her chair, she slipped on her cloak and stepped outside, intending to call after Kit. She saw him striding toward the stables, but paused at her first real glimpse of her new surroundings.

Instead of neatly clipped lawns and tilled rolling hills, Sydony saw tall grass sadly in need of a trimming and barren moors rising into the distance. With a shudder, she turned round, in search of some pleasant aspect. There had to be a garden somewhere, she told herself, as she stepped along a weedy gravel path that led towards the rear of the house.

She had only taken a few steps when she saw something, a huge mass of dark green that made her pause. ‘What is that?’ she called at Kit, pointing.

‘It’s a maze,’ Kit shouted, with a smile and a wave.

He continued on his way, and Sydony did not stop him. She was too busy looking ahead towards the maze. She’d heard of such things, of course, and had even seen a small one at the pleasure gardens near her old home, but the thought of owning one sent a quiver of delight up her spine. She hurried on until the path ended, then hesitated only briefly before lifting her hem and trudging into the damp grass.

As usual, she resented Kit’s more sensible costume of breeches, boots and greatcoat. He had often told her that she could dress like a man for all he cared; though tempted, Sydony had never succumbed. She had been quite the tomboy when younger, trailing after Kit and his friends, determined to keep up. But over the years, she had come to realize that she was, by nature, different, and had tried to adopt more seemly behaviour. It was not too difficult, especially when her former companions revolted her with some masculine prank. She would never be content to sit and sew, but neither did she care to stride around in breeches, shearing sheep or shooting birds.

Although her slippers were already wet, Sydony continued walking until she reached the rear of the house. There, a crumbling terrace of sorts was surrounded by what had once been a garden. And behind it all, great dark hedges rose so high that they seemed to block out all else. Shivering at the sight, Sydony pulled her cloak tighter around her against a sudden chill in the air. The overgrown greenery held a certain allure that compelled her to seek out its secrets, yet at the same time, its wild, ominous aspect warned her away.

‘Don’t go in there!’

Sydony jumped at the sound of her very thoughts shouted aloud, but when she turned it was only Kit, calling to her from the path.

‘You’re liable to get lost, and we’ve got to meet the solicitor.’

Normally, his high-handed male order would make her bristle, but Sydony nodded in agreement. Still, her brother made no move to leave. Obviously, he was waiting for her to return to the house; with a sigh, she walked towards him.

‘We’ll have plenty of time to explore later. But business first,’ he added, flashing her a grin.

Sydony nodded. There had been a time when she had been the more practical one, but now she was proud of him for taking on so much responsibility.

And just how practical was she? As she watched him leave, Sydony knew full well she ought to go with him. But now, there were more interesting things to investigate at Oakfield, including a maze that was situated behind the house, but could not be viewed from any of its windows.

Chapter Two

Sydony returned to the house with a new purpose. Soon she was searching each room that looked over the rear of the property, but every window was either shuttered or boarded over. Even the doors in the drawing room that led to the crumbling terrace had been blocked. She could wait until Kit returned, but was too impatient for a glimpse of what lay beyond the gardens. Although the maze was nothing except a mass of tall shrubbery at ground level, from higher up in the house, she should be able to view the pattern itself.

Turning on her heel, Sydony decided to look for a crowbar or some tool that she could use to pry free the wood panels. But when she reached the stairs, she remembered that last night Kit had pointed out battlements, rooftop outlooks that were not uncommon in medieval dwellings. A giddy excitement rushed through her at the prospect of standing above with the entire labyrinth laid out before her, its secrets finally revealed.

Although Sydony glanced about for a way upwards, the main staircase did not resume its path, and a quick reconnoitre revealed no other steps. There had to be a way to reach the roof from inside the house, and such a stair should have an opening on every floor, yet all Sydony could find was a door that might or might not take her to the top. And it was locked.

Her new search for a key sent her back down to the ground floor, where she discovered two more locked doors. She was hot and dusty by the time she wandered into what looked like a library—without the books. The room was dark, heavily panelled and lined with shelves, but they were bare, much to Sydony’s disappointment.

With a sigh, she told herself she had no time to read any way. In fact, she ought to be cataloguing the contents of the house or taking a broom to it instead of chasing after phantoms. And, yet, as new owners, shouldn’t she and Kit be able to view every facet of the building, including whatever was closed off?

With that thought in mind, Sydony renewed her search for keys and tugged at the drawers of a tall secretary that was one of the few furnishings in the room. At first glance, they appeared to contain only old letters and receipts. Still, she checked every nook and cranny, digging through the papers until her fingers brushed against metal. With a cry of delight, Sydony pulled out a ring of keys that had probably been carelessly tossed into the drawer.

She stood, intent upon hurrying upstairs at once, but fought against the compulsion. Logic dictated that she try the nearest doors first, so she sought out those on the ground floor. And if one opened on to a servants’ stair that led all the way to the battlements, so much the better.

Unfortunately, it was not that simple. As Sydony stood in front of the first door, trying key after key, her impatience grew. But just as she was tempted to turn aside, she heard the click of the lock that heralded her success. Still, she had to struggle with the door, which seemed to have swollen in the wet weather. Putting all her weight behind her efforts, she leaned back and pulled until the heavy wood swung open with a banging and knocking sound that seemed to ring throughout the house.

Sydony peered into the gaping dark as the smell of cool, damp air greeted her. But just as she leaned forwards, something else rushed out of the blackness, and she fell back with a shriek. Even as she told herself that the thing was probably only a bird, her dislike of the other distinct possibility—that it was a bat—sent her running as far away as possible. Uncertain whether she was being pursued, Sydony raced through the rooms toward the front of the house, flung open the door, and, without even blinking, launched herself at the man who was standing there.

‘Barto!’

Halted by his tall form, Sydony breathed his name against the soft lapel where she buried her face. A vague memory of security blossomed into a reassuring sense of safety. It was no wonder, for the hard body she clung to was as strong and solid as an oak. It smelled good, too, like horses and leather and something else. She had never noticed Barto’s scent before, but then, she hadn’t been this close to him in years.

And with that thought, Sydony realised just how stiffly her rescuer was standing beneath her grip, his chin lifted and his arms rigid at his sides. Far from giving her comfort, he was uncomfortable himself, a discovery that sent embarrassment knifing through her. Sydony stepped back, away from him. Yet even as she loosed her hold, Sydony felt a pang, as though she were letting go of something vital and precious.

Or perhaps one night in this medieval monstrosity had completely unhinged her mind. It had certainly affected her behaviour. Trying to regain her good sense, Sydony drew a deep breath of autumn air that bespoke recent rain and dead leaves, instead of Bartholomew Hawthorne.

‘Pardon me,’ she said, though her behaviour was unpardonable. It might have been accepted, or at least tolerated when she was a small girl tagging after her brother and his best friend. But that friend had drifted away and had grown into a man. And not just any man, mind you, but a lord of the realm: Viscount Hawthorne.

Sydony could feel her face flame. ‘Something gave me a fright, a bird probably,’ she muttered. But even as she spoke, she knew how ridiculous that must sound to someone who had once known her well. She had been resolutely fearless in her younger years, and now she was running from a bird?

Barto’s cool gaze flicked over her, making Sydony raise a hand to her hair. Something had flown at her, for it was in disarray that no amount of surreptitious smoothing could remedy. Under her visitor’s impas-sionate scrutiny, she realised just how unkempt she must appear. Her simple day gown was mussed and dirty, and smudges marred her skin. All she needed was an apron to complete her impersonation of a scullery maid. Still, there was no need for Barto to look at her in such a condescending fashion. Stung, Sydony raised her chin.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked baldly.

Instead of appearing dismayed by the question, Barto simply lifted a dark brow, as though remarking on her poor manners. When had he become so aloof? Sydony wondered. Even more disconcerting, when had he become so attractive? Barto had always been handsome, but then, so was Kit. Girls had always gaped at them, but Sydony had taken little notice. Until now.

Had he grown into his face, maturing into this masculine beauty, or had familiarity blinded her to his looks? If so, that familiarity was long gone. Sydony had seen him at her father’s funeral and at his father’s, as well, but only for brief moments, and before that, it had been years since she and her brother had spent long, careless days in his company.

He was tall now, towering over her, despite her own height, and his shoulders were wide. His deep brown hair was burnished and well cut, although a little too long to be fashionable. But it was his face, at once known and yet different, that made Sydony’s heart beat faster. Unfortunately, its dark perfection was marred by the mocking tilt of his lips, which told her he was well aware of her study.

‘My mother said that you had moved. She misses you, of course, and was naturally concerned that your new home be as you’d hoped,’ he said, finally, in answer to her question.

‘Well, it isn’t,’ Sydony said, irritated by the glint in his eye. Barto probably knew all too well just how handsome he was, and she refused to flatter him with any further study.

‘The residence is deserted, with no staff at all, so we could hardly provide the hospitality to which you are accustomed, my lord Viscount,’ Sydony noted. She had intended to scorn his fine title, but the oddness of addressing Barto by his father’s name took the force from her words.

Barto’s dark brows lowered, and Sydony remembered his temper, although she saw no crack in his elegant façade. ‘I assure you that I am not made of spun sugar,’ he said, coolly. ‘Nor will I melt away without the benefit of luxuries.’

Sydony doubted that. Once upon a time, she had fed this man mud pies, but now he was used to the best of everything, and she could not even offer him biscuits. If she had seen some hint of her former companion, Sydony would have given little thought to the change in circumstances, but there was no warmth in this meeting. And if he treated her so coldly, what if he looked down his aristocratic nose at Kit, flush with excitement over his property?

‘I’m sorry, Ba—my lord,’ Sydony swiftly amended. ‘We are not at home to visitors, as yet. But do give your mother my greatest regards and tell her that we are well and arrived safely.’

Sydony tendered a terse smile, but Barto obviously would not be dismissed on the threshold like some tradesman. Again, though the exterior remained unchanged, Sydony saw the flash in those dark eyes, and she was tempted to shut the door, rather than face his displeasure. Yet she stood her ground, her own temper flaring at the untenable position he had put her in. A gentleman would take her rebuff with good grace.

But Barto had never been a gentleman.

Well mannered when he chose, he was too used to getting his own way to have the natural charm of someone like Kit. And right now the set of his mouth made her suspect he was going to argue with her, rather than give way. She was wondering how on earth to get rid of him when the decision was taken out of her hands.

Indeed, they had been so intent upon each other that neither one had noticed Kit’s approach. But now Sydony heard the sound of a team driven a little too fast. No doubt Kit was concerned to see her alone with a visitor, for he slowed as soon as he neared Barto’s coach, the crest clearly visible. Jumping down from the carriage, he bounded up the walkway with an grin of delight. Sydony tried to catch his eye, to warn him against effusive greetings, but it was too late.

‘Barto!’ Kit exclaimed, reaching out to thump the new viscount on the back in the friendly gesture of boon companions. ‘This is a welcome surprise!’

Good-natured Kit probably took no notice, but Sydony saw the stiffness in Barto’s stance, as well as his blank expression, and she bristled. If he had no intention of pursuing an old acquaintance, then why did he not take his leave? Surely his mother would demand no more.

‘I’d invite you to stay, but I’m afraid we’re a bit at sixes and sevens here,’ Kit said.

‘So your sister explained.’

‘But I stopped by the solicitor’s, and he is to follow shortly,’ Kit said, turning to Sydony. ‘I insisted he come out here as I didn’t want to leave you alone any longer than necessary.’

Barto shot her a strange look. ‘You were here alone?’

‘I told you the place was deserted,’ Sydony snapped.

A dark brow lifted, perhaps a signal of astonishment; in the world of Viscount Hawthorne, ‘deserted’ probably meant a staff of twenty.

Ignoring the exchange, just as he had their past squabbles, Kit continued, ‘And he has the household goods we sent on ahead, which he didn’t think should be stored here.’

‘Certainly not when the door is open to all and sundry,’ Sydony said.

‘And you here alone,’ Barto said, his lips curving downwards. He eyed Sydony in a manner that disconcerted her, but went unnoticed by her brother.

‘Ah, well, you know these country folks,’ Kit said, with a shrug. He turned to Barto. ‘Come in. I’m afraid we can’t offer you anything, but you must see the palatial estate since you are here.’

Not trusting herself to witness Barto’s disdain, Sydony hurried off to make herself more presentable. She refused to change her gown, but she shook out the skirt, washed off the smudges, and fixed her hair. It would have to do.

Exiting her room, Sydony found the two men before the locked door on the first floor. ‘See here, Syd,’ Kit said. ‘We were hoping this might lead up to the battlements,’ he added, although Barto looked as though he harboured no such desire.

Having been distracted by the viscount since his arrival, Sydony abruptly remembered her earlier preoccupation with the maze, and her excitement returned. ‘I found a set of keys,’ she said, pulling the ring from her pocket with a flourish.

Barto raised a dark brow yet again, which probably meant her enthusiasm was unladylike. But Sydony ignored him and turned to her brother. ‘In fact, I had begun to try them on the locked doors when a bat flew out of the cellar at me.’

Aware of her irrational fear, Kit eyed her closely. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked, having long since stopped tormenting her with creatures, both real and fake.

‘Yes. Luckily, our guest arrived to rescue me,’ Sydony said, her tone laced with sarcasm. She declined to elaborate on the circumstances, which could only cause her renewed embarrassment. But, hopefully, Barto realised that she had not run into his arms in avid greeting or with hopes of pursuing their acquaintance.

While the two men watched, Sydony began trying the keys in the lock, one by one, but none fit. ‘How odd,’ she murmured, struck once more by the peculiarities of their new home.

Meanwhile, Kit took the ring from her and attempted the task himself, in the manner of males everywhere. Since brute strength was not required, Sydony thought his efforts wasted, but said nothing. After all, he was her brother and much beloved.

‘The place has been shut up for a long time,’ he noted, when his attempts failed, as well. ‘For all we know, some rooms might be blocked off for a reason.’

‘Such as an infestation of bats?’ Sydony suggested.

Kit grinned, but she didn’t bother to glance at Barto, whose circle probably outlawed smiles as beneath them.

‘The solicitor will have a full set,’ Kit said, handing the ring back to her.

‘Not if it’s the same one he used to lock up the house.’

As usual, Kit ignored her dry comment, but Barto gave her a studied look. Perhaps, if she truly offended his arrogant sensibilities, he would leave. Momentarily diverted, Sydony considered ways in which to do so, but she was hard pressed to come up with something worse than what she had already done—running into his arms to clutch at him like a long-lost lover.

Lover? Sydony froze. She had no idea why that word came to mind. She had run to him just as she would have her brother or her father or perhaps even the younger version of Barto—for comfort from a fright. Any other interpretation was ludicrous.

Her face suddenly flushed, Sydony turned and headed down the staircase. To her relief, when she reached the open area, the solicitor had arrived, and she had a good excuse to avoid her old neighbour as she and Kit adjourned to the library.

As Kit led them inside, Sydony glanced curiously at Mr Sparrowhawk, who looked more like a sparrow than a hawk, except perhaps for his large hook nose. Otherwise, he was small and bony and rather drab. He also appeared to be nervous, his dark little eyes behind spectacles darting about, as if he expected something to jump out of the shadows towards him at any moment.

Maybe he knew about the bats.

Sitting down on the very edge of a straight-backed chair, his hands clutching the satchel in his lap, the solicitor cleared his throat. ‘Well, obviously, you found the place without any problem,’ he said.

Or assistance, Sydony wanted to add.

‘As I made clear in our correspondence, as your father’s son and heir, you, Mr Marchant, are now the owner of the property of Oakfield, which includes a manor house, stables, various outbuildings, gardens, orchards and a substantial amount of acreage, formerly in the possession of one Elspeth Marchant. Here is a complete list, as well as the various accounts available to you.’

The solicitor presented papers for Kit’s signature, impatiently tapping a finger while her brother read through them all. He seemed intent upon concluding his business rapidly; when he gathered up the documents, Sydony leaned forwards.

‘Do you have a set of keys for us?’ she asked.

Mr Sparrowhawk looked startled, whether by the question or Sydony’s presence, she could not guess.

‘The building was unlocked and unattended when we arrived, and since you are holding some of our goods, I thought you might have a set of keys, as well,’ she explained.

‘I do,’ he replied, as if her words had reminded him of the fact. Reaching into his satchel, he handed over a heavy ring to Kit, seeming glad to be rid of it.

Mr Sparrowhawk then cleared his throat. ‘I apologise for missing your arrival,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid I confused the time.’ He glanced down, as though unable to look at them, and Sydony wondered just how successful the man could be.

‘And the servants?’

Mr Sparrowhawk eyed his knuckles intently. ‘I did make an effort to find you some staff, but without knowledge of your circumstances and needs, I hesitated to—’

Sydony cut him off. ‘We need someone immediately, Mr Sparrowhawk, two housemaids, at least, and a cook.’

‘And a groomsman,’ Kit added.

‘It is a rather remote location,’ the solicitor muttered, shaking his head.

‘But I assume it was staffed before? What happened to the former employees?’ Sydony asked.

Mr Sparrowhawk frowned. ‘I’m not certain, but I shall make inquiries.’

‘As well as send on the rest of our household goods?’

He nodded tersely, moved even closer to the edge of his chair, as though anxious to make his escape, then paused. ‘I do have some other business to present to you,’ he said. ‘As your solicitor, I am bound to report that I have received an offer on the property.’

Sydony’s opinion of the man rose immediately. If someone was interested in the house, she and Kit might take the money from the sale and return home, or at least to their old neighbourhood, where they could buy or lease something else. Sydony leaned forwards, hardly daring to hope, but when Mr Sparrowhawk named an amount, she slumped in her seat.

‘Why, that’s not half the worth of the house, let alone the property,’ Kit said.

‘Yes, well, I am only reporting it.’

‘Perhaps if we formally put the place up for sale, we might get a more reasonable offer,’ Sydony suggested, without glancing at Kit.

Mr Sparrowhawk cleared his throat. ‘As you can see, Oakfield isn’t quite what it used to be. And yet, as you say, it is still worth a goodly amount. But there aren’t many buyers around here with that kind of money.’ His bony hands gripped the satchel tightly.

There was something he wasn’t saying, Sydony could tell. ‘Is there anything wrong with the house?’

The solicitor appeared flustered by the direct question. ‘Well, um, there are many old stories, as I’m sure you’ll hear. I wouldn’t pay them any mind. You are young and just may turn the place around.’

‘From what?’ Sydony asked.

She could hear Kit stir beside her. ‘From a bit of neglect, which I’m sure we can remedy,’ he said, his firm tone obviously meant to silence her.

Sydony ignored it. ‘Can you tell me why all the windows facing the gardens have been secured, either with boards or shutters that have been nailed shut?’

Mr Sparrowhawk’s beady eyes looked as though they might pop from his head, and for a moment Sydony thought he would not answer at all. But after a long pause, he cleared his throat. ‘Did you know Miss Marchant well?’ he asked.

Sydony shook her head. They had rarely seen their father’s Aunt Elspeth, though she sent them religious tracts, rather…well…religiously on their birthdays.

‘She seemed a very pious woman,’ Kit noted.

‘Yes. Quite devout,’ Mr. Sparrowhawk said, looking down at his hands. ‘But she was also getting on in years and developed some peculiar notions.’

Sydony eyed the man expectantly.

He lifted a finger to loosen his collar. ‘Yes, well, as to the windows, I understand that Miss Marchant didn’t care for the maze. She claimed she saw lights bobbing about in it and did not want to look upon it. She was a superstitious woman.’

‘But why would she be superstitious of a maze?’ Kit asked, obviously bewildered.

‘As I said, she developed some peculiar notions,’ the solicitor repeated. ‘I understand that she thought someone was breaking into the house, though she reported no thefts. And there was talk of her wanting to burn all the books, though I don’t know whether she did or not.’

With that, Mr Sparrowhawk stood, apparently having said all he intended on the subject. ‘Now, if you will excuse me, I have other business to conduct this afternoon.’

He slipped out of the library quite neatly, but was prevented from reaching the door by Barto, who stood as though waiting for an introduction.

The change that came over the bird-like fellow at the mention of Barto’s title annoyed Sydony, even though she should have expected as much. In childhood, there had been little distinction among the three companions, except for their treatment by some of the servants. But now the gulf between them was obvious as the formerly reticent solicitor fawned over Barto in a manner Sydony could only term sickening.

‘Mr Marchant was just showing me through his new acquisition, but since you were in charge of the estate, I’m sure you’ll want to go through the house with him to make sure that all is as it should be,’ Barto said.

Mr Sparrowhawk looked as though he would like nothing less, but dared not refuse a viscount. And so all four of them began trudging through the residence, the solicitor glancing over his shoulder as though expecting someone else to appear. A member of the nonexistent staff, perhaps? Sydony was beginning to wonder whether prolonged association with Oakfield directly affected the mind.

Her own was a muddle of annoyance with the general state of things, worry over staffing the large house, and homesickness. Drawing a deep breath, she tried to clear her thoughts as she followed after them, listening to Barto ask the questions of a knowledgeable property owner.

Just when the solicitor seemed on the verge of escape, the viscount held him up with another pointed question concerning the dearth of servants. Red-faced and bowing, Mr Sparrowhawk dutifully promised to send someone out immediately.

‘Very good. I shall hold you personally responsible, then?’ Barto asked, in a tone that Sydony barely recognised as his. It was not loud or forceful, but ripe with the expectation of having his wishes fulfilled. Unsaid, but implicit, was the promise of swift and merciless retribution, should he not be obeyed.

That silent vow she remembered from her childhood, as his will and her stubbornness had often clashed. Not without her own resources, Sydony’s revenge had often involved public embarrassment of the young peer, the recollection of which made her flush with mortification.

Now, however, she was sullenly grateful for his expertise. There was no denying that Barto got things done. He had power, but that was not all of it. He was more determined than Kit, who had a casual outlook on life. Why demand a trip through the house? her brother would ask, if she pressed him. What did it matter? It really didn’t, but still, she was grateful to the viscount.

Anyone who could find her servants was someone to be reckoned with. But why had Barto gone out of his way to help them? Sydony could not think it kindness that drove him or even any pledge to his mother. What, then?

As if reading her mind, he turned toward her and Kit. ‘I’ll have my groomsmen stable the horses. And my valet can ready a room, with your permission?’

Sydony could only gape while Kit agreed.

‘You’re staying?’ she said.

Barto nodded, a dark brow lifting at her question.

‘But there isn’t any staff or foodstuffs!’

‘Actually, I did bring some supplies in from the village,’ Kit said, turning to follow Mr Sparrowhawk out the door.

Sydony was left standing with a smug-looking Barto. The curve of those full lips was slight, but enough to remind her of his small victories over her in their youth. Sydony’s eyes narrowed. ‘Very well. I hope you are comfortable, my lord,’ she said.

‘Surely it can be no worse than the time we spent lost in the wilds of Sherwood Forest,’ he said, that lovely mouth quirking at the corner.

Sydony blinked, first in confusion, and then with recognition as the long-forgotten incident returned to her mind. That was when Barto was going through his Robin Hood spell. Having read all that he could upon the subject, he gathered his small band together for excursions into the vast tracts of wood that were part of his birthright.

Sydony never wanted to be Maid Marian, so she took up a variety of roles, including Friar Tuck. That day, Kit had twisted his ankle, and so Little John had limped home, but Barto and Sydony had gone on. He had dared her to follow, and she would not refuse a challenge.

He never admitted they were lost, of course. And when darkness fell, he made them a bed of leaves and told her that this time she was Maid Marian, captured and forced to spend the night with the brigands, but she was not to worry as he would keep her safe. And Sydony had never felt so secure as with the boy she fought with and tagged after, unwanted.

Suddenly, Sydony wanted to weep for that boy and for a sweet memory that the man he was now had ruined. But she would not allow how much it had meant to her, would not give him that further triumph, and so she again blinked, banishing the moisture that threatened her eyes.

‘Indeed, for at least we shall have a roof over our heads,’ she said. The words came out brittle and hoarse, with more emotion than she intended. And just as if they were children again, Sydony was seized with an urge to push him hard for his taunt. She could happily imagine knocking him to the stone floor, his elegant garb damaged along with his pride.

But, besides the fact that she was too old for such behaviour, Sydony suspected that he would not be so easy to move these days. And something else made her wary of touching him again, something that ran far deeper than her battered emotions: a fear that this time she might not let go.

Chapter Three

Bartholomew Hawthorne, sixth Viscount Hawthorne, waited until his former neighbour was well out of sight before slipping off to the stables, where he found Hob keeping watch. Ostensibly, Hob was a groomsman, but his expertise went far beyond handling horses. His shadowy background of pugilism and military service, rumoured to include some spying for his Majesty’s government, was just what Barto wanted after recent events.

‘Well, my lord?’ Hob asked, from a darkened corner of the old stables.

‘Well, indeed,’ Barto said, looking around at the building that was even more neglected than the house. ‘Would you like a room in the servants’ quarters, though I dare say they aren’t much better?’

‘No. I’d prefer to keep to myself, me and Jack,’ Hob said, referring to the man who was sorting through some old tack. Jack had been part of the hire, as Hob didn’t want anyone else aware of his movements. ‘Did you find out anything?’

‘Not much,’ Barto said. ‘If they’ve come into a fortune, it certainly isn’t visible.’

‘Hmm. The fellow’s an open sort. What about the lady?’

Barto thought about Sydony with something akin to chagrin, a sensation that rarely visited him. Of course, he had stepped out of the bounds of good taste by mentioning the night he had spent with her, no matter how young they had been at the time. But the look on her face when he mentioned that night had startled him. He had not meant to draw blood with the reference, merely prove that he could survive without the usual comforts.

‘She seems to think I can’t do without my luxuries,’ Barto said, a tinge of asperity creeping into his voice. Did she think him a pampered, fat, titled buffoon, like the Prince Regent himself? The contempt lurking in her green eyes had managed to pierce his usual aplomb, making him want to respond in kind.

But the contempt hadn’t always been there. When she rushed from the house, Barto had seen a flash of surprised recognition and pleasure before she threw herself at him. For a moment, the years melted away, and Barto knew an urge to gather her to him and weep—both with the joy of reunion and with a grief that he had not even revealed to his mother.

The feelings were wholly unexpected, but when Sydony Marchant put her arms around him, Barto wanted nothing more than to lose himself in her embrace. It had taken all his discipline not to keep her close, but his will had held. He was thankful for that discipline when he considered what had followed: a complete turn of mood that culminated in her apparent disapproval of his plans.

‘It could be that she doesn’t want me to stay here,’ Barto mused aloud.

‘Any idea why?’

Barto shook his head. She had turned and stalked away without the slightest attempt at gracious excuses, leaving him to watch the slight sway of her hips, a sure indication that Sydony Marchant had grown up. Although he had glimpsed her at the funerals, he’d been too sunk in his own misery to notice. But now, in much closer quarters, the changes were very apparent.

Sydony had always been boyish, a smaller, more delicate version of Kit. Although she was still slender, she could not be mistaken for a lad with those round breasts, gently curved hips, and that luxurious mop of hair. Mop was right, as her tomboyish ways still left her looking more dishevelled than any proper female should. So why did he feel a sudden interest in seeing her even more dishevelled?

Barto frowned at the thought, which he found both repugnant and vaguely incestuous. Although they had no blood ties, a childhood spent in close contact with Sydony Marchant made her seem like a relation, which would explain his fury over her being here alone and unprotected.

He glanced at Hob. ‘Did you find anyone else around?’

‘No, sir. Not a soul, and it looks like the place has been abandoned for a while.’

Had Barto known of their solitude when she threw her arms about him…But he hadn’t, and he had been chased by too many females intent upon the promise of a comfortable living and a title not to wonder whether Sydony would presume upon their old acquaintance to secure her future. The idea seemed laughable now, after the abrupt change in her attitude, but what had caused the change? His failure to return her embrace? Kit’s arrival? His subsequent plans to stay? Or was it something more sinister?

Barto’s expression hardened at the reminder of his mission, and he turned his full attention to Hob. ‘We’re going to need some help…’

To Sydony’s surprise, they soon had more supplies and the crates that had been shipped ahead, as well as a cook, a maid and a man to help with unloading, lifting and general repairs. Throughout the afternoon and evening, Sydony hurried from one task to another, consulting with the new servants and doing what she could to make the place more presentable, but her mind kept drifting back to one thing. And it wasn’t the maze.

Try as she might to dismiss him from her mind, Barto lingered in her awareness, drawing her attention like a nasty boil of which she could not be rid. It seemed that everything she did made her consider his reaction, which only annoyed her further. She was torn between her desire to improve the house, so that he not disparage it, and a wish that he be as uncomfortable as possible, so that he would leave.

Even Sydony recognised the impulses as contradictory.

She acknowledged that the manor had begun to look better already. Cleaning and airing and light did much to improve the place, though Kit would not hear of removing the ivy that clung to the exterior. He claimed the vines added character, while Sydony thought they just made the building dark and eerie.

Barto said nothing. For Kit’s sake, Sydony had hoped that the easy familiarity that once existed between the neighbours would return, but that had not happened. The friendship of two boys who seemed to share each other’s thoughts had been replaced by a mannered distance imposed by Barto.

He stalked around the their home with a coldness and arrogance that Sydony found unbearable. Although she told herself that she was outraged on Kit’s behalf, she was more angry with herself, for noticing the man at all.

Indeed, far from cheering her, the presence of their former neighbour seemed only to heighten the sensation of being cut off from all she knew, the servants, friends and villagers, the country dances and small social pleasures of her former life. Although remotely situated in their new location, Sydony was surprised they had received no invitations from the local gentry or welcoming visits from neighbours. But for Mr. Sparrowhawk and the arrival of the servants, it was as if the Mar-chants were alone.

And now, as they sat in the hastily cleaned dining hall, Barto’s presence cast a pall over the table, making her tense and aware of all her shortcomings, or, rather, the house’s shortcomings.

Oblivious to any undercurrents, Kit chatted away about the place, while Barto contributed his opinions. To Sydony’s surprise, he appeared to be very knowledgeable about managing property. When had he come to care about drainage and tenant farmers and enclosure laws? Although he probably could use all that information to run the family seat, she thought he’d lost all interest in his future responsibilities when he went off to school. Were the rumours of him being sunk in dissipations in London just that, ill-founded gossip?

‘Are you living at Hawthorne Park, then?’ she asked.

Barto’s dark gaze skimmed over her, as though he had forgotten her very existence. ‘Yes. I have been home for some time.’

His cursory response irked her, and Sydony was tempted to ask why he had not paid them a visit before they moved. But the maid entered the room at that moment with another course.

‘The cook is to be commended,’ Kit said, as he dug into a piece of boiled beef. He was happy with simple fare and lots of it. Although he was nearly as tall as Barto, Sydony swore he was still growing. ‘I think she will do nicely for us.’

‘But she won’t stay above a month,’ Sydony said. ‘She is moving away to live with her daughter.’ Or, at least, that’s what she had told Sydony when pressed. The woman was terse and uncommunicative, so Sydony could only hope for someone more agreeable in the future.

‘Have you talked with all of them, the new servants?’ Barto asked.

‘Of course,’ Sydony said. Did he think her a useless henwit? Or did he imagine that Kit had suddenly developed an interest in running a household? As the sole female, she had been in charge of their home for years.

Barto did not glance her way when she answered, but looked to Kit. ‘It appears that Mr Sparrowhawk was not exaggerating his difficulties, for they seem rather reluctant to be here.’

‘The servants?’ Kit asked, with a look of surprise.

Sydony frowned. ‘That is not true. The maid is fresh and eager for her first position.’

‘Perhaps because she does not know the house, but the other two are less enthusiastic,’ Barto said.

Sydony blinked at him. Had he always been so obnoxious, or had he acquired the habit when living in London? Perhaps it was his newly elevated rank that made him an expert on every subject, even her own staff.

‘I don’t know about the cook or the maid, but I talked to the fellow, Newton, and he did seem a bit peculiar,’ Kit admitted. ‘When I said we needed someone to clear brush, he was quite adamant in refusing any outside work.’

‘Perhaps he has an aversion to fresh air,’ Sydony said.

Barto ignored her jibe, as though she hadn’t spoken. ‘Apparently, there’s some sort of history to the house, but I can’t discover exactly what. No one is very talkative.’

Although Barto’s words confirmed her own suspicions, Sydony did not want him ruining Kit’s pride of ownership with vague insinuations. ‘I think I should appreciate a house that has been talked about,’ she said.

‘Most definitely, especially if there is a delicious scandal attached,’ Kit said with a wicked grin. ‘Perhaps an illicit affair.’

Sydony nearly choked at the thought of Great-aunt Elspeth being involved in something so tawdry, but she fell in with the spirit of the moment. ‘I think I would prefer a duel,’ she suggested.

‘Or orgies along the lines of the Devil’s Club.’

‘Kit!’ Sydony sputtered in shock, while her brother laughed at her outrage. But Barto didn’t join in the play. Apparently, he was too dignified to engage in such silliness, because he looked annoyed, if not affronted, by their amusement. But he said nothing further on the history of the house, and Sydony was glad when the conversation veered in another direction.

She couldn’t help wondering just what Barto had discovered, but even if there were some sort of story to the house, what could they do about it? They could not sell, except at a great loss, so they must live here and make the best of it.

And they did have the maze, Sydony thought as she remembered the mysterious labyrinth that Aunt Elspeth had so disliked. Suddenly, Sydony wondered if the hired man’s aversion to exterior jobs had any relation to the overgrown hedges behind the house. At the thought, she drew in a sharp breath, and was glad to see that her brother was too deep in conversation with Barto to notice. Of course, if she suggested such a thing, Kit would say her imagination was running wild, a result of reading too many Gothic novels. But didn’t they always have a dark, mysterious villain?

Sydony glanced surreptitiously at Barto. Handsome, cool and stiffly polite, he was too elegant and collected to qualify. No doubt, he would be at ease even in the finest circles, which made her wonder what was he doing in their dining hall. Why did he insist on staying? And why would a nobleman concern himself with another’s servants at all, let alone question them about the house he was visiting?

Sydony frowned, unable to piece together the puzzle that was Viscount Hawthorne, but she had the feeling, just as she’d had with the solicitor, that there was something their old friend wasn’t saying.

Although it was late by the time Sydony heard Kit come to bed, she drew him into her room for a private conversation, their first real chance to talk since he had left the house this morning. Pulling him over to a seat by the windows, she listened as he spoke enthusiastically about his plans for the property and Barto’s suggestions. But at the mention of the new viscount, Sydony studied her brother closely.

‘Don’t you think it odd that he arrived here immediately after we did when he hasn’t approached us for years?’ she asked.

‘No,’ Kit said. Leaning back in the upholstered chair, he crossed his arms behind his head and stretched out his long legs. ‘He’s been busy. And you heard him—his mother had only just informed him of our move.’

‘But common courtesy requires that a visitor, especially an uninvited one, wait until their hosts are settled into the new residence.’

Kit grinned. ‘I’m afraid that men don’t think along those lines. And since when are you a stickler for etiquette?’

‘I’m not,’ Sydony said. ‘But Viscount Hawthorne should be, given his vaunted position in society.’

‘He’s human, Syd, just like he’s always been,’ Kit countered.

‘And how would we know what he is now or has been over these past years? We saw little enough of him once he went off to Eton, to be among his own.’

Kit snorted. ‘He had no choice, Syd. He wasn’t blessed with a father who held the public school system in contempt, like we were. I was lucky to be tutored at home, rather than be tormented by older boys and sadistic men with little or no interest in teaching.’

Sydony glanced at him sharply. ‘What? Is that what Barto endured? Did he tell you so?’

Kit shrugged, obviously unwilling to share a confidence. ‘It’s what everyone endures and why Father took our studies upon himself.’

‘Beyond his own love of scholarship,’ Sydony noted, with a smile. She was grateful for their father’s habits, which had given her the opportunity to learn more than most females.

‘I suppose that you saw him more often than I did,’ Sydony mused.

‘Who? Barto?’ Kit asked.

Sydony nodded, but Kit only shrugged again. She knew that they had sought each other’s company often enough when younger, devising ways to exclude her. And they probably had continued the practice long after she stopped chasing after them.

‘When I did chance upon him, he seemed so much older. Harder,’ Sydony mused.

‘He was always more mature,’ Kit said. ‘From birth he had the responsibility of nobility hanging over his head. That vast estate and the people it supports were always destined to be his, and it weighed upon him.’

Sydony looked up in surprise once more, but Kit appeared uncomfortable. ‘I hardly saw him in the later years, either,’ he added.

Sydony frowned. ‘Yes, I imagine he had other pursuits.’ They had heard of wild times in London and his mother’s concern for his future. But now she wondered just how much of it was true.

Again, Kit snorted. ‘Well, they seem to have done him no harm.’

Sydony refused to admit that Barto bore no ill effects from any sordid adventures. ‘No, they appear only have made him more arrogant.’

‘Lud, Syd, what have you got against the fellow? He’s always had his duty hanging over him, and he never seemed pleased about the prospect.’

‘He looks eager enough now to play the lord.’

Kit threw up his hands in exasperation and stood.

‘I just think his sudden desire to visit is odd, that’s all,’ Sydony said.

‘You think everything is odd,’ her brother called over his shoulder.

‘If I do, it’s because…every thing here is,’ Sydony whispered, though Kit was already closing the door.

She nearly called him back, but the knowledge that he was weary after their long day kept her silent. With his exit, the night drew in around her, and Sydony felt a sudden pang of loneliness. She tried to dismiss it as she prepared for bed, for, were she at her former home, she would still be by herself. No one would be joining her here in the darkness.

Yet her father had always been available, like as not nodding over a book in his study at all hours. The servants were well liked and of long standing, though she would not have disturbed their rest. And there were her friends and neighbours, who sometimes shared extended visits. Of course, Molly was married now, as was Eliza, but Sydony had remained close to them until the move. Theirs was a small set, not polished or grand in the manner of Viscount Hawthorne’s London circle.

Thoughts of her unwanted guest made Sydony feel even more bereft, for she found herself missing the boy she had once known, replaced now by a stiff and arrogant nobleman. She swallowed a lump in her throat as she remembered his earlier taunt about Sherwood Forest.

Not only was she far from her home and all that was familiar, but this stranger was ruining treasured memories of her childhood. Crawling into bed, Sydony turned on her side and finally let herself weep for all that was lost.

During the long hours until morning Sydony tossed and turned through distressing dreams in which huge hedges walled her in and Barto stood by, doing nothing to help her. She woke up gasping for breath, having buried herself under the covers, but she swung out of bed, determined to avoid another night of such torment.

Today she would satisfy her curiosity about the maze, once and for all. The mysterious greenery couldn’t haunt her sleep if she faced it in the daylight. She had the ring of keys from the solicitor, as well as a workman to remove the shutters that barred her view. Either way, she was going to see the source of her curiosity, and, by doing so, put it to rest.

Sydony’s heart picked up its pace as she headed down to the dining hall, eager to tackle the secret of the labyrinth. Hurrying into the room, Sydony startled Kit by demanding the keys without preamble. Caught with a mouthful of breakfast, he pointed soundlessly toward the library, where she found her brother had piled the papers that Mr Sparrowhawk had given him.

Muttering to herself at the habits of men, Sydony gathered them together, lest they become mixed in with the stacks of old receipts and miscellany that were already crowding the secretary. Then she snatched up the ring and headed back up the staircase, nearly running into Barto, who was descending, elegant as always—thanks to his valet, no doubt.

Thanks were surely due someone, Sydony thought, for Barto was a sight to behold. He didn’t dress like some of the peacocks she had seen on her rare visits to London, but with an understated sophistication that made him look…well, beautiful. For some reason, Sydony’s pulse started pounding at that revelation, but the mocking lift of one of his dark brows quickly brought it back to normal.

‘Pardon me,’ Sydony said as she hurried past him. Better she be obsessed with the maze than her old neighbour, no matter how handsome he had become. Pushing Barto firmly from her mind, Sydony reached the door on the first floor and tried the new set of keys, her excitement growing with each attempt. But, just like yesterday, none of those on the ring worked the lock. In disbelief, Sydony went through each another time, to no avail.

Thwarted once more, she could do nothing except return to the dining hall, where Barto had joined her brother. His greeting at her entrance was perfunctory, and again, she wondered just why he was here. Perhaps he would leave today, Sydony thought with a mixture of pleasure and vague disappointment. If she were disappointed, she told herself, it was only because the reasons for his visit would remain a mystery.

As she filled her plate, Sydony considered the possibility that he might be hiding from someone—a pack of creditors, perhaps. The new viscount might have amassed gambling debts from his forays to London, and who would look for him here?

This new theory made him seem the villain of her nightmares, and she studied him closely as she took her seat. Would he lift a finger to aid her, if needed? Thankfully, she would never be in a position to find out.

A sharp glance from the subject of her scrutiny made Sydony lift her fork and turn to Kit. ‘I shall require your man today.’

‘Sorry, but you can’t have him,’ Kit said as he stood to fill another plate. ‘I’m setting him about repairing some loose boards in the library. It looks as though someone tore up the floor at some point.’

‘What?’

Kit shrugged, as if to admit that nothing about Oakfield Manor made sense.

‘But I was hoping to get those shutters taken down,’ Sydony protested.

A look from Kit told her he did not deem her fascination with the rear of the property as important as a dangerous stretch of flooring. He was right, of course, and yet Sydony felt a growing urgency to investigate the maze. Perhaps she ought to just go out there and try to wind her way through it? Excitement surged through her at the thought, but one glance at the windows, where a steady rain beat against the panes, made her change her mind.

‘None of the keys will open the locked door on the upper story, so I cannot get up there,’ she complained.

‘Perhaps the battlements are closed off for some reason,’ Kit said.

‘Mr Sparrowhawk said nothing of it.’

Kit snorted. ‘The man said nothing of anything unless Barto wormed it out of him.’

‘Since we did not go up there during our inspection of the house, maybe you should contact him,’ Barto said. ‘It could be dangerous.’

Sydony frowned. No doubt he was too sophisticated to share her interest in a mere garden maze.

‘You mean that someone might have fallen from the roof? That could give rise to your ill rumours about the house. You know how accidents make people nervous,’ Kit said.

‘The battlements might be crumbling, but, no, I don’t think that’s the sort of thing that would cause such talk,’ Barto said.

‘Well, I’d send a note round to Sparrowhawk, if I could spare my man. I wish he would send more prospects out here. I must have a groomsman. Perhaps I’ll ride into the village later.’

‘Don’t bother. I’ll send one of my men with a note,’ Barto said, and Kit nodded in gratitude.

‘Surely the floor won’t take all day. Perhaps he can help me with a few of the shutters when you are finished,’ Sydony said.

Kit shook his head. ‘Your obsession will have to wait, Syd.’

Sydony could not blame him. Still, she felt a sharp sense of disappointment. Perhaps it would clear off later, enough for her to…

‘May I be of service to you?’

Sydony’s head jerked at the sound of Barto’s voice, so smooth, so deep and so unexpected. Her pulse pounded again, inexplicably, as she realised just what he had said. ‘I beg you pardon?’

‘The shutters. Can I help you with them?’

Sydony smiled at the thought of the elegant nobleman toiling like a commoner. ‘Well, perhaps you could volunteer another one of your groomsmen, as it will involve some labour.’

Barto lifted one dark brow in mocking question. The man was insufferable, Sydony decided. ‘But if you are intent upon doing it yourself, you will need some tool to pry them open, for they are all nailed shut.’ Although she expected him to demure, once again, Barto surprised her.

‘I’m sure I can find something to use,’ he said. The dark look he sent her was a challenge, and one Sydony remembered well from her childhood. In those days, she would have returned his bold gaze, rising to whatever dare he put to her.

But now she shivered, her pulse racing once again. Although she nodded in agreement, Sydony refused to meet his eyes, fearful not only of what she might find there, but of her own response.

Chapter Four

Sydony led Barto into one of the bedrooms at the rear of the house with a decided lack of enthusiasm. She was anxious to see the maze, of course, but she would prefer not to be beholden to her guest. The prospect made her uncomfortable, as did extended time alone with her former neighbour.

‘Look,’ she said, pointing to the windows. ‘They are all shut and nailed, as well.’

‘I can see that,’ Barto answered, in a dry tone. ‘But I think I can manage them.’

Sydony recognised the sarcasm, so she waited expectantly. But instead of moving towards the window, Barto set down the heavy pry bar that the workman had provided. ‘You don’t have to stay. I imagine you have other matters that require your attention,’ he said.

Sydony’s eyes narrowed. Was her company repugnant, or did he think to escape an onerous duty as soon as her back was turned? Would he make his valet do the chore? Although just a few minutes before she had dreaded being here with him, now Sydony felt compelled to remain, if only to see the job done.

‘Yes, I do have much to occupy me, but I am too curious as to the outcome here,’ she said, in a dry tone of her own.

One of Barto’s dark brows shot up, and the set of that gorgeous mouth told her he wasn’t pleased. Then why had he volunteered? The man and his motives were a complete mystery to her. He turned away, and, for a moment, she thought he was going to quit before starting. Instead, he began shrugging out of his dark blue morning coat.

‘Excuse me,’ he said, stiffly, ‘but Thompson will have my head if I ruin the material.’

Automatically, Sydony stepped behind to assist him, as she would Kit, but the elegant garment was more fitted and Barto suddenly seemed taller than her brother. Moving nearer, she drew a deep breath that filled her head with Barto’s unique scent and made her lose her grasp. She tried again, pulling the material off wide shoulders and away from a torso that was different from her brother’s. When had Barto grown so hard and muscular?

Sydony found herself staring at his back, and she stepped away, taking the coat with her. But when Barto turned around, her attention was caught by his chest, encased in a subtly designed waistcoat. Lest she stare again, Sydony forced herself to look past his elegantly tied cravat to his face, but his dark gaze captured hers with a ferocity she had never seen before. Breathless and witless, she felt like a stranger facing a stranger, her will no longer her own. That alarming thought jolted her from her trance, and she turned to hide her confusion.

Laying the expensive material over the back of a chair, Sydony smoothed it several times as she tried to regain her composure. What had just happened? Only a lifetime of refusing to back down made her turn around, her heart pounding so loudly she suspected Barto might hear it. Although she was relieved to see that he had started his task, the atmosphere had changed. No longer was he a former friend from her childhood, but some new and frightening creature, capable of affecting her in ways she’d never thought possible.

Skittish now, Sydony wondered if she should leave. She realised that she was alone in a bedroom with a man in his shirt sleeves, and there was no servant even within shouting distance. Not that she expected Barto to attack her, she thought, stifling a hysterical giggle. The very thought was absurd, and yet she had no idea what had just passed between them.

Sydony glanced nervously in his direction as he pried at the shutters with apparent ease. When had he become so strong? She remembered a scrawny boy with a tangle of brown hair, but now his hair was dark and sleek, as was Barto himself. Wary of eyeing him too closely, Sydony occupied herself with walking about the room, removing dust covers and inspecting the contents of a tall dresser, until she heard him speak.

‘I don’t think you’ll be able to salvage these,’ he said, and Sydony turned to see the expanse of glass revealed by his labours. The old window was dirty, and she hurried to wipe at it, resisting a temptation to call the maid from her duties. Although the panes needed proper cleaning, Sydony still could see through them since the rain had stopped. She looked eagerly below, where a mass of greenery caught her eye. It was much larger than she imagined, and, despite being overgrown, there was a definite pattern.

‘There it is!’ Sydony whispered. Filled with excitement, she grabbed Barto’s arm, as she might have years ago, and pointed with her other hand.

‘What?’ he asked, as though startled by her enthusiasm.

Sydony glanced up at him in surprise. Had no one mentioned the hedges? She opened her mouth to explain, but the flicker of interest on Barto’s usually impassive face told her that he had seen it, too.

‘A maze,’ he murmured, and they shared a moment of wonder that made Sydony forget her earlier discomfiture.

‘You’d need a scythe to get through some of the passages,’ Barto said softly.

He was probably right. The hedges were so thick in spots Sydony could not easily discern the path, a twisty, tangled route that made her shiver. ‘But there’s certainly no mistaking the centre,’ she said, awed by the huge tree, obviously ancient, that stood like a sentinel in the middle, its branches spreading out over the surrounding plantings.

‘It’s too wet to go out there now,’ Barto said.

‘Yes,’ Sydony answered. She glanced up at the man standing beside her, and for a moment the years fell away. They shared a look from their past, one that promised adventure and daring, right here in her own garden.

‘Well?’

The sound of Kit’s voice jarred Sydony, and she realised she was standing far too close to Barto. She was still clutching his arm, too. Releasing her hold, she stepped back, just as Barto did, and turned, unaccountably flustered, to face her brother.

‘Can you see it?’ Kit asked. His open expression gave no hint of anything except curiosity.

‘We can,’ Barto said. The tone of his voice made Sydony glance at him, and she realised that whatever had passed between them was gone. His face once again looked impassive—cold, even—and she felt a sharp stab of disappointment.

‘Duece, it’s huge,’ Kit said, moving between them to look out over the lawn.

‘And dangerous. You wouldn’t want to get lost in there,’ Barto said, just as though he hadn’t been tempted to brave it.

‘Yes! Don’t go investigating by yourself, Syd,’ Kit warned.

Sydony frowned. ‘Well, you’re not going without me,’ she said, in an echo of her youthful protests.

Kit laughed. ‘No, we should all go, to try to map it out. But we’ll probably need an army of gardeners to trim the hedges, or we’ll be scratched to death.’

Her brother’s choice of words made Sydony shiver, and the maze that had seemed so intriguing took on a threatening aspect. It was only the gloom of the weather, Sydony told herself as she peered out into the mist. Although the rain had stopped, the trees still dripped, and the constant wind made it appear as if there were movement among the greenery. In fact, Sydony could swear she saw something black in the dark hedges as she squinted through the dirty glass.

‘Syd!’

Reluctantly, Sydony turned away from the panes toward Kit, who must have been speaking to her. But instead of looking exasperated, he wore an expression of suppressed excitement. ‘Come away from the window. I want you both to see what our man found in the library.’

Although Kit was keyed up about something, Sydony was loath to leave the labyrinth she had waited so long to view. Perhaps she could try to put the pattern on to a sheet of paper…But Kit was already heading toward the door, and Sydony watched as Barto snatched up his coat and shrugged into it without breaking his stride. Obviously eager to follow Kit from the room, he disappeared without a backwards glance.

The moment they had shared definitely was gone. In fact, Sydony wondered if she hadn’t imagined it.

Barto moved alongside Kit, intent upon putting some space between himself and Sydony Marchant. He blamed the close quarters for the heat he had imagined between them. She had made her animosity clear since his arrival, and his sudden, unexpected hunger when she removed his coat was no more than a typical male reaction. No doubt, he had gone without a woman for too long, but he hadn’t the heart for it since his father’s death and everything that followed.

With that sharp reminder of his purpose, Barto dismissed all thoughts of Sydony from his mind. She might have grown into a beauty, but he was not here for a dalliance. He had too many questions, and even if the Mar-chants were not involved in the answers, he had no intention of seducing a gently bred female whom his mother had asked about.

Keeping his countenance, as well as his unwelcome urges, under rigid control, Barto followed Kit into one of the lower rooms. It was deserted except for the workman who stood near the doorway, wearing an odd expression. As Barto passed by, he gave the fellow a sharp glance. Though the man kept his face downcast, it was almost as if he were terrified. Had something startled him, or was he simply as queer as Dick’s hatband? Barto didn’t think much of Sparrowhawk’s hires. But was it the fault of the solicitor, or was something deeper at work?

When Barto moved into the room he could see some unusual ruptures in the floor, which went beyond the ravages of time. Indeed, the wood was torn in places, and, upon inspection, appeared not to be the result of accidents or animals, but of a pry bar.

‘I wanted to make sure that there weren’t any other bad spots while we were repairing in here,’ Kit explained. ‘So I had our man Newton there pull up the carpet.’ He gave a nod towards the man who still stood near the doorway, as though held there by no will of his own.

Scanning the space, Barto saw that the crates and furniture in the room had been pushed to the side, so that a large, worn rug that had covered one section of the floor could be rolled up. Beneath it was an expanse of wood that differed little from the rest of the planks, except for one small area where the secretary had stood.

‘What is it?’ Barto asked. At first glance, there appeared to be cuts in the flooring, perhaps where planks had been replaced. But when he stepped closer, Barto saw the marks were actually grooves in the wood.

‘It looks like a trapdoor!’ Sydony’s voice rose in excitement from behind him, like a phantom from his past. The ladies Barto knew these days would never show emotion in public. But Sydony always had been a strange one, more boy than girl, more stubborn and reckless than any other female.

‘It’s not big enough for a trapdoor,’ Kit said, as Sydony crowded in beside them, and Barto saw disappointment cross her face. She appeared to make no effort to hide her feelings; after the intrigues he was accustomed to, Barto found her lack of guile refreshing—if it were real. Then again, Sydony might just have grown up to be a better actress than any of the ton.

‘But, still, it might be a secret hiding place. It’s big enough to hold papers, I’m sure,’ she said.

‘Or books,’ Barto noted, watching the siblings for a reaction.

‘I doubt if it’s big enough to hold all the books that must have resided here,’ Sydony said, drily.

Changing his assessment of her bluntness from refreshing to annoying, Barto ignored her. ‘Were there ever any books on these shelves?’

‘Not when we arrived,’ Kit said. He crouched down before the section of flooring and ran his hand over the edges, then looked up suddenly. ‘Come to think of it, didn’t Father receive a large shipment of books not that long ago?’ he asked, turning his head toward his sister.

‘Father was always getting shipments of books,’ Sydony said. ‘And anyway, I thought Sparrowhawk said Elspeth had them all burned.’

Barto studied her carefully. Was she impatient to investigate this spot, or was she deliberately being dismissive? Barto looked at Kit, but he appeared to have lost all interest in the topic and was bent over the flooring again.

‘There’s no catch as far as I can tell,’ he said, his fingers probing the area gingerly.

Barto walked over to the secretary and rifled through the drawers to find a heavy letter opener. ‘Try this,’ he said, handing it to Kit. ‘If that doesn’t work, I left the pry bar upstairs.’

‘I hate to ruin the surface,’ Kit said.

‘I’m afraid that someone else has already done that,’ Barto reminded him, and both Marchants followed his gaze to the places where the flooring had been pulled up.

‘You don’t think someone was looking for…this?’ Sydony asked, surprise clearly written on her face.

Barto lifted a brow. ‘I think that’s pretty obvious.’

‘But if you knew where it was…’

‘And if you didn’t?’ Barto asked. ‘Perhaps whoever was searching didn’t know the hidden compartment was underneath the rug, with heavy furniture lying atop it.’

Kit turned towards Barto. ‘The solicitor said that our great-aunt claimed that someone was breaking into the house. But no thefts were reported.’

‘He acted like she was addled, but maybe she wasn’t,’ Sydony said.

Barto glanced around the room at the old mullioned windows set deep into the walls, presumably an easy entrance for a would-be thief. And unreliable or disbelieving servants attending an elderly woman they thought addled would provide little protection. And yet, something didn’t fit…

‘Why wouldn’t the would-be thief just come in after her death?’ Barto mused aloud. ‘By all accounts, the place was abandoned and deserted.’

‘Maybe he did. Maybe it’s empty,’ Sydony said, looking down at the spot in the floor.

But Barto suspected that the average thief wouldn’t trouble to return the room to the way he had found it. And yet, maybe the thief wasn’t average. Or maybe what he was looking for was already gone…

Barto watched as Kit levered the opener into the corner and the plank popped upwards, with no apparent damage.

‘Is it empty?’ Sydony asked, stooping beside her brother.

‘No,’ Kit said. Lifting the end further, he peered below. ‘It’s quite deep, actually, and I can see something in there.’

‘Books? Papers?’ Sydony asked, and Barto wondered why she seemed focused on those things. You’d think a woman would hope for a box of jewellery or a hidden hoard of coins or gold.

‘Hold on,’ Kit said, reaching into the space. His movements sent up a cloud of dust, and Sydony inched backwards, waving a hand in front of her face, which was probably just as well, considering what Kit pulled out of the hole.

Although dirty and blackened, the object appeared to be a skull. A human skull. Barto watched Sydony in case she started to drop into a swoon, but she didn’t even shriek at the sight. Again, she proved that she was not the typical female, that perhaps she was as brave as he remembered.

The shriek, when it came, echoed from outside their small circle. Barto looked up in surprise to see the workman, who had remained standing silent and as far from them as possible, stifle another wail.

‘You don’t suppose he’s anything to do with this, do you?’ Kit asked.

Barto shook his head. ‘More than likely the fellow is thinking of abandoning his employment.’

‘Why? Because of an old skull?’ Kit asked, grinning at him, and Barto felt the same sensation he had known earlier with Sydony. The years fell away, and he and Kit were just two boys, digging in the dirt and gleefully sharing their mischief. Except Barto wasn’t sure just how much they shared these days.

Schooling his features, he leaned over the opening. ‘Is the rest of a body down there?’ he asked.

‘I might need a lantern, but I don’t think there’s anything else down there,’ Kit said. He set aside the skull to peer into the blackness, but he had barely moved when another wail pierced the silence.

Again, Barto looked to the workman, who was so pale, he seemed frozen to the spot by fright. Finally, he lifted a shaking arm to point toward the skull. ‘It’s his,’ the fellow mumbled.

‘Whose?’ Kit asked, sitting back on his haunches.

‘His.’ The workman’s voice was low and ragged.

‘Well, whoever he is, he’s been dead for a while, from the looks of his skull,’ Kit observed.

At his words, the workman looked like he was going to faint dead away and Sydony shushed her brother fiercely. ‘Do you know whose this is? Is it someone who lived live here at one time? Are you saying the man was never buried?’ Sydony asked.

Barto suspected the workman was incapable of answering, but now that Kit had remarked on the age of the relic, Barto stooped to look at it more closely. He had seen bones before, mainly at the Royal College of Surgeons, where some members were always eager to share grisly learning tools. This one was old, and unusual, if he wasn’t mistaken. Pulling out his handkerchief, Barto rubbed away some of the dust to reveal its unique properties.

‘What the devil is that, a hole in the head?’ Kit asked.

‘Yes,’ Barton said. ‘Apparently, our departed friend was trepanned.’

For a long moment, the room was so quiet that Barto could hear the intake of Sydony’s breath. Then the silence was broken by the sound of the workman’s boots echoing on the hard floor as he fled the room.

‘Should I go after him?’ Kit asked.

Barto lifted a brow. ‘Even if you could catch him, I don’t think you’ll be able to convince him to return.’

‘Damn. Who’s going to finish the work?’

‘What do you mean—he was trepanned?’ Sydony’s voice rang out so loudly that both Barto and Kit both looked at her in surprise.

‘How can you two calmly discuss repairs when there is a skull secreted in our floor with holes drilled into it?’

For a moment, Barto wondered whether Sydony had succumbed to the ways of her gender, but she appeared to be more angry than hysterical.

‘Calm down, Syd. There are all sorts of strange things in buildings that are this old,’ Kit said. ‘Maybe it’s some saint or another. Lots of medieval churches have famous relics and bones.’

‘Not with holes drilled in them,’ Sydony said. She turned toward Barto with a look of exasperation that was so familiar he felt another giddy slip of time. Only firm resolve kept him from finding it endearing.

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