Authors: Suzette Stone
Jenna awoke with a start. Her back and neck ached from sleeping on the damp wooden bench. She opened her eyes, unsure at first where she was or how long she had been asleep. She gazed up at the ceiling, her mind reeling with thoughts.
“You’ve been asleep a long time”
Jenna sat up, fearfully trying to locate the voice.
“I’ve been ‘ere for a good half an hour. I thought you wos dead!” the voice exclaimed chirpily.
“Who are you?” Jenna asked incredulously, noting the very well dressed figure of a young boy standing in the doorway.
“Charlie. Charlie Weeks,” the boy said, outstretching his hand and walking toward her. “Pleased to make yer acquaintance, Sister.”
“Sister?” Jenna replied, before looking down, realizing she still wore her nun’s habit.
“Yes, Sister! You are a nun, ain’t ya?”
Jenna nodded, uncertain.
“Good. I waited for you to wake up ‘cos I’ve a confession to make.”
“A confession?” Jenna asked, the pounding in her temple easing slightly as she found herself humored by the young boy’s eccentricities.
“Yes.” He seated himself beside her and pulled out a necklace from his pocket. “It’s not really my fault, but I’ve been left on me own these past few days with no one to entertain me, or give me jobs and well….”
“Well, what?” Jenna tried to catch a better glimpse of the necklace.
“Well, I was playing and exploring with all the trinkets in the good Lady’s bedroom. Really, I was looking for the pirate treasure everyone kept talking about and then I found this.” He stretched out his palm, indicating the piece of jewelry. “When I opened it, I saw the most beautiful woman looking back at me. Like an angel, she looks, and so I kept dangling it in front of my face just gazing at the beautiful picture inside. But then it snapped. Just snapped! Honest, I didn’t do nothin’ to make it break like that!”
Jenna reached for the small boy’s hand, her eyes blinking back the tears as she saw the face of her mother looking back at her.
“Can I see it?” she asked tenderly, the feeling of the metal against her skin filling her with a suddenly unexpected strength.
“Do you think I’ll get in trouble? I shouldn’t want Jack to be upset with me. He may send me back to the workhouse.”
“Jack? Sir Jack Bartholomew?”
Charlie nodded exuberantly. “Yes, and he’s going to be awfully annoyed when he sees I’ve broken Lady Emmeline’s necklace.”
“Oh, I don’t think he will.” Jenna touched the tip of his nose in an effort to calm him. “Do you work for Jack?”
“I’m his right hand man, saved him from certain death on the streets of London.”
“Did you, now?” Jenna smiled, captivated by the young boy’s imagination, who nodded heartily in return. She gazed over at the child, her heart lilting at the unexpected turn of events she suddenly fell into. “I think I can help you, but we have to keep this a secret. Do you think you can do that?”
“Oh, I’m very good at secrets, Sister.”
“Good! Are you familiar with the secret passageways of Penrose House?”
Charlie nodded.
“And you’re not scared of the dark?” Jenna asked, slowly formulating her plan.
“Never.”
“Then follow me.” Jenna ignored the dizziness she felt as she stood up and moved slowly to the entrance of the shed toward the undergrowth of the bushes.
“It’s been years since I’ve been here,” she said, stopping to catch her breath, scanning the surrounding countryside for any indication she had been spotted. “I used to play here as a child. It all seemed so romantic, so adventuress.” She pulled back the overgrown moss to expose the entrance to the dank and slimy cave.
“Phew!” Charlie wrinkled his nose. “It reeks in here!”
Jenna gasped for air, nodding her head in agreement. “I never realized just how musty this place was. Are you sure you wish to continue, Mr. Weeks?” She covered her mouth with her hands as the combination of the stench and her own weakness made her feel extremely queasy.
Charlie nodded. “Sir Jack will have my guts for garters if you don’t help me. He already told me he’d send me back to the workhouse if he ever caught me stealing.”
“Don’t worry yourself, Charlie. Sir Jack has a heart of gold. You can take that on good authority.”
They slid down into the dark, cold, clammy cave, jumping as their presence interrupted a few bats lazing on the cave roof. The cave descended down further and further until they reached the dark opening of a well concealed tunnel. Jenna moved her hands along the slimy walls of the cave, searching in the darkness for the entrance.
“Hold on firmly to my hand,” she whispered as she entwined her trembling fingers through the small boy’s, leading him down into the narrow tunnel.
The mile long passageway seemed to extend forever in the cold darkness. Finally, the tunnel turned abruptly, its pathway becoming steeper as it inclined on its final ascent toward the manor house. Jenna could sense the air becoming clearer, the tunnel filling with more light. As they neared the end, she stopped abruptly.
“Do you know where this comes out?” she asked excitedly.
“Yes,” Charlie whispered, his eyes squinting in the darkness. “Behind the book shelves in the library.”
Jenna nodded, a feeling of dizziness sweeping over her. She placed her hand on the wall to steady herself. “I want you to go on ahead and find Sir Jack and only Sir Jack. Remember, this is a secret. Do you understand?”
Charlie nodded, releasing her hand.
“Bring Sir Jack down here to me and then I will talk to him about the accident with the necklace.”
“Aye aye, Sister,” Charlie laughed, obviously pleased with the importance of the covert mission.
She watched as the boy walked gingerly off into the darkness and sighed. Goodness knows how long she would be down here without even a candle for company. Slowly, she lowered herself to the floor, the excitement of the day’s events overwhelming her with fatigue. As she laid her head back against the cold stone wall, she once again drifted off into a deep sleep.
* * * *
Lady Emmeline beckoned her butler into the study. He stood looking agitated as he hovered in the doorway.
“My lady, I’m terribly afraid you are not going to like this, but the Countess of Devon has just pulled into the driveway.”
“Pulled into the driveway? But she was not expected.” It annoyed Emmeline the countess should choose to descend upon her at this most awkward and fretful time.
“Should I show her into the drawing room?” the butler asked.
“I suppose so. Oh, that dreaded woman!” She rolled her eyes. “And best notify Cook. The countess always has a voracious appetite whenever she visits.”
“Very well, my lady.”
Emmeline lifted herself wearily from her chair. She walked over to the brandy decanter and poured herself a large tumbler of the rich liquor, closing her eyes as the warmth permeated her body. Glancing at her reflection in the mirror, she pinched her cheeks in an effort to bring a little color back to the paleness of her skin. She walked down to where Jack sat, mulling over a letter he was in the middle of writing.
“I hate to interrupt you.” She stood next to him, concerned as she watched him write with a trembling hand
“I'm writing to St. Agnes Convent to thank Sister for her help and requesting that…” Jack trailed off. Clearing his throat, he continued, “Requesting she contact me should Jenna return.”
Emmeline nodded and patted him soothingly on the shoulder. “I hate to burden you with this, but we have a visitor I’m afraid I don’t have the strength to entertain by myself.”
A slow smile crossed Jack’s face, forming in a cheeky dimple as he let out a low chuckle. “Please tell me it is that ever so cordial friend of yours, the Countess of Devon?”
“Indeed it is,” Emmeline replied, confused at his sudden joviality.
“Well then, rest assured you shall not be able to get a word in edgeways this evening and we are both to be suitably entertained.”
The countess seated herself in one of Emmeline’s vast plush velvet seats, her favorite poodle shivering with nerves as it perched itself atop her lap. Her normal opulent dress had been replaced by a stark black silk empire waist gown and a black lace veil covered her face. Emmeline brought her hand to her mouth and gasped in horror as she saw her. As much as she despised the countess’s company, the sight of the woman so obviously grieving the death of someone close to her filled her with sorrow. She walked to the chair where the countess sat sobbing uncontrollably, the deathly black of Emmeline’s own mourning outfit blending in with the emotional countess’s dress.
“Oh, Lady Emmeline!” The countess sobbed heartily, reaching for Emmeline’s hand and pressing it up to her lips through the starchy veil material. “I am so sorry to burden you with this, especially at this most grievous time for yourself.”
Emmeline shook her head, indicating for Jack to pour the emotional woman a stiff brandy.
“I just didn’t know whom else to turn to. My life is ruined.” The countess flung the shaking poodle off her lap as she reached for the glass of brandy.
“My dear,” Emmeline soothed. “What grieves you so?”
Gulping back the brandy in one swig and handing it to Jack to refill, her body heaved amidst a deluge of tears and sobs. “It is….oh….it is just too grievous to say.” She flung back the veil from her face to expose cheeks stained with salty tears, her eyes red from what appeared to be days of crying. She whipped a lace handkerchief from the vast crevice of her bosom and dabbed her eyes theatrically. Sir Jack handed her yet another glass of brandy, gnawing his lip in an obvious attempt to hold back a smirk.
“I am ruined, simply ruined.” The countess waved her pudgy hand in front of her face and dropped her head toward her knees. “I feel faint. Where are my smelling salts?” She barked at her frightened servant who waved the silver snuff box under her mistress’s nose.
“Up farther,” she demanded, grabbing the servant’s trembling hand and shoving it closer to her wet nose. She closed her eyes, breathing deep, before dismissing the girl. Keeping her eyes closed as though to open them would be too painful, she went on. “It is my Pippa.” She crumbled in an emotional torrent.
“Pippa?” Emmeline asked, fearful at the remembrance of Pippa’s fragile and poorly looking state the last time she saw her. “Oh, countess, how terribly, terribly tragic.”
“Indeed.” The countess sniffed, reaching for her fan and flicking it melodramatically in front of her face. “Pippa, my own Pippa, gone forever. Why, it’s just too tragic for a woman of my age to bear.” She reached down and picked up the poodle once more, brushing her wet cheek against its wiry curls. “My own Pippa. I brought her up to be such a lady. I had so many high hopes for her. Why? Why? Why?”
The Countess of Devon gazed into the distance, her histrionic display of emotions causing Emmeline to feel a slight pang of guilt her husband’s passing did not cause her such grief. In fact, she only managed to follow proper etiquette and dressed herself in mourning garments, a dress she hoped to banish as soon as possible, under sufferance and with great dismay. Emmeline was stirred from her thoughts as the door flung open and Charlie came racing breathlessly in to the room.
“Sir Jack, Sir Jack, you must come quickly.”
“Whatever is it, Charlie?” Jack asked slightly disgruntled at the boy’s lack of manners.
Charlie looked around the room, quickly remembering his manners and bowing before the countess, who regarded him with a look of utmost distaste.
“I’m sorry, Sir. It’s an extremely private matter to do with the pirate tunnels.”
Jack rolled his eyes. “Pirate tunnels?”
Charlie nodded excitedly. “You must come quickly.”
* * * *
Jack began to feel impatient at having the countess interrupted by Charlie’s obvious overactive imagination with pirates.
Obviously he thinks he has found buried treasure
, he thought, dismissing the boy.
“We have a guest, Charlie. The pirate tunnels will have to wait until I am done with my visitor.” He led the protesting boy to the door. “Go and amuse yourself until I am finished.”
Charlie opened his mouth to say something, but seemed to catch the cross look on Jack’s face. He closed it abruptly.
With a sigh, Jack watched as the boy trotted back down along the hallway. Turning to the weeping countess, he smiled. “You must excuse my young friend. He has become rather enraptured with the tales Lady Emmeline has been entertaining him with about Penrose Manor’s illustrious history in the Elizabethan era. Pray continue, countess.” He poured the woman yet another brandy and, sensing he would be in for quite a long encounter with the melodramatic woman, seated himself beside the crackling fire.
“Dear Phillippa,” Emmeline said. “Was she terribly ill?”
“Ill?” The countess shouted incredulously. “Ill? Oh no, no, no. That girl has shown a willfulness of character I never thought she possessed. I thought I brought her up to be a gentlewoman, kind, forgiving, sensitive to her mother’s wishes. Instead, she chooses to act like a simple common girl, using neither brain, nor sense and dragging her family name down into the impoverished gutters she now feigns to move around in. My only thanks in this whole sorry mess is that her dear father is not here to witness the demise of his only child.”