Robbie was so quiet the silence was almost tangible. Then, “You’re right, Miss Rivenwood.”
Melissa had won, it seemed. But it brought Robbie no comfort.
“But this isn’t the first time,” he added.
“Not the first time?” Melissa repeated stupidly.
“Not the first time somebody’s tried to kill me. They tried before. There was a fire. They spilled oil on the rug out in the schoolroom and locked the door behind them.”
“That was an accident, Robbie. I wasn’t here, but I heard all about it.”
“Miss Rivenwood,” the boy said with exaggerated patience, “I’m neither deaf nor an idiot. I know that everyone says it was an accident. But, you see, I have this advantage. I was
here,
right here in the bedroom, when the fire began. Do you think I wouldn’t have heard somebody knock a lamp over in the schoolroom? The door was open between here and the schoolroom, and it must be all of fifteen feet.”
“You were asleep.”
“I was
supposed
to be asleep,” Robbie said crossly. “I wasn’t. I was awake, looking out the window over there.” He jerked his chin toward the pair of tall windows across the room. “I heard the door close, and then I smelled smoke. That lamp didn’t fall.”
Melissa countered, “The lamp fell on a rug. There needn’t have been much noise.”
“And if somebody had spilled lamp oil and laid the lamp beside it, there wouldn’t have been any noise whatever.”
Melissa sighed in exasperation. “Robbie, it’s possible, I suppose, but there’s not a shred of proof.”
“Here’s some proof for you. Nobody ever comes into the schoolroom after I’m in bed except Nanny. She was away that night.”
“Miss Coburn probably came in to check on you. As a matter of fact, she might well have been the one who knocked the lamp over.”
“She wasn’t that interested in me,” Robbie said cynically. “Besides, who do you think I was watching out the window?”
“Oh.”
“Coburn used to meet somebody at the lake by the bridge to the summerhouse.”
“Miss Coburn,” Melissa said, correcting him automatically.
Robbie, very rightly, ignored this. “She used to put on her good blue dress and disappear for hours. I guess she thought she was being sneaky or something. Anyway, she wasn’t anywhere near here when the fire started.”
“One of the servants then.”
“Who? Polly? Betty? Do you think I wouldn’t know if they were lying?”
“It’s not evidence. It’s not proof, Robbie. To say that somebody did that on purpose ... That’s a terrible accusation to make without proof.”
“I have proof,” Robbie snapped.
“What proof?”
Robbie hesitated.
“Go ahead. You’ve told me everything up to this point.”
Robbie took a deep breath. “After the fire they let me go back to the schoolroom to look. They didn’t want to, but I had to see what happened to my things.”
Melissa reflected that Robbie was in the habit of getting his own way a bit more than was good for him.
“I found this.” Robbie leaned over in bed and ran his hand under the mattress. After searching he sat up and held an object out to her.
“A key?”
“The key to the schoolroom door.”
“So?”
“It’s the key to the door.” His look added, You idiot. “Don’t you see? It means the door
was
locked when I tried it.”
“It does?”
“Oh. Of course. You wouldn’t know.” Robbie shook the key importantly. “This key,” he said, “comes from the ring in the housekeeper’s room. It’s off the old key ring.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The
old
ring.”
“I still don’t understand.”
“Miss Rivenwood, this,” he held it up, “is the key to the schoolroom door. Nobody’s locked that door for a hundred years. It comes off a key ring that hasn’t been touched, except maybe to be dusted, since before I was born.”
“You mean it’s not usually in the schoolroom?”
“Now you have it. There is no key here. This one in my hand belongs all the way over on the other side of the house, in the housekeeper’s closet, down next to the library. But I found it on the floor after the fire.”
“Where it had no business being,” Melissa lamely concluded.
“Right,” Robbie said triumphantly. “So maybe now you’ll believe me. The door wasn’t stuck.” He brandished the key. “It was locked.”
“But they got the door open.”
“One of the footmen was coming with an ax. Somebody unlocked the door because it wasn’t going to work, that’s all.”
Robbie tucked the key back under his mattress.
Melissa was thinking furiously. She didn’t like the conclusions that presented themselves to her. “If the door was locked ...”
“It was. I kept pulling and pulling at it until I was coughing too hard. It wouldn’t open.”
“If the door was locked, then somebody wanted you to be ... caught inside.”
Robbie’s face was very grave and pale and not at all young. “I know.”
“That’s why you think the robbers this morning were after you.”
“Until they changed their minds.”
Melissa plucked at the tufts on the bedspread. They weren’t living in the Middle Ages after all. People simply did not go about trying to murder seven-year-old boys, not even if they were earls and fabulously wealthy.
“You told your uncle Giles?”
“Yes,” Robbie unwillingly admitted. “It only made him angry. I don’t think he believed me. He said I shouldn’t talk about this to anyone else.” The doubt cast on his story obviously rankled.
“If that’s what he said, there must be some good reason.”
“He doesn’t believe me. Isn’t anyone going to believe me?” Robbie asked plaintively.
Melissa massaged the bridge of her nose, trying to think. “When they were through putting out the fire, things must have been quite torn up in the schoolroom.”
“Yes. Books and everything all over the floor,” Robbie recalled.
“Maybe the key was there all along, behind a book on a shelf or something. Then, when you found it and combined it with the door being stuck, you just ... assumed all the rest.”
Robbie’s face set in a look of withering scorn. “You don’t have to treat me like a little boy. You don’t believe me either. Why don’t you just say so?” He turned his face away from her and looked at the wall.
Melissa was at a loss. “Robbie, I don’t see how it could have happened. Your uncle Giles was the one to get the door open finally. Do you imagine he could have pulled any jiggery-pokery in front of everybody else? In front of Mr. Bosworth, for instance?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know who unlocked the door or when or how. But I know I couldn’t get it open. And I know I found that key where it shouldn’t ever have been. If I were older, you’d believe me. It’s only because I’m seven that no one will listen to me.” He banged the wall with his fist and hid his face in the crook of his arm. “What’s the use of being the Earl of Keptford and all the other things if nobody believes you when you’re telling the truth?” He lay curled away from her in the far corner of the cot, breathing jaggedly.
“Robbie, it’s a serious matter. I’d be skeptical of an adult with the same story. Besides, I wouldn’t be asking so many stupid questions if I weren’t taking you seriously.”
“I suppose so,” Robbie admitted grudgingly. He relented enough to face her again.
“There’s another possibility,” she said reluctantly, “not a nice one.”
“I don’t think there’s anything particularly nice about the possibility I’ve been talking about,” Robbie said tartly.
“Robbie, if you started the fire yourself, if you were ashamed of causing so much trouble, you might have made up a story to keep people from being mad at you.” It was a brutal way to put it. But this was no triviality. He was accusing somebody of attempted murder. She went on gently. “It’s easy to work yourself into a corner until you almost believe it yourself. I’ve done it from time to time.”
There was a strained silence. Then Robbie said, “Miss Rivenwood, I know very well what I’m saying. A lot of boys can make up lies to get out of a beating. But I’m Keptford of Vinton. I get away with a lot of things just because of what I am. And I know it.” It was stated simply, without pride or modesty, just the facts. “That means it’s doubly shameful if I do lie.”
Melissa groaned in concentration. She was convinced Robbie wasn’t making it up. What to do? “I’ll talk to your uncle about this. That’s all I can think of. There must be some simple explanation.”
Robbie lay there, very troubled. His eyes no longer met hers. “Very well. If you think it’ll do any good. I just wanted, well, I just wanted somebody else to know. Talk to Uncle Giles. He might believe you.”
Melissa pulled the covers back over him. “Don’t worry. I’m sure it will all come out right. Miss Coburn could have brought the key up, for instance.”
“She saw the key when I found it. She didn’t say anything. And we can hardly ask her about it anymore.” Robbie shrugged away from Melissa. “I’d like to sleep now,” he said politely and distantly.
“All right.”
“Miss Rivenwood.”
“Yes.”
“Don’t take any walks next to the cliffs.”
Despite herself, Melissa shuddered. Robbie had an exceedingly mature mind for his age. His implication was downright grisly. She made a movement to snuff out the candle but stopped as Robbie shook his head infinitesimally.
“You want me to leave it?”
“Yes. If you would, please.”
“All right.” She set it back carefully. “Shall I come back after dinner and see if you’re asleep?”
“No,” he said quickly. “That’s not necessary. I’ll sleep just fine.”
“Good night then.” She straightened his covers and left the room. He had a peculiarly resilient nature. He’d probably sleep better than she would.
“Don’t tell Nanny,” Robbie called after her. “She’d only worry, and it wouldn’t do any good.” His face, whitened by the flickering candlelight, was drawn like an old man’s. Melissa nodded.
Outside, in the hall, standing irresolute, she was startled to hear the sound of the key being turned in the lock of the schoolroom. Robbie had gotten out of bed and had gone to secure the door, the one that hadn’t been locked in a hundred years.
She was tempted to go back and try to comfort him again, but she decided to leave him alone. If it gave the boy any peace of mind, let him lock the door. It made her uneasy to think how frightened he must be.
It was ridiculous, naturally, but she was a little frightened herself.
Chapter 10
…
youthful imagination or a great evil. If only I could be sure.
Excerpt from the journal of Melissa Rivenwood, August 1, 1818
Later Melissa found Giles in the library alcove, leaning over Edgar’s shoulder, immersed in something esoteric involving ledgers. He did not glance up as she entered.
“A clear copy down to here.” He pointed to the relevant line on the papers before them. “Then on the next page, just put the total in. Call it miscellaneous expenditure, and let it go at that. Mrs. Ballantyne can give you the household amounts. On page four, go back to itemizing again. Biddle will be interested in the home farm.”
While he spoke, Melissa had the opportunity to watch Giles unobserved. She had to admit she found him attractive, in a completely objective way, of course. Pity he was so arrogant. He could be so charming at times. Then he’d lapse into one of his cold, sardonic, untouchable moods and spoil it all. It was no business of hers anyway.
“Miss Rivenwood.” He smiled and came toward her with friendly interest. “I was just thinking about you. You’re no worse for this morning’s excursion, I hope. Anna’s still prostrate.” Edgar, at a sign from Giles, pottered off into the recesses of the library, clutching a great red leather volume. “You set us all an example of calmness in adversity.”
Melissa hadn’t come expecting praise. Just when she was ready to condemn him as cold and proud, he threw her off stride by dropping all his blighting mannerisms. Why this warm kindliness? She couldn’t help responding to it. What was she supposed to think of him?
To cover her confusion, she looked down, making a great business of arranging her skirts as she sat. “I don’t deserve the tribute. Inside, I was panic-stricken.”
“Merely another example of your good sense. Anyone in her right mind would have been scared spitless.”
“You weren’t.”
“It is widely rumored that I am not in my right mind,” Giles assured her gravely.
“Robbie was badly frightened,” she said.
“Hmm.”
There it was again. He changed in an instant from the big, solid, humorous fellow she was more than prepared to like to this icicle of a man. There was no understanding him.
She’d told Robbie she would talk to Giles. So talk she would, even if he wasn’t prepared to listen. But it looked as if it would be even harder than she’d expected.
“Mr. Tarsin, Robbie just told me his story about the fire, about the door’s being locked and his finding an old key.” Giles’s face darkened. He sat down and began drumming his fingers on the desk, extreme displeasure on his face. Melissa continued gamely. “I know it doesn’t sound credible. But it’s not impossible. I think you ought to look into it.”
“What am I supposed to look into, Miss Rivenwood?” His voice was dangerously even.
Melissa was uncomfortably silent.
“Just what do you imagine happened?” Giles demanded in a contemptuous voice. “I was first to the door when we smelled the fire. I was the one who finally pulled it open. I’m the only one who ever had a chance to use that key. Did that occur to you?”
Melissa met Giles’s probing glare with wide-eyed surprise.
“Obviously not,” Giles concluded. “Are you accusing me of trying to murder my nephew, Miss Rivenwood?”
Melissa stared at him. “No!” she exclaimed. “But maybe ...”
“Maybe what?”
“I don’t know.” Melissa was on the defensive, very close to losing her temper, if only because she had the sinking feeling that she was making a fool of herself altogether. “There must be something to investigate. Why did the door stick?”
“The perversity of fate. Doors do stick of their own accord in a house three centuries old.”