“Heavens, no!” Miss Oliver exclaimed, as if that would be the worst thing that could ever happen. “She’ll be at the vicarage taking tea. We’re only going into our garden.” She led them up a flight of steep stone steps, through a wooden gate, and into a small but neatly arranged garden.
She stopped in front of the vine-covered back wall of her garden. “I discovered this secret entrance to the manor estate when I was a young girl,” Miss Oliver said, brushing aside some of the ivy to reveal a circular wood door set into the wall.
“There’s no clasp or knob,” he observed.
“The door swivels inward when pressed in precisely the right location to release the spring mechanism.” She demonstrated.
“Watch your head, Mr. Smith,” she called.
He helped Miss Hodwell through the dark doorway, which opened into a walled kitchen garden, overgrown with weeds and ringing with birdsong.
“From this garden we can access the house through the servants’ back entrance, which was never boarded up like the front of the manor.”
Once inside, they walked through the kitchens and up the stairs to the main floor, their footfalls muted by dust, cobwebs hanging overhead.
The house was slightly more presentable inside, but he didn’t see many objects of value. A suit of armor, some swords hanging over a fireplace.
“I don’t know exactly when it was built,” Miss Oliver said, “but I do know from the records that it was destroyed during the Norman Conquest of 1066 and rebuilt somewhere before 1085, whenKing William I used it as a reward for service and gave it to a knight. I could give you a very detailed account of the history after that, as I’ve pored over every available record. Queen Elizabeth took possession of the manor and lands in 1567 and granted it to Sir Ralph Oliver, later Earl of Amberly.”
“How are you related to the earl?” Dane asked.
“My father was distant cousin to the current earl. The Oliver family mostly left Sussex after the earl lost the manor to the Duke of Rydell in the late seventeen hundreds. My father’s branch remained.”
“Miss Oliver’s father was a good man,” said Miss Hodwell. “We all miss him.”
They passed into a great hall, adorned with oil paintings and more ancient weaponry.
“The manor house once had fourteen bedchambers, five reception rooms, a ballroom, and several cottages on the grounds. Now the cottages are ruins, and one of the reception rooms has been taken over by a family of mice.”
“So tragic.” Miss Hodwell sniffed. “I don’t understand why that hard-hearted Duke of Rydell persists in keeping it empty and ignores all of our petitions.”
“Houses need love and care.” Miss Oliver walked in a small circle, her arms outstretched, as if attempting to enfold the house in her embrace. “The manor doesn’t know why the people stopped coming, the dancing ended, the children stopped laughing.” She gave a small laugh. “I used to come here as a child and talk to the house as if it were a friend of mine. My mother didn’t allow me to have actual friends, but sheallowed me to come here and play in this empty house by myself.”
He pictured young Miss Oliver running about the old manor house, skipping and singing and bringing laughter to the dark, dusty rooms.
“And I made friends here,” Miss Oliver said, dropping her voice to a whisper. “The ghosts of two sisters who used to live here.”
“I do wish you wouldn’t speak of such things, Miss Oliver.” Miss Hodwell shivered. “It gives me a chill feeling along my spine.”
“But ghosts can be good for a house’s reputation, Miss Hodwell,” said Miss Oliver. “Preston Manor in Brighton has its Lady in White and her disembodied hands appearing on the bedposts. Squalton Manor has Captain Ephraim Oliver and his two daughters, Coraline and Lucidora. Captain Oliver was a very strict father who never deemed any suitors good enough for his daughters, and so they never married. I’ve read their diaries, and they were such bright, creative, accomplished young ladies.”
“What happened to them?” Dane asked, pulled into the history of the manor by the passion sparking in Miss Oliver’s eyes.
“They all perished in a fire, the damage from which you can view in the west wing. Coraline and Lucidora will feature prominently in my historical pamphlet because the tragic story of beautiful young sisters who died too young will attract visitors to the house.”
“I’m afraid that the house is too far gone to become an attraction for visitors, Miss Oliver.” Hepoked the edge of the fireplace mantel, and a huge chunk of tiles and plaster crumbled away, raising a cloud of dust.
“Don’t do that!” Miss Oliver cried. “Lucidora is sure to be vexed if you destroy that mantelpiece.”
Dane folded his arms. “Why are you speaking of her in the present tense as if she’s standing next to me?”
Miss Hodwell shivered. “She’s not standing there, is she?”
Miss Oliver bit her lower lip. “Er... no, of course not.”
But Dane could see the truth of it. Miss Oliver believed that the two sisters still lived in the house, the only friends she’d been allowed to have as a child. She’d lived such a sheltered and restricted life. Squalton Manor was a connection with her ancestors, a living link with her past, a historical treasure trove.
To Dane, it was a fathomless pit that would burn through a fortune in renovation costs.