Page 31 of Impetuous

“That is all speculation.”

“Indeed. So is everything else we have been saying for the past few minutes. We have absolutely no idea who was up here last night. We don’t even know for sure that they were looking for the letters. We only presume that.”

“It makes little sense otherwise.”

“Unfortunately, I have found that things all too often do not make sense.”

Cassandra cocked a disbelieving eyebrow. “Are you saying that you think it was coincidence that someone was in this attic last night?”

He sighed. “No. It is a possibility, but I cannot really believe it. Someone must have been looking for those letters. With any luck, they had as much trouble finding them as we had. Still, it makes it imperative that we find the letters as quickly as possible, wouldn’t you say?”

“Absolutely. I am glad that there is something upon which we can agree. Shall we stop our guesswork and get down to business?”

“Immediately.” He stripped off his coat and ascot, tossing them over a chair, and rolled up his shirtsleeves. “Where shall I start?”

They worked along quietly for some time, slowly moving through box after box and trunk after trunk, moving aside furniture and all sorts of the odd detritus left from occupying a house for hundreds of years. Then Olivia let out a gasp, and they all swung toward her.

“What is it?” Cassandra started toward her worriedly, afraid that she had hurt herself. She paused and wrinkled her nose. “Phew! What is that smell?”

“Camphor, I think. There are little bags of something in here with the clothes. Funny, isn’t it, how it still stinks? But look.” She reached with both hands into the trunk before her and stood up, pulling out a bodice with one hand and a skirt with the other. “It’s faded over time, but isn’t it magnificent?”

Cassandra came over to stand beside her. “Yes. It is. Beautiful.” It was a heavy gown of green velvet, faded, but still rich with golden embroidery. It had a square neckline, and the stiff bodice laced up the back. The front of it was covered with a large pattern of flowers done in thread and braid, still richly golden despite the years, and a matching pattern ran around the ends of the full sleeves, puffed to the elbow and then slit open the rest of the way down over a cascade of lace, now tattered and yellowed with age. The hem of the skirt, too, was trimmed in the same pattern of embroidery and braiding.

“When is it from, Cassandra?” Olivia asked excitedly. “Do you think it was a court dress? Or a wedding gown?”

“It looks very special indeed.” Cassandra reached out and grasped the skirt, holding it out on the sides. “It looks made to be worn hooped out to the side, but not nearly so wide as those dresses during the 1740s and later. I think it’s older. Not as old as Elizabeth or even James I. There aren’t any ruffs, the sleeves are attached, and the waist is more normal, not that long, waspy shape. I would say maybe the time of the Cavaliers—or maybe later, King Charles II.”

“It’s so romantic!” Olivia held the skirt up to herself, pulling one side of it out, and executed a twirl.

“Oh, my.” Cassandra peered down into the trunk and pulled out a shoe, also of velvet, this time deep blue, and also richly embroidered. It had a thick, blocky heel and squared-off toe.

“Goodness! Imagine wearing that. It’s so big!” Olivia marveled.

“Much too big to be a woman’s, I think. My guess is that it belonged to some Lord Chesilworth,” Cassandra told her.

“That!” Crispin stared in fascination at the ornate shoe. “You’re jesting.”

“Men wore much more colorful attire back then,” Sir Philip answered, joining them around the trunk. He took the shoe in his hand. “There is a portrait of one of my ancestors in shoes much like these. He wore a very fancy coat and vest, as well, and rather baggy trousers and huge sleeves, slit like this dress’s to show billowing lacy shirtsleeves.”

“Let’s try it on!” Olivia cried. “Please, Cassandra…”

“I suppose. But be very careful. It’s ancient.” She went with her sister behind a stack of boxes large enough to conceal them and helped her sister into the old, formal clothes.

“Oh! It’s too big!” Olivia wailed. The skirt, without hoop or petticoats beneath it, was far too long, and the bodice hung on her still-undeveloped body. “You put it on. It will fit you much better,” she told Cassandra, perking up. “Please…I want to see how it looks.”

Olivia helped Cassandra out of her own dress and into the other one. “Oh, Cassie…” she breathed. “It’s beautiful.”

Olivia pulled Cassandra out from behind the boxes to where Sir Philip and the boys stood. “Look how beautiful it is on Cassie.”

Sir Philip turned and gazed at her for a long moment. “It is indeed,” he said quietly, and his eyes traveled down her body.

Cassandra was very aware of the way the stiff, undarted bodice pushed up her breasts so that their tops swelled above the neckline. She could feel the heat rising up her neck as he looked at her. She wet her lips unconsciously and turned away, going to the trunk.

“If I am having to play dress-up,” she said, “then I refuse to be the only one.” She bent over the trunk and shuffled through the other clothes that were there. “Aha!”

She pulled up a coat, also decorated with embroidery and boasting the sort of loose, full sleeves that Sir Philip had mentioned earlier. She turned, holding it out. “Here. You have to try on this coat.”

Sir Philip looked at it doubtfully, but reached out to take it. Carefully he pulled it on and straightened it down the front. Cassandra caught her breath. He looked as if he should have a slender sword strapped to his side and an upturned hat with a plume.