Page 103 of A Rare Find

“The Ladies of Llangollen wear riding habits exclusively,” they told her, as she drew up to them. “With top hats and powdered hair. Dressing as you please on your own demesne—that is a distinct advantage of the country. For those advantaged with a demesne, of course.” They inhaled the sweet air. “And June smells like bouquets.” They plucked a scarlet poppy and passed it to her. “That’s another advantage. Although,” they reflected, brows lowering as a breeze wafted from the fields, “sometimes it smells like cows.”

At Redmayne Manor, in the breakfast room, Elfreda gobbled indecently and drank coffee, tea, and chocolate in such quick succession her head began to swim. She lingered over the meal, while Georgie skipped upstairs to change. It was one in the afternoon, hardly the hour for breakfast. Yet she continued unalarmed, no inkling of her habitual anxiety. This decadent languor would dispel once she had her shovel in hand and set to work. For now, she’d revel in the last of the chocolate, in the airiness of the lovely room, so very modern, with its large windows, and its pink-papered walls, decorated with convex mirrors and an oil painting of mares and foals under a spreading oak.

It was almost impossible to connect the manor with Sexburga’s abbey, to remember that the abbey had stood on this very spot.

This very spot.

The moment Georgie reappeared, whistling, she sprang at them.

“The crypt.” She clung to their neck, laughing. “The crypt!”

“The crypt,” they agreed readily, and locked their arms around her waist.

“I should have thought of it before.”

“You certainly should have,” they agreed, squeezing her tightly.

“Do you have the faintest idea what I’m talking about?” She drew back.

They shook their head, unabashed. “No, not the faintest. But I appreciate the passion.”

She tried to frown but couldn’t. They were too adorable. She was too excited. “Within my depths, the shadows play.”

“The riddle, yes.” They nodded.

“The crypt!” She started waving her hands. “Pilgrims descended to see the relics. There was light—a shrine surrounded by candles. And water—holy water. The hoard!” She bounced on her toes. “Crypt! It’s the answer.”

Georgie’s smile grew brighter, until it blazed.

“I’ve never been happier to say this.” They headed for the door. “Follow me to the wine cellar!”

—

An hour later, she admitted defeat. She and Georgie had searched the wine cellar and found…wine. Also, a sarcophagus. A lidless sarcophagus. A lidless sarcophagus that contained a chest of bottled claret.

She dragged her feet on the narrow stair.

“Not crypt,” she muttered. “Not cave. Not font.”

“Crypt was a good guess,” said Georgie, turning their head to look back at her from the step above. “They were all good guesses.”

She nodded, chin heavy with disappointment. She ground her teeth to keep it from wobbling. She was reacting too strongly. This morning she’d been content to dig.

Once she had a shovel in her hand…

As she exited Redmayne Manor into the afternoon sun, she blinked. The light was glaring, and she’d been straining her eyes in that dim cellar.

She blinked again.

Three gaily clad young women stood on the drive.

Georgie had stopped dead in their tracks, goggling.

“It is your house!” cried the one in the middle, in a rich, carrying voice. “Charlotte and Louisa were afraid to knock.”

“I didn’t hear you knocking.” The woman to her right tossed her head, the feathers on her high-crowned bonnet swaying in emphasis. She was a tall and slender blonde. So was the woman to the left. The woman in the middle was far shorter, but no less imposing, full-figured, with strong features and lustrous eyes. Chestnut curls made a cloud around her heart-shaped face.

“How is this happening?” Georgie’s gaze moved back and forth. Their stunned expression had bloomed into pure delight. “Elf, these are my friends, Charlotte and Louisa Quiddington, and Sally Linley. We met at the Cabinet Theater. And this is Elfreda Marsden. My neighbor.”