‘I see.’ Mr Moncrief looked at her with what she could only describe as keen interest. ‘And from what you have seen ...?’
Serena creased her brows. ‘Um, he seems in good health. I’m sure you can ask him these questions yourself.’
They arrived at the drawing room then and she offered him a seat.
‘Thank you, ma’am. If you don’t mind my asking, what is your overall impression of Edward?’
‘I beg pardon?’ What an odd thing to ask.
‘Bear with me. I am just the curious sort. Some people would call him eccentric. What do you think?’
For some reason, his questions made her hackles rise, and she wanted to defend Mr King. ‘I think those questions are impertinent. If people don’t understand the nature of a genius when they meet him, that is their misfortune.’
Mr Moncrief held up his hands in defence. ‘Say no more. I have no intention of slandering the chap.’ He smiled at her. Was he laughing at her? ‘He chose well when he employed you.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Serena didn’t have the confidence she forced into her voice. ‘Now, if you don’t mind waiting, I shall see if he is receiving visitors.’
The first person Serena could find was Mrs Jones. She had been reluctant to go straight to Mr King’s suite and disturb him, and hadn’t been able to locate Mr Jones. The valet had probably gone to town on errands, and the young men worked out on the grounds. But to guess in which room Mrs Jones presently cleaned was challenging. She still had not found the time to explore the house, and knew not where the rooms the family used were. Calling as she searched, Serena finally located her on the second floor, in the library.
And what a library! Books that lined every wall to the roof. She stood gaping, her errand forgotten. Serena recalled her one book of poetry by John Keats, her worn and dog-eared copies of Jane Austen’s works and the family Bible. Her mother had taught her to read using that precious book before she had even entered the school room. Those volumes, and a few of Papa’s favourites, were the scant remains of their former collection. But, even before their wealth evaporated, their bookshelves numbered nowhere near Mr King’s library. Her fingers itched to lift a volume from the shelf and trace over the rough paper that held such treasures of knowledge and imagination. Oh, and that smell of old leather and aged paper. It was heaven.
Serena expected to find books shelved here on any topic she chose. It was as if the whole world had just opened to her. Next time she spoke with him, she must ask him if she might borrow one or two.
‘What is it you need me for, Miss Bellingham?’ Mrs Jones brought Serena out of her stupor. The housekeeper was a few steps up a ladder, dusting the books.
‘Oh, yes. There is a Mr Caleb Moncrief here to see Mr King. I’ve asked him to wait in the drawing room.’
Colour drained from Mrs Jones’s face. ‘What have you done?’ She scrambled from the ladder, her eyes wide.
Serena frowned. ‘Nothing, as far as I know. I have not interrupted Mr King if that’s what you mean. I came to find you first.’
Mrs Jones clasped her elbow, hurrying out of the library and back to the staircase. ‘But you left Moncrief alone?’
‘Why, yes.’ How did they expect her to seek help and stay with Mr Moncrief at the same time?
‘For goodness sake, he’s probably snooping around by now.’ Mrs Jones’ frustrated words came out half mumbled as she hastened her steps even further. Serena almost needed to jog to keep pace. What was so wrong? Why the panic? Serena had no opportunity for questions in their dash to find Mr Moncrief.
At the top of the stairs, Mrs Jones paused and moved to the window. Lifting the latch, she pushed the window open, then pulled a whistle from her pocket and blew it hard. She closed the window again and continued her rush to the drawing room.
When they arrived at the door, Mrs Jones took a deep breath, and transformed into a calmer image of herself. She threw open the door and bustled inside, Serena close behind, to find an empty room. ‘I knew it.’ Mrs Jones spun on her heel, almost colliding with Serena in her haste to return to the hallway. ‘Get out of my way, girl.’
In the corridor, they met with Simon, who’d hurried in from the gardens. ‘What’s wrong, Mother?’
‘Moncrief’s here. Somewhere.’ Her lips formed a thin line.
‘Right. I’ll check the north wing.’ With those curt words, the young gardener hurried away.
‘And I’ll search these central rooms. Miss Bellingham, go back and look in the south wing. If you find him, tell him firmly—but cordially—to leave.’
Serena opened her mouth to blurt out the questions running through her mind.
‘Now, Miss Bellingham.’
The sound of a commotion drifted up from the front of the house, male voices rising. Serena hurried back downstairs in time to see the door close behind Mr Moncrief, and to receive a deep scowl from Mr Simon.
‘Did you let him in?’
‘I ...’
‘It’s not her fault, Simon. She is not familiar with the man. And you know how Moncrief is.’ Mrs Jones sounded a trifle exasperated.
‘What do you mean?’ Serena glanced from one to the other. ‘Excuse me, but I do not understand my error. I heard the knocker, no one came, so I answered the door. Mr Moncrief spoke of Mr King in familiar terms, and I had no reason to believe he was anything but genuine.’
‘Because you are too naïve.’ Mr Simon glared.
‘That’s enough, Simon. You may go back to work now. No harm done.’
‘So you think.’ His eyes flashed at Serena. ‘What did you tell him?’
‘Tell him?’ Serena tried to recall her brief conversation with the visitor. ‘I’m sure I didn’t tell him anything. We exchanged a few pleasantries, that’s all.’ Of what was Mr Simon
