Deborah Simmons - The Dark Viscount

‘It’s a maze,’ Kit shouted, with a smile and a wave.

He continued on his way, and Sydony did not stop him. She was too busy looking ahead towards the maze. She’d heard of such things, of course, and had even seen a small one at the pleasure gardens near her old home, but the thought of owning one sent a quiver of delight up her spine. She hurried on until the path ended, then hesitated only briefly before lifting her hem and trudging into the damp grass.

As usual, she resented Kit’s more sensible costume of breeches, boots and greatcoat. He had often told her that she could dress like a man for all he cared; though tempted, Sydony had never succumbed. She had been quite the tomboy when younger, trailing after Kit and his friends, determined to keep up. But over the years, she had come to realize that she was, by nature, different, and had tried to adopt more seemly behaviour. It was not too difficult, especially when her former companions revolted her with some masculine prank. She would never be content to sit and sew, but neither did she care to stride around in breeches, shearing sheep or shooting birds.

Although her slippers were already wet, Sydony continued walking until she reached the rear of the house. There, a crumbling terrace of sorts was surrounded by what had once been a garden. And behind it all, great dark hedges rose so high that they seemed to block out all else. Shivering at the sight, Sydony pulled her cloak tighter around her against a sudden chill in the air. The overgrown greenery held a certain allure that compelled her to seek out its secrets, yet at the same time, its wild, ominous aspect warned her away.

‘Don’t go in there!’

Sydony jumped at the sound of her very thoughts shouted aloud, but when she turned it was only Kit, calling to her from the path.

‘You’re liable to get lost, and we’ve got to meet the solicitor.’

Normally, his high-handed male order would make her bristle, but Sydony nodded in agreement. Still, her brother made no move to leave. Obviously, he was waiting for her to return to the house; with a sigh, she walked towards him.

‘We’ll have plenty of time to explore later. But business first,’ he added, flashing her a grin.

Sydony nodded. There had been a time when she had been the more practical one, but now she was proud of him for taking on so much responsibility.

And just how practical was she? As she watched him leave, Sydony knew full well she ought to go with him. But now, there were more interesting things to investigate at Oakfield, including a maze that was situated behind the house, but could not be viewed from any of its windows.

Sydony returned to the house with a new purpose. Soon she was searching each room that looked over the rear of the property, but every window was either shuttered or boarded over. Even the doors in the drawing room that led to the crumbling terrace had been blocked. She could wait until Kit returned, but was too impatient for a glimpse of what lay beyond the gardens. Although the maze was nothing except a mass of tall shrubbery at ground level, from higher up in the house, she should be able to view the pattern itself.

Turning on her heel, Sydony decided to look for a crowbar or some tool that she could use to pry free the wood panels. But when she reached the stairs, she remembered that last night Kit had pointed out battlements, rooftop outlooks that were not uncommon in medieval dwellings. A giddy excitement rushed through her at the prospect of standing above with the entire labyrinth laid out before her, its secrets finally revealed.

Although Sydony glanced about for a way upwards, the main staircase did not resume its path, and a quick reconnoitre revealed no other steps. There had to be a way to reach the roof from inside the house, and such a stair should have an opening on every floor, yet all Sydony could find was a door that might or might not take her to the top. And it was locked.

Her new search for a key sent her back down to the ground floor, where she discovered two more locked doors. She was hot and dusty by the time she wandered into what looked like a library—without the books. The room was dark, heavily panelled and lined with shelves, but they were bare, much to Sydony’s disappointment.

With a sigh, she told herself she had no time to read any way. In fact, she ought to be cataloguing the contents of the house or taking a broom to it instead of chasing after phantoms. And, yet, as new owners, shouldn’t she and Kit be able to view every facet of the building, including whatever was closed off?

With that thought in mind, Sydony renewed her search for keys and tugged at the drawers of a tall secretary that was one of the few furnishings in the room. At first glance, they appeared to contain only old letters and receipts. Still, she checked every nook and cranny, digging through the papers until her fingers brushed against metal. With a cry of delight, Sydony pulled out a ring of keys that had probably been carelessly tossed into the drawer.

She stood, intent upon hurrying upstairs at once, but fought against the compulsion. Logic dictated that she try the nearest doors first, so she sought out those on the ground floor. And if one opened on to a servants’ stair that led all the way to the battlements, so much the better.

Unfortunately, it was not that simple. As Sydony stood in front of the first door, trying key after key, her impatience grew. But just as she was tempted to turn aside, she heard the click of the lock that heralded her success. Still, she had to struggle with the door, which seemed to have swollen in the wet weather. Putting all her weight behind her efforts, she leaned back and pulled until the heavy wood swung open with a banging and knocking sound that seemed to ring throughout the house.

Sydony peered into the gaping dark as the smell of cool, damp air greeted her. But just as she leaned forwards, something else rushed out of the blackness, and she fell back with a shriek. Even as she told herself that the thing was probably only a bird, her dislike of the other distinct possibility—that it was a bat—sent her running as far away as possible. Uncertain whether she was being pursued, Sydony raced through the rooms toward the front of the house, flung open the door, and, without even blinking, launched herself at the man who was standing there.

‘Barto!’

Halted by his tall form, Sydony breathed his name against the soft lapel where she buried her face. A vague memory of security blossomed into a reassuring sense of safety. It was no wonder, for the hard body she clung to was as strong and solid as an oak. It smelled good, too, like horses and leather and something else. She had never noticed Barto’s scent before, but then, she hadn’t been this close to him in years.

And with that thought, Sydony realised just how stiffly her rescuer was standing beneath her grip, his chin lifted and his arms rigid at his sides. Far from giving her comfort, he was uncomfortable himself, a discovery that sent embarrassment knifing through her. Sydony stepped back, away from him. Yet even as she loosed her hold, Sydony felt a pang, as though she were letting go of something vital and precious.

Or perhaps one night in this medieval monstrosity had completely unhinged her mind. It had certainly affected her behaviour. Trying to regain her good sense, Sydony drew a deep breath of autumn air that bespoke recent rain and dead leaves, instead of Bartholomew Hawthorne.

‘Pardon me,’ she said, though her behaviour was unpardonable. It might have been accepted, or at least tolerated when she was a small girl tagging after her brother and his best friend. But that friend had drifted away and had grown into a man. And not just any man, mind you, but a lord of the realm: Viscount Hawthorne.