Free Behind the Mask (House of Lords) by Meg Brooke Page B

to have retreated to their own corners until dinner, so Colin and Strathmore went back into the library. The butler followed them to apologize for the tea having been cleared before their return.
    “Really, it’s no trouble, Parkinson,” Colin said. “I wonder, is the steward still about?”
    “Oh, yes, My Lord,” Parkinson said, sounding grateful to at least have some good news. “He doesn’t go home until the bell to dress for dinner has rung. Shall I fetch him for you?”
    “Please,” Colin said. When the butler had gone he turned to Strathmore. “At least we can take a look at those estate plans.”
    Mr. Jameson, a short, muscular man with a bushy bright red moustache came in, holding several long rolled papers. After the introductions had been made he said, “Miss Chesney already spoke to me about your wanting these, My Lord,” he explained as he laid the rolls out on the table. “This one is the plan of the house itself. This one shows the house in a smaller scale with all the outbuildings, and this is a map of the whole estate. There’s also a map here of Porter-on-Bolling, though I wasn’t sure you’d want it.”
    “Thank you,” Colin said, leaning over the table to look at the plan of the house. “Tell me, Mr. Jameson, have you been the steward here long?”
    “Thirteen years, My Lord,” Jameson replied. “The previous viscount brought me on after he inherited the title. He meant to take his seat in Parliament, you see, as his father had not done, and because he would be in London at least half the year he knew he needed someone to see to the business. He was a good landlord, My Lord, but even the best chess player cannot keep his eyes on all the pieces from a hundred miles away.”
    “No, indeed,” Colin said, though he thought of Lord Palmerston, the Foreign Secretary, who seemed to always be playing a dozen different chess games, some of them on boards a thousand miles or more from London. It helped to have an entire legion of agents at one’s disposal, he supposed.
    “Are all the entrances to the great house marked on this plan?” Strathmore asked.
    “It’s funny you should ask that, sir,” Jameson said. “There is one entrance not shown here: the Priest’s Passage. Down here, behind the kitchens,” he went on, pointing, “there is a cold cellar. There’s a door at the back that leads into a tunnel. We store the wine down there now, but back when the house was first built it was a secret entrance—or exit—for anyone who didn’t want to be found in the house. The tunnel extends six miles out under the south hill. It comes out on the edge of the Hollier property, though I don’t know that anyone’s been through it in ten years or more. I can take you down there and show you if you like," Jameson offered.
    "I'll take a look tomorrow after we've interviewed the servants," Colin said.
    Jameson looked uncomfortable. "Pardon my asking, My Lord, but we're not in any danger, are we? Miss Chesney said that you both are from the Foreign Office." He paused. "There's not any danger to the princess, is there?"
    "We hope not," Strathmore said simply. "But we are paid to be overly cautious, Mr. Jameson, and we do it well. We must know everything about everyone in the household, and we will find out any secrets that are being kept."
    It was masterfully done, Colin thought, feeling a newfound respect for young Strathmore. In very few words he had shifted Jameson's suspicions from them back to the staff. The steward seemed to sense that he would learn no more from them, for he said, "I'm sure you'll find the staff cooperative. Now, I must be getting back to my office. I'll just leave these here with you, shall I?"
    "Thank you, Mr. Jameson," Colin said.
    The steward nodded curtly and was gone.
    "A secret tunnel?" Strathmore said, peering carefully at the plan. "This is getting progressively more complicated by the minute."
    "Steady on," Colin cautioned. "We're not even close to the home