The Gilded Cage by Lucinda Gray Read Free Book Online

myself. When I catch up with him, my brother will have some explaining to do.
    While Matt prepares the carriage, I walk back to the house to find John. I’ll need a driver, and I’d much prefer it be someone I can talk to.
    I’m halfway back when I see two men standing at the scullery door, speaking with John. There’s something in their manner that makes me pause, then conceal myself in Walthingham’s shadows before advancing. The pair should look comical next to each other—one tall and thin, the other short and nearly as thick around as he is tall—but their appearance does not inspire laughter. I judge them both to be in their forties, dressed in drab civilian suits of brown and black. The short man’s neck overflows his collar, and the thin man has taken off his hat to reveal a bristling shaven head and small ears. They appear to have come on foot, which in these conditions strikes me as very odd indeed.
    I creep closer, trailing my fingers against the rough stone wall.
    â€œI’ve already told you once, and my answer will not change.” The voice is John’s. “The master of the house isn’t in, and you have no business here until he’s back.”
    â€œWe’ll keep coming back until we get what we came for,” says the tall man, his voice perfectly even.
    â€œYou’ll get exactly what you’re owed,” John replies. “But not while the master is away.”
    He means Henry, I suppose—though my brother is lord of Walthingham Hall in name, he has not yet taken over the running of the estate.
    The tall man eyes John for a long moment. I think of a dog with its hackles up, deciding whether to flee or fight. Finally he drops his shoulders, then stabs a finger into John’s chest. “Mark my words, man. You will be seeing us again, and sooner than you’d like.” His eyes flick upward toward the house, taking it in, and then he and his silent companion trudge away. I wait until they’ve rounded the corner of the house before walking on. John is rehanging a shelf against the scullery wall, hammer in hand.
    â€œDon’t worry, they didn’t see you,” he says. His tone is familiar, as it always is when I’m unaccompanied, but there’s something heavy in it today.
    â€œWho were those men? What did they want with Henry?”
    â€œThem? They’re nobody you need worry about. Just masons, here to discuss the renovations of the west wing. Though they would do better to start chasing down payment after they’ve completed the job, I think.”
    The story is a likely one, but it strikes me as false. “Indeed,” I say.
    *   *   *
    In half an hour, the carriage is ready and John is checking over the tackle. Two black mares, sleek and blanketed, toss their heads and snort. John is dressed in a long coat and gloves, with a flat cap pulled down over his ears. I’ve told him I want to visit Jane Dowling—I will not give him the opportunity to dissuade me from chasing my errant brother.
    â€œYou’re sure you’ll be warm enough?” he says as he helps me into the cushioned seats. Grace has insisted I bring two loose fur blankets, and I’m grateful for them.
    â€œEnough,” I say. “I already feel guilty that you’ll be facing the elements while I’m tucked up in here.”
    â€œIt’s your place,” he says simply.
    The avenue from the front of the house sweeps through the forest, running along high ground. In the dip before the house, below sculpted gardens, lies the lake, glassy and still. Already I’m feeling freer, just moments away from the house and its restrictions. Through the glass at the front, I see John seated above the horses, swaying with the carriage’s motion. Were I to need him, I could summon him by the bell-cord hanging close at hand. My place , indeed.
    The rocking of the carriage has almost lulled me to sleep