Page 63 of Miss Beresford and the Beast

Magnus grimaced. “Charlotte⁠—”

“Or at least I suspected it,” she continued in a rush of excitement. “I thought it must be something like a casket of jewels, a secret will, or⁠—”

“The will is no secret,” Magnus cut her off. “It’s in the hands of a solicitor in Dover, all legal and aboveboard, and clearly stating that I’m the sole heir to my father’s fortune. All that remains is to find it.” He placed her hat and gloves on a rectangular wooden table by the wall, disturbing a heavy layer of dust. “Which is exactly what we’ve been trying to do since our arrival.”

“Bound to be here somewhere, ain’t it?” Turner remarked with ill-disguised cynicism. “That’s what his lordship keeps telling me.”

Magnus shot his valet a quelling glance. “As far as a casket of jewels⁠—”

“There really are missing jewels?” Charlotte asked eagerly.

“My mother’s,” Magnus said. “They’re likely to be hidden here too.”

Beside him, Chance determinedly continued his scratching. He contorted his small body to better accommodate his efforts.

“But not buried in the garden,” Charlotte concluded.

“We began there,” Magnus said. “The fortune is sizeable, as was my mother’s jewel box. The hiding place would need to be large enough to accommodate it. I assumed it would be somewhere out of doors. At the time, I couldn’t imagine my father would stoop to destroying the house.”

Charlotte refrained from remarking that the house was arguably already destroyed, if only from neglect.

Magnus gave a wry tilt of his mouth, seeming to read her mind. “I’ve since reconsidered my view.”

Charlotte recalled the furious splintering of boards she’d overheard when she’d come yesterday morning. “You’re searching behind the wall paneling?”

“The floorboards as well,” Magnus said. “We’ve had no luck yet.”

“There’s a great many panelings left,” Turner said. “And I’m not a young fellow, am I? Not with my arthritis.”

Magnus ignored his servant’s complaints. “I don’t expect you to wield a hammer,” he said to Charlotte. “Simply look for suspicious seams in the walls and the flooring. You can shout out when you find them. We’ll do the rest.”

“That sounds easy enough.” She clasped her hands in front of her. “Where shall I start?”

Magnus was silent several seconds before seeming to come a decision. “Confine yourself to this level. There’s less rot in the floorboards. You won’t be in danger of falling through.”

“Happen she could try the small parlor,” Turner ventured. “I’ve not yet begun⁠—”

“Not the parlor,” Magnus said immediately.

“It’d have to be,” Turner said. “We’ve already finished most of the other rooms on this floor.”

“There’s still the conservatory,” Magnus told Charlotte. “You’ll be safer there.”

Turner made a disparaging noise. “A room made of glass? With stone floors and some broken pots? What good is her searching⁠—”

Something changed in Magnus’s manner, as subtle as it was powerful. “Enough with your insolence.”

Turner’s mouth instantly clamped shut. Even Chance came to attention, at last ceasing his scratching.

Magnus neither looked at his servant, nor raised his voice. His tone was one of perilous quiet. “I gave you an order.”

Chance’s liquid brown eyes flicked from Magnus to Turner.

The valet’s shoulders drooped. “Apologies, your lordship.” With a sullen bob of his head, he retreated back into the small parlor. The sound of half-hearted hammering soon followed.

Charlotte bit her lip. In that moment, she could easily see how Magnus could have captained a warship in Her Majesty’s navy. There was iron in his voice, and in his commanding, broad-shouldered frame. It permitted neither disobedience nor dissent. Not from the men who served him, at any rate.

But Charlotte was no sailor or servant.