Page 16 of Things We Do for Love and Science
“You’re still happyto do this?” Gabriel greeted her in front of the main entrance to Renwood Hall, with a frown that signaled concern. He probably thought Delia wasn’t up to the whole coffin-opening-and-teeth-extracting enterprise.
She squared her shoulders and took care to sound cheerful. “Absolutely.”
He let out a long breath. “All right then. The crypt is underneath the chapel, and the entrance to it is behind the east wing.”
“Ah, east wing, sure, lead the way.”
Together, they rounded the Hall and came to stand in front of a chapel built from the same honey-colored stone like the main house, its door tucked away under a pillared portico. Arched windows and a small clock tower completed the baroque façade.
He withdrew a comically large iron key from the pocket of his coat and unlocked the tall oak door, eliciting a clunk from the ancient lock. He dragged the massive door open, and she entered the bright and ornate interior.
She tipped her head back to examine the sumptuous ceiling fresco: chubby angels lounging on clouds, a bunch of saints floating between rays of sunlight, and Christ, of course, presiding over the whole celestial crowd.
“Impressive,” she said, aware of Gabriel coming in behind her. “The artist in you must love owning such a building.”
“Yes, as long as I keep owning it. Sorry, didn’t mean to dampen the mood.”
She wasn’t sure what to reply so she remained silent. He had a lot on his mind. Averting financial ruin while trying to keep the show on the road couldn’t be easy.
He picked up a bag full of tools and pointed to a narrow stone staircase to the left of the chapel door. “That’s the entrance to the crypt.”
She came closer. “I appreciate you doing this, Gabriel.”
He put his free hand on her lower arm. “Don’t worry too much, Delia. We’ll get this over and done with, then your boss will leave you in peace.”
At least for a while. John Winter wasn’t known for being overly concerned with other people’s feelings, hang-ups, qualms, or moral reservations, for that matter. She sighed and followed Gabriel down the narrow stairs that led to another door which he unlocked with a slightly smaller iron key.
The musty stale air hit her, and she coughed. He looked over his shoulder with a question in his eyes, but she shook her head. “All okay.”
More steps burrowed even farther into the earth. She suppressed a shudder. He’d reached the bottom and switched on the light, revealing an ancient room with bare stone walls, filled from front to back with rows and rows of coffins.
She stumbled on the last tread and would’ve fallen face first on the flagstone floor if he hadn’t spun and caught her.
“Oof,” was the only sound she made when he crushed her against his chest.
Good reflexes, Lord Renwood. He had his arms around her in an embrace, and she clung to him.
Winded by her fall and not unaffected by the firm hold he had on her, she took a moment to collect herself. “I’m usually not that clumsy.”
“You’re not clumsy. I should have warned you. The last step is larger than the others—it’s a tripping hazard. I have to apologize.”
“All’s well. You caught me just in time.” She flicked a smile at him and left his arms. “Onward?”
“Yes, sure.” He grabbed the tool bag he’d dropped when he caught her and made his way to the back of the room.
There wasn’t much searching about since the third Countess of Renwood had presumably been laid to rest beside her husband.
He stopped in front of a small, elegant casket decorated with floral ornaments of oxidized brass.
She caught up with him and stooped to read the plaque at the base of the marble plinth the coffin rested upon.Lady Emmerentia Kirwan, née of Schwalenberg-Linderstadt, third Countess of Renwood.
There she was. Delia was almost sorry that they had to mutilate the ancient skeleton’s jaw to appease John Winter, who didn’t deserve any of this. With a sigh, she crouched beside Gabriel, who was rooting through his tool bag. “What can I do?”
He glanced at her, the corners of his mouth tilting up. “Just moral support for the time being. We should probably wear these.” He handed her a face mask. “It can get, er, dusty.”
She put the mask on while he applied a spanner to the corroded fastenings of the casket. The first bolt gave way, and she flinched. An outsider observing them would be forgiven for thinking they were vandalizing an exhibit in a museum.
But no, all privately owned. His very own great-great-great-great grannie’s remains to desecrate, at her request. Her cheeks flared with heat, and she hoped he’d be too distracted to notice. To subdue her guilt, she concentrated on his long, slender fingers dealing with centuries’ old fastenings.
