Page 60 of The Hidden Lord
They spent the next hour exploring the hall’s public rooms, each space offering fresh evidence of Tudor craftsmanship and architectural ambition. Ornate plaster ceilings, carvedmantelpieces, and heavy oak doors spoke of a past both proud and prosperous. In one long gallery, intricate iron grilles vented the room, their rusting tracery emitting eerie echoes as the wind howled up from the cliffs below.
But despite their systematic search, there was no sign of the organ that the sketch so clearly implied should be hidden somewhere within the building.
“This is puzzling,” Gabriel admitted as they completed their circuit of the ground floor. “The locals clearly know about an organ, the sketch depicts one quite specifically, and yet we have found no evidence of such an instrument anywhere in the obvious locations.”
Henri studied their sketch again, paying particular attention to the architectural details visible in the Tudor window image. “Perhaps the organ is not in a conventional location. Tudor buildings often included hidden rooms or concealed spaces, especially if they were built during periods of religious or political uncertainty.”
Gabriel’s expression suggested that Henri’s observation had given him a new direction to consider. “You are suggesting that the chapel itself might be hidden?”
“It is possible,” Henri replied. “If Grimsfell Hall was built during the time of Henry the Eighth, when religious practices were subject to rapid and sometimes violent changes, the original builders might well have created concealed spaces for activities that could fall in and out of favor depending on the current monarch’s preferences.”
Gabriel looked around the main hall with renewed interest, clearly reassessing the architecture from this new perspective. “Then we need to search for evidence of hidden passages or concealed rooms. The organ, and whatever secrets it might hold, could be anywhere within these walls.”
Henri felt a familiar surge of excitement at the intellectual challenge, even as she remained acutely aware of the emotional distance that continued to separate her from her husband. Whatever lay hidden within Grimsfell Hall, she was determined to help uncover it. If only to prove to herself that her contributions to their investigation had genuine value, regardless of Gabriel’s apparent inability to appreciate her help in his mysterious quest.
After two more hours of fruitless searching through the manor’s labyrinthine passages and chambers, Henri’s earlier excitement had curdled into bitter disappointment. They had examined every room, every corridor, every obvious space where an organ might be housed, but found only gloomy chambers and dust-covered furniture. The water damage to their cave carving was beginning to seem like more than mere inconvenience. Perchance it had obscured crucial details that would have led them to their goal.
Perhaps this is where our hunt finally ends,Henri thought with crushing dejection.Perhaps we have followed these ancient clues as far as they can take us, and the answers Signor di Bianchi seeks will remain forever out of reach.
The possibility should have brought some measure of relief, given how her new marriage had deteriorated since leaving London. Instead, Henri found herself genuinely disappointed by the prospect of failure, not just because of the intellectual challenge the puzzle represented, but because solving it might have been the one thing that could have brought Gabriel back to her. The man who had seduced her with passion and promises in Calais, rather than this cold stranger who treated her like an unwelcome burden.
Gabriel, meanwhile, had become increasingly aloof as their search continued without success. The charming, attentive man who had swept her off her feet and convinced her to marryhim seemed to have vanished entirely, replaced by this focused, monosyllabic investigator who barely acknowledged her presence unless her assistance was specifically required. Henri watched him move through the manor with his sketch, studying walls and architectural details with intense concentration while paying her no mind whatsoever.
This is the man I married,Henri realized with painful clarity.Not the passionate lover from Calais, but this distant, secretive stranger who uses people for his own ends.
When Gabriel headed toward what appeared to be a servants’ staircase leading to the lower levels of the hall, Henri followed reluctantly, more out of habit than any genuine hope that they would find answers in the basement chambers. The narrow stone steps led to a network of service corridors and storage rooms that would have housed the army of servants required to maintain such a grand establishment.
Gabriel immediately began examining the walls with the same intense appraisal he had applied to the upper floors, running his hands along the stone surfaces and studying his sketch by lantern light. Henri watched him work for several minutes before her frustration finally overwhelmed her patience.
“Gabriel,” she said, his name echoing in the confined space. “What exactly are you doing?”
“Looking,” he replied without turning from his examination of a particular section of wall.
Henri’s temper flared at his dismissive tone. “Looking for what, specifically?”
“Hidden spaces,” Gabriel said, his attention still focused entirely on the stonework.
“And you expect to find them how?”
“Inconsistencies in the construction.”
Henri stared at her husband’s back, amazed by his ability to reduce their conversation to the absolute minimum number of words required to convey basic information. The man who had once spoken to her with such eloquence and wit now seemed incapable of stringing together a complete sentence in her presence.
“Gabriel,” Henri said, taking on a sharp edge, “you promised you would tell me what this was all about once we solved the puzzle together.”
“I said I might,” Gabriel replied, finally turning to face her but offering no elaboration.
Henri’s frustration rose like gunpowder that had been lit, and she grappled to find some semblance of self-control. Two weeks of disruption, days of mounting resentment, and hours of being treated like an unwelcome appendage to Gabriel’s investigation had combined to create an explosive mixture that his casual dismissal had finally ignited.
“And I said I would give this marriage a try,” Henri said, her voice rising despite her efforts to maintain composure. “And now I find myself thinking I might … not.”
With that declaration, Henri turned on her heel and left the room, climbing the servants’ stairs with angry stomping while her heart hammered against her ribs. She could hear Gabriel call her name behind her, but the sound only fueled her determination to put distance between herself and the man who had somehow managed to break her heart so thoroughly in such a short time.
Henri made her way through the manor’s corridors blindly, her vision blurred by tears of anger and disappointment that she refused to let fall. She had been such a fool, allowing herself to believe that Gabriel’s passion in Calais represented something real and lasting rather than merely a calculated strategy to secure her cooperation. She admitted to herself that she hadstupidly fallen in love with a man who was fundamentally unobtainable, setting herself up for a life of dependence and heartbreak that would make her mother’s widowhood seem pleasant by comparison.
I should have listened to my instincts from the beginning,Henri thought.I should have recognized that a man who keeps so many secrets is incapable of the kind of honesty that real partnership requires. Romantic attachments make intelligent women act like fools.
Henri had always prided herself on her independence, her ability to navigate the complex world of politics and society without needing masculine protection or guidance. Yet here she was, married to a man who treated her contributions as negligible and her presence as an inconvenience, trapped in a legal bond that she was beginning to suspect would prove far too constraining. She should have chosen passage to the Americas to start again over this doomed marriage.
