RISING from the dining table Marguerite made her excuses to Percy. She had decided that she could no longer keep the letters and journals from her husband. They had belonged to his mother and it was only right that he be given them. However, she was almost thwarted by his chivalry.
"You cannot walk unaided, let me help you," he rose with her and moved towards the door.
"No, no, I'll be all right. I just need to go to my room for something. I'll meet you in the library in a few minutes."
"I'll go for you - or send one of the servants. Your ankle is not in a fit state for you to be walking about unnecessarily."
"My ankle will be fine. I will be careful. There is no point anyone else going, they won't be able to find it," and she slipped out of the door before he could stop her. Hoping he would not follow her - she wanted time to gather her thoughts together to find the best way to tell him about the contents of the box - she made her way as quickly as she could to her room where she had left the precious item.
Percy had looked after her for a few moments and then slowly made his way to the library. She obviously meant what she said about not wanting any help and he could see she had been agitated at the thought of being accompanied. He would just have to wait for her to return and try to prevent her from any further activity which could upset her injured ankle.
When Marguerite entered the library her husband was leaning his powerful shoulders against the mantel, with his slender hands buried in his pockets. He looked calm and carefree, and she felt her heart lurch at the idea of shattering his tranquility. She steeled herself for the task ahead and smiled across the room to him.
She made her way carefully to the sofa near the fireside, using the cane to support her damaged ankle. In her other hand, hidden by her skirts, she clutched the metal box she had found earlier in the day. She sat down and with a gesture of relief she threw the cane to the floor by the sofa.
"Dieu! I feel like a decrepit dowager having to use that thing to hobble about on. How nice it is to be able to sit comfortably. Why don't you join me?"
Percy returned her smile, glad to see her short trip had not caused her any problems. He moved to the sofa and repositioned a footstool, tenderly lifting her injured foot to rest upon it, before composing his long limbs in a relaxed fashion beside her.
"No more walking about for you, m'dear. Not until your injury has completely healed."
"Mmm."
She seemed to reply almost absentmindedly. Then she shifted slightly on the sofa so that she was facing him. She took one of his hands and kept her eyes lowered to their interlaced fingers as she said:
"Percy?"
She raised her eyes and saw that he too had been looking down at their joined hands. But as she looked at him his eyes lifted and he smiled down into her troubled gaze.
"What is it, m'dear?"
"Percy, it's about the staircase."
"Are you concerned about it? There's no need. It's perfectly safe. And I shall look through the papers in the muniment room tomorrow to find some clue as to why it was built. It's extraordinary that it has not been in use all these years."
"That's what I wanted to talk to you about. It has been used by someone."
"Really? How do you know?"
"I - I found something. Before I fell."
"What was it? We shall have to go back there in the morning and take a look at it."
"There's no need for that. I have it here."
Percy raised an eyebrow questioningly. Her fingers flexed nervously in his clasp. Now that the moment had come she did not know what to say to him. She could not think of a way to break it to him gently. She cast around in her mind for the words which would help her to tell him about her find.
"You know that I found the staircase earlier when I looked in the tower room?"
He nodded his assent.
"Well, I explored to the very foot of the stairs, as you know, and I found nothing. It was too dark to look for anything, so I returned to the rooftop, to meet you and tell you about it."
Percy sat quietly, allowing her to tell the story without pressing her for details of the mysterious object she had found. Undoubtedly she was trying to suppress her excitement about whatever it was and she would reveal it when she was ready.
Marguerite had paused. She could not put it off any longer. She was going to have to hand over that box and it's contents and allow Percy to make his own mind up about the letters and journals. The words tumbled out now, as though the quicker she told him the easier the blow would be when it fell.
"I was nearly at the top of the stairs when I found it. Perhaps I was not attending so carefully as I had been on the way down. My foot struck against something and when I bent to pick it up, that's when I lost my footing and fell. But I kept hold of what I found."
Loosening her hand from his she once more grasped the metal box which contained the hopes and dreams of Percy's mother, and gently, almost reverently, she laid it in his hands.
The dark, cold metal of the box contrasted sharply with the slender whiteness of Percy's hands as he turned the object over and over. It had a most unprepossessing exterior, but he had seen from the way Marguerite had spoken that there was more to it than met the eye.
He glanced up from his scrutiny of the box to look at his wife; her face held a contradictory mix of both relief and tension. Her gaze was fixed on him so that she was able to catch every expression of his countenance, and as their eyes met she smiled at him, a little nervously.
Percy turned his attention back to the mysterious box and lifted the lid. On seeing the bundles of letters tied together with faded ribbon and the series of small, well-worn journals he looked up at Marguerite once more, this time with an unspoken question.
She nodded.
"I read some of the pages. Not the letters, I left those. But as soon as I realised what it was I had stumbled across I placed them back in the box."
Carefully Percy lifted out one of the journals and looked at the flyleaf. Marguerite saw him note the name inscribed inside the book and thought she saw him grow a shade paler. There were no words which could help at this moment - she could do nothing but sit by and watch him.
Methodically Percy examined each of the books in turn, leaving the letters behind in the box. He set the box to one side and laid the journals on a nearby table. Then, quietly, he picked up the earliest chronologically and began to read.
Marguerite could see no signs that he was distressed or moved by what he saw on the page. His hands, with fine, filmy lace falling over the fingers, were steady and to all outward appearances he could have been reading the latest edition of The Morning Post instead of his mother's most personal thoughts.
As she watched his calm she was supremely aware of her own nerves. She could feel each, distinct beat of her heart and the slight tremor in her hands - she quickly clasped them together and held them in her lap. There was a hush in the cosy library now which she was loth to break. The only sounds were the crackle of the fire and the crackle of paper as Percy turned the leaves of his mother's journals.
She did not know which years they spanned, or where the entries she had read were placed in the set, so she had no way of telling what he might be reading about. Marguerite was unsure whether to be pleased at his ongoing silence; it could signify so many things. It was so recently that she had learned how well he could disguise his true personality, and she was now gaining first-hand experience of his talent for keeping his emotions hidden.
He seemed lost in the journal, never raising his eyes from the book, just steadily skimming through the pages. She did not want to disturb him, but she wanted to be of comfort to him should he need it. Noiselessly, she rose from the sofa and took a couple of limping steps to a nearby ottoman to collect a volume of poetry she had left there. Her movement broke Percy's concentration and he glanced up to ascertain what she was doing.
Seeing her return almost immediately to the couch he smiled at her in a somewhat abstracted fashion before burying himself once more in the journal he was reading. Reassured by the warmth of his look, Marguerite felt the tautness leave her frame as she sank thankfully back on to the comfortable sofa beside him.
Her attention was not completely held by the work of M Molière and she found herself studying her husband from beneath her lashes rather than taking in the bonhomie of the poet.
The clock on the mantel marked the passing minutes as the time dragged slowly by for Marguerite. Percy had been completely absorbed in the journals, exchanging one for another when he finished reading. Now, more than an hour after he first picked up the box, as she looked at him once more, he raised his head from the book and met her eyes.
She thought his face looked faintly strained despite the smile he directed at her when their eyes met. She returned his smile, and waited watchfully.
He laid the book he had been holding to one side and turning in her direction he drew her towards him. As she moved closer to him he placed a tender kiss on her forehead before wrapping his arms around her, whispering:
"Thank you."