Read Online Nooks & Crannies by Jessica Lawson - Free Book Online Page A

nudged herself to the front of the group. “A library, study, drawing room, double parlors, a dining hall, a vault, and guest and servants’ quarters,” she recited. She eyed the two nearest rooms with a hungry expression.
    Streaks of red crept up Barnaby’s neck as he stared at his mother, but he remained silent.
    At Mrs. Trundle’s summation, Phillips merely lifted the non-twitchy side of his mouth and gave a stiff nod. “And a gallery that includes England’s largest private collection of historical crime paintings, from the assassination of Julius Caesar to the Whitechapel murders of Jack the Ripper.”
    Oh my, thought Tabitha, her hand drifting down to cover Pemberley’s ears so he wouldn’t hear more if Phillips went into further detail. What an unusual choice for a collection.
    â€œHow horrid ,” Barnaby’s mother said.
    â€œOdd,” said Mr. Wellington, the art collector. “Though if they’re of significant quality, they might bring a very large sum at market.”
    â€œIs that right, sir?” asked Phillips, looking at Mr. Wellington with curiosity.
    â€œCertainly,” Mrs. Wellington replied. “There are all kinds of collectors looking to own unique pieces. There’s absolutely nothing a person can cherish more than the right piece of art. Art is the most precious, important thing that a person could ever give birth to or nurture. Isn’t that right, Frances?”
    Frances stiffened and pursed her lips. “Yes, Mother.”
    â€œEdward,” Viola whispered, gripping her friend’s shoulder. “The Countess gives nearly three thousand pounds a year to art-based organizations, and I daresay I should be interested, but do say we won’t go see those paintings.”
    Edward shrugged her off. “Not in charge, am I? I’d like to have a look at the Caesar one, myself. According to a riveting read on Roman medicine, the first recorded autopsy was done on him. Something like twenty-three dagger wounds. Physician named Antistius got to do it, lucky chap.”
    They passed through another door and into a wide room with three windows along one wall and scores of bookshelves along the rest. A neatly laid blaze crackled and popped in an enormous fireplace, lending extra warmth to what Tabitha had already decided was the best room in the manor. The fireplace’s mantel was made of dark wood, finely carved and extended to the ceiling, glittering here and there with golden leaf adornments. To one side of it hung a small painting of a boy seated beneath a tree.
    Viola’s nose wiggled, and she sneezed three times. “Oh dear, I do hope I’m not getting sick.”
    â€œAllergic to the rug fibers, maybe?” Edward guessed.
    Shaking her head, Viola sneezed once more. “No, it’s probably a dreadful cold. Some of the people at the poorhouse we visited were ill, and I must have picked something up.”
    â€œOr perhaps you’re allergic to anything with a smattering of class,” Frances suggested.
    Phillips cleared his throat until he had everyone’s attention once again. “As you can see, the library contains the most ornate of the manor’s seven working fireplaces. And the Countess owns more than two thousand volumes covering a variety of subjects.”
    Only seven fireplaces, Tabitha thought. But there were ten chimneys total. She’d counted.
    â€œNobody gives a fig about fireplaces or books,” Mr. Crum murmured.
    â€œI’m so sorry to be boring your unrivaled intellect, sir,” Phillips said with an attentive lip twitch. “Is there anything at all related to the manor that you would give a fig about?”
    â€œWhat about the ghosts?” Viola asked. “Will we be needing to say prayers against seeing ghosts this weekend?” She tugged on her mother’s sleeve.
    â€œShh,” said Mrs. Dale, smoothing Viola’s hair and placing a kiss on her