Read Online Winter Garden by Adele Ashworth - Free Book Online

generations now. It’s lovely inside, and parts of it are quite old actually. The family has enlarged it through the years.” Her wide forehead crinkled gently as her eyes focused on pink carnations in the center of the table. “I recall that it was once a monastery of some kind, or at least the foundation upon which the house is now built was part of a structure belonging to the church several centuries ago.” She glanced up to herguests again and lowered her voice. “Some records indicate, or rather”—she patted her lips with her napkin—“rumor suggests it was a haven for those not afflicted with the Black Death.”
    Madeleine glanced around the table. Everyone’s attention was now thoroughly engaged, as was hers, but, of course, for different reasons.
    â€œTo hide from those individuals who were diseased?” Lady Isadora asked with genuine titillation.
    â€œTo keep from succumbing themselves, I should think,” Mrs. Mossley corrected with an air of assurance, wiping crumbs from her mouth with her fingertips. “If one secures oneself from the outside world, disease can be avoided.”
    Mrs. Bennington-Jones scoffed. “Nonsense. If God chooses to cast down affliction, nothing can be done to avoid it.”
    Quiet filled the room for a moment as those words were absorbed. Then Lady Isadora shook her head slowly. “But who would take shelter there? Clergy?” Her own answer satisfied her, and she sat back in her chair. “I suppose that would explain who was inside and why they lived through the Death. Men of God would not be afflicted.”
    Madeleine reached for her tea, bringing her cup to her lips. “But men of God are still men. They succumb to temptation, illness, and death as do laymen.”
    Every woman at the table looked stung by that.
    Mrs. Rodney cleared her throat again, this time purposely. “I believe, Mrs. DuMais, that with the good Lord’s help and guidance, men of the cloth would have sense enough to close themselves off from the outside world until the threat of danger is passed.”
    Madeleine took another sip. “You’re suggesting, Mrs. Rodney, that the baron’s home once posed as a fortress of sorts for those seeking shelter?”
    â€œPrecisely,” she returned with a drop of her thick chin.
    â€œBut they would still need to eat and provide for essentials,” she argued pleasantly. “The Black Death lasted for several years. Surely those inside could not go that long without food and supplies.”
    Mrs. Bennington-Jones smiled at her flatly. “Monasteries are equipped with the land and means to provide, Madame DuMais. I should think they are the same in France?”
    Madeleine nodded once in acknowledgment, holding her tongue graciously of a retort that food alone wouldn’t be the only thing needed for survival, but also firewood and oil among the many, as well as messages from the outside world that would allow those inside contact with others. She didn’t need to say anything. Everyone else knew it, too.
    Mrs. Mossley stuffed her mouth with the last of her cake. “Maybe they all died.” She smiled broadly at her own sense of humor as she chewed. “What I mean is that it’s just a story. Mrs. Rodney even said it’s more rumor than fact. The Black Death occurred five hundred years ago. One cannot be certain of events that took place so far back in history.”
    There was silence for another long moment, then Desdemona offered softly, “I’ve heard…rumors of lights in the night and ghosts on Baron Rothebury’s property. Maybe they’re all dead clergy—”
    â€œOh, for heaven sake, Desdemona,” her mother interjected, annoyed. “There are no ghosts. Clergy do notbecome ghosts. Your imagination is beyond the incredible.”
    Desdemona sank lower in her chair, looking sufficiently scolded. Mrs. Rodney attempted to