Dalrymple took over, striking the tinder, lighting the candles. Alexander was grateful for the viscount’s calmness, his competence. It was good that someone was calm here, because he certainly wasn’t.
The viscount took one of the candles and ventured into the hole alone—to check it was safe, he said. He reappeared a minute later without the candle.
“What’s in there?” Georgiana asked eagerly.
“Nothing at this end,” Dalrymple said, on hands and knees, peering out of the hole. “But there are shelves at the far end with a great many things on them. Possibly Miss Menhennick’s fortune. Pass me those last two candles, will you?” He disappeared again.
Mrs. Dowrey was as animated as a young girl, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling. “To think that we should find it after all these years!”
Dalrymple
