Chapter One
Jane Steward was heading straight into the storm.
At least I can see the storm in front of me, she thought as she turned on her windshield wipers. Theother stormI’mracingtoward isinvisible.
The rain struck the pickup truck with timidity, but Jane knew that it was only a matter of moments before the drops changed from hesitant taps to a machine-gun hammer.
Ahead, the sky was smudged with gray. Soot-colored thunderclouds hovered over the ridges of the Appalachian Mountains. In some places, the clouds had descended low enough to cover the valleys in mist. There were farmhouses and fields in those valleys, but Jane couldn’t see them. Her world consisted of a dark road and a darker sky.
And noise.
One of the windshield blades squeaked with every pass, and as the rain picked up its pace, Jane had to turn the wipers to a higher speed setting. This made the squeak sound like the whine of a petulant child.
Between the rain, the wiper blade, and the groan of tractor-trailer engines adjusting to the winding road, Jane was glad for her taciturn passenger. Landon Lachlan, head of Storyton Hall’s Recreation Department, rarely spoke. He’d spent most of the trip from Virginia staring out the window in contemplative silence.
Jane could guess his thoughts. Or more accurately, she could guess which questions were whirling inside his head. The same questions whipped around in hers, echoing the wind that threatened to push their vehicle into the next lane.
Gripping the steering wheel harder, Jane focused on what awaited them once they were clear of the storm.
Ahead, in Asheville, there would be new hazards. If Jane’s theory that her lover was being held captive at Biltmore Estate was correct, there would be danger.
If she was wrong, then Edwin Alcott was beyond her reach. She was certain he would die if she and Lachlan didn’t rescue him, so here they were.
Edwin had been gone for nearly two months. During that time, his sister, the manager of his restaurant, and Jane had all received postcards written in Edwin’s hand. Jane didn’t think the words were his. However, she’d had no way to prove this until her twin sons, Fitzgerald and Hemingway, were kidnapped. It was at the abductor’s house that she discovered a clue to Edwin’s whereabouts.
The clue had been a Templar cross pinned to a map. The location was Asheville, North Carolina. Jane was positive that the pin marked Biltmore, and she was equally sure that the Templars were responsible for Edwin’s disappearance.
HowIwishIhadthatmap, she thought mournfully. But the map was gone. It had burned, along with the rest of the kidnapper’s house. That despicable man had taken Jane’s sons. He’d threatened what she held most dear. He’d taunted her, deceived her, and laughed at her. He’d also provided invaluable hints about Edwin. And while it seemed like madness to take a madman at his word, Jane was doing just that.
Her sons had come out of the ordeal unscathed. As for Edwin’s welfare, Jane couldn’t say. She needed to see him, face-to-face, before she’d believe that he was okay.
Not too long ago, she would have laughed over the absurdity of her mission. If someone had told her that she came from a long line of Stewards who vowed to guard a secret library filled with rare and potentially dangerous, books, she would have called them crazy. If she’d had an inkling that the Knights Templar was still a functioning society, and that it had split into multiple brotherhoods, one of which was determined to locate Storyton Hall’s hidden library at any cost, she would have gone elsewhere following her husband’s death.
“We’re not making very good time,” she said to Lachlan as lightning rippled over the dark sky. Seconds later, there was another
he once did, but he can access restricted areas of the estate. Mr. Douglas still has the keys to open all those doors closed to the public.”
Lachlan glanced out the window. “From what I’ve read, that’s a ton of doors.”
Jane lapsed into a reflective silence. Lachlan was right. There were lots of doors. And rooms. And outbuildings. The French-style chateau had 250 rooms and over four acres of floor space. Storyton Hall was an impressive manor house, but Biltmore was colossal in comparison.
One of the things that separated the two estates was money. Biltmore’s coffers never seemed to run dry. The gardens and lawns were impeccably manicured, there were multiple inns, shops, and eateries on the grounds, and an army of staff kept everything in tiptop order.
During the past week, Jane and Sinclair, Storyton Hall’s head librarian, had read everything they could about Biltmore. They began their research by familiarizing themselves with its construction. They studied blueprints, photographs, newspaper articles, letters, and archived materials referring to the chateau.
Jane felt that she knew George Vanderbilt and his incredible house after reading so much material. However, she was sure there were plenty of details left unwritten concerning Biltmore and its occupants throughout history. She still had much to learn.
“The house features multiple secret passages,” Jane had said to Sinclair a few nights ago. “Most of the books state that Vanderbilt requested these because he wanted his rooms to have a seamless look.” Jane had pointed at two photos. One showed a door in the billiard room that was noticeable only because it was ajar. Otherwise, it would have been camouflaged by its wood paneling and framed art. The second photo was of a similar door. This one was in the breakfast room. Jane imagined that other doors were better concealed than these and had shared her theory with Sinclair.
“I have no doubt there are more hidden doors, passageways, and rooms than we’ll read about in books,” Sinclair had said. “There is another resource to consider, Miss Jane.”
Though Jane had been to Biltmore as a young girl, the sight of the magnificent building still took her breath away.
Lachlan was also gazing over the main lawn toward the house. He frowned and said, “It’ll be a challenge to find a human needle in that massive haystack.”
“Ernest Hemingway warned that we should never confuse movement with action. We don’t have time to waste moving around the estate without purpose.”
Jane took out her phone and reread the text message Julian Douglas had sent ten minutes ago. “Mr. Douglas promised us a behind-the-scenes tour. Now is when your interest in roof pitches and drainage comes into play. You get to the attic, and I’ll work on the basements.”
“Got it.”
After handing their tickets to a Biltmore employee stationed at the front doors, Jane and Lachlan entered the house along with dozens of tourists.
It had been years since Jane had last seen Julian Douglas, but there was no mistaking the round-cheeked, round-bellied gentleman with the silver hair standing in the Winter Garden Room. Julian watched the passersby with friendly interest, but when he saw Jane, his mouth curved into a broad smile.
“Ms. Steward! It’s an honor to have you grace these halls.” He pumped her hand enthusiastically. “I understand you’re interested in a peek behind the scenes.”
After introducing Lachlan, Jane said, “That would be lovely. It’ll be fascinating to compare notes between Biltmore and Storyton Hall. We have secret passages and rooms, though not as many as this house, I’m sure.”
“Those hidden doors and corridors never fail to intrigue,” Julian said. “I can’t tell you how many guests have ducked under our velvet ropes or dashed through closed doors clearly marked with STAFF ONLY signs to search for a secret hideaway they read about in a book or on the Internet, which can be as wildly fantastical as any novel.”
“Personally, I like the informal spaces,” Jane said. “The butler’s pantries, laundry rooms, root cellars. These places aren’t pretty, but they hold so much energy. I can imagine teams of servants bustling around the kitchen, hanging sheets up to dry, or rushing to answer a bell.”
Julian beamed at her. “I also enjoy the inner workings of large houses. What about you, Mr. Lachlan?”
Lachlan pretended to hedge. It was only after Julian assured him that another guide could be called should his interests depart from Jane’s that Lachlan said that he’d like to visit Biltmore’s tallest points.
“Ah, a man who wants to conspire with the grotesques!” Julian exclaimed cheerfully and pulled a small walkie-talkie from the breast pocket of his suit coat.
He called for another tour guide, and a slender man with a gingercolored beard arrived a few minutes later. After introducing himself to Lachlan, the two men ascended the stairs.
Julian’s private tour took Jane through Vanderbilt’s library, den, and the tapestry room. As they began their descent to the basement, Jane asked questions about the arrangement of the lower rooms. Julian supplied her with many facts and figures, but since he steered clear of rumor and supposition, it was impossible to ferret out Biltmore’s best-kept secrets.
Of course, Julian might be unaware of a Templar presence. The secret society hardly advertised itself, and its members wouldn’t betray themselves to anyone. In light of this, Jane tried to use her own powers of observation to search for clues. She had to keep reminding herself that she wasn’t a tourist. She was the manager of Storyton Hall, a single mother of two, and Guardian of the secret library and its treasures. Her role as Edwin Alcott’s lover had been last on her list. Until now. Now, Jane was putting the other parts of her life on hold until she found Edwin.
Julian showed her the kitchens, the laundry and drying rooms, the vegetable pantry, and the servants’ bedrooms. As he led Jane down to the sub-basement, she wondered what the house had been like without guests—back when George Vanderbilt was a bachelor. Had he wandered through his empty rooms, wishing for more intimate
company than his books could provide? Or had he built his home in the middle of nowhere because he craved solitude? Or was it secrecy he wanted?
Again, Jane wondered if there was a connection between Vanderbilt’s love of books and his zeal to acquire fine and rare objects that indicated a link to the Templars. If not the Templars, perhaps he was affiliated with another secret society. Jane believed Vanderbilt had been a good man, but people were multifaceted, and she knew there was far more to George Washington Vanderbilt than what appeared in books.
She suddenly realized that Julian had spoken and was waiting for her to respond.
Jane realized they were in The Dynamo Room. She said, “I read about this machine in a book called SeraphinaandtheBlackCloak.”
Recalling how Seraphina, the main character, had found hiding places throughout the house, Jane felt a tingle of hope. Perhaps her request to view the lowest level of the house would bear fruit.
After examining the walls surrounding the massive furnace and coal bins, Jane could sense that their tour was coming to an end. She had to coax Julian into showing her the storerooms along the length of the house. These were most likely to have a secret entrance to a hidden room or to a staircase or tunnel leading deeper underground.
However, Julian assured her that there wasn’t anything of note in the storage rooms. He even offered to take her to one as proof. When she saw a long, shadow-filled room with a bare floor, exposed pipes, and whitewashed brick walls, she was dejected. It was difficult to create a hidden door in a brick wall, and if all the storerooms looked like this, then Jane’s belief that the sub-basement would lead her to Edwin was unjustified.
“Let’s go back up,” Julian said, casting a glance at Jane’s face. They climbed stairs until they reemerged on the ground floor. On the landing, they were instantly surrounded by a cluster of people wearing identical blue T-shirts. The members of a group tour were snapping pictures as their guide spoke about the Vanderbilt family. Unfortunately, the group was so large that they took up most of the
Chapter Two
Lachlan dropped Jane at the Deerpark Inn to attend the opening reception of the Luxury Lodging Symposium. Jane would have preferred to track down Julian Douglas and ask if he knew anything about the note in the lion’s mouth, but she had to go to the reception to maintain her cover.
“I know that note rattled you,” Lachlan said. “But we’ll have to focus on it later.”
“I get it,” Jane said. “It’s time for me to play hotel manager. I just hope you have more success with Mr. Tucker than we had with our tour guides. Ask him about the outbuildings. Find out if he knows rumors about the house’s initial construction.”
With a nod, Lachlan drove off to meet Gerald Tucker, the master gardener.
Jane made her way to the lodge. The spacious room had exposed brick walls and a vaulted timber ceiling, giving it a mountain cabin feel.
Jane had no desire to exchange small talk with her fellow hotel managers. She wanted to find a quiet corner and study the note in her pocket. However, there were no quiet corners. And since she was hungry, she took her place in the buffet line.
As Jane savored her food, the symposium organizer gave his welcome speech. When he was done, he invited the group to tour the mansion.
“This tour has been on my bucket list for ages!” cried the woman sitting next to Jane. She grabbed her purse and hurried toward the exit.
The hotel managers boarded small buses while Jane sent a text to Lachlan. He replied that he and Mr. Tucker were still at the cottage and that she should proceed on her own.
Unfortunately, there was another Luxury Lodging event to attend that evening. Jane needed information from Sinclair before then, so she decided to have a cup of tea and a cookie. She was used to her tea breaks at Storyton Hall. She needed them to recharge and felt a pang of longing for Mrs. Hubbard’s afternoon spread.
Taking out her Biltmore map, Jane decided to try the bakery located in the stables and boarded another shuttle bus.
Like most Biltmore venues, the bakeshop was crowded. Jane had to wait in another long line for her tea and cranberry oatmeal cookie. However, the tea was brewed to perfection, and the cookie was divine, so she didn’t mind. She sat at a table near the door and people-watched while she sipped her tea.
When her cup was empty, she called Sinclair.
“Searching this place is a gargantuan task,” she told him, trying not to let fatigue or disappointment come through in her voice. “Could you do some digging on Ramsey Parrish, the current manager?”
“I already gathered a dossier on Mr. Parrish,” Sinclair said. “Due to its size and number of departments, Biltmore has multiple managers. Mr. Parrish oversees them all. He’s known for being a reserved man. He rarely engages with visitors, regardless of their stature. Like Mr. Vanderbilt, Mr. Parrish is a collector. He has a penchant for signed first editions by authors who served in the military. John Dos Passos and his contemporaries, in particular.”
“Signed first editions? Sounds expensive,” Jane said. “He must earn a sweet salary.”
“Mr. Parrish comes from money. Like many unfortunate members of England’s peerage, Parrish’s family couldn’t keep up with their estate and lost their ancestral land. Though Mr. Parrish wasn’t in line to inherit this bounty, he was still raised in posh circles.”
“He’s certainly in America’s poshest setting,” Jane said. “Can you text me his photo? I want to know him when I see him.” Sinclair promised to send a photo as soon as possible. “I have one more thing to tell you. I received a note.”
Sinclair listened carefully as Jane shared the details of her tour, Julian’s suggestion that she meet Lachlan by the lion statue, and the
discovery of the Storyton Hall paper.
“As people say, this is a good news/bad news situation,” Sinclair said when she was done. “The good news is that you’re in the right place. Mr. Alcott is being held somewhere on the estate. The bad news is that your mission is already known. The question is, by whom?”
Jane scanned the faces of the people in the bakeshop. “Friend or foe?”
“Precisely.”
After checking her watch, Jane told Sinclair that she needed to return to the hotel and get a recap of Lachlan’s afternoon before they had to prepare for the evening’s event.
Lachlan was unusually animated while recounting his time with Mr. Tucker.
“He’s invited us to a picnic breakfast in his garden tomorrow morning,” Lachlan said. “You’ll like him. He’s a sweet old man who’s devoted his whole life to Biltmore.”
“So he knows it well.”
Lachlan took one hand from the wheel and gestured at the surrounding grounds. “Every plant, tree, and animal burrow on this estate. He lives on in a small cottage within sight of the manor house and has been here long enough to witness all kinds of changes. One thing that’s never changed has been the strict rules and regulations. The staff keeps to their own departments. The winery employees aren’t meant to be in unrestored parts of the house while the staff of the inn shouldn’t be poking around in the subbasement or wandering in the gardens. The place is like a small city-state. There are borders.”
“Rules keep the estate more secure,” Jane said. “I don’t view that as suspicious.”
“Rules do increase security, which is important in a place holding as many valuables as Biltmore,” Lachlan agreed. “But it also means that the few people holding keys to the restricted areas—”
“Can come and go unobserved,” Jane finished for him.
Lachlan exited the Biltmore property and continued on to their hotel. Back in their suite, he said, “Tell me about tonight’s event.”
“It’s all about food,” said Jane. “There’s a talk on culinary trends for luxury travelers followed by a meal of small plates where we get to try some of these choice delights.”
“I wish my job came with more perks,” Lachlan grumbled.
He was teasing, but Jane tossed an embroidered sofa pillow at him anyway. “Stuffing our faces isn’t our goal. If Ramsey Parrish makes an appearance, I need to cozy up to him. And though you’re my official plus one, your job is to charm any female staff members who might be able to tell us how the top-tier employees come and go from the estate.”
“Got it. Just don’t let Eloise know that I flirted with other women to elicit information. I’m already on thin ice with her.”
Jane wanted to shower and get dressed now so she’d have plenty of time to call the twins. She felt incredibly guilty for leaving them after their recent trauma. Their memories of their kidnapping were fragmented and fuzzy, and neither boy seemed fazed by the experience. But they were only in grade school, and in Jane’s mind, they were still her babies. She was still plagued by doubts over their welfare.
She sensed that guilt was weighing Lachlan down as well. Not only had he seen terrible things during his military service, but he’d also witnessed his brother’s murder. This guilt had been eating at Lachlan for years, and Jane wasn’t sure how to help him exorcise it.
“Things have happened to you,” she told him now. “Frightening and horrible things. Incredibly sad things. These experiences wounded you. Not in the way your brothers in arms were wounded. Your pain isn’t physical. It’s in here.” She pointed at her chest. “You’ve built walls around yourself because you’re trying to avoid being hurt again. But Lachlan, if you shut out the bad, you also shut out the good. Joy and pain. Love and heartache. They’re all rolled together. Like a big ball of rainbow-colored yarn. Allowing yourself to be vulnerable with Eloise will scare you more than your most dangerous Army mission, but it’ll be worth it. I promise.”
Lachlan nodded to show that he’d taken in all she’d said. “I need to get ready.” Turning away, he added, “And to call Eloise.”
Satisfied by this outcome, Jane went to her own room to prepare for the evening.
An hour later, she emerged to find Lachlan waiting for her. He looked like a male model in his tux. Judging from his expression, he thought she looked pretty good as well.
Jane’s favorite colors for formal gowns were blue, champagne, or deep crimson. She thought those hues complemented her strawberry-blond hair and freckled skin. However, Mabel Wimberly, Jane’s friend and the owner of Le Grande Dame boutique, had convinced Jane to try a taupe dress with cap sleeves, a lace bodice, and a floor-length satin skirt. Jane felt classy and elegant. Better yet, she could actually partake of tonight’s fare without worrying about busting any seams. Once again, Mabel had made her the perfect dress.
“I’ve never seen your hair like that,” Lachlan said as they walked to the car. “It’s nice.”
Jane touched the coiled braid at the base of her head. “The last time I wore my hair like this, Edwin cooked dinner for me at his restaurant. I thought I don’t know—that I should wear it like this because he’s close by. He can’t see me, but it makes me feel connected to him.” She shook her head in embarrassment. “It’s stupid.”
Lachlan shot her a surprised glance. “No, it isn’t.” After navigating through Biltmore’s entrance for the second time that day, he murmured, “We’ll find him, Miss Jane.”
Jane carried Lachlan’s conviction with her as she entered Biltmore’s conservatory. The space was warm and fragrant with the scent of flowers. Everywhere Jane looked, there was greenery. Potted plants lined the walls, and stunning floral arrangements sat on every table. Jane could see stars through the glass roof.
The speaker, one of Biltmore’s celebrated chefs, began his talk on cuisine. His descriptions of food made Jane’s mouth water.
Jane and her fellow conference attendees were treated to an array of edible works of art. These included duck consommé, pigeon with truffle soufflé, lobster ravioli, Iberian pork ribs, saffron potatoes, Madagascar chocolate topped with a caramelized letter B, and more.
As the coffee service began, a distinguished-looking gentleman in a smart-fitting tux stepped behind the lectern. His commanding presence immediately coaxed the room into silence. Jane recognized him at once and sat a bit straighter in her chair.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.” The man’s voice was as smooth as the chocolate they’d had for dessert. Jane had always been a sucker for British accents, especially when spoken by a man who could have stepped out of an Ian Fleming novel. “Welcome to Biltmore. I’m Ramsey Parrish. I’ll be hosting this evening’s discussion on trends in luxury dining. I’ve invited groundbreaking chefs who’ve earned at least one Michelin star to speak on this topic. We will continue our food journey with aperitifs and a fruit and cheese course in the walled garden.” He smiled graciously at his guests.
“I’m fond of classic literature,” Ramsey continued. “Ernest Hemingway, one of my favorite authors, lived life to the fullest. Like many of us, he enjoyed his wine. He once said, ‘Wine is one of the most civilized things in the world.’ He believed everyone should experience its sensory pleasures. So sip and savor, ladies and gentlemen.”
Ramsey stepped away from the lectern, and Jane tried to weave her way through the crowd to reach him before he could disappear through a side door in the garden wall.
By the time she opened the small, wooden door that looked like it belonged in Middle Earth and peered out, Ramsey was gone.
Like one of Tolkien’s wraiths, Ramsey Parrish had melted into the shadows.
Chapter Three
Early the next morning, Jane and Lachlan drove to Gerald Tucker’s cottage. The quaint little house, with its stone walls and low-slanting roof, looked like the picture on a jigsaw-puzzle box.
Gerald met them at his garden gate with a cheerful “Good morning!” Shaking hands with Jane, he said, “Thanks for letting Lachlan hang out with me yesterday. He’s the best company I’ve had in ages.”
“He’s at your disposal,” Jane replied with a smile. “Not many people share his passion for birds of prey, so he’s lucky to have you to talk to while I’m at my conference.”
Waving for his guests to follow him into the garden, Gerald proudly watched as they admired the colorful flowerbeds and the manicured bushes and trees.
“I could imagine spending hours out here with a thick book,” said Jane. “It’s lovely.”
“My favorite outdoor reading spot is right there.” Gerald pointed at a garden bench shaded by a Japanese maple. “Please call me Tuck. I might work at a fancy place, but there’s nothing fancy about me.”
Tuck removed items from a straw hamper and placed them on the checkered cloth he’d spread out over the surface of a metal café table. There was egg and breakfast pie, fruit kebobs, and Mason jars filled with yogurt and granola.
While they ate, Tuck shared stories of what he loved most about Biltmore.
Jane understood his devotion. She felt the same about Storyton Hall. However, she inherited the responsibility. Storyton Hall had always been lived in and cared for by Stewards. How had Tuck become so attached to someone else’s estate?
She decided to ask him, apologizing ahead of time for being nosy.
“Very much, thank you. And it’s Ramsey. This is your home, after all.”
“Yes, sir,” Tuck said, sounding more than a little nervous. “Just so you know, I have two guests in my reading room. Ms. Steward and Mr. Lachlan are visiting from Storyton Hall. They’re here for the managers’ conference. I’ll carry in some chairs from the kitchen, and we can all sit together.”
“Allow me,” Ramsey said. He appeared in the reading room with a ladder-back chair in each hand. After placing them near the fireplace, he turned to Jane with a welcoming smile and introduced himself.
Jane held out her hand. “Jane Steward.”
Ramsey gave her hand a businesslike shake. “Gerald tells me that you’re from Storyton Hall,” he said, taking the other upholstered chair. He had a real lord-of-the-manor air about him, and Jane remembered Sinclair telling her that Ramsey Parrish descended from British aristocracy.
“Yes, we drove down yesterday,” said Jane.
Tuck appeared carrying a heavy metal tray. He seemed at a loss as to where to place it.
Jane moved some books and Ramsey jumped up to relieve Tuck of his burden. After putting the tray on the coffee table, Ramsey offered to serve everyone, starting with Jane. As he handed her a cup, he said, “Sadly, I’ve never been to Storyton Hall, I hear it’s quite the paradise for bibliophiles.”
“It is.” Jane looked at Tuck. “This room would fit right in with our other reading rooms.”
Tuck was clearly pleased by the compliment. “Mr. Lachlan says that you have thousands and thousands of books on all kinds of subjects. Mine are mostly about nature.”
Jane described a few of Storyton Hall’s rooms like the Daphne du Maurier Morning Room, the Isak Dinesen Safari Room, and the Henry James Library. “We have loads of children’s books too. We keep them in the Beatrix Potter Playroom.” She turned to Ramsey. “Last night, you mentioned your love of literature. Who are your favorite authors?”
“I’m a fan of the Lost Generation. Dos Passos, Fitzgerald, Hemingway, Eliot.” Light danced in his dark eyes. It was a look Jane knew all too well—the look of a book lover describing exactly what he loved about his favorite books. “To me, those men were heroes. Not only did some authors, like Hemingway, serve their countries in the Great War, but others wrote about wartime experiences with a level of honesty most of us are incapable of. I admire them to no end.”
“Me too,” Jane said, warming to Ramsey. “I was so enamored with Hemingway and Fitzgerald’s work that I named my sons after them. They’re twins, so I was able to use both names.”
Ramsey finished his tea and set the cup aside. “Hopefully, they won’t become as Bacchian as their namesakes. Poor Bacchus. He’d been reduced to a symbol of wild parties and drunkenness, but his cult originally celebrated the arts, especially literature and theater. He was revered as an outsider because those who worshipped him thought it was better to be an outcast than a mindless sheep. They made their own rules.”
“Is that why you’re so fond of the Bacchus fountain? Because you’re from another country?” Tuck asked Ramsey. When Ramsey didn’t reply, Tuck went on. “The fountain with the face. At the esplanade. Isn’t it a Bacchus face? I’ve come upon you standing in front of it many times, especially after our visitors have left for the day, and the estate has gone quiet.”
For a split second, Ramsey’s mask of congeniality slipped. Something like anger flared in his eyes. By the time he reached for the teapot, however, he was once again the picture of amiability. “I like the Bacchus. Or satyr. I’m not sure which it’s meant to be. But what I most enjoy is the view across the lawn. Such a sight keeps me humble.” He looked at Tuck. “It also reminds me to be grateful to be where I am. Could I pour you more tea, Gerald?”
Tuck declined and shrank a little in his chair. Jane felt protective of the old gardener. Had Ramsey just issued a veiled threat? Had he not-so-subtly reminded Tuck to be humble and grateful? Was this a warning not to divulge additional details about Ramsey or the estate to strangers? Jane believed that it was, and she didn’t like it one bit.
