Hidden in High Gate

By Jennie Rodgers

While Victoria is on assignment at an historic mansion in Anbridge, she is met by the ghostly Mr. Miller who reveals a love story. A missing diary, a lost fortune and an attempted murder erupts to keep a delicate secret behind the walls of High Gate. Will Victoria be able to unravel the details before it's too late? Will the truth finally come out or will High Gate keep the secret locked away behind the walls forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Feb 24, 2022
• ISBN: 9781667829364

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Hidden in High Gate

© 2022 Jennie Rodgers

All rights reserved. This book or any portion there of may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-66782-935-7

eBook ISBN: 978-1-66782-936-4

Contents

Special Recognition

Preface

Special Recognition

First and foremost, thank you to my Lord and Savior who gave me this idea in 2003 and how I had to wait until now to get this finished…though short it is meaningful. It is all in his perfect timing.

Thank you to my editor, Beverly Hotchkiss, without you I would still be staring at my screen. Thank you for taking on the challenge, believing in me and being a part of this journey.

Thank you, mom, for being my biggest fan and cheerleader! You always have my back.

Thank you to my husband, thank you for pushing me to finish this story. Don’t be a quitter.

My wonderful children, C, K, K and O- my sole purpose in life.

My beautiful daughter in laws, T Lynn and T Raelynn. Thank you for putting up with my sons.

To my Grandchildren, Pais, Ry and Charlie. Follow your dreams no matter how long it takes you- a lifetime is better than never. You are ALL the love of my life.

To my two dads- V and A. My siblings- T, K, L, S, J and J.

R. M., A.S., M. M., J.G.: I am so blessed to have you in my life!!!

The Rodgers’, The Mercurio’s, The Ruhnke’s and The Myrick’s, - My journey through life wouldn’t have been complete without you in it.

Preface

Orange flames lick at the air just above the white pillar candles as flashes of lightning illuminate the musty dining room. Beside me, tea-stained lace curtains breathe in and out as the summer storm passes through the open window. In the entryway, a small antique desk lamp gives off a warm, iridescent glow. The bass drum of thunder shakes the whole house and rattles the windows. I huddle in and stir my cup of hot lemon tea. I’m sitting at the long, square, wooden kitchen table with the heel of my chin resting in the palm of my right hand. I’ve been staring at the old wooden box in front of me for twenty minutes, wondering if I should open it. Its edges are splintered, and black soil embeds the tiny air holes. The gold latch leans slightly to the right as if worn out and tired. One wrong bump could send the box shattering in upon itself. I hold my gaze steady upon it. I feel guilty. I should put it back in the earth, back in the black hole it came out of, yet with this storm, it’s probably washed away or full of water. My spoon clinks the side of the teacup as I absently stir clockwise, round and round.

High Gate, a massive historic home consisting of a lath trellis, red brick, granite, and wood, still stands firm on its solid foundation. Unscathed for sixteen decades. Its walls still won’t talk. I’ve been here a month, and although I have been given access to the old Pennington mansion, I still can’t find anything. I’d reluctantly convinced my editor at Wasson and Dayton publishing that this story was worth pursuing. I was putting my career on the line. My last book had been a flop, and Ms. Sanders said if she didn’t see any promising results in two more weeks, I was being pulled from this assignment. There are secrets here. I’m sure of it. I just don’t know what they are.

I have spent countless hours wandering, sifting, touching, absorbing, and studying this elaborate home. I have endured sleepless nights archiving and rummaging through suitcases and boxes of pictures. I have combed through generations of the Pennington family’s tree. I had researched and scanned hundreds of dusty documents before I finally came across these papers that appear to have been ripped violently out of the Pennington family’s historical records. It’s their breeding log for Friesians. I inspect them with a fine-tooth comb. The family fortune from 1860 to 1918. Nothing … nothing ... and still nothing. I toss the papers onto the floor beside me.

I’m just about to put the heavy, black photo album back into the steamer trunk when I notice a tiny corner of paper peeking out from under the bottom flap of the trunk. I set the album aside and carefully grab the corner of the paper between my finger and thumb. I gently pull out a long strip of torn paper. ‘May 23, 1903. Removed from-’. Sitting back on my knees, I inspect the paper. What does it mean? My brows furrow, and I chew at my lip. Am I finally getting a break?

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

I jump. I’m not expecting anyone. I toss the tiny paper into the trunk and quickly get to my feet.

Victoria! Open up! A deep burly voice bellows from the other side of the large white door. My heart pounds in my chest, and in a pitchy voice I have never heard before, I say, Levi? I feel nauseous. I step around the papers and the album and head to the door. The pounding continues as the rain comes down harder. I swing the door open, and Levi is standing there in the dim yellow porch light, soaking wet with his dark hair and green eyes. He owns the feed store in town. His great- great grandfather, Arlo Pennington, had opened the feed store in the late eighteen hundreds. Besides the horses, it has been the main source of income for the family for generations. On the outskirts of town, you can see the Pennington’s gravestones standing like soldiers in formation. There are way too many to count.

Levi, what are you doing out in this storm? Get in here! I move aside. It feels strange as this was his ancestors’ home until the town appropriated it in lieu of some unpaid taxes, and now I’m the one letting him in. I’m surprised to see him, and I sense he can tell by the look on his face. Hang on; I will get you a towel. I run off and grab a towel from the towel bar on the stove. I feel like a teenage girl. A little giddy with butterflies banging up against the walls of my stomach. I hope he isn’t watching as I maneuver down the hallway around the obstacles of antique furniture. If I trip over something right now, this would be the end of me. I have never been good on my own two feet. Please don’t fail me now.

Victoria, I have been meaning to talk to you, and I can’t wait any longer. He takes the towel from my hands and begins to dry his mop of dark brown hair. His tan bicep pushes at the sleeve of his t-shirt. I stare at him. I am not sure what I am focusing on, but I stare. Drawing the towel to his face, he gently dabs at his plump upper lip. I watch as if he were moving in slow motion. He takes the towel away from his face and looks at me with his piercing green eyes. I blink as Sorcha rolls off his lips. Her name reverberates in my ears.

Sorcha is a fireball of beautifully long, red locks, blue eyes, flawless porcelain skin and long tan legs. Everything about her is perfect. I am positive that somewhere in the