“Something terrible is happening at my home,” Ellie told him.
“Something terrible is about to happen here if you don’t come with me this instant.”
She tried to pry his fingers lose. “You deserve to know what’s going on, but I must go.”
A tight yank brought her within inches of Hugh’s face. “No, my dear, you must stay and give me an explanation, now.”
“For goodness sake, my family is in trouble.”
Hugh dragged her away. “Your problems don’t concern me at this moment.”
Ellie wrapped an arm around a sapling. “I must go! Toby, help!”
At a look of warning from Hugh, Toby put his hands up and stayed where he was.
Hugh yanked her from the young tree. She braced herself against a log, he caught her by the waist, flipped her over his shoulder, and let her pound and squirm to her heart’s content.
At the fountain of the water nymph, he set her on the pool’s stone edge and held her off balance. “Why did you deceive me?”
“Let me go!” bellowed Ellie in her most fearsome bull-chasing voice.
“Why did you pretend to be Toby Coopersmith? Was it for my estates? Parties in London? Money?
It would take hours to make Hugh understand — to make everything right with him. She didn’t have that kind of time. “I can’t talk to you now. Our horses are being stolen!”
He shook her. “Tell me why you deceived me and I put you down outside the fountain — continue your caterwauling and you go in the water.”
“Hugh, our horses are in danger.”
“And you owe me an explanation!”
Ellie twisted in his arms like a wild cat. “Oh, for God’s sake.”
“All right, it’s in the fountain then.” Hugh released her, she tipped back and landed with a tidal splash at the foot of the statue. “Bloody demon from … ” she spluttered. Layers of soaked linen weighed her down as she struggled to stand.
Hugh watched, hands planted on his hips. “You’ll spend the rest of your life wet unless you tell me why you pretended to be Toby Coopersmith.”
She lunged to the other side of the fountain, but he cut her off before she could get out.
“I wanted to train Manifesto for Haldon.”
“Liar, you wanted to suck me into marriage!”
“No! Yes … ”
She hurled herself away from him again. He headed her off.
“I’m sorry. I’m ashamed — my motives in the house were mercenary, but not Toby’s. Not in the stable yard.”
Hugh splashed water at her, great armfuls of wet that soaked her face and ran like tears down her cheeks. “Treacherous, lying wench!”
Ellie held her arms up, trying to protect her eyes from the water. “You’re guilty, too! Who is Hugh on High Tor? Who is Hugh in the parlor? Which one of you is real?”
He sprang at her. She lunged away, nearly falling from the weight of her skirts. But as Hugh reached, he lost his balance and fell into the icy pool.
• • •
As the water closed around him, he felt a deep and terrible chill, colder than any liquid. It penetrated his gut, dark and hollow.
He emerged and wiped a lock of hair from his eyes. Ellie was aboard Toby’s horse, her hands wrapped around Toby’s waist. If he didn’t know better, he’d say she looked heartbroken. Then her hand went to her throat. “Goodbye,” she said.
In a puff of dust the riders disappeared and he was alone.
• • •
Chase hurried down the hall.
So, the necklace belongs to the Albrights,
he thought, contemplating the whispered conversation he’d overheard between Claire and Ellie.
There’s another pillar kicked out from under the Albright family. My uncle will be pleased.
He burst into the ballroom where Lady Davenport and Monsieur Tatu were practicing the curtsey. “My lady, could I have a word with you?”
“Watch me flounce,” Lady Davenport told him, bouncing into a graceful dip, her décolletage bursting over her bodice. “Monsieur Tutu taught me. Isn’t it adorable?”
“I’m afraid this is urgent,” said Chase. He lacked the patience for her flirtations right now. Sweeping across the room, he took a firm grip on her arm. “Leave off your flouncing and speak with me,” he hissed. “Pardon us, Monsieur Tatu, Lady Davenport will be back shortly.” He nearly dragged her from the room.
“You’re hurting me,” she whispered, but Chase paid the whining old woman no heed. He closed the ballroom door and pressed her against the wall.
“I need the necklace now.”
“I promise you, my love, I’m taking it to London next — ”
“You are taking it nowhere. I’ve learned the proper owners, and you haven’t the stomach to do what needs to be done.”
“And just what is that?”
Chase ignored her, compelling her down the hall. “Get the necklace.”
“My darling, you sound as if you would hurt me if I didn’t obey.”
“Then don’t make me hurt you.”
She twisted out of his grip, then stopped. “Tell me who the pearls belong to or I won’t get them. I swear, I’ll scream until the servants run from every quarter.”
“You’re better off not knowing.”
“Tell me.”
He’d take the pearls from her anyway, whether she knew their owner or not. “The necklace belongs to the Albrights,” he said.
Her eyes went wide. She stared at him as if he were a colony of ants. “How did you get into my home?”
“Oh, for God’s sake.”
“What are you doing in my heart? We cannot steal the Albrights’ pearls. We simply cannot.”
“I told you you were better off not knowing. The Albrights will be bankrupt within the month, and I will never have to set eyes on my uncle again. That necklace will set me free.” Bursting with impatience, he shoved her toward the staircase. “Go!” he commanded.
She grabbed the newel post. “And you still intend to help your uncle? Have you forgotten that Baron Wadsworth spied for Napoleon? That he supplies slaves to France and he’s suspected of murder? Your uncle is pure evil. How can you steal from innocent people for his benefit?”
Would she understand nothing?
He wrenched her free from the newel post, yanking her down the stairs after him. “You just named more reasons why I have to get away.”
“But not by stealing.”
“By God, woman,” Chase said, shoving her to her knees. “You will give me those pearls.”
She stifled a scream and buckled on the landing. He took a fist full of hair and pulled her head back.
The old baggage is crying!
A pang of guilt skittered through him like a rabbit in a hawk-watched field. He crushed it to the darkest recesses of his mind. “Tell me where you keep it.”
“The necklace is in the library,” she whispered. “Under the fern.”
He left her on the landing and dashed down the stairs.
“Don’t do it, Chase,” she cried after him. “Please, for the sake of your soul, leave it be.”
At the bottom of the stairs he looked up and saw the terrible mess he’d made of her — hair pulled from its pins, face red with grief and tears. “I’m sorry,” he said, his chest aching. “I must get away.”
She shouted something, but he didn’t listen as he tore back the fern’s fronds. The necklace was there, coiled in the dirt like a moonlit snake.
The sun hung low in the sky as the gelding cantered unevenly into the stable yard at Fairland. The horse’s sides heaved, a thick foam of sweat clung to its neck and flanks. Ellie leaped from the exhausted animal. “You’ve nearly killed him. Why didn’t you stop!” she screamed at Toby.
“The mares may be gone already.” Toby vaulted from the spent animal as the gelding dropped to his knees.
Tears bit her eyes. She unbuckled the girth to give the gelding room to breathe, and removed the bit from his mouth. “He needs to be walked out,” she said. No one answered — Toby was gone.
She ran to the trough and scooped a little water into a bucket for the gelding. While the horse drank, she noticed the normally bustling stable yard was empty. Fine hairs on her arms prickled with fear.
The gelding struggled back on his feet. “Let’s walk you a little,” she told the horse, realizing her voice was no louder than a whisper. With the reins looped around his neck, she led the gelding to the broodmare barn.
In stall after stall mares peacefully munched their hay. A fear that clenched her gut all the way from Cowick Hill snapped like a cheap buckle.
“It looks all right, doesn’t it?” Toby said, popping out of the tack room with a horse blanket.
She started like a frightened colt. “I’m all nerves,” she told him.
“Aye. It’s spooky in here, so silent and all.
He nodded toward the paddock. “The gelding needs care. I’ll go walk him out.”
She nodded absently, her gaze scanning the mess the barn was in. Dirty straw caked the center aisle and the stalls reeked of manure. The rumps of some mares were elevated as they stood on piles of their own waste.
“If Papa doesn’t fire Lank, I’ll chase him off with a pistol.” Her voice echoed down the corridor.
Determined to give the next groom she saw a piece of her mind, Ellie barked, “Hullo!” No one answered. “I would like to speak with someone immediately.” Silence.
Lifting her sodden skirts, she marched to the far end of the barn where Lank kept his office. It was locked. She knocked on the door. Not a sound came from within.
“Hullo?” she called again. A mare coughed somewhere in the barn.
The hinges were new on the office door. Heart pounding, she pulled the top pin. The metal slid out so easily it startled her. She held her breath and listened. Nothing disturbed the barn’s eerie quiet. Holding the door in place with one hand, she popped the pin from the bottom hinge. Lifting it slightly, the door opened and hung awkwardly from the lock.
A large book lay open on top of Lank’s desk. Her heart jumped. The financial ledger – it could contain evidence of wrongdoing. She grabbed the book and was about to run when she realized there might be more evidence in his desk. All the stable help was gone, Lank was nowhere in sight – she’d never have an opportunity like this again. Blood raced in her veins as she yanked the top drawer open and rifled through the contents. Nothing. The next drawer, she did the same, and again and again. In the bottom drawer, under sheets of paper, clips, and harness parts, she felt the hard edge of a second ledger. She squatted, dug her nails into the thick leather, and dragged the book out.
“Well, this is a pleasant surprise,” she heard Lank say.
Ellie stood so quickly she whacked her knee on the open drawer. She clutched the ledgers tight to her chest. Lank’s eyes gleamed with malice.
“Yes, a happy meeting,” she replied, forcing her lips into a casual smile. Deliberately, she dumped both ledgers on the desk and opened them side by side.
Something flashed and hit the desk with a crunch of wood. She gasped, recognizing a sack hook buried deep in the grain. Lank laughed. He yanked the sack hook out, leaving a deep gouge on the desktop. “It’s convenient for lifting bags of grain and warding off burglars,” he said.
“Since I am neither, perhaps you should hang it back in the tack room,” she replied, quickly turning pages to the last entry.
He ignored her, choosing instead to reinsert the tool’s sharp point in the gouge. “You don’t usually spend time in my office.”
“No, though I’m learning that perhaps I should have. There are a few sums I’d like to discuss with you.”
Like a falcon, Lank swooped to her side of the desk and looked fiercely into her eyes. The hair on the back of her neck rose and her breath shortened to quick gasps. Still, she held her ground. Fear was exactly what he wanted.
Forcing her mind to concentrate, she skimmed the entries: grain, labor, harness, Manifesto. Next to the horse’s name, in neatly entered text, was a recorded deposit for two thousand pounds. She read the entry again. Blood pounded in her ears. “I understood our prized stallion sold for five thousand pounds. You have two thousand written here.”
“Yes, that’s because Lord Davenport made a down payment … ”
She ran a finger down the entries in the second ledger. “And right here in this book, you have the difference of three thousand pounds.”
Though Ellie’s finger pointed to the entry, Lank jerked the ledger around to read. A wave of panic skipped through her, but she chased it back. Feeling as if she were putting her hand near the mouth of an angry dog, she pointed to another line. “The price of grain also shows discrepancies.”
A bead of sweat appeared on Lank’s forehead. “Let me see those,” he said, pretending to study the entries.
“Here we have grain purchases equaling ten pounds for eight bushels. My impression was that grain prices dropped to three pounds since Napoleon’s capture. In fact, Mr. Lank, this other book shows that you pocketed seven pounds on delivery.”
“You’re misinterpreting the numbers, Lady Ellie. Women don’t understand these things.”
“Please explain to me then, slowly, so I can grasp it.”
Lank looked at her, annoyance puckered his features. “This book lists fees to myself, that’s true, but you’re reading this symbol as pounds, when actually it’s pence.”
“How odd for one to write ‘pence’ in one ledger the same way one writes ‘pound’ in another. Still, isn’t your salary all the fee you require?”
The setting sun penetrated a dirty window, throwing Lank’s face into silhouette. But his eyes flashed like twin lanterns. “It’s just a wee bit on the side. All your idiot Papa’s fault, too, and I don’t mind saying.”
Outraged, Ellie retorted, “And how would that be?”
“I never took so much as a pea from your uncle, Sebastian, but your father couldn’t run from his responsibilities fast enough. A little becomes a little more, and the next thing the missus is buying dresses from France. She earned ’em, too, with your uncle sliding around her, dirty as an eel. Who sees the wife’s little indulgences? Baron Wadsworth is who, and now he’s made me his man.”
Just then came a stirring at the door. Ellie looked up and saw a man flit past. Was it Toby?
“Lank!” the man barked, and before she could react, Lank was behind her, his hand covering her mouth and nose.
She tore at him in terror — unable to breathe, unable to shriek. Stubble stabbed her cheek, his face hot and tight on hers. His other arm wrapped across her chest, his body a wall, flattening her to him. She closed her fingers on the handle of the grain hook. The room went out of focus. His grip tightened, she raised the hook and plunged it downward.
God, no!
The hook caught uselessly in the fabric of his coat — then everything went black.