Regina Scott (21 page)

“Yes,” Gwen replied, moving into the room. “She’s very good that way.”

The cottage looked much the same as when she’d seen it yesterday: worn, tired, much like its owner. The only difference was a scuffed portmanteau sitting near the door to the bedchamber.

“Are you traveling, Mr. Cord?” she asked, setting her basket on the table.

“I have hopes.” He paused to cough, then went to a cupboard near the hearth and opened a drawer. “Now, where did I put that note?”

Gwen glanced around. If he had been meaning to read the note, as he’d said, it ought to be in plain sight. Yet the table had been empty until she’d set her basket on it.

He toddled back to her with a cloth over one hand. Before she knew his intention, he yanked it aside to reveal a long hunting knife. The blade gleamed even in the dim light.

“Be a good girl now,” he said with a smile. “I just need your help to gain those jewels.”

T
revor tapped the walls in his bedchamber, listening. A deeper noise might signal a hollow; a sharper noise a hidden safe. A shame the entire house was swathed in oak paneling; he would have spotted any irregularities a lot easier otherwise.

He and Allbridge had reviewed the plans for the house, which suggested few possibilities for hiding places. Compounding the problem was the fact that the colonel’s renovations were impossible to reconcile. Trevor had agreed to send Gwen’s father into Carlisle to consult with the architect who had supervised the work as well as the jeweler who’d accepted the ruby. His steward was down at the gatehouse packing for the trip.

Trevor hadn’t seen anything of Gwen that day, but then he’d seen little of her since his confession in the library after the mishap at the mine. He’d come across her in the corridor yesterday evening when
she’d come to collect her father for dinner. Her smile had been warm, and she’d reached out and squeezed his hand as if for encouragement.

He had had no idea a touch could be so significant. He wanted to stand taller, work harder, be a better person. Though he’d told her about his past, shared his doubts, still she made it clear that she admired him. It was humbling.

He’d had an even harder time believing that God could admire him, as well. The Bible certainly backed up her belief that God knew him personally; he’d read a verse to that effect only that morning in Psalms. But the Bible also showed a God who could only be pushed so far. He was the first to admit he’d sinned. Was he beyond redemption?

Yet a verse jumped to his mind instantly.
I came to seek and save what is lost.

He clung to the thought as he continued rapping. He was so intent on his work that Mrs. Bentley had to clear her throat twice to get his attention.

“I beg your pardon, Sir Trevor,” she said, venturing into the room with her white-haired head cocked as if she couldn’t understand why the master had his ear to the wall. “I just returned from Mr. Casperson’s and found this tacked to the kitchen door.”

He took the sealed parchment from her hand. The blob of wax had been pressed in a half-moon seal, as if someone had stuck a spoon in it.

“Thank you, Mrs. Bentley,” he said, breaking the seal.

She stood on tiptoe to see over the top of the letter. “Shall I wait for your reply?”

Trevor smiled at her as he glanced down at the words. “Very likely it’s merely Mr. Newton or his sister inviting me to tea.”

She dropped back onto the soles of her shoes, dark skirts rustling. “Oh, how kind of them.”

Trevor began reading, and the air left his lungs in a rush.

“Sir Trevor?” his housekeeper ventured. “Is everything all right? You don’t look at all well.”

“I’m fine,” Trevor lied. “But tell Rob to saddle my horse.”

“Right away, sir.” She hurried from the room.

Trevor glanced down at the note again and wasn’t surprised to find his hand shaking. Gwen, kidnapped? And the ransom was the jewels or her life was forfeit. Oh, he was shaking all right, with anger.

How dare the villain threaten the woman Trevor loved!

He didn’t question the feeling. It had been stealing over him for days. Her competence, her boundless energy, her faith and beauty were more than he could have dreamed. He’d thought he needed a wealthy, sophisticated wife to achieve his heart’s desire, when what his heart craved was the love, the admiration and the family Gwen offered.

Now their future together was threatened by this unknown assailant, this coward who hid behind darkness, this cur who attacked old men and inno
cent women. He expected Trevor to cower, as well, to act like a gentleman and hand over the fortune, praying for his lady’s safety.

Trevor may have learned to be a gentleman, but he didn’t cower. He started for the door, then stopped.

The most important thing was Gwen’s safety, and he thought he finally understood who was responsible for that. He went down on one knee and bowed his head.

Lord, I am learning who You are and how You want me to live. I’ve made many mistakes. The worst was blaming You for how others treated me. You’ve given me skills. You’ve made me strong. Help me become the man You want me to be. Help me be the man Gwen Allbridge needs, now and in the years to come. I pledge myself, such as I am, to You.

Determination filled him as he rose, and he knew he had made the right choice. He strode out the door.

He could not know who had Gwen or where she was being held. He had to look like the worried gentleman in case he was being watched. In Blackcliff, he was certain, worried gentlemen went to one place for solace—the church.

Ruth Newton answered his knock. “Oh, Sir Trevor.” Her hand went to her hair as if she ever had a strand out of place, then brushed a wrinkle from the skirt of her fashionable spruce-colored gown. “We weren’t expecting you.”

Trevor was immediately on the alert, but he knew
better than to show it. “Forgive the interruption, Miss Newton. Have you seen Miss Allbridge recently?”

He watched for any sign of guilt, which he was certain would show easily on the woman’s expressive face.

But Ruth Newton merely smiled fondly. “Not today, but I heard from Mrs. Wheaton that Miss Allbridge and Dolly were delivering a new batch of the horehound syrup, and I consider that a very good sign.”

He wasn’t sure why she was so pleased Gwen had made the syrup, but at least he knew Gwen had had Dolly with her. If Dolly was at Gwen’s side, he could think of only two ways the villain had abducted Gwen—either the mastiff was dead or the abductor was someone Gwen and Dolly knew well. He prayed for the latter, for if Dolly was dead, he had far less hope for Gwen. And that thought nearly drove him mad.

“Do you happen to know where she went after that?” he asked.

Ruth frowned thoughtfully. “I haven’t heard, but I would imagine she would take a bottle to dear Mr. Cord.”

John Cord. He knew Gwen and Dolly well enough that he could have surprised them. He hadn’t mentioned the jewels when Trevor and Gwen had visited, but he could easily have known of them. And Trevor had wondered from the first whether
he was Blackcliff’s mysterious visitor. Surely as the trusted valet he’d had a set of keys. And Trevor didn’t recall seeing him at the assembly.

“Is your brother home?” he asked.

Ruth shook her head. “I’m so sorry, Sir Trevor, but no. He’s out making calls.”

Trevor leaned closer, and her blush deepened even as her gaze darted away from his. “Then I must ask you a favor,” he murmured. “I need you to find a lad to hold Icarus for me.”

She glanced up and quickly away. “Icarus?”

“My horse. It’s very important that he be seen in front of the vicarage. If anyone asks after me, say only that I’m praying in the chapel and cannot be disturbed.”

Her face puckered as she met his gaze. “Sir Trevor! What’s happened that you must devote yourself to prayer?”

Dare he take her into his confidence? She seemed to truly care about Gwen.

“Miss Allbridge is in danger,” he said. “I need people to think I’m here so I am free to act. If you would take care of my horse, I’d be in your debt.”

He waited for her protest, not a little concerned she’d faint outright. But Ruth Newton raised her head, and her gray eyes narrowed. “Go into the chapel. There’s a door to the left of the altar, half-hidden by the curve of the stone. It lets out into the orchard. No one will see you.”

Trevor raised a brow. “You’ve a genius for subterfuge, Miss Newton.”

“I protect what is mine, Sir Trevor,” she replied, and he thought Joan of Arc must have looked just as fervent. She put a hand on his shoulder. “May God go with you, sir. I will pray for your safety, and Gwen’s.”

Gwen shook a copper-colored curl out of her eyes and frowned down at the ropes that bound her wrists to the sturdy arms of the hard-backed chair. She’d tried to outrun John Cord to the door, but he was surprisingly strong for an ill man. Perhaps it was his desperation.

He’d knocked her flat and kept the knife at her throat as he’d helped her up and walked her back to the chair. Now the remains of her bonnet, squashed in her struggles, lay crumpled in her lap. She was tempted to call for Dolly, but she didn’t see how even the mastiff could make her way through that door.

“Why are you doing this?” she demanded, straining against the bonds.

Completely unconcerned with her plight, John Cord wandered out of the bedchamber. He wore the dark cloak she knew had been seen too many times at Blackcliff, his face hidden in the hood. His portmanteau was in one hand.

“Because I must have those jewels,” he said, moving past her. “I’m going to meet Sir Trevor at
the mine and get them now. As soon as I reach Bristol, I’ll send him word where to find you.”

He turned to her, and she saw his pale face was smiling. “It should only be a day or two. You will likely live to tell the tale, once I’m safely away.”

He couldn’t know that Trevor didn’t have the jewels. What would he do when he found out? Would he hurt Trevor? Hurt Dolly? Hurt her? She had to distract him until she could think of a way to stop him.

“If you knew about the jewels,” she pressed, “why didn’t you just take them?”

His face twisted. “Because I never knew where they were kept. The colonel refused to tell me the location, even at the end when I begged him for my life. After all I’d done for him, all my years of faithful service in that heathen country, could he have spared just one to see me to a warmer climate? No!”

“Perhaps he didn’t know you were sick,” Gwen said. Was she mad to think the rope on her right felt looser? She pushed it upward for all she was worth, feeling it pinch through her gown.

“He knew. He sacked me to keep me from passing it along to him. But he didn’t think to take my keys. I was able to slip into the house as often as I liked. I saw you nursing him. You’re a kind girl. But he didn’t tell you about the jewels, did he?”

Gwen shook her head. Yes, her right wrist was at least an inch higher than it had been. She relaxed for a moment, then renewed the pressure. “I never
knew the story until my father told me a few days ago.”

“And I wager he had to guess at that.” John Cord paused to cough into his fist. “Oh, how I missed your mother’s syrup. It was the only thing that quieted this cough.”

“I have more,” Gwen offered, hoping to distract him, but he was already moving again.

“The colonel couldn’t care,” he grumbled, slipping an apple into his pocket. “He was so close-mouthed. He died before he would tell me the jewels’ location, even when I held this knife to his throat.”

Gwen’s wrist fell limp. “You killed him!”

“He was an old man,” Cord snapped. “He died. And he told me nothing! And you and your father and that solicitor were so busy at first I couldn’t get back into the Hall. And then your beloved showed up.”

“Beloved?”
Think, Gwen! How can you escape?
She planted her feet against the stone floor and pushed. Could she stand and carry the chair with her?

He smiled slyly. “You didn’t think I’d notice? You set your cap for the master the moment he arrived. Smart girl. Unless I miss my guess, he’ll offer for you soon.”

That set her blood to moving. An offer of marriage from Trevor? Oh, how she’d wanted that! But after his story yesterday, she wasn’t sure she was
the woman for him. He needed a wife who would bring credit to him, who would allow him to hold his head high. How could the imperfect daughter of his steward ever be that woman?

Please, Lord, help me! Show me how to escape. Protect Trevor and help him know the path he must take. If it leads him to me or away from me, Thy will be done.

As if he’d seen her moving, the valet came up to her and tugged on her bonds, humming to himself. “I thought he might have guessed my part in all this yesterday. That’s why I followed you. I didn’t mean to start that rock slide. I only wanted to scare you. Just like when I moved that statue.”

“Please, Mr. Cord,” she pleaded. “You can’t leave me like this. Tell Sir Trevor you need money to go away. I’m sure he’ll give it to you.”

“He wouldn’t even pay me my wages,” he said with a sneer. He turned toward the back of the cottage, where a rear door led out onto a small garden, she knew. “I wish you luck, Miss Allbridge. I fear you’ll need it. As for me, I cannot wait to kick the dust of Blackcliff off my feet.”

He opened the door.

Trevor stood waiting, Dolly at his side.

“Good afternoon, Cord,” he said. “I believe you have someone I love.”

T
revor had no idea that a man of John Cord’s condition or age could move that fast. One moment he was standing in the doorway, mouth agape, hand on the latch, and the next, cloak flaring behind him, he had scampered back behind a chair.

A chair that held Gwen.

Relief to see her alive rushed over Trevor, only to be followed by a wave of anger when he realized she was bound to her seat. Dolly trembled beside him, her growl reverberating up Trevor’s arm.

“Back!” Cord warned. “Stay back, you and that monster. I warn you!” Gwen flinched to one side, and Trevor saw the glint of a knife in the man’s hand.

Trevor’s pulse pounded in his ears. “Let her go.”

“Oh, I will, I will,” the valet chattered between coughs that spattered Gwen’s face with spittle. “As
soon as you hand over the jewels and I’m safely on my way.”

If the knife didn’t touch her, his illness might. Trevor edged closer, gauging the distance between Dolly and the valet. Dolly’s bark boomed, and Cord jerked back. Gwen’s cry cut as sharp as the knife.

“Keep that monster back, I tell you,” Cord demanded. “Tell her to lie down and be still.” He pressed the knife against Gwen’s throat, and Trevor froze.

This time Gwen didn’t flinch. She met Trevor’s gaze for a moment. Her face was calm, though he thought fear flickered in her dark eyes. “Quiet!” she ordered Dolly. “Down!”

With a huff of protest, Dolly sank to the floor beside Trevor.

“Much better,” Cord said, withdrawing the blade a little. “Now, Sir Trevor, if you’d be so good as to hand over the jewels.”

That he could not do, and he feared how the valet would react. “There are no jewels,” Trevor said, watching Cord. “It was all a lie.”

“What!” Cord’s cough shook him and the knife, and this time Trevor flinched. “No! You’re the one lying!”

Trevor took another step, readied himself to dive at the man the moment he had an opportunity. “I’m afraid not. Umbrey must have taken them with him to his grave.”

“The wretch! It would be just like him!” Spit
tle flecking his lips, John doubled, hacking. Trevor leaped to his side and seized the hand that held the knife, forcing it away from Gwen. The valet twisted in his grip, screaming curses. Trevor ignored him, intent on only one thing—getting the knife as far from Gwen as possible. He shoved his elbow into the valet’s gut and the knife fell, clattering against the stone floor.

Once again relief was profound, but Trevor must have relaxed his grip, because Cord slipped away, stumbling backward. Trevor put himself between the man and Gwen. “Enough! It’s over.”

But the fellow had clearly been pushed beyond endurance. Eyes wild, the valet came at Trevor, fingers scratching, legs kicking out. Trevor ducked under the blows, landed a few himself, anything to keep the man back.

Cord coughed, bending over, and Trevor backed away. The valet’s head came up, smile wicked, and he snatched up the knife and rushed at Trevor. There was no time, no place to escape. Trevor crossed his arms, prepared to take the blow.

“Dolly, attack!” Gwen shouted.

A wall of muscle slammed into Cord, knocking him flat. The knife skittered across the floor to fetch up against the far wall. Dolly set herself down on the valet’s back, tongue lolling as if she were well satisfied with herself.

“Good girl,” Gwen said as if quite satisfied, also. “Stay.”

Trevor dropped his arms and went to retrieve the knife. It was done; Gwen was safe. Still the emotions rolled through him, and his fingers tightened on the handle of the blade.

“Mercy,” Cord wheezed as Trevor approached.

Trevor gazed down at him, trapped under Dolly’s bulk. He was a sick, tormented old man, driven mad by dreams of wealth. And Trevor might have been no different if it hadn’t been for Gwen and Blackcliff.

Thank You, Lord. I still don’t know why my father sent me here, but I am beginning to realize why You, my Father, did.

“God grants mercy,” Trevor told the valet, “but I’m not sure the magistrates will be so lenient.” He stepped around the valet and crossed to Gwen’s side.

She smiled up at him as he started cutting free the ropes. He wanted to gather her in his arms, never let go. “Are you all right?” he asked.

She flexed her fingers as one arm came free. “Lovely, now that I know you and Dolly are fine.” She lowered her voice and leaned closer to him, and the scent of roses was never sweeter. “Were you telling the truth? Are the jewels a humbug?”

“We may never know,” he murmured, pausing to meet her concerned gaze. “But it isn’t important, Gwen. All that matters is that I have you back safe.”

The last of the ropes parted, and he drew her to her feet, cradling her close, allowing himself a slow,
easy breath. She rested her head on his chest as if savoring the closeness, too.

Beside them, Cord moaned under Dolly’s weight.

Trevor pulled back. “I’ll have to take him to the constable, but I don’t like leaving you.”

She slipped her hand in his. “Then we’ll take him together.”

Her hand felt right in his; her smile lit the dim room. Trevor pressed a kiss against her knuckles. “Together, then. You deal with Dolly, and I’ll deal with our thieving valet. But when we get back to the Hall, we must talk.”

She sobered and nodded.

And so Trevor found himself at the tail of a somber procession through the village of Blackcliff. Gwen led the way, basket on one arm, hair tumbled down around her shoulders in a fiery cascade. Though she had Dolly’s leash in her other hand, the mastiff walked just behind her, casting looks and the occasional growl back at John Cord. If he had been the one to attack Gwen’s father, Trevor could understand why the dog might have more than one reason to have taken him in dislike.

Trevor and Cord came last, Trevor’s hand firmly on the man’s thin shoulder. Though Cord’s hands were bound by the longest remaining pieces of the rope, he walked with his head high, his steps measured, as if above the village and its occupants even now.

People peered out of cottage windows, came hur
rying from their gardens. Mrs. Billings, shaking out a dust cloth on the steps of the inn, paused to watch them approach the George. Trevor put on his haughtiest look, nose in the air the way he had dissuaded presumptuous students at school who wanted to know his background. It was sufficient to discourage anyone from following him now.

Casperson took Cord into custody, ambling around his counter to put his large hand on the valet’s neck with a distasteful lift of his bulbous nose. “And what is he charged with, Sir Trevor?”

“Attempted murder, kidnapping, assault, theft and trespassing,” Trevor replied. “It seems he was the one who attacked Mr. Allbridge after the assembly on Saturday.”

Gwen beamed at him, clearly pleased he’d cleared her father so neatly.

“You’re making a mistake,” Cord protested, squirming in the constable’s grip. “You need my help to find the jewels. I’m the only one the colonel trusted!”

Casperson held him at arm’s length with a frown. “Jewels? What jewels?”

“A fortune!” Cord promised, holding up his bound hands. “Set me free, and I’ll lead you to them.”

Trevor clucked his tongue. “A shame. I fear his disease has driven him mad.”

Casperson glanced at Trevor, then back at the valet as if uncertain who to believe.

“I’ve a bottle of horehound syrup right here,” Gwen said, reaching into her basket. “I’ll leave it for his use, Mr. Casperson.”

The shopkeeper nodded, smile returning. “More syrup? Excellent news! We have all missed your mother’s cures, Miss Allbridge.”

He gave John Cord a little shake that made the valet stumble. “And I’ve a nice spot in the cellar to set this fellow until the next session of court. The magistrates will take a dim view of his behavior. I hope you have sufficient money to pay for your victuals while you wait, sir, or I fear you won’t be getting many.”

Cord blanched.

“Give him a warm bed,” Trevor said. “And food and medicine as he needs them. Send the bills to Blackcliff.”

The valet stared at him, but Gwen’s smile only grew.

The constable scratched his ample gut. “You’re a kinder man than I am, Sir Trevor. He’s lucky you’re the master of Blackcliff.”

Trevor winked at Gwen. “Just trying to shepherd our little flock, Mr. Casperson.”

Gwen gasped. Trevor frowned, but she quickly pressed her lips together as if hiding a secret. Then she turned to the constable.

“Do you need us for anything else, Mr. Casperson? I’d like to get home before Father worries.”

He waved his free hand. “Of course, of course.
I know where to find you if I have questions.” His booming laugh was nearly as loud as Dolly’s bark.

“Thank you!” Gwen seized Trevor’s hand and tugged him out of the shop.

“What happened?” he demanded as she steered him for the Hall, Dolly bounding ahead of them.

She glanced at him, dark gaze merry. “Oh, nothing terribly important. I think I know how to find the jewels!”

No matter how much Trevor begged, and he was quite endearing while pleading with his green eyes wide and eager, Gwen refused to explain until they reached Blackcliff. Then she left Dolly in Mrs. Bentley’s care and hurried for the entryway.

“You mentioned being Blackcliff’s shepherd,” she said, bending over the statue. She struggled to lift it, but Trevor took the little shepherd easily from her grip. “And I remembered how this statue kept moving.”

“Industrious fellow,” Trevor agreed. “I’m assuming that was Cord, trying to make me think the house was haunted so I’d leave.”

“Oh, Mr. Cord was moving him,” Gwen replied, “but I think you mistake the colonel’s purpose for the statue.” She felt along the cold stone. What would it be: His staff? His arm? Her fingers glazed the wood enclosing the base, and her heart gave a leap. “The base! Of course!”

Trevor tipped the statue upside down and frowned
as he studied it. “It seems solid enough. I looked for hidden compartments earlier and found none.”

“I don’t think the jewels are in the statue. But isn’t it strange that the base is the same shape as the medallions in the paneling, paneling that Colonel Umbrey had installed?”

His brows went up. “Do you think the statue is a key?”

She nodded with a grin. “Let’s find out.”

They started in the withdrawing room and worked their way through the house. Most rooms had a medallion in the center of each wall, depending on the placement of the windows, door and fireplace. The library with all its bookcases had none; the music room had three.

Yet each time Trevor inserted the base into the medallion, nothing happened. Gwen was certain she was right, but she could see Trevor’s doubt by the growing frown on his handsome face. When they reached the top of the stairs to try the rooms on the chamber story, she caught his arm.

“Have faith! We’ll find them. I know it.”

“Faith.” His smile reappeared. “I find that easier since coming to Blackcliff.”

Gwen squeezed his arm, then released him. “The fells have that effect on people.”

He moved to block her path. “
You
have that effect on people, Gwen. You’re what’s holding this village, this house together. Your love, your determination, humble me.”

Warmth rushed up her body. “What a lovely thing to say! But we have a lot more rooms to try.” She dodged around him. “Let’s start in the sitting room. I always thought it was an odd place to put one, just at the top of the stairs and with no door to close off the draughts. Maybe that’s why he had the chaise moved to the music room—he needed room for the jewels.”

“Gwen,” he protested, though she heard the sound of his boots against the carpet as he followed her. “I’m trying to tell you how much I admire you.”

“And you know I admire you greatly, as well,” she said, casting about for the medallion. The upstairs sitting room had a wide window overlooking the front of the house; it took up most of one wall and shed light on the grouping of chairs and tables the room boasted. The marble fireplace took up the east wall, and the arched opening by which they’d entered took up much of the south. The only medallion in the room was on the west wall.

“There!” She drew up beside it and waited for him to insert the base of the statue.

“This isn’t important,” he said, cradling the shepherd in his arms. “None of this is important—the jewels, this house, my baronetcy, if you aren’t beside me.”

Was he trying to propose? Oh, how she wanted him to propose! But if he proposed before finding the fortune, wouldn’t he wonder whether he might
have done better? Wouldn’t he suspect that he had settled for a bargain bride?

Gwen dimpled up at him. “And I assure you I feel the same about you. Now connect the base.”

He sighed. “You aren’t listening.”

“Not right now, but I will later, I promise.”

He eyed her. “It isn’t going to work.”

“You don’t know that,” Gwen said, reaching over and swinging up the base, “until you try.”

The base slipped into the medallion, just as it had in all the other rooms. Only this time, there was a very loud click.

Gwen froze, afraid even to look at Trevor. “Did you hear that?”

In answer, Trevor pressed the statue deeper.

“Turn it,” Gwen said and was surprised to hear her voice come out in a whisper.

Trevor rotated the statue, and the medallion rotated with it. A vertical crack appeared in the paneling, separating a portion from the rest. Trevor pulled back, and a narrow section of wall swung open. They both peered inside.

The space was a honeycomb of crisscrossing shelves, all lined in black velvet. In each square lay a single gem. Trevor pushed the door wider, and the sunlight from the window glinted on the faceted surfaces. Rubies, sapphires and emeralds sparkled like the rainbow. Gwen caught her breath.

Trevor stared at them. He reached in a hand, hesitantly Gwen thought, and touched this one and that.

“There must be a least thirty of them,” Gwen marveled.

“A fortune,” Trevor agreed, and she could hear the awe in his voice as he pulled back his hand.

Joy bubbled up inside her, and she wrapped her arms about him and hugged him tight. “Oh, Trevor, you did it! You found your fortune! Blackcliff is saved!”