C
HAPTER
27
“S
o nice to see you, Lady Cambourne,” Sir Malcolm said to the wavering image in his gazing ball. The iron amulet over her heart amplified her life force. It allowed Malcolm to finally follow her movements by his art, even if Jacob Preston was in the same room with her.
Malcolm had wondered why Preston’s presence had shielded her from his gaze. Now, thanks to Gilbert Stout, he knew.
He really owed the boy for the intelligence he’d brought him. If not for Gil, he’d never have guessed that Preston was a metal mage, one who drew information from ore. Preston also apparently cast back an aura that effectively covered him and whoever was near him from detection by Malcolm’s gazing ball. Even now, Malcolm couldn’t see Preston directly. With Lady Cambourne wearing the amulet, he caught glimpses of another being near her, an occasional flash of light only, but he sensed it was Preston, based on the countess’s expressions and actions.
He wondered if Preston was aware he possessed the shielding power. It might simply be as unconscious an act as breathing for him.
It was a pity Malcolm couldn’t turn him into one of his followers. A man who could divine another’s secrets simply by touching a metal object was a valuable tool. Then, too, it was useful to know that Preston could be debilitated by direct contact with metal.
So many interesting possibilities there.
Yes, he hoped it wouldn’t be necessary to kill Gilbert Stout. The boy had done him a better turn than he knew. But of course, if it came to that, Malcolm wouldn’t lose sleep over one less street rat in the world.
Not a wink.
Even though time was pressing, Jacob insisted they make a few preparations before journeying to Cornwall. His artisan friend fashioned a strongbox lined with thinly beaten platinum to house the two daggers from his safe with plenty of room for the other four to be added. Jacob ordered thick workmen’s leather gloves for himself and a steel mesh corset for Julianne to wear beneath her clothes.
“This is miserable,” she said from behind a dressing screen as she tried on the barbaric garment. “Are you sure it’s necessary?”
“You only need wear it when we are near the daggers.” One corner of his mouth kicked up. “Or when you want to keep me at bay.”
“In that case, I’ll never wear it,” she said, but her attempt at lightening the moment had a forced quality. In the end, she packed the corset with the rest of her things for the trip.
He ached to take her in his arms, but the iron amulet emitted a booming reproof each time he tried. Jacob was willing to suffer for the joy of touching her, but he didn’t dare become incapacitated at a time when she might need him to protect her, so he shunned the metal’s reach as if it were the pox.
Lord Kilmaine lent them his coach and driver, and they set off for Cornwall as the weather turned sharply colder. The only advantage to the frigid temperature was that it made the roads hard and rutted instead of muddy and impassible. George Snowdon canceled his appointments and insisted on accompanying them, reasoning that he’d have ample time to study the manuscripts further when they stopped each evening.
Fenwick traveled with them, too, seated beside the driver, the stinging wind and snow flurries lashing him. He proved as sturdy and capable on the road as when he served in Jacob’s house, bespeaking their rooms at coaching inns and tirelessly tending to their comfort at the end of each day’s journey.
When this sorry business was over, Jacob promised himself he’d see to a generous increase in Fenwick’s pay.
Three days out from the city, they bounced along past winter-brown meadows and forests of naked trees. George had succumbed to the rocking of the coach and, head tipped back, snored like a rasping two-man saw.
Julianne sighed and let the curtain drop, plunging them into semi-darkness. “I wonder how young Gil fares.”
“We’re doing all we can for him.” Jacob wished he could offer her more comfort, but truthfully, he gave the boy only one chance in three of making it through this debacle, even if they turned over the daggers. The problem with kidnapping and extortion was that it forced one to deal with a person without honor.
Sir Malcolm couldn’t be counted upon to keep his word.
“It’s like losing Mary all over again,” she whispered.
Jacob should have realized she’d empathize with a boy who was so alone in the world. She’d never found her sister. Failing to help another orphaned child tore open that old wound.
She balled her fists in her lap. “And once again, it’s my fault.”
He started to protest, but she wouldn’t hear him.
“If I hadn’t come to you for help, none of this would have happened,” she said miserably.
“If you hadn’t come to me for help,
we
wouldn’t have happened either.” Jacob took her hand. It was the only sort of touch the iron circle didn’t torture him over and it was fitting for a fellow to at least hold the lady’s hand when he proposed. “When this is done with—”
“Please, Jacob.” She put her fingertips over his lips. “I love you so. Never doubt it, but I can’t think farther than the next milepost. So long as Ravenwood has that poor boy ...” Her voice cracked with emotion and she couldn’t finish her thought.
If they weren’t able to save Gil, would she blame him? Or herself? Would the death of the lad hang over them like the sword of Damocles, threatening any hope of a future together?
Jacob kissed her gloved fingertips and winced inwardly at the jolt the iron circlet shot through her and into him. He’d never been affected by metal without touching it directly and it was damned inconvenient for his sensitivity to tick up now. The amulet had evidently bound itself to Julianne so thoroughly, touching her was the same as touching the cold iron. His only consolation was that Julianne didn’t feel the metal’s malevolent barbs.
That dubious treat was reserved for him alone.
“Very well,” he said. “To business, then. Where are the other daggers hidden?”
Her mouth tightened in a hard line. “With Algernon. I slipped them into the foot of his casket before he was buried. At the time, I blamed his obsession with them for his death, so it seemed appropriate for him to take them with him. But it turned out to be a good place to hide them. No one would think of searching for them there.”
Jacob nodded. “George, Fenwick, and I will take care of retrieving them then.”
It was better for Julianne to remember her husband as he had been, not the rotted corpse they would dig up.
“I’ll have to come with you,” she said. “His grave is unmarked. As a suicide, he was denied burial in the churchyard and his son refused to even erect a stone for him. But I know where he lies.”
“When we’re done with Sir Malcolm—” This time he was quick enough to place a finger on her lips to hush her before she could interrupt him again. “You and I will visit the vicar and show him the iron ring. Once he realizes your late husband didn’t do away with himself, the earl can be moved to the churchyard where he belongs.”
Her sad smile squeezed his heart. She’d come to him with two requests—to find the remaining dagger and clear her late husband’s name. He was determined to fulfill them both.
She laid her head on his shoulder. “Thank you, Jacob.”
The iron slammed repeated flashes of pain into him, but nothing could induce him to push Julianne away. Instead, he bore up under the metal’s thrusts, taking comfort from the fact that while his shoulder smarted, he didn’t suffer from any visions and thus wasn’t likely to lose consciousness. And having Julianne so close was more than worth the trade.
What doesn’t kill a body makes it stronger,
George always told him.
By those lights, he’d be a veritable Hercules by the time they reached Cornwall.
Julianne glanced at the note that a liveried footman delivered to the Dowager’s House shortly after she and her party arrived. The stone cottage was large enough to be a manor house on a lesser estate and her stepson must have sent servants to scrub regularly because the place was spotlessly clean.
Not out of respect for her, Julianne was sure. It was simply that the new Lord Cambourne believed everything about the estate was a reflection on him. Including the people connected to the earldom.
How like her stepson to begin their reunion with a heavy-handed summons.
“Will you be pleased to send a reply, milady?” the bewigged footman asked. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, clearly unhappy to be thrust into the middle of a family squabble between his betters.
“Yes. Tell the earl not to trouble himself on my account,” she said, wondering if the new Lord Cambourne were the sort to shoot the messenger. For fear of that, she tempered her reply and didn’t add that they wouldn’t be there long enough to bother the earl. She’d stay only as long as it took to retrieve the daggers and receive the instructions Sir Malcolm had promised about how and where to exchange them for Gilbert Stout. “However, we’ll need supper for five—myself, my two guests, and two servants. I’d like it delivered and served here in the cottage. If you could see to it yourself, I’d be appreciative.”
“Of course. I’ll handle it personally,” the footman said with a hint of a smile. What the earl didn’t know wouldn’t hurt the help. “But his lordship was most insistent on speaking with you, milady.”
“Then you may tell him he might call upon me here tomorrow at two o’clock,” she said, pointedly ignoring her stepson’s demand that she present herself before him immediately. “It’s a long journey from London and I confess myself done in. Lord Cambourne and I will be more likely to come to a complete understanding if one of us is not dead on her feet.”
The footman smiled, inferring she was prepared to make herself agreeable to his employer after a decent night’s sleep. She hoped the earl would take that as a signal she was ready to capitulate. In truth, the only understanding she’d leave her stepson with was that it would be an exceedingly cold day in Hades before she bent to his demand that she marry someone of his choosing.
After the footman left, Julianne turned to Jacob, who waited for her at the foot of the stairs with the carpetbag that held the platinum-lined box.
“May as well not get too comfortable,” she said. After tomorrow, Lord Cambourne was likely to restrict her movements. He might even refuse her the right to visit her husband’s grave. “We’ll have to visit Algernon’s grave this night before his son arrives on the morrow. I have a feeling after his lordship and I have our little tête-à-tête, we’ll be far less welcome guests than we are now. ”
“Have you a place to keep the boy under lock and key?” Sir Malcolm asked the quaking innkeeper.
The man’s Adam’s apple bobbed nervously, but he nodded. “We’ve a smokehouse in the back what’s not in use now. Should do in a pinch.”
One of the many advantages of being the Grand Master of the secret sect within the Order was that his followers’ influence reached throughout the entire countryside. The innkeeper was second cousin to the woman who’d served as Lady Cambourne’s guide at her initiation. Reportedly, he owed the woman a sum he could never repay. Her letter promising to see him thrown into debtor’s prison if he failed to assist Sir Malcolm without question insured that even in distant Cornwall, Ravenwood was not without those who would do his bidding.
The innkeeper led him up to the chamber that was supposedly the best available. Inspection by the light of a kerosene lamp revealed it was sparsely furnished, and only marginally clean. Barely fit for human habitation. Still, it would have to do. Malcolm needed to be near Cambourne and this place was just over the hillock from the earldom’s border.
“The missus will be bringing ye the supper soon as it’s ready,” the innkeeper said. “Is there aught else I might do for ye, sir?”
“Yes,” Malcolm said. “Get out. And see to it the boy remains where you put him or else”—he let the threat hang in the air for a heartbeat or two, then continued—“I shall be most displeased.”
The man stammered his assurance that no, of course, the boy would be right there when Sir Malcolm had need of him and for him not to worry about it a bit. The innkeeper backed out of the chamber professing his complete cooperation. Malcolm could still hear his nearly incoherent mutterings as he made his way down the uneven stairs.
Even though he was road-weary, Malcolm unpacked his gazing ball and set it up on the rickety table. Natural light was best for viewing, but in a pinch, he could see Lady Cambourne by the yellowish haze emitted by the lamp.
“So you, too, have arrived at your destination,” he said to the image in the ball. The trip from London was tiresome, but he’d been entertained by glimpses of Lady Cambourne. He still couldn’t see Jacob Preston clearly in the shimmering orb, but he sensed his presence with the countess almost continually and had decided how to use him.
He’d given a lot of thought to his next gambit in this game of brinksmanship. After seeking out several metal workers, he’d not found any who knew how to work an alloy with the unusual properties that his studies led him to expect the daggers to have. Malcolm decided he would make rejoining the blades into the staff of power Jacob Preston’s problem.