24
Mabena walked as far as the gate with Casek, not quite willing to leave the circle of still-heated conversation inside the library, but also not ready to part from him. The school day wouldn’t wait for them to sort matters out here though. And this close to the end of the third term, there were always far too many recalcitrant boys getting sent to the headmaster’s office. Well, to be fair, there were no doubt recalcitrant girls too. She’d certainly seen the inside of that office often enough.
It was still strange to imagine this hulking giant folded behind the desk instead of Mr. Morris. Just as it was still strange to think that this hulking giant could be hers. She trailed her fingers down his arm, the skin still warm from sport and summer. Cador had been an inch shorter, far slighter. It came of ignoring sports and exercise in favor of books, she supposed. But how had she convinced herself she preferred that? He couldn’t hold a candle to Casek.
She could feel his tension in each muscle of his arm though. He wanted to physically put things to rights, pound a few skulls. She could understand the sentiment. But . . . “We’ll get it sorted, Caz. Bring to justice whoever killed Johnnie. But it won’t bring him back.”
“I know.” His fingers caught hers and squeezed, but it wasn’t her he was looking at. His gaze was toward Old Grimsby. “But if we can stop it from happening again . . .”
Her brows knit. “What do you mean?”
He sighed. “Perry and the Grimsby boys—well, Nick and Joseph, anyway. They’ve been chasing after whatever Johnnie was involved in.”
Mabena’s breath tangled in her throat. She had hoped they’d given that up by now, after they’d caught them at it on Teän. “Did you warn them off?”
“I’ve tried, but what could I say? I told them Johnnie slipped, like everyone else was saying. But Perry must have known he was up to something. And you know boys—the more you make something seem forbidden, the more determined they are.” He shook his head. “I won’t have any more of them getting hurt. I can’t.”
She touched a hand to his chest, over his heart. His shirt was still damp from the race, but she hardly cared. All that mattered was this man who put on such a front of disdain used it to cover a heart bigger than all the islands put together. “You’re a good man, Casek Wearne.”
His gaze flashed back to hers, and a grin winked out. “I’ve been telling you that all your life, Mabena Moon.”
“Well, it may be I believe you now.” She returned the grin and curled her hand into his shirt, using it to give him a tug off the path. The flowering trellis didn’t exactly hide them completely from any prying eyes peering out neighboring windows, but it would obscure them a bit, anyway. She stretched up on her toes.
It was all the invitation Casek needed. His arms came around her, hauling her up the remaining few inches until her feet dangled and her laugh at it was cut off by his lips claiming hers.
It shouldn’t make her soul take wing even now, should it? Johnnie Rosedew was dead, likely murdered, and the man responsible was after Beth . . . or Libby. Her cousins’ grandmother was still abed, Tas-gwyn had been clobbered as surely as she herself had been, and more lads could be in danger. There was nothing light about this situation. Nothing all that hopeful, even.
But for all that was wrong, this was right. The way her blood trumpeted through her veins, making a glorious symphony of noise in her ears. The way she fit inside the circle of his arms, making her feel as protected as a bird nested in the rocks, yet still as free as one gliding on the wind. The way her heart skipped and jumped and raced.
She pulled away with a little groan, pushing him back a step even though she kept her fingers curled into his shirt. “You need to go.”
“Soon.” He kissed her again first, bending down this time to accomplish it. “I’ve a lot of years to make up for.”
She laughed. And convinced her fingers to let go of the cotton. “And we’ve years in which to do the making up. The future’s ours, dearovim.”
If only it were pure joy in his eyes at that, untainted by all this. “I hope so, my love.” He nodded toward the house. “You’ll have to be the voice of reason with that lot. I don’t trust those dandies to sort things out, not as far as I can throw them.”
Her lips twitched—first because neither Sheridan nor Telford were dandies by any definition other than an islander’s, and second at the image of him giving them a nice, friendly toss. “How far do you think that is, exactly?”
He chuckled. “If they don’t watch themselves, we may find out.” He pressed his lips to hers once more, softly. “I’ll find you after school. Are you here tonight, or back to St. Mary’s?”
It had been ages since anyone asked her questions like that—questions that at once granted her the right to decide for herself how she’d fill her days and yet asked to be a part of them. “Here. Libby wants to be close to Mamm-wynn. We’d originally planned to go back just for a bit this afternoon, to get the Wednesday delivery, but with Beth back, I don’t think we need to. Which is fine with me. We brought enough clothes to last us a week.” Including evening wear for Libby, much to the lady’s dismay—but with two lords in residence and Beth back, dinners would be a formal affair again at the Tremayne house. They’d had two lads carry their bags from the Mermaid to her parents’ when they landed.
“Good. I’ll feel better with you close. And don’t let those idiots do anything stupid while I’m at work.”
She smiled her promise. “I’m flattered you think me capable of stopping them.”
He laughed and stepped back to the gate, opened it. “I think you’re capable of anything, dearover.” With a wink, he stepped to the street. “Tonight?”
“I’ll be either here or at my parents’.”
He nodded, lifted his hand, and strode away.
Mabena stood there watching him until he disappeared, arms wrapped around herself even though she was far from cold in the summer morning air. Just . . . savoring. Feeling. Holding it all in.
“Mind telling me how that happened?”
Mabena smiled at Beth’s voice, turning her head but otherwise not moving. “You vanish for over a month and you miss a few things, cousin.” It was a relief, though, to see her back here where she belonged. Strolling toward her with the front garden as a perfect backdrop to her pretty dress, her pretty face. Mabena sighed. “Where have you been? All this time?”
Beth gestured to the southwest. “One of the abandoned cottages on Samson, mostly.”
Mabena frowned. “Where your grandmother and Tas-gwyn went to find you? But—how could she have known? Her eyesight isn’t so good that she could have spotted you.”
“No one would spot me.” But Beth frowned. “What do you mean, that she knew?”
She told her briefly about the scare the other day, with the grandparents having vanished, and what Libby and Oliver had told her about finding them. Then added, “It isn’t the only odd thing she’d done lately either. She’s the one who sent Oliver to St. Mary’s the day after we arrived to see where you were.”
Beth folded her arms over her chest, her gaze distant. “The veil’s slipping.”
“What?”
But Beth shook her head, and her eyes refocused on Mabena’s face. “Just something she used to say. About her own grandmother. I’m going to go and sit with her for a while. Coming in?”
“I’d better.” She sent a look in the general direction of the library. “I have a feeling the gentlemen aren’t coming to any helpful conclusions—and Libby’s probably about ready to curl up on the floor with her cat and howl in frustration.”
An echo of a smile touched Beth’s lips. “She’s not what I expected. From your letters.”
“No?” What had she written that was wrong? She tried to send her mind back over all the words, but they were a muddle in her mind, confused with the pain she was determined to ignore. She opted for a grin to deflect that truth. “Your brother certainly likes her.”
“So I noticed. Not certain what I think about that yet—though it’s no secret what her brother thinks.”
Mabena chuckled and meandered back toward the front door with Beth. “He’ll come around or he won’t—but I don’t think Ollie means to let her go back at the end of summer. And I hope she agrees. They fit.” She hadn’t thought to expect it. But now, having seen them together this month . . . she couldn’t honestly imagine anyone else making either of them happy.
“Well. If you say so, I don’t dare disagree.” Beth bumped their shoulders together, twenty years of friendship summed up in that single touch. “She seems sweet.”
“She is. But she has a good dose of salt too—necessary in these parts.”
“And she’d be happy here? Because I can’t imagine Ollie ever wanting to be elsewhere, even Truro.”
Mabena didn’t bother holding back her smile. “The islands know her name, according to Mamm-wynn.”
Beth’s shoulders relaxed as she reached for the door. “That’s all I needed to know.”
Rather than stepping through the doorway, Mabena paused, her brows knit. “One question, Beth, about all you said in there. The map—it wasn’t among the things we found. Do you have it still?”
“I have a copy. But the original is stowed in my—your—cottage.” Beth’s eyes sparkled. “I was hoping to reclaim it when I came to collect Treasure Island last week.”
She linked her arm through her cousin’s before she could think about darting off again. “You’re not going back for it alone though, just so you know. We’re in this together.”
“Mm.” Beth’s gaze as they stepped inside tracked toward the library, from where too many masculine voices were ringing. “More of us, it seems, than I’d ever bargained for.”
It had rained buckets all day Thursday, effectively keeping them Tresco-bound and delaying the gentlemen’s intentions of sending for their valets, but when Friday dawned bright and fair, Oliver breathed a prayer of thanksgiving and all but leapt into the day. They’d go back to St. Mary’s today—first to meet Lady Emily Scofield’s ferry and see her to the room he’d arranged for her above Mrs. Gilligan’s hat shop, and then to get the map from the garrison cottage where his sister had apparently stashed it.
And best of all, he might even escape Telford’s hovering presence for a few minutes. He’d been a perpetual, stormy shadow since Wednesday, and no amount of politeness or attempts to engage him in honest, heart-seeking conversation had resulted in anything but a glare.
A glare that said quite clearly, Stay away from my sister.
A glare Oliver couldn’t have obeyed if he wanted to. Dressed for the day, he slipped into Mamm-wynn’s room, acknowledging silently what had become all the more apparent in the face of Telford’s thunder. He’d fallen head over heels in love with Lady Elizabeth Sinclair, and he couldn’t be in her presence without finding his way to her side. Teasing a smile to her lips. Whispering a Latin name or two as their own private joke. Ira Frater in response to one of Telford’s irritated—and irritating—commands, for example.
And she’d replied to his “angry brother” moniker with a nod toward Beth and Soror Absit—“absent sister.”
He sat on the edge of his grandmother’s bed and took her hand in his. She rewarded him with a fluttering of her eyes, though they didn’t focus on him. Just gazed blankly for a moment before her lids swooped down again. More than she’d given them that first day. And the doctor said it was a good sign that she was becoming more alert, and that one side of her body didn’t seem to be weaker than the other.
Still. Oliver wanted her awake. Squeezing his hand. Talking to them. “We’ll be going to St. Mary’s for a while today, Mamm-wynn,” he said softly. “Mrs. Dawe will be here, and Aunt Prue means to spend the afternoon with you, I think. Do you need anything?”
How he wished she’d demand a bun from the Polmers’ bakery. Or some new yarn for her next project. But she said nothing. He let loose a long breath and lifted her hand, pressed a kiss to the papery skin. “You did what you meant to do, you know. You brought Beth back to us. Thank you for that—but don’t think you’re finished yet. We still need you. I still need you.”
He set her hand down again and then leaned over to kiss her forehead. “Rest now, Mamm-wynn, but wake soon. Please.”
Sheridan was already in the dining room with his tea and porridge, one of the books of local history open before him—probably to a page that told him something about Mucknell and Prince Rupert. Oliver still couldn’t quite believe he was the one behind all this, however inadvertently. But at least the marquess wanted to put it to rights somehow. Not that they could all of them agree on the best course of action to accomplish that.
They had to bring Lorne and whoever the Scofields’ counterpart was before the magistrate, that was certain. And at all costs keep them from finding anything of actual worth. Even with their buyer here, on their side, none of them were willing to trust these shady antiquity hunters. If Sheridan tried to call them off and not pay them, who was to say that they wouldn’t just find someone else eager for some pirate silver? There was surely more than one gentleman in England willing to pay for it.
It may be wise, as Telford kept insisting, to simply put it all as far from them as possible. To tell the Scofields their search had met a dead end, and to let Sheridan distract their overeager employees with a few other inquiries he had stored up. But that still left the Lorne fellow, and he was a bit of an unknown. Sheridan hadn’t seemed at all confident that he’d be able to redirect him. A bloodhound, that was how he’d been described and why Sheridan had hired him to begin with. Once he was on the scent of something, he just wouldn’t let it go.
And apparently wouldn’t let anything or anyone get in his way.
Oliver made it through breakfast without running into Telford and even stole enough time to pay a quick visit to Mr. Menna in the Abbey Gardens before the six of them met at the quay. There had been no debate as to which boat to take, as only the Adelle was large enough to hold all of them. He and Beth and Mabena moved in perfect harmony readying her, Libby able to pitch in without getting in the way too.
Their lordships at least had the good sense to stand on the shore and wait until they were called.
Soon enough they were skimming the waves toward St. Mary’s, sun and wind spurring them onward. But it wasn’t a pleasure cruise, and no one on board seemed to mistake it as such. Shoulders were tense, spines rigid. His sister grew more silent, more anxious with every passing minute.
Oliver prayed his way over the four miles of water. That they would have wisdom. That they would find answers.
That no one else would get hurt in the search for them.
They spotted the first ferry of the day as they neared the quay—and ended up dropping anchor just as it pulled in at the docks. Beth, shielding her eyes against the sun, waved a hand furiously. “Emily!”
Oliver turned, though he had no idea who among the passengers was his sister’s friend from school.
“The ginger,” Libby whispered, nodding to a young lady whose hair was noticeable even beneath the wide brim of her hat. Not that said lady had been able to hear Beth’s shout over the ferry’s engines. Either that, or she was ignoring her.
“Well, let’s get on with it, then.” Looking like he’d rather wrestle a shark, Telford offered a hand to the ladies at large.
It must have been the engines, because as they made their way ashore, it was Lady Emily who did the shouting and rushing forward upon spotting Beth—and to his trained eye, her joy looked genuine, untainted by any devious motives. Not to say she couldn’t be hiding them, but if so, she was quite skilled at it. He watched as the girls embraced, Lady Emily laughing and clutching Beth close.
“Oh, I’ve been so worried!” she exclaimed. “We haven’t heard from you in so long, and when I came for a visit, you were nowhere to be found. I confess my imagination began conjuring up all sorts of nightmares. I made an absolute nuisance of myself until Father agreed to let me come back for a longer stay so I could put some genuine effort into finding you.”
“You must have been desperate, if you threw yourself on the mercy of Lottie Wight. At least if Libby’s stories of her can be trusted.” Beth grinned, looking from Emily to Libby. “You’ve met, correct?”
Hand on her hat to keep the wind from snatching it, Lady Emily turned to smile at Libby too. “On my previous visit here, yes. How do you do, Lady Elizabeth? It’s so lovely to see you again.”
Libby smiled back and murmured a greeting, but given that the newcomer was noticing the size of their party and seemed a bit taken aback by it, Beth had to interject with those introductions.
Oliver paid especially close attention to her reaction to Lord Sheridan, curious as to whether she knew he was the buyer her parents had lined up for Beth’s finds, but she greeted him with the same blank politeness she did the rest of them. No recognition in her gaze for anyone but the two Elizabeths.
“I don’t believe she knows much about what’s going on.” His observation was quiet, meant solely for Libby’s ears. Because he’d ended up at her side again, despite the invisible daggers her brother was throwing at him.
“Good.” Relief saturated Libby’s returning murmur. “I hated the thought that Beth’s friend might be party to whatever underhanded dealings are in play.”
Mabena must have heard their quiet exchange too. She fell in on Oliver’s other side as they all wandered away from the other ferry passengers. “The question, if you ask me, is what she knows that she doesn’t even realize. With a bit of luck, it’s something that will be useful to us.”
“We’ll find out soon.” Though certainly not out here in public. But Beth knew to lead the way to Mrs. Gilligan’s, which would afford them privacy enough for a conversation.
Quick motion in his periphery caught his attention, making his shoulders go tight again. Though only for a moment. A young lady dressed much as Mabena had been when she came home was jostling her way through the crowd, scanning faces rather frantically until she spotted their group and then visibly relaxing. Oliver nudged Mabena. “I think we’re leaving without Lady Emily’s lady’s maid. Would you?”
Mabena chuckled. “Since I’m more suited to the company of maids than ladies, you mean?”
He gave her a helpful shove in the shoulder. “You’re the one who decided to prove him right. And now that you’ve that experience, you ought to at least know how to talk to her without startling her.”
She shoved him right back. “I think you just want a moment alone with Libby.”
“You call this alone?” But it was as alone as they were likely to be in their current crowd—Beth and Lady Emily, heads together and arms linked, were strolling along the road, the two lords a few steps behind. Neither, for once, paying any attention to him and Libby. He offered his arm with a grin. “My lady?”
“Good sir.” She tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, and they fell in a goodly distance behind her brother and not-fiancé. Though her gaze seemed focused more on Beth and Lady Emily. “I think it’s time I give up.”
He quirked a brow at her—not sure what she meant exactly, but hearing no defeat in her tone.
She nodded at the girls. “I’m not like them. And I don’t enjoy trying to be.”
He covered her hand with his. “You don’t need to be. You’re you, which is absolutely perfect.”
Her sigh sounded somehow both happy and resigned. “You’re the only one I’ve ever met who thought so.”
Hence why she needed to stay here, with him. He might have said as much had her brother not remembered to send him a scowl over his shoulder just then, and hang back enough that he probably would have heard.
But it was the truth. Why should she spend the rest of her life struggling to fit into a world that couldn’t appreciate her? London balls, country house parties, drawing room visits—those didn’t make her sparkle, make her come alive. She needed this. God’s world in all its splendor surrounding her and stirring her curiosity. She needed to chart the tides and the paths of the migratory birds and count the flower species with Mr. Menna each year. She needed to serve his neighbors tea on cool Wednesday mornings and listen to Tas-gwyn’s ridiculous stories. That would make her eyes shine, day in and day out.
But how to make her brother see that?
They soon arrived outside Mrs. Gilligan’s shop, which he could hear Lady Emily declare to be “darling.” It was, rather purposefully. All the shops on the islands were so that they might draw in the tourists and the pounds sterling they tossed about without a care.
The flat above it would be far more utilitarian, though Mrs. Gilligan had taken care with it, thinking she’d be welcoming her daughter and a newly born grandbabe while her son-in-law was at sea. But Sam had sustained a minor injury last month, so they’d stayed in their little flat on the mainland, and the babe hadn’t made his or her appearance quite yet.
“Ah, my dear Reverend Mr. Tremayne,” Mrs. Gilligan called out the moment they entered the shop. She did sound a bit like Casek’s imitation of her, which made his lips twitch up. “I’ve got the flat pretty as you please for your friend.”
“So very gracious of you, Mrs. Gilligan.” He stepped away from Libby so that he could greet the middle-aged shopkeeper properly, taking her hand and clasping it between both of his. “Any good news from the mainland yet?”
Mrs. Gilligan’s smile was bright, though her laugh was rueful. “Not yet. Any day now, any day. I’m starting at every breeze, thinking it a lad from the telegraph office knocking on my door.” Her face went sober. “How’s your grandmother?”
“Improving, I think, though not quickly enough for us. We do appreciate any prayers you offer up for her.”
“Morning and night, dearovim. Morning and night.” She brightened again, her gaze scanning the rest of the group and landing unerringly upon Lady Emily. “Well now. Shall I show you the flat?”
The newcomer offered a dainty smile, as fragile looking as porcelain. “That would be delightful. Thank you, madame.”
It was, Oliver saw two minutes later, about what he’d expected. Not large by any means, but fully equipped and decorated with all the ribbons and frills a first-time grandmother with a stockroom full of hat trimmings might be expected to produce. “Charming,” according to Lady Emily, and she sounded as though she meant it.
Squeezing them all in even for a few minutes was a tight fit, but the way Sheridan and Telford leaned against the walls somehow made it clear they didn’t intend to leave again right away. Mrs. Gilligan did though, after promising to stop up after closing time to have a chat and talk about the logistics.
The door had scarcely clicked behind her before Sheridan said, “Let’s get to it, then. Which is to say, no time to lose. Am I right?”
Lady Emily looked baffled. “Get to what, exactly?”
Beth took her friend’s hand and tugged her to a seat on the newly reupholstered sofa. “I’ve a bit of explaining to do. And then some questions to ask. I hope you can help us sort through the last of it, Em.”
She laid it all out in a few minutes, but the more she explained, the more troubled Lady Emily appeared. When they got to the bit about someone accosting Libby, she interrupted with horror. “Before the Wights’ dinner party? But—what did this fellow look like?”
Libby recited the description she’d put to paper when they’d gotten back to her cottage, which made the lady wash paler still. And mutter, “Well, that can’t be.”
Lady Emily flushed. “Not your description, my lady. I beg your pardon. I was referring to my own immediate thought. It sounds like . . . but it couldn’t have been him. He wouldn’t.” So said her lips, while her eyes said, Would he?
Beth scooted closer to her on the sofa. “Who wouldn’t?”
Lady Emily’s gaze bounced from one of them to the next. “My brother, Nigel,” she admitted quietly. “He was here with us, on St. Mary’s, but he didn’t show up at the Wights’ dinner party that night until nearly midnight.”
“And he’s involved in your parents’ archaeological ventures?” Telford asked.
“He’s involved in all their ventures.” She unpinned her hat and held it out, the lady’s maid she’d nearly left behind on the ferry springing forward to take it from her. Then she rubbed at her temple. “Far more than I am, which is to be expected. Or so Father says. He says the world of archaeology is too cutthroat for ladies.”
Sheridan grunted. “Sometimes. Or at least—it can get cutthroat. And Mr. Nigel Scofield—I’ve never actually met him, though I’ve seen him around. Have you, Telly?”
Libby’s brother shook his head.
Sheridan mirrored him. “Older than us, a bit. Missed him at school. But I’ve heard stories. Always thought I’d like to be introduced, but perhaps . . . Well, perhaps not.”
Lady Emily’s nostrils flared as she looked to Beth again. “I thought . . . I was so excited when you wrote to me and sent that map. For the first time in my life, I had something of interest to them. I thought that maybe, finally, they’d let me be a part of it. Truly a part. Perhaps I shouldn’t have wished it at all. I cannot bear the thought that I put you in danger, Beth.”
“You didn’t, Em.” Beth took her hand. “You’ve been nothing but a friend. It’s this rival, I think. Lorne.”
“And my own brother. Threatening you, or who he thought was you.” The lady looked as though she might faint from the thought of it, which Oliver sincerely hoped she wouldn’t do. “I can hardly fathom it. Except . . .”
“Except?” Beth dipped her head a bit to peer into Lady Emily’s downturned face.
The lady looked away. “We aren’t exactly close. Not like you and your brothers. Hearing your stories, I was always a bit ashamed to think of how much a stranger Nigel has always been to me.”
Beth frowned. “I’m sorry. I never meant to upset you—”
“Oh, it isn’t your fault!” The lady frowned. “It’s us. He’s just so competitive! I always thought he resented the very fact that I was born and so stole a bit of our parents’ attention.” She tried to laugh it off, but the laugh burned cool while the flame in her eyes went hot. “He . . . they’ve had to cover up more than one incident where he let his competitive streak take him too far. Even I don’t know all the details, but . . .” She sucked in a breath, held it, let it out. “If he had been involved in the Mucknell treasure, if he realized this other man was too, and if he perceived it as a personal rivalry—there’s really no saying how far he might carry it.”
Not exactly the news they wanted—but the news they needed, if they meant to keep everyone safe. Oliver stepped forward. “I think the next question, then, is how patiently he’ll wait for Beth to get him what he seeks, and when he’ll try to get it himself. Because if he and Lorne are both so eager for the silver we’ve yet to find . . .”
Now it was Beth whose cheeks washed pale. “And while they may at first have been willing to let the locals do the work and take the risks, if we seem to be dropping the ball—”
“Or worse, withholding information.” Oliver felt his every muscle go tight. “Their threats could well be carried out.”
“What, then?” Sheridan had picked up a whelk shell from one of the shelves and was passing it from one hand to the other. “Do we do, I mean? Let them find it and sell it to me so it’s all over? And just have the constable on alert? In case they try to duke it out?”
Lady Emily frowned. “I beg your pardon, my lord, but I don’t think it’s that simple.”
“Oh. Well. It is, though.” He cleared his throat. “I’m afraid I’m the buyer.”
But the lady was shaking her head. “Not to say I doubt you, but—but I’ve made it a point to overhear as much as I possibly can about this, given that I’m the one who brought it to their attention for Beth. And they have more than one buyer interested. I’ve heard them whispering about higher bids and an auction. They’ve made mention of an American.”
“What?” The whelk went flying.
Telford, face placid, snatched it out of the air and slid it back onto the shelf.
Sheridan sputtered for a moment, then his face went positively ferocious. “New plan, then.” His gaze moved to Beth, then to Oliver and Libby. “We find it first.”