Chapter Thirty-Two

Once the door to the room Jess and Kit were to share latched shut, the viscountess groaned and flopped onto the bed. “I’ve become spoiled by Graham’s carriage. I think he managed to have it sprung on clouds, the ride is so smooth.”

Jess crossed her arms and leaned one shoulder to the wall. “You didn’t have to come.”

Kit’s head lifted from the bed, blond hair knocked from its pins and sticking out at funny angles. The glare on her face was serious. “Yes, I did. I could not let you go into this alone.”

“I’m not alone.”

She waved a hand and flopped her head back down. “Those men don’t count. Well, Derek does, obviously, but those other two treat you with the delicacy of a stone.”

There were so many ways answering that sentence could come back to bite Jess that she sidestepped it entirely. She didn’t want to talk about how coddling her during the war hadn’t been an option, or how often she’d been on her own, and she certainly didn’t want to discuss why Derek treated her differently.

Before Jess could redirect the conversation, Kit said, “This is what you were running from that night we met, isn’t it?”

When had all the people in her life become so incredibly astute? Or had they always been, but she hadn’t let them in enough or listened to them enough to tell?

“We thought the war was ending,” Jess said, “which meant political lines would be drawn, much like they are being drawn now. I didn’t know where Verbonne would fall, if it hadn’t already disappeared.”

She hated talking about this, hated how much of it was still rooted in the childlike fear she couldn’t shake. “All I knew was the man who’d come that night had been British, and his anger had been personal. Ryland was moving about in society again, so his home was no longer a safe place. I look like my mother. And if that man had managed to come back to England . . .”

From what she knew now, though, that man had already been here and had likely been traveling to France and back with the smugglers. When this was over, Ryland would pass the slides and the other information to the Home Office. The question was whether Lord Bradford was a traitor to the Crown or to Verbonne. Could one be a traitor to a country he didn’t belong to?

Jess crossed the room and placed her valise on a table before digging through it and pulling out a dark dress. “While I appreciate your concern for my delicate sensibilities,” Jess said, giving Kit a pointed look over her shoulder, “that’s all you’re going to do. You aren’t pulling out your cloak and skulking around with me.”

“Ha!” Kit lurched into a sitting position and pointed a finger at Jess. “So you admit you intend to skulk about.”

“Of course.” Jess rolled her eyes. “How else am I to learn anything?”

The truth was that the whole way to Kettering, while everyone in the carriage had talked about methodical plans, Jess had been feeling every additional mile. She was at least two days’ ride from the coast. If she found the bowl, she wasn’t waiting. She was running and taking the first boat across the water, whether by fair means or foul. Verbonne, France, Belgium, it didn’t matter to her where it landed as long as she was on the continent and out of Lord Bradford’s reach.

“I didn’t come for your reputation,” Kit said. “That’s probably already murkier than I want to consider. I came because you shouldn’t be alone. I know it’s different here, with all of this, but you didn’t leave Daphne and me alone when life was difficult and you could have.”

“Haven Manor was a good place to hide,” Jess said.

“Do you really believe that’s all it was?”

Did she? Yes. No. At first. Jess squirmed and avoided the question. “I’m not alone. I’ve acquired quite the collection of guard dogs, remember?”

“They—we—are simply worried about you. We care.” Kit dragged out the last word like she expected Jess to flinch from the statement.

Inside, she did.

“I know,” Jess said. She wished they wouldn’t, though. All of them were taking a risk by being here. Derek’s family didn’t even know he was on this adventure. How would they ever understand if something happened to him? Had he even written them in the past month? They’d already shown signs of worry when she’d met them. Would one of them go to Haven Manor, only to find it uninhabited by anyone other than servants?

Jeffreys didn’t have a family, but he’d never convince Jess that he didn’t have a fondness for Ryland’s little girl. He probably slipped the child treats and was already planning grand London adventures for when she was older.

“I think you’re lying,” Kit said, rolling over until she could climb off the bed. “I don’t think you have any idea how much people care for you.”

“Apparently enough to leave a husband, a wife, and a child waiting to see if and when they return.” The jab was unnecessarily harsh, but Jess wanted Kit to step back, to be a little bit angry. Just because they cared about her didn’t mean she deserved it, didn’t mean they should risk their safety.

“Graham knows I owe you my life.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Jess said, draping the dress over the back of a chair and digging in her valise, even though she was just moving the same four items around in the depths of the small bag.

“You mean I could have gotten out of that predicament on my own? Here I thought that thug had only run away because you threw a knife at his feet and said the next one was going to be aimed higher.” Kit giggled. “I borrowed that line once, by the way.”

“You only said it because you missed,” Jess said, having heard the full story of that night from Graham.

Kit shrugged. “It worked.”

“You’d have talked your way out of it eventually.”

Kit shoved Jess’s valise to the floor and plopped herself in the chair so that Jess was staring down at her. “Maybe. Maybe not. That’s not the point, anyway. The point is, you laid into me for walking alone in that area at two in the morning even though you were doing the same thing. Even then, you were looking out for those weaker than yourself.”

“I’m not a martyr, Kit. I don’t have a noble goal like you and Daphne.” Jess stepped back but didn’t turn away. If Kit insisted on having this discussion, Jess would give it to her. Jess would let her see it all.

“Just because it isn’t organized doesn’t mean you aren’t helping people. You do little things in the moment. I see it all the time.” Kit grinned. “You care about us. Admit it.”

Was that all Kit wanted? Jess had admitted it to herself a long time ago, and even though it had made her vulnerable, she hadn’t been able to deny it, nor truly regret it. “Yes, I care.”

Kit’s face grew serious. “We care, too. You matter. You’re family. We love you.”

Jess turned away. “Derek said love requires sacrifice.”

“‘Hereby perceive we the love of God, because he laid down his life for us.’”

“Are you quoting scripture to me?” Jess asked, one side of her mouth tilting up.

Kit laughed. “Of course. You don’t think I say ‘hereby perceive we’ in normal conversation, do you? In any case, Derek is right.” Kit crossed the room and gave Jess’s shoulder a slight push. “It’s why we put up with you, you know. It’s obvious you love us even if you don’t say anything. When you love someone, you sacrifice for them because they mean more than you do.”

Jess did love them. She wanted them all to live happier, better lives.

They’d all gotten there. Kit was with a man who made her smile and was no longer trapped by guilt and obligation. Daphne was starting anew, reunited with her father and fulfilling a mission that made her heart sing, with a man who appreciated her uniqueness. Ryland and the others were building their lives. It was easy to see his household was a happy one.

Jess certainly didn’t want them throwing those gains away for her sake.

She shook her head and looked Kit dead in the eye. “Don’t love me, then. I’m not worth it.”

Whatever Kit was going to say was cut off by a knock on the door. Jess went to let the servant in to set up the dinner they’d ordered. As soon as the servant left, the men joined them to plan their next steps. They had a bowl to find and a country to save.

Then Jess would disappear again.

Kit was right. Jess loved them all, and she loved them too much to keep weighing them down.

While Kit changed into her night rail behind the screen in the corner of the room, Jess donned her dark dress and then climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to her chin and closing her eyes.

She waited while Kit blew out the candle and got herself situated, then waited some more while Kit’s breathing evened out and the moon rose.

The evening had been full of discussion about the paintings and examination of the diary notes. With nothing obvious and the sun setting, they’d all agreed to start the search in the morning.

Only Jess wasn’t waiting. No, nothing was obvious, but nothing was ever going to be obvious. It was going to be like everything else so far. She was going to chase after the next idea and hope to stumble across what she needed as she went. It’d been a life philosophy that had worked well for her so far. Why stop now?

Once the inn had quieted, as much as an inn ever did, she slipped from the bed and crept to the door, avoiding the squeaky floorboards she’d discovered earlier in the day. The door felt a bit more jammed than it had earlier, and she had to tug at the latch to get it to open.

The reason spilled into her room and blinked up at her.

Derek, dressed in a black jacket and brown trousers that looked appalling together but were probably the darkest clothes he’d packed, propped himself onto an elbow and rubbed at his eyes.

Not wanting to wake Kit, Jess nudged him until he rolled back enough for her to step out of the room and shut the door behind her.

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

“Knowing you,” he answered as he stood. “Where are we going?”

“You’re going back to bed. How did you ever get out of there without Ryland noticing?”

“I told him he snored and I was going out to the barn to sleep with Jeffreys.”

If Ryland had believed that, Jess would eat her knife case. She darted a glance around. He was watching from somewhere, but where?

“Shall we?” Derek gestured toward the stairs. “I’m assuming you haven’t deduced that the bowl is here in the inn.”

Jess sighed. “I haven’t determined that the bowl is anywhere. I’m just hoping something will make sense if I walk around town.”

“Good thing I wore dark clothes, then. That is the best way to hide in the shadows, isn’t it?”

“Dark clothes and stillness,” Jess answered with a nod before heading to the stairs.

She should try harder to get rid of him, but since nothing was likely to happen tonight, there wasn’t any harm in stealing a few more moments of his company. It was selfish, but she couldn’t help it. Did that mean she didn’t love Derek? Did it mean she loved him more? Did it mean nothing at all?

Jess needed to find this bowl before it created more questions than she was capable of handling.

They slipped from the inn and walked toward the older part of town. Unfortunately, what had once been older wasn’t anymore. The market area showed a great deal of recent construction. Jess looked around and frowned. If they’d made significant changes to the town and buildings in the past hundred years, the bowl might be anywhere. It could be displaying flowers in a local manor house for all she knew.

Near the marketplace was an open area, with a large statue at one end. At some point the statue had probably marked a grand entrance or been surrounded by some type of park, but now it stood awkwardly to the side. Scorch marks on one side of the base indicated a fire in the town’s history, explaining the abundance of newer construction.

“What did this town look like then?” Derek murmured.

“We don’t even know for sure when then is. Only the first diary entry has a date.”

“We know when the queen and her party fled the country,” Derek said with a shrug. “They had to hide the bowl shortly after that in order to know how to place the paintings.”

Jess squinted her eyes until the moonlight created nothing but silvery shapes. She did that sometimes when looking at art with Derek, as if blurring the details would help her see what he saw. It hadn’t worked yet, but she wasn’t giving up. She could do this. She could forget what was in front of her, forget what she could see, and try to imagine what had been.

“What did the first passage say?” She nearly had it memorized and assumed he did as well. Though the bowl was at the end of their journey, it would have been the beginning of the queen’s.

Derek recited the part about hope, despair, and love before continuing, “‘Anoint the king and let him rule, these three shall be his crown, and he will usher in a new day.’”

“How are hope, despair, and love a crown?” Jess opened her eyes and frowned at Derek. “That’s a weird thing to say, isn’t it?”

“It’s poetry of a sort, which means everything is symbolic. You can’t take it literally.”

Jess looked around, but they couldn’t see much from the dark alcove they were tucked into.

Suddenly, Jess felt incredibly foolish. What had she been thinking? What did she think she would do even if inspiration suddenly struck? The pavement around her was empty and cold, the houses quiet and dark. Piles of boards and stones proved the town was moving on from its prior devastation, meaning the bowl was likely lost and she’d never know it because she didn’t know whether or not she was checking in the right place.

Whatever had been here when The Six had come through was disappearing. Jess looked up at the statue of some ancient king and gave him a nod. You’re lucky you’re too big to tear down or you’d be next, old man, she thought.

Despite the fact that this was a fruitless endeavor, she wasn’t ready to go back to the inn yet, wanted to spend these last moments with Derek, collect these last memories. She had to believe that somehow she would find the bowl tomorrow and make a run for it.

Perhaps it was time to do like Ryland always said she should and send up a prayer or two. It was certainly getting to the point of her not being able to handle the situation on her own. It was going to take a miracle to find the bowl.

“If you were going to hide something, where would you put it?” Derek asked.

Jess turned her head toward him. “What do you mean?”

“Where would you hide something?”

Leaning back against the stone wall of the alcove, Jess looked about the market area and considered the question.

Over 150 years ago, a desperate, loyal group had entered this town and decided where to hide something. If she’d been one of them, what would she have done?

“It would have to be somewhere that would last a long time,” Jess said.

Derek nodded. “At the time, the Holy Roman Empire was weakening, but Leopold the First’s hold of his family lands wasn’t. They’d know that, at best, it would be years before someone came to retrieve the bowl.”

“So somewhere that something could remain hidden for years, possibly even decades, through tragedy and weather and people and growth.” She nodded toward the scorch marks. “Not somewhere that could burn down.”

Derek nodded.

“It would have to be somewhere I knew I would be able to get back to,” Jess added, following the idea now. “I might bury it, but that’s risky. All it would take would be someone building on top of it to endanger your hiding spot.”

“I didn’t bring my shovel, so that’s good.”

Jess blinked and choked back a laugh. Had he just made a joke? She grinned as she continued musing. “If it might have to stay hidden beyond my generation, I’d avoid buildings. Whoever owns them later might renovate or ban you from the premises.”

“That takes out a lot of places, then.”

It didn’t leave much, that was sure. She dropped her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. Where would she hide something for an extended period of time?

When she opened her eyes again, all she could see was the top of the statue and the upper floors of a building across the street.

She picked her head up and looked at the statue again. Where would she hide something? She’d hide it somewhere that was too much trouble to tear down.

“Derek,” she said over the excitement building within her, “how large would the head be on a statue that size?”

“It depends. Some of the great Italian sculptors actually made the head and shoulders bigger so the statue would look proportionate from the ground.”

“Make a guess.”

Derek tilted his head and considered the statue before making a circle with his arms. “Probably about this big. Maybe a touch bigger.”

“That statue. When was it built?”

“That’s impossible to say from this angle. I’d have to look at the details and—”

“Old, though, right?”

“Based on the way the town has grown around it, I would say yes.”

These three shall be his crown.

It was the right size. It was the right shape. It was, possibly, the right age.

If she was wrong, this was going to be very embarrassing, but if she was right—and she really did think she was right—then Jess had found the bowl.