At first, her mind could not grasp that he was here in her house. It was so bizarre that she could only blink at him. Mr. Golding stepped into the study and shut the door. “And before you think of calling for the servants, your sister will die if I do not deliver you within fifteen minutes.”
She gasped, trying to pull air into her lungs. She gripped the edge of the desk.
He said in a bored voice, “I do hope you will not faint. Your sister’s life is still forfeit.”
She had to regain control of herself. She took in one breath. Then another. “I will come with you.”
“You will come now,” Mr. Golding said in a flat voice. “You will leave no messages for anyone.”
Surely they would be seen by a servant as they left the house. Alethea nodded in acquiescence, but then under cover of gathering her skirts, she reached into her pocket and grasped the reed pipe. She slipped it onto the map with a flick of her hand and walked around the desk toward Mr. Golding.
He had not noticed her movements. “Come, milady.” He grasped her arm and opened the study door.
“How did you get into my house?” she asked.
“It was quite easy while the servants were eating.”
“That was half an hour ago.”
“I had to wait for you to be alone, naturally, so I hid in the coat room. I thought I would have to wait longer.”
She looked about. Where were the servants? They were nearing the side door that opened into the park, and she had not seen anyone.
He smiled. “A few burning rags tossed into the kitchen garden creates a marvelous diversion.”
“How did you accomplish that while in the coat room?”
“There are always local boys to be bought for pranks such as that. They only need a signal from a window to be set in motion. I would quicken my step, if I were you, milady. That fire is also a sign to my associate. If I do not deliver you, your sister dies.”
Her stomach clenched. His cleverness appalled her. “What do you want with me? Don’t you want my violin? The music room is that direction.”
“We know your violin is in the music room for you’ve played it there, but we also know the one on the table is not the true instrument. That being the case, we know the music room is somehow being watched. So, for now, you and I shall simply walk out of your house.”
Dear Lord . . . please help Bayard find us in time.
Bayard knocked on the door to the home outside of Chippenham, burrowing in his greatcoat and hat.
“You picked a fine day to visit,” Ian remarked, also shivering in his outer garments.
“I cannot waste time,” Bayard said. “I wrote to Doctor Meredith weeks ago about Lady Fairmont’s Italian connections, and I received his response only today. If I write again, I may need to wait another month.” In addition to his parish duties, the reverend had become well known for his study of the family branches of the peerage.
The housekeeper let them in out of the biting wind. After giving her their cards, they were ushered into a large library stuffed with books. Bookcases lined the walls, but others stood perpendicular from the walls, forming alcoves and leaving only a space in the centre of the room for a long table reminiscent of the ones he remembered from university.
Doctor Meredith stepped forward to greet them, skirting stacks of books on the floor. “Lord Dommick, this is an unexpected pleasure.”
“I hope you will excuse the intrusion, but the information I require has an urgent nature.”
“That is distressing. I hope I may be of assistance.” Doctor Meredith gestured to the table, half hidden by the books and papers scattered atop it. He cleared a space by sweeping his arm across the surface and shoving his books aside. “My housekeeper will bring tea presently. Pray, be seated.”
“I had written to you about Lady Fairmont’s Italian relations, but I have since discovered that she is related to the Count of Inizinesso.”
“Have you now? I must write that down.” Doctor Meredith rummaged among the papers and discovered a pencil and a piece of foolscap. “How is he related to her?”
“Er . . . her mother’s uncle, I believe. Doctor Meredith, I am now interested in any relations of the Count of Sondrono whom you may know about.”
Doctor Meredith studied the haphazard piles of paper and decided to stick the foolscap between the pages of a large blue book. “Sondrono, you say? While I have done extensive research into our English noble families, my records of their foreign connections are incomplete.” He went to the far end of the table, rummaging about until he found a stack of papers. He returned and paged through the stack. “Sondrono hails from which region of Italy?”
“North, in the Alps.”
“Ah, that narrows the field.” Doctor Meredith finally found several pages that he removed. “I have only one small reference to Sondrono, I am afraid.”
Bayard saw the short line:
Giovanni Accatino, great-grandson of the Count of Sondrono, and his family to London, 1715.
Bayard’s hopes began to rise. “Have you information on this man’s family in England?”
“Of course.” Doctor Meredith disappeared behind a bookcase and returned with three books. He opened one to a page and pointed to a reference. “According to this, his daughter married Sir John Mande in 1720.”
Doctor Meredith flipped through another book and pointed to a second reference. “Sir John and Lady Mande had one boy, James, born 1721. He married Miss Catherine Beggston, eldest daughter of Baron Venerton, in 1740. They had two daughters, Elizabeth in 1745 and Louisa in 1750. The eldest died unmarried in 1767. The younger married Viscount Grimslow in 1770.”
Cold shocked through Bayard. “Grimslow?”
Doctor Meredith was becoming quite excited, as though embarking upon a treasure hunt. He opened another volume. “Viscount Grimslow has three children: William born in 1775, Grace in 1777, and Charity in 1778.”
A frantic knock at the library door brought the housekeeper looking aggrieved. “I’m sure I don’t know what the world is coming to, but they insisted upon seeing you at once, sir.”
Bayard and Ian rose as Ord and Mr. Collum appeared in the doorway, both breathing hard and wearing the mud of the road on their coats. Ord said in a rush, “I’m sorry to interrupt you, my lord, but in the village, Mr. Collum here has seen—”
“Kinnier,” Bayard interrupted. “You’ve seen Mr. Kinnier.”
“Kinnier is related to Count Sondrono.” Bayard turned to Ian. “I should have trusted your instincts. You have never liked him.”
“But when he appeared in Bath, I had no idea he was connected to the violin.”
“Ord, you were following Mr. Collum?” Bayard said.
“Although I am a stranger to you, I demand to know why you suspected me,” Mr. Collum said in a tight voice.
“I visited Mrs. Boane, and there was some discrepancy in your employment . . . What is so amusing?”
Mr. Collum made a valiant effort to wipe the smile from his face and failed. “Mrs. Boane is my aunt. She wrote a reference for me for my first employer in Bath. I assume you spoke to Mr. Keable? He was my father’s butler before he went to work for my aunt.”
Bayard felt foolish.
“You did not speak to your wife about me?” Mr. Collum asked.
“I did not wish to upset her by confessing I suspected her sister’s betrothed.”
“I suppose I could understand that,” Mr. Collum admitted.
Ord said, “I was watching Mr. Collum at the inn where he is staying when we both saw Mr. Kinnier arrive at the inn yard and speak to Mr. Golding.”
“I recognized Mr. Kinnier,” Mr. Collum said. “I did not realize Ord was following me, or I would have suggested we split up.”
“I wouldn’t have agreed,” Ord shot back.
“Regardless, I chose to follow Mr. Kinnier as the better choice, but in the woods, he attacked me,” Mr. Collum said.
“I was too far behind Mr. Collum to catch up to Mr. Kinnier when he ran,” Ord said. “I lost him in the woods.”
“I suppose I should be grateful you came back to help me,” Mr. Collum said dryly.
“You only got a wee bump in the head,” Ord said. “My lord, we went to Terralton Abbey and informed Lord Ravenhurst, who told us your direction. We followed you as soon as could be.”
“Let us be off. My thanks, Doctor Meredith.”
“I shall continue to unearth details and write my findings to you.” Doctor Meredith clapped his hands like a child and surveyed his books. “How exciting this all is.”
The drive back to Terralton Abbey was a mere twenty-five minutes, but it took far longer than Bayard could withstand. Alethea would not wander afield alone, but what if she were accosted while in the shrubbery or the park?
When they were home, Bayard flung himself from the carriage before it had stopped moving. “Saddle horses for us,” he ordered the groom and bounded up the stairs to the front door.
His neck tightened when Raven opened the door before he could reach it. “Alethea is gone.”
“What?” Bayard stumbled on the last step.
“As soon as Ord spoke to me, I searched for her. She was not in the house so I had the servants search the grounds, but they found nothing. However, her cloak is still here. She may have been taken against her will.”
Bayard shook his head. He could not contemplate the possibilities. “She took a shawl or a pelisse to walk in the shrubbery . . .”
“I spoke to her maid, who confirmed they are all still in her wardrobe. Lucy is also missing.”
“Who saw her last?” Bayard strode with quick steps to his study, where he kept maps of the estate.
“Forrow said that Mrs. Coon visited her for a short while. I sent a servant to the rectory, but Mrs. Coon had just left to visit a sick parishioner and the maid did not know to whom she went nor why she visited Lady Alethea.”
Bayard found his thoughts clarifying, his mind focusing. His breathing became hard and even. He needed all his faculties to find her, to find Kinnier. Alethea, Lucy, Mr. Golding, Kinnier. One of them would lead him to all.
On any other day, he wouldn’t have noticed his study door standing partly open.
“What is it?” Raven asked.
“I did not leave the door open.” He entered the study warily, but it was empty. Bayard’s eyes swept the room as he strode to the desk . . . and froze.
A map already lay spread out. It was a well-used map, with markings from over the years, but there was a fresh ink mark over a corner of the woods. And in the centre of the map, as though carelessly tossed, was a reed pipe.
He knew it was Alethea’s. His pipe was upstairs on his shaving stand.
“Get Forrow,” Bayard barked. “Did anyone see Alethea in my study?”
Ian slipped out of the room.
“Ord, where did you see Kinnier?”
His servant studied the map and pointed to a spot perhaps three quarters of a mile from the inked X. “He was heading in that direction, all right,” Ord said, nodding to the X.
“That’s the old gamekeeper’s hut,” Raven said. “Your father whipped us for playing there because it was too dangerous.”
“Those men’ll be prepared,” Ord said.
“I shall speak to my gamekeeper,” Bayard said. “If anyone asks, we shall be gentlemen in the woods, doing a little shooting.”
The hut was completely still, no light and no sound. Bayard approached slowly, watching for movement, careful not to step on twigs or rustle the undergrowth. Shadowed by the trees, the air was damp and stinging with cold, but the weather had made the leaves wet and silent. In the dimness he could see footsteps around the front door.
Then a sound whispered on the wind, a feminine . . . grunt. “Blast it!”
“Lucy!” Mr. Collum rushed forward.
“Wait!” Bayard said. They did not know if she was alone.
But it was too late. Collum had pushed open the wooden door and entered the hut. Bayard followed.
Collum knelt on the dirt floor, his arms around a small figure. The hands clasping his back were unnaturally white, the fingers curled and shivering violently. When Collum released her to take off his coat, Bayard saw that it was Lucy.
Her hair tumbled around her face, and dirt streaked her forehead. There was also a bruise at her lower jaw that made Bayard’s jaw harden. She had no cloak, only her dark dress. Collum swept his greatcoat around her and she clasped it to her.
Bayard knelt before her. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head, and her teeth chattered. “You must find Alethea.”
“Where is she? Where is Kinnier?”
“Why did they take you?” Collum said.
“To ensure Alethea would come willingly,” she stuttered. “Mr. Golding stole her from the house and brought her here, but when she saw me, she threw her arms around me. They had tied my hands behind my back.” She showed her wrists, which had the deep red and purple marks of a rope. “They pulled her away from me, but not before Alethea slipped a penknife into my hand.”
Bayard took the knife from Lucy. It was his, the one he had lent to Alethea that day at the stream.
“Mr. Kinnier arrived soon after, and they left me alone.”
“Which direction did they go?”
She nodded to her right. “They left in that direction. They were already several yards away, and I think they believed I couldn’t hear them. One complained of the cold and wanted to go back to the inn, but Mr. Kinnier said he needed both men as sentries. He said, ‘Two sides are clear fields, but there is forested area to the north and west, and I need you both to be in place to ensure Dommick comes alone.’ ”
“That’s the cemetery, milord.” His gamekeeper shouldered his hunting rifle. “Poachers like that forested area since it’s thickest.”
Bayard rose. “Collum, take her to the house.” He hesitated, then said, “And would you speak to my butler? Have him gather the footmen and watch over my family.”
Collum nodded. “I shall ensure they are kept safe.”
“Thank you.”
The rest of them hurried out, heading to the cemetery. It was possible that Kinnier was not expecting them so soon and that they could ambush them.
Bayard prayed they were not too late.
Alethea sat upon the wooden bench and shivered so violently that she made the uneven legs rock against the ground. The rickety seat was marginally warmer than the stone bench where Kinnier sat.
He regarded her with cold, impassive eyes. “I suppose a gentleman would offer his greatcoat,” he said.
“Then it is fortunate you are no gentleman,” she snapped. She had refused to ask him for covering against the cold, and even should he offer it, she would fling it in his face. She did not want the scent of his skin, perfumed with an under-thread of rotting wood, upon her body, surrounding her.
He sighed as if bored and looked away, fingering the pistol in his lap. He had one shot in that gun. She had no wish to die, but she had no wish for that shot to kill Bayard. If the gun discharged, someone nearby may hear and discover them, ruining Kinnier’s plans to entrap Bayard. Kinnier was far enough away from her that even if he fired upon her, she may be able to dodge the bullet. She simply had to make him fire.
“The servants will know I am missing,” she said. “You should release me and escape while you have time.”
Mr. Kinnier gave a short laugh. “My dear woman, no one will notice you are gone. No one cares.”
The words burrowed easily into her, for the cold had made her weak and her fear had cut holes in her armor. She had been lonely for so long, the feeling of isolation came to her like a familiar friend, whispering words that made her colder than the winter wind could chill her body. Bayard did not love her. She did not know if he could ever love her. She curled in on herself, not for warmth, but to assuage the pain in her heart.
And then a small voice spoke words that were not words. She heard the bubbling of the stream, smelled the ferns and the damp earth, felt peace settle about her like a blanket.
Yea, I have loved thee with an everlasting love.
The remembered Bible verse was like fire to the ice around her heart.
The Lord thy God in the midst of thee is mighty.
She was not alone.
God loved her.
God would take care of her.
She straightened in her seat. “If truly no one cares for me, then Lord Dommick is hardly likely to respond to your ransom note and bring my violin to exchange.”
“Oh, he will. I have insulted his honour, and he will want to challenge me to regain it. Just as he has insulted my honour.”
What honour? “What has he done to you?”
“What has he not done? Because of the accolades heaped upon his mediocre talent, the gods have cursed me with this creative desert.”
Only now did she realize Kinnier had the melancholy, tempestuous attitude of Poseidon, god of the sea—quick-tempered, passionate, but volatile. It had probably stood him in good stead when he was happy and producing music, but now, in the depths of his frustration, he had lost his muse and was desperate to tempt her to return. “Do you believe the violin will restore all this to you? It will not.”
“What do you know of it?” he flung at her. “There is power in that instrument you could never comprehend, much less harness.”
“How would you know?”
“I know all about that violin, a gift from the countess to her beloved husband. He played it when he missed her, after her death. That violin has been imbued with all his emotional power.”
Or all his sorrow. “You are placing too much significance to an inanimate object.”
“Be silent!” His sudden outburst made her start, but he immediately reverted back to his calm, impassive self.
She had poked a stick at the beast and had not enjoyed its reaction. And yet she must poke him more, induce him to do something unplanned. “How did you know I had the violin?”
“Your Lady Arkright made my life a living hell,” he said. “I could not discern her married name no matter how I tried to trace her when she left Italy. It was by pure chance I came across the inquiry made by your cousin, Lord Trittonstone, when he inherited. He wanted to know what Lady Arkright had bequeathed to you, and the violin was described and deemed not very valuable.”
“She could hardly know you were trying to steal it,” Alethea said.
“It belongs to my family. If Sondrono had not sold the land where the wood was grown and the new owner cut down all the trees . . . if his idiot heir had not sold the violin to a peddler after Sondrono died . . .”
So that was why Stradivari had never produced another violin with the same wood.
“You should have simply sold it to Mr. Golding.” Mr. Kinnier nodded toward the tree line, behind which the solicitor sat huddled in the cold, keeping watch for Bayard to respond to the ransom note being delivered by the cadaverous man at this moment.
“He was not persuasive,” Alethea said. “He simply made me curious to know why the violin was so coveted.”
“If Dommick had not made those inquiries about the violin, and if people had not begun talking about it, none of this would have been necessary,” Kinnier said.
“Or if your men had not botched the kidnapping at the concert. You really must hire better minions.”
His face grew hard at her dig, but he did not explode at her again.
“You are too heavy-handed,” she continued in a conversational tone. “You cause people to be desperate, and so they resort to desperate measures.”
“Such as your marriage to Dommick?”
“I am surprised you did not sign a betrothal agreement with Wilfred sooner than you did.”
He gave her a nasty smile. “I had wanted to explore other avenues before resorting to such a desperate measure.”
She supposed she deserved that.
“In the end, it doesn’t matter. If I had married you, you would be equally as dead.” His face was frighteningly calm.
“Bayard will not bring the violin, and in the end, you will have killed us both for nothing,” she said. She fought the panic rising in her. Too much time had passed. She needed to induce him to do something before Bayard received that note and arrived with the violin.
And died.
No, she had to trust God to take care of them both.
And at that moment, she saw him.
“No,” she moaned.
Bayard approached the cemetery wall from the road. He opened the gate and entered, walking slowly. He carried her violin case.
“I received your note. However, Mr. Collum took exception to the blow your grey man delivered to Miss Purcell, so they have detained the man at the abbey.”
“She was putting up too much of a fuss,” Mr. Kinnier said in a conversational tone. “I am impressed you found her before she froze to death.”
“I have brought your violin.” Bayard held the case aloft.
In a flash, Kinnier was at Alethea’s side and had yanked her to her feet. The cold had numbed her limbs so that she could not feel her toes, and she wobbled.
Kinnier pressed the gun to Alethea’s side. “I require all your compatriots to reveal themselves.”
Bayard had stiffened, and his eyes were fierce upon the pistol. His gaze darted to the forest beyond them.
Lord Ian and Lord Ravenhurst slowly walked from the trees. They held their shooting rifles, but kept them pointed to the ground. Their eyes were equally wary as they moved to stand beside Bayard.
“Your servant as well,” Kinnier said. “Did you think I would forget him?”
The bushes rustled, and Ord appeared. He also held a gun, but it was aimed at Mr. Golding, whose V-shaped mouth was a flat line. Ord prodded him with the tip of the rifle, and Mr. Golding stumbled forward.
“Let Alethea go,” Bayard said.
Kinnier gave a bark of laughter. “Are you really that stupid? Put the case on the ground and open it, facing me.”
Bayard was only a few yards away, so Alethea saw the violin when the case lid was removed. It looked like hers and not the fake.
“Play it,” Kinnier said.
Bayard hesitated.
“Play it or I shoot her.” He shoved the pistol hard into her ribs.
She hissed, not from the pain but from the nervousness of his casual handling of the gun. She hoped it did not have a hair trigger.
Bayard removed the violin and lifted it to his shoulder. He looked directly at her with serious eyes, as though trying to tell her something, but she did not know what. And then he began to play.
It was her violin. The tone echoed through the cemetery with low, deep notes that seemed to make the tree roots rumble in the depths of the ground. The song captured all the chill of winter, the dead of the leaves, the bite of the frost. It was melancholy reverence for the harshness of nature and the end of life.
She felt rather than heard Kinnier’s sigh as Bayard finished playing. “You defile it by playing it,” he hissed to Bayard.
“Let her go.”
“Put the violin in the case and close it. Leave it on the ground, then back away.”
Bayard complied.
“All of you back away.” Kinnier punctuated with another jab in Alethea’s ribs with the pistol.
They moved slowly, every line of their bodies rigid except for Mr. Golding, prodded by Ord, who shuffled along with resentment burning from his eyes.
Kinnier did not seem to care that Mr. Golding was held at gunpoint. “Pick it up,” he told her.
She clasped the violin case to her, but nearly lost her grip when he grabbed her upper arm and thrust her forward. “Walk. Dommick, we will leave you now. If you so much as sneeze, I shall shoot her.”
He kept the pistol pressed to her, his other arm around her. They moved away from Bayard, whose entire body was rigid.
Because Kinnier had her so close to himself, she clearly felt when his hand reached for a second pistol in his coat pocket. As he drew it out, he twisted to take Bayard in his sights.
“No!” Alethea swung the edge of the violin case at him.
The deafening reports of the two pistols fired almost simultaneously, punctuated by splintering wood and a blinding pain in her side. She gasped and fell, her head ringing. She saw Bayard clutching his arm. Blood was smeared across his fingers.
Then a third shot rang out from the trees and Kinnier jerked. Lying on the ground, Alethea felt the thud as both his pistols fell to earth.
With a roar, Bayard launched himself at Kinnier.
The two men flew away from her in a tangle of greatcoats. They both rolled, grass and mud clinging to them, and blood smeared from their wounds. Kinnier was on his feet first and he aimed a kick at Bayard’s head, but Bayard jerked aside and sent a sharp jab at the man’s torso. Kinnier grunted and went down on one knee.
Bayard followed with a second blow to the jaw, and Kinnier arced back to land on the ground.
The rage in Bayard’s face was primal. He got to his feet to attack Kinnier again, but Lord Ian locked Bayard’s arms in his own.
“Let me go!” Bayard roared.
Lord Ravenhurst had landed on Kinnier and flipped him over onto his stomach. He tore his cravat from his throat and began binding Kinnier’s hands. The man was still dazed from the blow Bayard had delivered.
From behind the trees, a man with a smoking hunting rifle emerged, and Alethea recognized Bayard’s gamekeeper.
And then Bayard was beside her, holding her close. She could feel the slamming of his heart.
“I am well,” she said.
“You are not.” He looked at her side.
She could see that the bullet had gouged a furrow in her skin, but it was not deep. “A flesh wound,” she said.
He crushed her against him again. “I thought I had lost you.” His voice was ragged against her throat.
“I thought he would kill you,” she whispered.
And then his mouth was on hers and he was kissing her fiercely, frantically, over and over again. He kissed her cheeks and eyes and jaw and neck and then her mouth again, each kiss hard with relief.
And then he pulled back only long enough to say, “I love you.”
The pain in her side was washed away by the elation that flooded her. “I love you,” she said as he kissed her again.
They were interrupted at last by Lord Ian. “You two are highly improper, and bloody messes to boot. Shall we adjourn to the abbey? I am in dire need of a hot toddy.”
Bayard wrapped his greatcoat around her, and she breathed deep of oak, lime, and warm musk. He kept her close to his side as they turned their steps toward the abbey.
Toward home.