Christopher's mother and sister had been very happy to see her again, making Honoria feel even worse for deceiving them. Lord Heathcliffe, as always, had a faintly disapproving air when he deigned to speak to her.
Before she retired to her room for the evening, Lady Heathcliffe had pulled her aside and embraced her. "It has been too long, my dear girl. We must arrange to have both yourself and your mother to visit us for a few weeks."
Her lavender scent, the delicate crepe of her gown against Honoria's cheek, her gentle tone, all reminded Honoria of a time long past that she had forgotten. Her mother would enjoy a respite like this, a reminder of happier times. "Thank you, Lady Heathcliffe."
But the reminder of her mother brought up a fresh wave of doubt and guilt. Perhaps she should have taken advantage of Christopher's impulsive proposal in order to provide for her mother and enable her to escape her brother's cruelty. Would her mother not prefer Christopher's home over Mr. Criddle's?
Well, it was too late. She'd acted according to the burning in her heart, knowing she couldn't marry Christopher, out of all men, without love. If she confessed to her mother, she knew she would understand. And in the end, perhaps Honoria would have no need to marry Mr. Criddle or Christopher or anyone.
They left before dawn, Christopher driving one of his father's smaller coaches. With Sally up beside him on the box, Honoria was left to her own thoughts.
Christopher probably thought he was being polite and impersonal, but she saw the hurt and frustration seething beneath the surface of his manner. She responded with as few words as necessary and wondered if she would be proved wrong, and they would not remain friends after this was over.
And she prayed this would be over soon, with no one coming to harm and her greatest hopes realized. A treasure was the only thing that could save her and her mother.
They had travelled nearly halfway to Bath before they set Sally down at a respectable inn near where Sally's cousin lived.
"Since we departed so early from Heathcliff Manor," Christopher said, "I hope to push on until we arrive in Bath late tonight. Sally—" He stopped to guide them out of the way of a coach that had just entered the dusty inn yard. "Sally, you will not see us before this time tomorrow."
"Thank you, Sally," Honoria said. "Enjoy your visit with your cousin. She will not be upset that you arrive without warning?"
"Oh, no. And you need not be concerned, miss. I shall not speak of this to anyone."
"More than that, please do be careful."
"I will, miss."
There was a tense awkwardness as Christopher helped Honoria back into the coach for the remainder of the journey. She had never risked her reputation in this way, and yet this entire journey was extraordinary, chasing a slim chance for a means of escape from her uncle.
As good as his word, Christopher drove them into Bath late that night, and they procured rooms at a small coaching inn as "Mr. Clay" and his sister. The innkeeper gave them a curious look but said nothing, especially once he had seen Christopher's gold.
After a mostly silent breakfast the next morning in the inn's common room, surrounded by the few travelers waiting for the next stagecoach, they left to visit her great-aunt.
Aunt Elizabeth lived in a small but elegant set of rooms off of Gay Street, and they elected to walk, since the steepness of the streets in Bath would be difficult for his exhausted horses. Christopher was silent, and Honoria remained so, as well. She couldn't order her jumbled thoughts enough to know what she could say to him.
However, before they knocked on her aunt's front door, she asked, "What should we tell her about the box and the map?"
Christopher paused, then said, "I leave it to you to decide."
His voice was not cold, but it lacked the warmth it had held before their kiss. Still, his trust in her warmed her.
Honoria had last visited her aunt two years ago. Her uncle's home was not far from Bath, but it was difficult to persuade him to lend them the carriage and horses for a day trip. The butler who answered their knock was the same retainer who had served her aunt since Honoria was a child.
Except that Fellows looked decidedly more rumpled than normal, and dark lines had been etched under his eyes. And behind him stood Winarc, with a pistol pointed at the butler.
Honoria's entire body turned to stone. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe.
"Come in," Winarc grated, no inflection in his voice.
Her feet wouldn't respond until Christopher touched the small of her back. His hand was firm and reassuring. She stumbled forward through the door.
"I apologize, Miss Dunbar," Fellows said. His thin shoulders hunched even more than normal and his hair, still thick and white despite his age, was escaping his normally neat queue.
"Close the door." Winarc kept a distance between himself and the three of them, and she realized he was probably wary after Christopher had fought him before.
Fellows led the way up the stairs to the drawing room with Winarc behind them, still holding the pistol. At the landing, she felt Christopher's hand grasp hers and squeeze hard. She squeezed back.
He had vowed to protect her. She trusted him.
Honoria recognized the perfume smell before she entered the drawing room.
Aunt Elizabeth sat in her favourite chair, high-backed with a green and pink patterned cushion, situated next to the windows overlooking the gardens behind the house. She was partial to frilly caps, and the one she wore was trimmed with both lace and ribbons, tying beneath her rather weak chin. The same ribbons edged her shawl.
She was never an effusive person, but now her blue eyes had become ice chips, directed at the person sitting next to her.
Aubrey's mother, Aunt Dunbar.
It all fell into place. When they had walked into Merritton, they walked into her web like flies trapped by a spider. She had appeared so harmless, a deception she'd carried out perfectly.
"Hello, my dears." Aunt Dunbar's pleasant, slightly breathy voice seemed incongruous with the nasty glint in her eyes. "I was never more surprised to find that I had arrived here ahead of you."
"Don't give it to her," Aunt Elizabeth said in her too-loud voice.
Aunt Dunbar sighed and glanced behind them. Winarc moved to the other side of Christopher to stand slightly behind Aunt Elizabeth. He pointed the pistol at the elder woman. She turned to glare at him, but said no more.
"Were you always after the box?" Honoria demanded, her throat tight. "All these years?" Years of deceiving them all?
"Not precisely." Aunt Dunbar had a wide-eyed, innocent look. "I wanted what it represents, but I did not know about the box's importance until only this past winter. I believe there must have been a map inside, since you were looking at maps at Merritton."
"We found nothing," Christopher said.
"Of course not. It does not belong to the Dunbars." Her voice had taken on a hateful edge.
"But you are a Dunbar. Your son is a Dunbar," Honoria said.
"I married a Dunbar. There is a difference, dear. And you already know what a complete fool Aubrey is, forcing you to leave Merritton the other day when I wanted you to stay. Although perhaps it was for the better." She tapped a finger to her chin. "For then I would have only acquired the box, not the map. If you please." She held out her hand.
"What does it point to?" Christopher asked.
"You won't need to know, dear boy."
"Then I won't surrender it to you." He folded his arms.
Aunt Dunbar's eyes flickered with annoyance. "Winarc—"
"You are welcome to put a bullet in me," Christopher said to Winarc, who stood near him.
Wary of Christopher's belligerence, Winarc took a step back so that he had a clearer shot of both Christopher and Aunt Elizabeth.
"But if you kill me, you'll never find it," Christopher continued. "Where do you think Honoria's maid is?"
"Dear boy, don't be tiresome," Aunt Dunbar said. "Winarc will simply put a bullet in Aunt Elizabeth."
Honoria was reminded of the last time she'd been on this end of Winarc's pistol. She took in Aunt Elizabeth's fierce expression, the mulish cast to Christopher's face. And she made her decision.
"Christopher," Honoria said. "Do you remember my promise to you? Now I want you to make the same promise to me."
Aunt Dunbar's eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?"
"Honoria, don't." His eyes blazed at her.
"Aunt, I will give you the map." Honoria hoped she had a believable amount of despair in her voice. "Please do not hurt us."
"Dear girl, I would never do such a thing." Aunt Dunbar's smile was soft and sweet. "Winarc is here simply to persuade you."
"Honoria," Christopher said.
She shot him a look full of meaning, then rushed to her elderly aunt's side, embracing her. "It will all be well, Aunt Elizabeth."
Honoria had deliberately placed her body between Aunt Elizabeth and Winarc's pistol.
Without moving her position, Honoria held out her reticule to Aunt Dunbar. She had no need to pretend the shaking of her hands, but she carefully planned when her bag dropped to the floor as though she had fumbled it.
She curled her body around her aunt at the moment Christopher moved against Winarc.
The gun fired, the sound deafening in the low-ceilinged room. Honoria jerked, but kept herself wrapped around her aunt as the struggles of the two men sounded behind her.
Lord God, I pray Christopher is not harmed.
But somehow she could not keep to her feet. Her legs buckled, and she began crumpling to the floor, no matter how she tried to straighten them and remain upright. Her body had become immensely heavy, and as she fell, Aunt Elizabeth's arms were about her.
"Dear child, remain still." Aunt Elizabeth's eyes were so very blue as they swam in her vision.
Then she was lying on the floor, with the white ceiling spinning around her. And she became aware of a white-hot—no, a fiery-red pain in her shoulder, a pain more fierce than any she had felt before. The pain was so furious that she could hardly breathe, and each small gasp made the pain throb more.
And then there was blackness, and she felt no more pain.
Chapter 10
Honoria was aware of voices—Christopher's mostly, quick and urgent, then pleading as he called her name. She drifted on a sea of blackness, and then gasped as more pain lanced through her drifting. She wanted to cry out, but she could not. The pain seemed to go on forever. Then it was gone.
She was hot. She felt as though dozens of hands pulled at her, and she pushed them away. Then a sharp pain in shoulder would make her stop fighting for a little while as she lay there, waiting for the throbbing to ease rather than pounding in her head.
When next she opened her eyes, they felt as though covered with cobwebs. She blinked weakly. A light pierced her vision, but the discomfort slowly faded.
The room was dark, lighted only by a candle near the bed. It was not a room she recognized, and yet it felt—it smelled—familiar. There was movement next to her bed, and then the candlelight fell upon Christopher's face.
She was shocked by the deep lines along his cheeks, the dark colour beneath his eyes. He cupped her face in his hand. "How do you feel?" His voice was hoarse.
"As if a cow sat on me."
He gave a snort of laughter, rather unwillingly. "No, not quite."
"I was … I was shot." Her memories were hazy. "I didn't even realize it until I fell."
"My brave girl." And then the light was blocked out as he kissed her. His lips were soft, and warm, and the kiss was too short.
She tried to draw up her arm to reach for him, struggling against the heavy bedclothes, but it caused sharp agony to radiate from her injured shoulder like a sunburst of iron barbs. "Oh," she gasped. "That's inconvenient."
He gave her an exasperated look. "It will be inconvenient for quite a while." He sat back in his chair.
"Aunt Elizabeth?"
"Unharmed, thanks to you."
"Thanks to you. I take it you beat that disagreeable man until he lost all he teeth?"
"Honoria, I had no idea you were so bloodthirsty."
"My injury has brought out a very violent side of me." She grunted as she tried to adjust her position. Then she realized his position. "It is very improper for you to be in my bedchamber."
"A maid was watching over you, but I slipped her a crown to exchange places with her."
"An entire crown? You are extravagant. That does not make it less improper, Christopher."
"Honoria, you nearly died." He reached out and ran his finger down her temple, her cheek, lightly caressing her lips. "I could not stay away."
"I suppose I do not disapprove of your presence."
He smiled and drew his hand away. "Would you like to know what happened?"
"I may have a mild curiosity."
"Well then, I could tell you another time …" He half-rose from his chair.
"Oh, do sit and tell me before I expire from impatience."
"Your murderous aunt is as stubborn as the rest of you Dunbars," he said, reseating himself, "for she was remarkably tight-lipped about everything. But she did let slip that she believes there is a treasure."
"But if the box pointed to a treasure, she could have found a way to take it from Stephen at any time after she married my uncle."
"Winarc has been much more forthcoming. He says that your aunt didn't know the connection between the box and the treasure until last winter, when she hired him. She apparently found some old will that mentioned the box and guessed it contained something to do with the treasure, but Winarc isn't clear on that. She remembered Stephen had the box, so she sent Winarc to search your uncle's house for it, but it was not there. Did you know that Stephen had lent it to the rector's son a few weeks before he died?"
"No, although it does not surprise me. He always was kind to Timmy, since he was so small and often picked upon."
"Jem Rauser stole the box from Timmy and kept it for the past seven years. He was unwilling to part with it whilst he could not open it. When Winarc stole it from him, Jem gave chase. His home is near the border of the village and my father's stables, where Winarc hid. Winarc killed him with the knife Jem carried—which Jem had stolen from Heathcliffe Manor a few weeks earlier."
"So the murder did not involve you at all."
"It brought the box, which had fallen into the straw, into my hands. So perhaps …" His eyes slid away. "Perhaps the hand of God has been involved in this business, after all."
She smiled at his confession. "I will not tease you."
He returned her smile.
"Aunt Dunbar might have done far worse if we had found the treasure at Merritton and she had managed to keep us there," she said. "How fortunate Aubrey blundered in and ordered us to leave."
"Aubrey had overheard us speaking about your great-aunt, and after Mrs. Dunbar received the box from Winarc and realized it held nothing, she came here to relieve us of whatever we took from inside it. After Winarc's pistol fired, I knocked him down and …"
"I was bleeding on Aunt Elizabeth's Aubusson carpet."
He grimaced. "You must promise me that you will not ever be shot again."
"But it was so amusing this time 'round." She laughed, and her shoulder hurt, and she winced. "Well, perhaps not. Did Winarc know anything about the treasure?"
"No, unfortunately. I spoke to your great-aunt, but all she knew about a Dunbar family treasure were the same tales about a privateer ancestor. So I asked her about the brooch. It was from the Sugues family, passed down from mother to eldest daughter. When Miss Sugues came to Merritton to care for your Aunt Elizabeth and her siblings, she gave the brooch to your aunt, since she had no children of her own."
"The box, also?"
"No, the box had already been in the Dunbar family. I asked how the box and brooch, from two different families, had the same flower symbol, and your aunt mentioned that Miss Sugues was a distant cousin of the Dunbar family."
"Not quite," he said. "Your aunt didn't know the origins of the box, but I showed her the map. She recognized the landmarks."
Honoria inhaled, but it made her shoulder hurt. "Where? How did she know?"
"She remembered the forest and the river in the map as they had been before they were improved by my great-grandfather."
"Your …? That means …"
"Yes." Christopher's smile was blinding. "The map points to a place on Creager land, near the border of Merritton."
Chapter 11
The late autumn season was driving the cold into the wind, and Christopher buried deeper into his greatcoat as he, Honoria, and his sister crossed the front lawn of Heathcliffe estate toward the ancient forest.
"I had thought the treasure must be buried in the old well," Honoria said.
"I did not think it would be so obvious," he said.
"And yet you were not the one who spent days matching the landmarks on the treasure map to determine what was the obscured portion," Felicity accused him.
"I had hardly time to spare to search through all those mouldy old maps of Heathcliffe," Christopher grumbled. "I had to arrange for Winarc to be transported."
It had been a condition of Winarc's pardon, for cooperating with them. Christopher had been able to breathe a sigh of relief when Winarc's ship to Australia set sail last week.
Felicity led the way toward the clearing. "You two are too slow. I don't want to miss anything."
"The servants have barely begun to dig," Christopher protested. In fact, the men were weary, having dug numerous holes in the past fortnight as Christopher and Honoria tried to guess where the treasure could be buried.
Felicity halted with her hands on her hips. "You didn't listen to a thing I said last night."
"I listened," he insisted.
She lifted her eyebrows at him.
"To most of it," he added.
Honoria rescued him. "In discovering yet older maps of the estate, your sister determined that the treasure map is less than one hundred and fifty years old, but the forest is far older."
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