by Sawyer North
The local woman peered in the five o’clock direction. “The great mount of Helvellyn and the long lake Thirlmere, and naught else but Grasmere until Ambleside.”
“Grasmere and Ambleside? Towns, I presume?”
“The former barely a village, the latter a proper town.”
“I see. And how far is Ambleside?”
“A fair piece. Fifteen miles or so.”
Adam expelled a breath. “Yet another hard day’s walk. Given that we are past midday, not something I’d like to venture just yet. We would finish in darkness for sure.”
“I agree,” said Jane. She motioned to a cluster of buildings perhaps two miles distant below the hillock. “Is that Keswick just there, Mrs. Morgan?”
“It is.”
Adam retrieved his wallet and rifled through the contents. “We can afford an inn, provided it is not terribly expensive. Do you know of such accommodations?”
“There is an inn at Keswick.”
“Wonderful. Now…”
“However,” Mrs. Morgan interrupted, “The inn is most unfortunately closed at this time. Seems the innkeeper’s infidelity with an alderman’s wife required a rapid retreat to parts unknown.”
“Bother again.”
Mrs. Morgan frowned. “I’d offer my place, buts it’s barely big enough for a body to turn around inside. But the weather has taken a turn for the better, and I do have blankets to loan ye. Properly swaddled, a night on the commons might not prove too terribly uncomfortable.”
Before anyone could comment on Mrs. Morgan’s offer, an idea erupted in Jane. “What if we slept here?”
Adam peered at her as if she’d lost her wits. “Here? Outside? In the circle?”
She nodded vigorously as the notion took deeper hold. “Yes. We can resupply in Keswick and return here by nightfall with Mrs. Morgan’s blankets. We can leave them for her here if she agrees. Sleeping in the circle would protect our budget and place us two miles nearer to Ambleside.”
Aunt Hester placed a hand on her arm. “Would that be safe, dear?”
“I believe so, Auntie. This was hallowed ground for our distant ancestors. They will protect us. We will be quite safe.”
Adam frowned dramatically. “I did not take you for one to believe in druids’ tales.”
“You might be surprised what I believe.”
His frown faded into a grin. “Why not? Perhaps we will commune with faeries after all.” He addressed Mrs. Morgan. “This place is safe, is it not?”
She nodded uncertainly. “I imagine so.” Then she smiled broadly and nodded. “If ye are set upon by brigands and murdered, I vow to ensure ye receive a proper Christian burial.”
Jane gasped in alarm. “Do such things happen here?”
“Proper Christian burials?”
“No. Murders by brigands.”
“Do not worry,” said Mrs. Morgan. “Such things almost never happen here.”
“Almost? Almost never?”
Adam touched the top of Jane’s wrist lightly, startling her. She stared at the three fingers resting there. Her gaze traveled up his arm to his face to find him beaming reassurance.
“Our ancestors will protect us, Jane. If not, then I am certain your ferocity is more than equal to the task of dispatching brigands.”
Her anxiety faded until she chuckled lightly. “Very well. I vow to protect you, if the worst comes to pass. You may hide behind my skirt.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Night fell in rural Cumberland with a whisper, plunging into blackness the great peaks surrounding the stone circle. Adam recited the names of the heights, which he had learned from Mrs. Morgan before bidding her farewell in Keswick.
“Blencathra. Skiddaw. Grasmoor. Helvellyn.”
They rimmed the sacred valley in a stone circle laid down by a higher power, not by men. Bundled in a pair of Mrs. Morgan’s wool blankets, he lay on his back in the grass alongside Barlow in hushed conversation and watched the larger sentinels dissolve into the night, still present but no longer obvious. By the time the peaks vanished, Barlow had lapsed into silence. From across the circle, the sleepy voices of Jane and Hester drifted on the still air, snatches of conversation, isolated phrases, and an occasional giggle. His worry over their physical discomfort faded. Despite the poor weather, or perhaps because of it, the wild grass proved plush and comfortable, a bed fit for a faerie queen. Tethered to one stone, the horse apparently approved of the turf as evidenced by his muffled munching.
Adam shifted his focus from the darkened horizon to the panoply of stars emerging above. One by one, then tens by tens, they leaped into view until spraying the night sky from end to end. A shooting star caught his attention, and he followed it until it winked from existence, another Icarus lost to time.
The warmth of the blankets, the luxury of the grass, the box seat inside the theater of creation—all these conspired to settle upon him an abiding peace he had not felt since childhood. A deep sigh welled up within him.
“The majesty of it!” he whispered.
Lost in the moment, he considered the concerns that had laid heavily upon him for ten years and more. The estate. The family wealth. His reputation. His responsibility to carry the mantle. The war against the Hancocks. These burdens had been cast upon him when he was barely more than a child, and he had carried them without question or complaint despite how they had bled his spirit dry, drop by excruciating drop. In this magical place, however, perspective shifted beneath him as if a great hibernating bear tossed restlessly in its sleep. Those soul-crushing burdens seemed suddenly diminished; the well of his spirit seemed abruptly less dry. With some surprise, he entertained a startling new notion—that he could surrender his privilege for a lifetime of moments like this one.
He tore his gaze from the diamond-encrusted skies and rolled to face the far side of the circle where Jane lay. Her conversation with Hester had ceased, possibly signifying that one or both had drifted into slumber. While peering into the darkness that held her, it occurred to him that much of his newfound peace was a direct result of her presence. However, his pride and duty rose up swiftly to shatter that peace. Agreeing to marry Miss Rutley in order to save his land and social standing was necessary and had seemed tolerable at the time. That decision had taken a wicked turn, one that twisted him into knots of guilt. The affinity blooming between Jane and him was doomed to wilt on the vine. Regardless of the outcome of the search, he could not reasonably maintain contact with her. Whether or not she was in debtor’s prison, he would occupy a jail of another kind—one built by his prideful ambition and locked tight by a poison promise.
“What bothers you, Adam?”
The question from Barlow caught him by surprise. He had assumed the solicitor to be sleeping. Moreover, the tone of the query and use of his Christian name marked a depth of concern that invited candor. He rolled to face Barlow.
“Why do you suppose anything is bothering me?” He kept his voice barely above a whisper, not wishing for Jane to overhear. Barlow chuckled.
“I was once your age. I recognize the yearning for one you cannot have. The deep sighs give you away.”
“They do?”
“Yes. Yes. The source of my deep sighs came in the form of Miss Hockley, a lovely young woman from a fine family. However, a young and poverty-stricken law student was apparently not up to the family’s standards. I might have tolerated her father’s rejection, but Miss Hockley’s setdown nearly broke me. It was then that I swore off marriage to seek the road of confirmed bachelorhood.”
The story answered one of Adam’s questions regarding Mr. Barlow—how a wealthy man considered handsome had evaded marriage for so many years.
“Do you harbor any regrets over that decision?”
Barlow expelled a slow breath. “Not really. My independence allowed my practice to flourish and made the lonelines
s tolerable. And I never met a woman who caused me to second-guess my decision.” He paused to take a breath. “Until a week ago.”
“Mrs. Byrd?”
“Who else? Surely, you see the rapport developing between us. A finer woman I have not met in all my life.”
“I have noticed. I think all of Cumberland has noticed.”
Barlow chuckled. “Very well. But let me say that all of Cumberland could not have missed your and Jane’s mutual affection.”
“I would not call it affection.”
“That is because you are young and foolish. You are clearly affected by Miss Hancock. You may as well unburden yourself. Sharing one’s misery is good for the soul.”
Adam found that he agreed with the suggestion. He was willing to try anything to untangle the knots. “Right, then. I do possess feelings for Jane, I admit. And I didn’t always despise her. However, at our meeting a week ago, I was certain I had come to hate her as I was taught to do. However, only a few hours in her company convinced me that hating her is impossible, despite our family history. Since then, I’ve found it equally impossible to not…”
“Love her?”
He swallowed hard. “Perhaps.”
“I see.” Barlow paused. “That does present a prickly problem. Did you not promise yourself, in writing, to Miss Rutley? And at the end of this affair, will not one of you suffer in some way?”
“Yes. That is true.”
“Well, Adam, if someone must suffer, do you not wish it to be Miss Hancock instead of you?”
Adam answered without hesitation. “No. I do not wish that.”
“So, then you prefer to suffer instead?”
“No, Simon. I do not prefer to suffer either.”
Barlow slowly cleared his throat. “Someone must lose, though. There can be only one winner here. The contract states so.”
Adam sighed. Barlow was only half right. Despite Barlow’s commiseration, he did not understand the fullness of the truth. He made one final attempt to explain it to the man.
“Simon, Mr. Rutley has put Jane and me into a maze with no exit, a trap with no lever, a cell with no key. Regardless of the outcome of this journey, Jane and I will both suffer for the rest of our lives. I see no other way.”
Barlow fell silent, apparently unable to argue the point. Adam rolled again to his back to regard the stars, hoping to recapture the peace he had felt minutes earlier. An hour stretched into two without a return of contentment. Eventually, his weary mind slipped into the well of sleep, a brief respite from the insidious maze.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Four miles into the journey from the stone circle toward Ambleside, Jane struggled to beat back annoyance. She failed to accurately identify the source of her discontent. Perhaps the strain of the journey was taking a toll on her body and mind. Weariness settled more heavily upon her than on previous days. Each step seemingly required more effort than before. Rough spots along the cart path felt more onerous to circumvent. Dust made each breath more labored. She blamed long days of walking, the burden of the hunt, and a night sleeping on cold earth.
However, as much as she wished to blame her physical state for her pique, she suspected another cause. Adam had remained uncharacteristically silent for two hours since their departure from the stone circle. He answered questions and spoke to Barlow or Aunt Hester in brief snatches, but otherwise ignored Jane. She watched from behind as he forged ahead of her. He did not appear to suffer the same physical indignity as she did, instead dragging Beelzebub along the cart path with his usual vigor. Despite his silence, he looked strong, even refreshed. Outdoor living seemed to agree with him. She struggled to prevent that observation from adding to her annoyance. With a deep sigh and a gathering of gumption, she lifted her hem, slipped by the unpredictable horse, and hurried forward to walk alongside Adam. He glanced down at her, his expression neutral.
“Jane.”
“Adam.”
She allowed the silence to continue only a minute before failing to restrain her pique. “Although we appear to no longer be speaking, we should at least review the next lines of the letter.”
His brows lifted before his features softened. “My apologies, Jane. I did not mean to give the impression that I was withholding conversation.”
“However, you very much appear to be withholding conversation. Were you?”
He stared ahead at the road. “I suppose I was.”
“Why?”
He shook his head and lifted his palms. “I can’t say precisely. Mostly, I am simply lost in a wilderness of thought. This journey. This, this, this…cursed contract with Rutley. It stoops my shoulders and bends my back. I cannot muster words to sufficiently explain.”
She nodded commiseration, relieved that his reticence to speak seemed not a result of displeasure with her. “You need not explain. I understand. A weariness begins to settle into my bones and a malady into my soul. I wander the same wilderness. Given our mutual disorientation, perhaps we might wander together for a while.”
Her suggestion turned up one corner of his mouth, revealing in small measure the easy nature that had been absent all morning. “Capital proposition. If we are to make this burdensome journey, we should at least walk side by side.”
He paused, clearly wrestling with something unsaid. She waited. Her patience produced dividends when he finally gave it voice.
“Jane. I apologize.”
“You already did so.”
He waved a dismissive hand. “No, not for that. For everything else.”
When she peered up at him, he failed to hold her gaze. He watched instead his striding feet. Again, she waited. Again, he rewarded her.
“That day at Rutley’s office, the day we signed the contract. I did not know you as I do now. I assumed much about you, most of it incorrect. I had forgotten too much. Signing the contract seemed the simpler task, while a journey in your company seemed the more difficult one.” He drifted to a halt and faced her. “But now…now the tasks have traded positions. Now that I remember who you are and not what I’d created in my head. I simply wish to apologize for my poor judgment. I should have bargained for another way. One that saves us both.”
His apology surprised her, even though she had sensed it coming. It became her turn to stare at the ground. “I will forgive you, Adam, only if you forgive me of the same failing.”
He chuckled lightly. “Very well. We stand mutually forgiven. Now, instead of simply standing, let us continue walking while we discuss the next lines.”
He rocked into motion with a yank of the horse’s lead, and she joined him. After a few steps, they produced their respective letters. She read first.
“Betwixt water’s edge and the hip of Goliath.”
“Make for the marsh where the ancient fort lieth.” He looked up from his letter. “The mysterious writer of the letters certainly held an affinity for giants.”
She laughed. “It seems so. His metaphorical bag of tricks appears to have been limited. Why not a troll, or an ogre, or even a dragon to break up the monotony?”
“Yes. We already found a giant. A dragon may have proved more challenging.”
She shook her head. “Don’t misunderstand my critique. I believe finding another giant will prove quite enough of a challenge.”
Even as she spoke, her gaze lifted to ponder the massive fell looming to her left above a line of trees fencing the road. Then she surveyed the long, narrow body of water to her right. The road threaded the needle between the water and the fell, hugging the outline of the lake.
“What were the names of the fell and the lake?”
“Helvellyn and Thirlmere, respectively.”
“Betwixt water’s edge,” she murmured, “and the hip of Goliath.” She looked to Adam, who had apparently been watching her. “Between the edge of the lake and the base of the fell?”
A smile spread across his face. “Of course. A perfectly fine interpretation. And if correct, then we remain on an accurate course toward whatever comes next.”
“And whatever comes next appears to involve a marsh and an old fortress. Surely, we cannot miss both.”
“Surely.”
They ambled in silence for a time to the steady rhythm of clopping hooves in their wake. As usual, Barlow and Aunt Hester trailed at some distance, engaged in conversation. If Jane did not know better, she would have thought them on a holiday walking tour rather than a search for hidden treasure. She sighed in amusement.
“What do you find so humorous?” Adam asked.
“Oh, nothing, really. Other than the desolation of this place. We may as well be in some primitive locale, such as Tasmania, or the Himalayas, or Parliament.”
He laughed. “It does lack for signs of civilization. Not unlike Parliament, as you say. However, I find the austere beauty of it intoxicating. How the trees cling to the lake’s edge but dare not challenge the slopes of the fell. How the sunlight on the water makes it appear as if the lake has captured all the stars in the heavens for a day. How the silence allows even the breeze to speak its secrets.”
She stared at Adam in mild surprise. “If I did not know better, I’d say you were an aspiring poet, sir.”
Color rose up his neck, and he picked at his scarf. “Not a very good one.”
“On that, we are agreed.” His immediate glare of affront prompted her to abandon the good-natured taunt. “I was merely teasing. Your description was lovely. Even Marlowe might have approved.”
“If only Marlowe had not been stabbed to death during a pub brawl, then perhaps he might have.”
“I am no Marlowe, but I approve.” She swept her gaze again to the shimmering lake. “An apt description.”
He dipped his forehead. “Thank you. I wonder, could you live in such a forlorn place?”
She briefly cocked her head in thought. “I believe so, given appropriate company.”
“Appropriate company?”