by Adele Clee
"Monsieur Danbury," Lenard said as he continued to clean the vessel. "Is it not a little early for you?"
Marcus found it somewhat awkward being polite to a man involved in nefarious activities. Indeed, he had not dismissed the prospect that the smugglers had grown suspicious of his interest in their movements and so had sought to hold Miss Sinclair for ransom.
"I am looking for Miss Sinclair. She came down to the village a few hours ago with Selene and disappeared."
"Disappeared?" he repeated placing the tankard and cloth on the counter and giving Marcus his full attention. "But you said she came with Selene. Surely she knows of her whereabouts?"
"No. Selene left her for a moment and when she returned Miss Sinclair had gone. The lady is ill, and I fear she may not be capable of returning home without assistance." Marcus spoke casually, calmly, yet inside his heart raced so fast he feared it might burst from his chest.
Lenard untied the white apron hanging around his waist. "Then I shall come with you and help you look for her. If she's wandered into the woods, you'll struggle to find her on your own."
Marcus was surprised by the man's concern and offer of help. It raised doubts about the smugglers' involvement. Guilt flared once again. He would have to find a way to reveal what he knew awaited the smugglers should they set sail in the hope of reaching England.
"Jacob," Lenard shouted to the minstrel sitting by the fire. He threw the garment, and the man caught it. "Keep watch while I'm gone."
The minstrel looked a little baffled, but he nodded and set about putting on the apron before they'd opened the door.
They met Andre, Justin and Selene outside.
"No one has seen Miss Sinclair today," Andre said solemnly. "We have asked in every shop, stopped people walking by."
"Perhaps she wandered away, got lost and took shelter somewhere?" Lenard offered. "You said she was ill and so could not have gone far."
Marcus tried to think logically but with every passing minute the fear of never seeing Anna again, of living with the fact something tragic had happened to her, became increasingly unbearable.
Think, think, he told himself. Had he been alone he would have thumped his head to jostle his languid brain into action.
Logically, there were only two options. Anna, feeling delirious and disoriented as a result of her sudden illness, had made an attempt to walk back to the monastery. Or Victor's accomplice had followed the cart to the village and abducted her with the intention of doing her harm. Despite his experience with the depraved depths of the criminal mind, the thought of the comte having a mysterious partner, one prepared to loiter in a quiet village for three weeks in the hope of stealing Anna away, seemed too far-fetched.
"I think we should assume she has tried to make her way home," Marcus said with an air of confidence. "She could not have followed the lane back else one of us would have seen her on our way here."
"What about the woods?" Lenard said. "It seems a logical place to start."
"Agreed," Marcus said. "We'll stay together for a few minutes and let our instincts guide us." It was a method he had used before, a method that rarely failed him.
They headed out of the village, past the row of yellow stone buildings, past the old oak tree that had stood watch for more than two hundred years. There was only one path leading into the woods, and so they walked for a few minutes through the lush green vegetation, calling out to Anna, tapping at the undergrowth with a long stick they'd found discarded.
They all stopped when the track branched in opposite directions.
"There is an old cottage down there," Lenard said pointing to the right. "Perhaps she's taken shelter."
Marcus narrowed his gaze. Lenard was referring to the cottage used by the smugglers to store their goods. The same smugglers Marcus had seen behind Lenard's inn retrieving items from his cellar.
"We'll take the path to the right," Marcus said gesturing to Lenard. It would give him an ideal opportunity to advise the innkeeper against immoral pastimes. He nodded to Andre. "You and Justin go left. Holler if you find her."
"What about me?" Selene asked. "Can I come with you to search the cottage?"
As the last person to see Anna, Marcus wanted to keep Selene close. And this business with Samuel Lessard still bothered him. "Very well."
"How far do you want us to go?" Andre asked.
"Walk for a mile or so and then head back this way. When we've searched the cottage, we'll head to the shore. There are a few caves along the coastline that might be worth checking."
Marcus observed Lenard's reaction to his suggestion. The innkeeper's expression remained impassive. There were many logical reasons why one would not dare to climb slippery rocks and venture into a cave. But Lenard offered no such protest. It was all rather puzzling.
It took no more than five minutes to reach the cottage. Selene chose to wait outside while Marcus and Lenard searched the dilapidated building.
Everything was as Marcus had left it a few nights earlier. The memory roused images of Anna. That night he had stood in the cottage struggling to concentrate on his mission. Indeed, their clumsy coupling in the cave brought a smile to his lips, despite the feeling of anguish he was trying to keep at bay.
When he found her, he would ask for her forgiveness. It would take time for her to trust him again and so he would just have to be patient.
"The place is empty," Lenard sighed.
They stood together in the main living area.
"We'll walk down to the cliff edge and check around there." Marcus decided this was probably the best opportunity he'd have for a private discussion. "I hear your daughter is ill?"
For the first time in the last hour, Lenard's expression grew solemn. "The doctor says he needs more money. He says that she may never walk again."
Marcus felt a sudden burst of compassion. "I trust you do not have the funds to cover the doctor's expenses?"
Lenard appeared surprised by the impertinent comment. "I have not made my private affairs known to anyone," he said defensively. "What makes you think it would be a problem?"
Marcus put his hand on the man's shoulder. It was a gesture of friendship, a way to lessen the blow when he challenged him over his late night activities. "I heard you've been keeping bad company. That you're moving spirits from your cellar."
Lenard swallowed visibly. "Spirits? Why would I do such a thing?"
"Please don't lie to me," Marcus implored. "I am trying to help you. You have moved liquor from your cellar, have you not?"
There was a brief moment of silence.
"Oui." Panic flashed in Lenard's eyes. "But please do not tell anyone. Two men approached me and offered to buy bottles of liquor, wanted to store other items in my cellar." He threw his hands in the air. "What was I to do? I needed a large sum of money and could not wait the months it would take to sell the same quantity at the inn."
It crossed Marcus' mind to ask why he'd not sought help from his friends, but he understood Lenard was a proud man.
"You know the smugglers will not make it past Guernsey. The revenue ship will be waiting to intercept them. The men who approached you, were they French?"
"One French, one English, and they spoke of another man though I never met him." Lenard threw his hands up. "Please, I cannot say any more. If they knew I had said anything, well, …"
Marcus dropped his hand. "And that is the extent of your involvement?"
Lenard nodded frantically. "Oui. I should never have accepted their offer."
The man looked terrified, and Marcus was relieved to find, that in alerting Coombes, he had not betrayed any of the villagers. "I doubt the men from the Custom House will care where the contraband came from. Their only interest lies in the men unwilling to pay duty to the Crown. But if ever a similar opportunity presents itself, I strongly suggest you refuse."
Lenard nodded.
"Just one more question," Marcus continued. "Have you seen Samuel Lessard in the last few days? I ask becaus
e I thought I saw him in the inn on the night the minstrel played. But both Selene and her father insist he is in Lyon."
"That is strange," Lenard said scratching his head. "I thought I saw him too. He never spoke, and someone else must have served him, but I am sure I recognised him amongst the crowd."
"I think I need to question Selene again."
Marcus held the cottage door open for Lenard. They stepped outside and scanned the deserted area looking for his cook.
"Perhaps she has wandered around to the back of the house," Lenard said noting his concerned expression.
"Trust me." Marcus was suddenly feeling far more perceptive than he had in days. "Selene obviously had an ulterior motive for coming with us. Don't ask me why, but I believe if we find Selene we will also find Miss Sinclair."
Chapter 20
She was dead!
Well, that was the first thought to enter Anna's head when she opened her eyes. But she would have expected the fiery pits of hell to be a lot less cold and dank. The floor beneath her felt damp and moist. A fine trace of soil stuck to her palms as she lay patting the solid surface. In a panic she tried to sit up, expecting to hit her head on the lid of the coffin, expecting to be overwhelmed by a sudden fear of suffocating. But there was no lid or wooden box to restrict her movements.
Inhaling deeply, she struggled to focus in the darkness. All about her seemed to sway. Black shapes danced before her eyes, moving closer and then pulling away. The throbbing ache in her temples did not help matters, and when she tried to stand she clutched at nothing in the hope of finding hidden support in the depths of the shadows.
What in heaven's name had happened to her?
She remembered sitting in the cart on the way to the village. She remembered chatting to Selene, remembered the horrified look on the woman's face as her world became a hazy blur.
So how had she ended up all alone, curled up on the dirty floor?
As her eyes became accustomed to her surroundings, she realised she was standing in the middle of a room. Amidst the gloom, she could just make out the outline of a door, and with her hands held out in front of her to guide her way, she shuffled blindly forward.
The solid wooden door had been reinforced with metal strips. Despite running her hands over every inch of the grooved panels, she found no handle, no key in the lock. Anna pushed it, hit out, kicked it until her toes were sore and she felt dizzy.
"Help!" she shouted numerous times. Too many to count. "Can anyone hear me?"
But each time she was met with an eerie stillness.
With her vision restricted, all other senses were more attuned. The faint rhythmical swooshing sound made her think of the sea, like undulating waves crashing against a rocky shore. Indeed, mingled with the rather repugnant earthy smell, she noted a hint of salt in the air.
So, she was in a building near the sea.
Perhaps the smugglers were aware of Marcus' assignment and had taken her hostage in a bid to secure his silence. But he had already alerted Coombes of their plans, although they probably didn't know that. And while Lenard needed money to help his daughter, she could not believe him capable of such deception and cruelty. Perhaps Victor's accomplice had progressed from anonymous threats in the stables to kidnap and murder. Of course, he'd not have the stomach to commit the act himself and had locked her up in a tomb in the hope she'd suffocate.
The last thought caused panic to flare.
It was a tomb!
She swung around, tapped the wall to her left and followed it until her fingers found the powdery indentations carved into the stone.
With her airways closing, she gasped a breath as she stumbled back into the middle of the room. Just the thought of sharing such a small enclosed space with heaven knows how many corpses was alarming in itself.
Corpses!
Anna shuddered, stamped her feet and wriggled in disgust as though she had walked into a giant cobweb and feared an equally large spider had crawled beneath her cape.
The frantic movements made her feel lightheaded again, and she sagged to the floor to calm her ragged breathing and racing heart.
Was this to be how she would meet her demise?
Was she to take her last breath all alone in a tomb?
Then another thought hit her, the blow more painful than anything she'd ever felt before. Her last words to Marcus had been said in spite and anger. He would never know how much she cared for him. He would never know that her time with him at the monastery had been the most wonderful experience of her entire life. She wanted to tell him she loved him; she understood his pain, could forgive him for his betrayal.
With no concept of time, Anna wasn't sure how long she'd sat there contemplating her fate, replaying the turbulent events leading her to this precarious point in her life. She imagined Victor's evil grin of satisfaction, a glint of pleasure flashing in his cold, black eyes; she heard her father's solemn warning that all sinners must repent or pay a hefty price.
Indeed, with her thoughts just as chaotic as the night she'd heard the intruder in the monastery, she almost missed the sound of footsteps outside.
Jumping to her feet, she rushed forward. "Help. Can you hear me?" She thumped on the door with clenched fists.
It was probably an animal or a group of children playing nearby. No doubt, they'll have scampered home to tell their parents they'd heard the terrifying wail of a ghost from inside a tomb.
The sudden clinking of a key in the lock captured her attention, and she stepped back into the darkness. The door creaked open, beams of light piercing the shadows. A figure filled the doorway: his outline revealing a tall scrawny frame.
He stepped inside and then came to an abrupt halt. "Ce que l'enfer? Qui es-tu?"
Anna swallowed down her nerves. "What do you mean, who am I?" Now the door was open perhaps she could manage to get away. "Surely you're the one who locked me in this morbid place."
The mysterious silhouette took a few steps closer. After scanning her face, his eyes widened as he muttered a foul curse. "What are you doing in here?"
Recognising him as Samuel Lessard, the man they'd seen smoking his clay pipe whilst listening to the minstrel, she said, "Well, you're the one with the key. What possible reason could I have for being in a …" she glanced around the small, compact space. The rows of stone memorial plaques lining the walls were visible now. "In a mausoleum?"
He stepped closer, his brows meeting in the middle as his beady gaze drifted over her. "Ah, it is the whore from England. Poor Marie left all alone with a pile of rotting corpses."
Anna shivered. Samuel Lessard was the man who had spoken to her in the stables. It was uncanny how he sounded so much like Victor. Yet there was one distinct difference. This man's words lacked conviction. When Victor spoke, everyone stopped and took notice.
"Who told you my name?" she said finding the courage to raise her chin.
"Ah, you do not deny your profession, yet challenge me over such a simple thing." He looked beyond her shoulder to a roll of linen lying on top of old sacking on the floor near the far wall. Offering a relieved sigh, he said, "I shall ask you again. How did you get in here? Did those blackguards hope to swindle me? Did they ask you to steal the key from Selene?"
Despite her curiosity, Anna ignored the comment about swindling blackguards. "Selene has a key?"
Samuel Lessard waved his hand in the air. "But of course, this tomb belongs to our family."
What motive could Selene have for locking her in the chamber? But then she had been with Selene when she was taken ill. Her thoughts drifted back to the valerian tea — although she had hardly drunk enough of the disgusting liquid to render her unconscious. Unless it had something to do with the tonic she'd swallowed? Anna snorted. As the cook, Selene could have been slowly poisoning her for days.
But why?
"It may well belong to your family," Anna began, glaring at him with contempt, "but I doubt you've come here to pay your respects."
He smirked
. "Even the dead have their uses. My ancestors have been kind enough to keep watch on an item I have stored in here. And have provided shelter for me these last few nights."
Anna did not need to follow his gaze to know he meant the roll of material lying on the floor behind her. "I'm surprised you went to so much trouble for a roll of linen."
"Linen? Non, non! Are the beautiful wings of a butterfly not hidden in the depths of the caterpillar's bland cocoon?"
It took a moment for her to comprehend his meaning, but then it occurred to her that the linen protected something infinitely more precious.
"You mean the roll contains silk."
He raised an amused brow and nodded.
"I assume you're not planning to take up dressmaking? I know of no maiden who desires to smell of salt and decomposing flesh."
"Now I understand how you have managed to acquire so much money," he said with a chuckle. "It seems gentlemen pay handsomely for a witty tongue." Tapping his chest, he added, "I must thank you, Marie, for funding my expedition."
The man spoke in riddles.
As though sensing her confusion, he said, "If you want to keep your money safe, you should not hide it under the bed."
It took every ounce of willpower Anna possessed not to shove her hand down between her chemise and stays to check her notes were still there. With a bundle lying on each breast, she could feel them when she moved. But she had not counted it for weeks.
"Didn't anyone ever tell you, you should repent your sins?" She was starting to sound like her father. "That if you don't, they will come back to haunt you."
He gave a mocking jeer, held his hands together in prayer. "Pardonne-moi! I ask for forgiveness. But you should be grateful I did not steal it all." With a heavy sigh, he pointed to the roll of silk encased in linen. "As much as I am enjoying your repartee, in an hour or two the sun will be setting, and I fear I must be on my way. If you will be so kind as to hand me my goods."
Anna almost told him to go to the devil, but she supposed she should be grateful he had opened the door else she could well have suffocated in the confined space. Suppressing her ire, she bent down and gathered the roll up into her arms.