Wild Bells to the Wild Sky

by Laurie McBain

  "Sir Raymond himself has convinced me that it is more than a fable. Why else, unless this story of yours is the truth, would Sir Raymond concern himself with it? He has now tried to kill you twice."

  "Twice? The only time I've been attacked by hi was at the pool," Lily said, beginning to remember more about Basil's tale than even Valentine suspected.

  "He killed the wrong girl at the fair, Lily. This gypsy girl who was murdered by a strange man in the mob that attacked the camp. I think it was supposed to be you. But you were away, waiting for me," Valentine reminded her.

  "My gown! Navarre had stolen it and was wearing it."

  "Yes, and Mustafa saw Sir Raymond at the camp that night paying off two men. Damn!" Valentine said. "If only we had proof. Even though I know it must be true, no one else will believe a fable."

  "I saw Sir Raymond when he attacked me," she reminded him. "I can swear to that."

  "Your word against his. I fear, my dear, that his word would carry more credence than yours. Basil is the only one who could prove Sir Raymond's guilt," Valentine said, "and he is dead. I wish we had that journal."

  "The journal?" Lily asked, glancing up quickly, a strange look crossing her face.

  "Yes, don't you remember that journal you spoke of when we returned from the island? You told me that Basil had written everything down in it, and that it had been burned in the hut. Basil would have written his suspicions down in that journal, Lily. He was always recording his thoughts and impressions of people and places. I am certain that it must be filled with everything he did and saw in Santo Domingo. He most likely would have reported the information to Walsingham on his return to England. Basil was very thorough and an untiring diarist. There is a whole room full of his journals at Whiteswood. If only it had not been destroyed. That, I am positive, would be our proof. Unless we have something more than your childhood fable and an attempt on your life, we have nothing to arrest Sir Raymond on. I will, of course, inform Cecil, but all I can do is warn him on the weight of my suspicions, which isn't much, I'm afraid."

  "The journal," Lily repeated, a look of horrified amazement on her face "I had forgotten it over the years. Basil always said it was important. He would never allow any of us to look inside it. He always read to us from it," Lily remembered.

  Valentine couldn't hide his disappointment. "So you never saw inside it, then? You never read what was written there? You have no idea?"

  Lily shook her head, staring down at her hands nervously, her face paling.

  "Don't worry, Lily. I won't let Sir Raymond anywhere near you. We may not have the proof to arrest him, but now that I know the truth, he will have no reason to harm you. In fact, I will see that he is constantly watched. A man's reputation has been ruined by suspicion alone, and after I finish with Sir Raymond, he will find it healthier to leave England," Valentine vowed. "You need not fear him again. I only wish I had that proof, for who can say who else might be involved that we have no suspicions of now? I would prefer not to alert Sir Raymond. I would like to catch him and his coconspirators before they have a chance to flee."

  Lily glanced up, then away, unable to meet his gaze when she admitted in a low voice, "There still might be the proof you want. The journal did not burn in the hut. It is still on the island," she said, her head downbent.

  Valentine Whitelaw stared at Lily as if he hadn't heard. When he said nothing, Lily glanced up, and taking a deep breath, she repeated her words more loudly this time.

  "I said the journal is still there. I lied when I told you it had burned up. Basil made me promise to tell no one about the journal. He said what was inside it was for the queen's eyes alone. He said it was special. He always kept it hidden, with our treasure," Lily confessed.

  "Basil's journal is still on the island?"

  "Yes, buried with our treasure."

  "What treasure is that?" Valentine asked, wondering what other secrets the island held that Lily had never shared with him.

  "The rest of the treasure from that sunken galleon. We found quite a lot washed up on shore. It took us days to gather it all. Basil said we should hide it to keep it safe from the pirates that occasionally came ashore. He said it was rightfully ours and that we might need it someday. When you came that day I never had a chance to tell you about it. We had already sailed when I regained consciousness, and by then it was too late. Since the journal was safely hidden, and we were returning to Highcross, I didn't think it was important anymore," Lily said, flushing now as she remembered her naïveté and the contempt Valentine Whitelaw must feel for her when she found the courage to confess another guilt she'd been hiding for so long. "I did not trust you when you first came to the island and tricked me aboard the Madrigal. When you first asked about the journal, I lied, partly because of the promise I'd made to Basil to keep it a secret, but mostly because I was still angry at you for having tricked me. You'd lied to me. I understand now why you did, but then I did not. Then, later, when I came to—to--" Lily paused, then continued, an embarrassed blush spreading across her cheeks, "to like you, I was afraid you would hate me if I told you I had lied. I did not want to know your displeasure, to lose your friendship," she said, looking up into his face, expecting to see his disgust.

  But Valentine Whitelaw didn't react the way she'd suspected, instead he sat down beside her on the bed. Taking her face between his hands, he stared deeply into her pale green eyes, shadowed now by her guilt that she had somehow betrayed him. "I do not blame you, Lily. You mustn't hold yourself responsible for something you did not understand. You have been an innocent victim. You have suffered enough already because of Valchamps's treachery. You were but a child. Now . . ." he said, and before he could resist the temptation, he lowered his mouth to hers, touching her slightly parted lips in a gentle kiss, his hand straying to rest on the bareness of her shoulder, his fingers curving around it before sliding into the thickness of her unbound hair. Before he lifted his mouth from hers, his kiss deepened for a brief instant when he felt her response, the way her lips clung to his when he would have parted from her.

  Her breath was warm against his face when his lips left hers. He stared down at her closed eyes, the lashes fluttering against the softness of her skin, and he kissed each of her lids, startling them into opening so he could stare into her eyes. "Nothing is settled between us. We still have much to discus, Lily Francisca Christian," he warned before abruptly releasing her, his eyes holding the promise of that reckoning as they roved over her.

  Standing up, he laughed, his sun-bronzed face full of triumph. "By God, I'm going to get that journal. The Madrigal is already prepared to sail. If you are up to it, we will return to London immediately. I'll have to confer with Burghley before we sail, then make port at Falmouth to send Sir Rodger and Quinta ashore. I trust she has returned to London by now. You and Tristram and Dulcie will stay at Ravindzara while I'm in the Indies. You will be safe there. You might even stay at Penmorley Hall, for Quinta will wish to stay with Artemis. That might be better. Sir Rodger will not mind, and he will be able to keep a closer eye on you. Of course, now I know the truth, I really do not think Sir Raymond need concern us. I shouldn't be gone longer than a couple of months," Valentine Whitelaw said confidently, his hands moving to bring the puppet within his grasp while he planned his next move against Sir Raymond Valchamps, and forgetting that he had yet to learn the exact location of the journal from Lily Christian, who was lying quietly in the bed making plans of her own. He was not going to leave her at Penmorley Hall with Honoria Penmorley to keep her company while he returned to the island-the island she had longed to return to for so many years. If anyone had the right to return to that island, then she did.

  Glancing up at his tall figure standing before the window, Lily vowed that she would be aboard the Madrigal when Valentine Whitelaw set sail for the Indies.

  "Well, you have certainly taken your time in returning to London. Have a good journey?" the man sitting quietly in an armchair in the corner of the great cham
ber inquired of Sir Raymond Valchamps.

  "What the devil are you doing here at this hour of the morning?" Sir Raymond greeted his visitor with an obvious lack of pleasure. "I hope you've a good reason for getting me out of bed so early," he demanded, clad in a dressing gown, his silvery hair uncombed.

  "I hear you've been seeing some of the countryside."

  Sir Raymond glanced up curiously from the goblet of wine he'd just poured, and, taking a sip, nodded. "Yes, you might say that," he said with a smile as he took his seat opposite, hiding a yawn behind a casually raised hand.

  The man watching him longed to strike that smug expression from Raymond Valchamps's face. "Warwickshire, perhaps?"

  Sir Raymond Valchamps's smile widened. "Yes, I believe so. I had intended to mention to my travels to you this evening. I do have considerable holdings, given to me by Elizabeth, which border Warwickshire and Oxfordshire. And have you forgotten my own family home is in Buckinghamshire? Not far away. I have been in the area for the last couple of days. Have an interest, do you, in what I've been up to?"

  "Oh, I know precisely what you've been doing."

  "Indeed? News does travel fast nowadays. When is the funeral? I suppose I shall have to attend. Rather enjoyable one, I should think," he said, laughing softly.

  "What funeral?"

  Sir Raymond's eyes blinked slightly. "I thought you knew. What is all of this conversation about, otherwise? The girl's, of course. I have dealt with her," Sir Raymond informed him, taking a long, satisfying swallow of wine. "Damned thirsty. Lot of dust on the roads."

  "Have you indeed?" his friend inquired icily.

  "Ah, of course, that conscience of yours. You really must do something about it. You are becoming a bore, so please, spare me your usual remorse. I am fatigued from my journey . . . and Cordelia was waiting for me upon my return. She will make a splendid wife. Have some wine. We will toast our success. It had to be done," he reminded his serious-faced friend.

  But the man surprised Sir Raymond by laughing harshly. "If done properly. All you have managed to do is draw attention to yourself. You and your damned obsession with Lily Christian have put us in more danger than we have ever been in-if indeed we haven't always. Fools, Raymond. We've been fools these many years. The executioner's ax has been hovering over our heads all along, my friend."

  "What on earth are you talking about now?" Sir Raymond asked rather offhandedly though he was beginning to become concerned. "You've no guts, that's your worst enemy," he said with a contemptuous look at the richly dressed man. "Wouldn't want to ruin our fine silk hose, now would we? What did you mean when you said if done properly?" he added, seemingly more interested in examining the fine leather of his slipper than hearing the explanation. "The girl is dead. I stood there and watched her drown. But just to make certain, I hit her over the head first," he added, his fingers tapping nervously against the arm of his chair.

  "Oh? You actually watched her drown?"

  "She went under. There was blood on her head. Good as dead. I heard someone coming. A dog started barking nearby, and I hardly wished to be seen standing on the edge of the pool with that stick in my hand while I watched the girl drown," he retorted with a defensive glance at his friend. "At least I had the courage to act."

  She did not drown."

  Sir Raymond Valchamps remained unmoving. "Not dead? Surely you jest, dear friend?"

  "No."

  "Damn!" Sir Raymond said beneath his breath, his hands clenched around the arms of the chair.

  "You were not very careful, were you? Nor were you the last time. You have made two very serious mistakes, Raymond, and you have endangered us all."

  "Endangered you? I doubt that. I'm the one who struck her down. Well, 'tisn't of concern. She did not see me."

  "Oh, but she did. She saw your reflection in the pool. Like a mirror held before her eyes, with your face revealed to her."

  Sir Raymond wiped the wine from his lips with the back of his hand. "No one will believe her. 'Sdeath, but she's been living with gypsies. Little better than a whore. That gypsy who attacked me was probably her lover. You should have seen the way she brazenly bared herself in the woods. If I'd had more time . . . well," Sir Raymond speculated aloud, remembering the seductive beauty of her body. "My word against hers. I'm the queen's favorite," he chuckled.

  "Valentine Whitelaw believes her, Raymond."

  "Oh?" Sir Raymond responded easily, but he couldn't hide his momentary start of surprise.

  "Yes. You were very sloppy when you tried to murder her at the fair. My God, Raymond, you started a riot, and then you stabbed the wrong girl. You were seen paying off those two henchmen of yours."

  Sir Raymond's smug expression disappeared. "Who saw me?"

  "Valentine Whitelaw's servant. He thought it strange you should be involved in the burning of the gypsy camp and told his captain as much."

  "Damn! I didn't see him. There were so many people about, and I was more concerned with the girl."

  "As usual, you were to busy enjoying yourself to worry about the consequences."

  "But who will accept the word of a Turk?" Sir Raymond asked with a laugh. "People will merely believe that Valentine Whitelaw is trying to implicate me in this affair out of spite because I stole his mistress from him. I will make certain people hear of his insults and harassment of me. They will believe he is trying to get even. Nothing more. One day I will have my revenge against him. And no one will blame me."

  "The man you should be seeking revenge against is this Hartwell Barclay,"

  Sir Raymond snorted derisively. "Hartwell Barclay? Good Lord, why on earth should I worry about that butt?"

  "Because if he hadn't tried to rape Lily Christian, she would not have run away from Highcross. She would have remained safely out of your path. There would never have been a puppet show or two botched attempts on her life which have resulted in Valentine Whitelaw becoming suspicious."

  "Damned Whitelaws, always interfering, sticking their noses where they shouldn't."

  "Due to that interference, Lily Christian still lives. Valentine Whitelaw pulled her from the pool before she drowned."

  "How the devil did he track them down so quickly? Took me days of following them, spending cold, wet nights huddling beneath my cloak. Did stay in an inn a couple of nights, knew I'd catch up with them the next day."

  "Simon Whitelaw visited Highcross and discovered Lily and the others had fled. He knew they might try to reach their old nursemaid in Warwickshire. That is why Valentine Whitelaw was a step ahead of you this time, my friend."

  "One of these days, he and I will have that reckoning," Sir Raymond Valchamps vowed. "He has cheated me of the prize too often."

  "If you live that long. I fear this is one predicament that you will not be able to bluff your way out of, Raymond," the man advised him. "You were seen by Lily Christian before you attempted to murder her. You were seen at the gypsy camp when a girl, wearing Lily Christian's gown, was murdered, and for the last several days you have been mysteriously absent from London. Supposedly visiting your estates near where the attack against Lily Christian took place."

  "Circumstantial evidence. No one can prove anything against me," Sir Raymond responded, almost convincing himself that he had nothing to fear. "No one can prove anything," he repeated softly, vowing to be more careful in future.

  "Of course, there is the puppet. Ugly thing," the man said.

  Sir Raymond shifted in his seat. "The puppet?"

  "Yes, the one of the witch, with the one blue eye and one brown eye. Took me quite by surprise, I must say. Odd, it wasn't destroyed in the fire you set. It is now in Valentine Whitelaw's possession. You have mocked the fates far too often, Raymond."

  "Well, even I can find a bit of humor in that. By God, that is rich!" Sir Raymond said, laughing uncontrollably. "The jest is on me!"

  The man smiled.

  "Of course, what the devil does a child's puppet prove? Everyone knows the girl has met me. I'm not
easily forgotten. A cruel, childish prank, that's what it is. The girl made the puppet to frighten her sister and brother. It means nothing. If that is Valentine Whitelaw's evidence, then I shan't even bother to show up at the trial. A waste of time. There is no proof. He'll be a laughingstock."

  "And the fable you told me about? The story of the evil witch who so fits your description and is plotting to assassinate the queen?"

  "You have said it yourself: a fable. Am I to be executed because of a puppet show? 'Sdeath, but things have not gotten that bad for Catholics yet that I would be tired for treason on that proof alone. Lord, but I would indeed become a martyr for the cause."

  " 'Twas a story obviously told to the children by Sir Basil Whitelaw, one of the queen's advisers, who happened to be in Hispaniola, and most likely at her bidding," Sir Raymond's inquisitor pointed out. "It is obvious that his friendship with Geoffrey Christian served as a cover for his spying activities. Do you not wonder that Walsingham and Lord Burghley might begin to have doubts? How very inconvenient for them that he should die before returning to England to report, and how very unfortunate if one begins to suspect that he knew something."

  "Again, I say there is no proof. You are worried needlessly. Perhaps I will no longer be the queen's favorite because of these unfounded rumors casting suspicion on my good name, and I may even have to flee to France for a while rather than spend my days in the Tower, but that will not be for long."