He’d called himself a coward before, and he burned with the idea of it again. He’d protected himself from shame for years; even now another eye patch dwelled in his waistcoat pocket against the chilling chance the one he wore failed somehow. Only a handful of people had ever seen him without his small black shield in place. His parents. Penelope, rarely. Haddy, just the once. …And two women.
Ah yes, the dastardly women who, he admitted even to himself, had only acted with a curiosity that ought not be unexpected. One woman he’d taken to bed, and in the end she’d asked to see all of him naked. He’d been drunk with lust, and young, and hopeful—so he’d dared it. And she’d looked upon his face with repulsion. The lust had evaporated, and the lady had fled.
The other, not two months later, had reached up—flirting? prying? simply cruel?—and slipped a finger beneath his patch to draw up the bit of black velvet, in the middle of a ballroom no less. She might as well have stripped him naked too, for the shock on her face had only proved all over again that he was disfigured. By sheer luck, no one else had seen what she’d revealed. His tiny moment of trust in letting her reach toward his face had been betrayed in the flick of a moment. Although he knew better, it had felt as if the whole world had howled to see how he was blemished. Marred. Defective.
But…he’d been scarce a grown man then. These days his friends, in the common flow of things, thought little if anything of his old injury. The only one keeping him prisoner to his fears was himself. He saw men, everyday, far more stricken than he, men who laughed and married and ran businesses and…
He shuddered. It went against every fiber of his being, against all his rules and ways of maintaining safety…but he must try to outstrip embarrassment, and dread, and pride.
I’ll step forward. I’ll take a chance. I must, he told himself. Not that he’d let anyone…someone…see beneath his eye patch. Dear God, no. Not that. But where he wouldn’t show his ugly wound, perhaps he could expose his thoughts, just a bit. To see if perhaps there was a special woman who could look beyond the surface and not find his secret heart entirely wanting.
Now he just had to find the right moment…
* * *
Genevieve, of course, was last to arrive at the common room. There was no sign of upset among the group, if one discounted that Laura and Penelope sat as far apart as possible at the same table.
She swept her gaze over the other occupants, and for a moment exchanged a long glance with Xavier. He’d turned when she’d entered the room, and the eye not covered by a patch had seemed to glitter at her.
Genevieve broke the stare they shared, perhaps a trifle rattled by something she couldn’t even name, to sit next to Michael. Her brother pushed a filled bowl of stew and a large hunk of brown bread her way.
“We were waiting for you,” he informed her.
She was about to ask why, but Kenneth made it clear by pulling a Little Riddle from his pocket.
“Ready?” He didn’t wait for anyone’s confirmation. “‘Here in Staffordshire, in 1487,’” he read, “’the Battle of the Stoke brought about the end of one fellow’s ambitions to wrest the crown from Henry the Seventh. Who was he, how did he call himself, and what was his eventual fate?’”
“Why, that’s simple,” Haddy cried, leaping to his feet as several heads bobbed knowingly around him.
“Go ahead,” Kenneth grinned, responding to Haddy’s pleased expression.
“It was Lambert Simnel, who called himself one of the two missing princes in the tower, son of Edward the Fourth. He was captured and for punishment made to turn the spit in the royal kitchens. Am I right?”
“You know you are.”
“That was too easy. Do let us have another,” Laura complained.
“Not until I’ve had my kiss,” Haddy said, hands on hips as he gazed around the table.
“There goes any shred of reputation we had hoped to maintain,” Laura grumbled.
Haddy grinned, and leaned down to plant a wet, noisy buss on her cheek. This didn’t go unobserved, as a murmur ran through the locals in the room, along with a couple calls of “Huzzah!”
Haddy leaned down toward Laura, looming. “May I take another?”
Laura glared at him, pushing him away with one hand while he laughed. “If it weren’t for the fact I wish to be present when the Treasure Hunt clue is read, I would leave this table at once.”
“Haddy, that was really too bad of you,” Summer tried to scold her brother, but she couldn’t force down her smile completely.
He sat down, totally unabashed. “’Bout time Laura was kissed, I say.”
That lady rose to her feet, her face flushed, and it was only by physically putting hands on her and uttering half a dozen soothing comments that she was persuaded by the group to remain. She sat very straight in her seat and said, “At the next inn, I insist, Kenneth, that you and I be registered under false names.”
At that the group could only burst into laughter, making Laura’s blush deepen even though she gave in and got caught up herself in the laughter.
Kenneth produced a blue paper this time, handing it wordlessly to Genevieve.
She held the paper up without unfolding it. “Remember that earlier today it became clear this next clue has to do with the acquisition of knowledge,” she reminded Michael.
“Acquisition? At this time of night? We’d be fortunate to find a church unlocked, let alone any place of commerce.”
“Acquisition doesn’t always mean making a purchase, Michael.”
“It does in our household.”
Despite being himself a pennypincher, Haddy chortled.
“Let’s see what it has to say.” Genevieve unfolded the paper close to a candle that was stuck in a wax-dripped bottle on their table. “It says, ‘I am the son of a bookseller. I was born the eighteenth of September, in the year of our Lord 1709. I was friend to David Garrick, the actor. I wrote a book entitled Historical Voyage to Abysinnia.’ Hmmm.” She tapped the paper against her chin, and eyed her hunt partner. “Good thing there’s more, as I have no idea yet. Do you know?”
Michael shook his head.
She returned to the clue. “‘I am buried in Westminster Abbey. I was known to be slovenly in my appearance and in my habits, but am better known for the fact I was compassionate and generous. If you guess my name, you must find the work I am perhaps best remembered for, my 1755 publication.’” Genevieve lowered the paper to the tabletop and looked at Michael, her expression revealing she was still perplexed.
In answer to her mute inquiry, her brother replied, “I’ve no thought as to whom.” He turned to Kenneth. “It is a who, not a what, yes?”
“I should think so, as it— He’s a son, a friend, and a writer. And buried in Westminster Abbey,” Genevieve pointed out as Kenneth nodded. “And it must be someone associated with here, with Lichfield.”
“And we know he has to do with publications. Books, or pamphlets, or such.”
“Whoever he is, I doubt you’ll find sign of him here in this inn,” Laura said.
“Quite true,” Penelope said, rising to her feet, a signal to the others.
Kenneth’s new lantern, plus three more from the innkeeper, were fetched, and Michael and Genevieve led the way out into the evening.
“Oh, it’s very pleasant tonight,” Summer remarked, putting paid to the tiny argument that perhaps the ladies ought to have retrieved shawls.
“Far more pleasant than that stuffy common room,” Penelope agreed.
“Well, whatever are we looking for?” Genevieve asked her brother.
He proved he’d been thinking it over. “The obvious place to go is a bookseller’s establishment.”
They looked at each other in the glow of the lantern he held, and said together, “The High Street!” and then grinned at one another for their mutual insight.
“Although it seems likely we’ll find nothing other than a locked door and a dark walk for our trouble,” Michael added.
�
�Perhaps,” Kenneth murmured, low enough that not everyone heard him.
Genevieve had, though. “We saw a place when we drove down the High Street earlier. It’s only a stone’s throw from here,” she encouraged the group.
As she’d promised, it was a mere matter of walking the length of a row of houses, turning a corner, and then they all saw it at once: a lighted building. It was the only shop with the curtains still pulled open and candles obviously burning within, not to mention an open door that invited admission. Michael led the way, stepping back at the threshold to signal that his sister ought to go in before him.
“Good evening?” she called into the candlelit room as she stepped over the threshold.
A man, small in stature, came from behind a hanging curtain, and inclined his head. “Good evening, my lady. Might I assist you?” He moved behind a lectern—obviously a relic from some church remodel or other—and settled on a high stool behind it, folding his hands before him atop the wood.
“Well, I don’t know precisely. We—” she indicated the others who filed in behind her “are on a treasure hunt, and desire to find the next item in our hunt.”
“I see. And what would that be, my lady?” he asked, smiling benignly.
“I don’t know. That’s the difficulty.” She turned to Kenneth, “I can only presume this is the correct gentlemen for our task tonight?”
He nodded, as Michael said under his breath, “I should think so. He’s the only bookseller open in the entire shire at this time of night.”
Genevieve ignored her brother in favor of Kenneth. “Is this gentleman allowed to help us? Or will we forfeit our token by seeking his help?”
Kenneth must have anticipated a like question, because he answered at once. “No, not if you ask the right questions.” He lifted a hand in the shopkeeper’s direction, “This is Mr. Lerner. Mr. Lerner, may I introduce Lady Genevieve, and her brother, Lord Yardley.” The immediate introductions completed, he explained further, “Mr. Lerner has already been informed that you are indeed, as Yardley suggested, to find a certain written item. He’s not free to tell you what specifically it is. He may, however, answer any ‘yes’ or ‘no’ questions you may think of that might allow you to find it for yourselves.”
“With only about three minutes to spare, I believe,” Michael said as he consulted his watch. To Genevieve he urged, “So ask away, m’girl.”
“Is it a book we seek?” she asked the bookseller.
“Yes.”
“Published in 1755?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, you already knew that,” Penelope gave a mild scold.
“Is it large?” Genevieve pressed on.
“Yes.”
“Oh. That helps. Do you have a copy here, in your store?” Michael interjected.
“Yes.”
“Is it readily apparent? By that I mean, is it lying about where we can see it easily?” Michael went on.
“Nooo,” Mr. Lerner drew out the word, as if he wished he could clarify.
“Is it on the shelves?” Genevieve asked, voice a bit higher from growing excitement.
Mr. Lerner looked relieved. “Yes.”
“This book,” Michael interjected. “It’s writ by someone famous?”
“Yesss,” the smaller man hedged again. He glanced at Kenneth, then added quickly, “Though I believe he ought to be more so. A clever, good man, who did much for—”
“Ah ah!” Kenneth warned, wagging a finger. “Be careful what you say, Mr. Lerner.”
“Oh, as though we’ll ever come to know which it is anyway,” Genevieve scoffed in a mock frustration that showed she was truly enjoying the pursuit.
Haddy leaned around Michael, looking at the man’s pocketwatch, still in Michael’s hand. “You’ve a minute left, I’d say,” he warned.
“I’ve a thought,” Michael said, a light beginning to dance in his brown eyes. He walked up to a shelf, placed a hand on the bindings there, and asked, “Is it on this shelf?”
The bookseller smiled at the ploy, glanced at Kenneth, who shrugged, and replied, “No.”
Genevieve flew to the next set of shelves, and between the calls of the brother and sister as they touched one shelf after another, Mr. Lerner’s head was forced to swivel back and forth as he called out rapid negatives.
Genevieve’s hand had already gone down to the shelf below before she realized that, for once, his reply had come back, “Yes.”
“Oh, Michael! It’s here on this shelf.”
He crossed to her side and they began at opposite ends, touching individual spines, asking, “This one?”
Finally Mr. Lerner merely nodded with a smile, and Michael pulled the tall, thick book bound in brown leather from the shelf as Genevieve clapped her hands in triumph.
“’Dictionary of the English Language,’” Michael read, his finger running over the embossed printing on the front of the volume. He looked up, “Ah! I’ve heard of it, of course. Can you imagine listing every word in the language and its meaning?”
“A staggering undertaking,” Xavier agreed.
Michael’s finger found the author’s embossed name. “By Johnson. Yes, of course.”
“Samuel Johnson is the answer.” Kenneth nodded. “But I don’t know if your ‘finding it’ ought to count. You both all but cheated. You were supposed to ask questions about various authors, and dazzle us all with a list of scholars and wits and your knowledge thereof.”
Michael shook his head. “Couldn’t do it that way, Manning. Can scarce remember books I’ve read, let alone who authored them.”
“It counts. It counts,” Genevieve cried, squeezing her brother’s arm in excitement.
“Of course it does. We can’t help it if we’re too clever to play the game straight.”
The argument never went any further, for Kenneth reached out and spread the book open in Michael’s hands. He flipped a few pages, unsuccessfully, and then explained, “Your token is in there somewhere.”
Genevieve announced, “It will be a diamond, perhaps the king.”
Michael fanned the pages until he came to the playing card, revealing it as the very one she’d named.
“How’d you know that?” Kenneth’s lower lip came out, but it was more of a grin than a pout.
“Because when you gave Penelope the queen of diamonds, you said it stood for the riches gained from knowledge. A dictionary of our language must surely be useful for the gaining of knowledge. And it seems fitting to deem Mr. Johnson the King of Knowledge.”
“Socrates or Solomon might argue the point. But, as for ourselves, we gained another token for our trouble,” Michael said as he handed the card to his sister.
“And a book,” she said, making a motion with her head that indicated the tome in his hands.
He didn’t try to argue with her, merely sighing, knowing Mr. Lerner needed to be rewarded for having stayed open for them. So he purchased the dictionary and included a bit extra for the man’s trouble and in order that the tome would be forwarded to their London home.
His sister dimpled up at him. “We’re tied with Xavier and Summer at two tokens apiece.”
“We? Then how is it that I’m the only one out of pocket?” Michael grumbled good-naturedly as they exited the shop. Mr. Lerner was quick to pull his curtains and shut his front door behind them.
“But, I feel I should point out, we don’t know where we need to venture next,” Xavier said. Genevieve nodded at him, mostly because he’d been very quiet tonight and she didn’t want him to feel ignored.
Kenneth spread his hands. “Should we have the next clue now or in the morning?”
“Now,” Haddy and Laura said together, for they were the next team to play.
“Two in one day,” Kenneth chided, but gave in at once. “Very well. But I hadn’t yet writ down the clue down. You’ll have to have it from me orally. Is that acceptable?”
They agreed.
“Let me think a moment… Let me say…this town was purpor
tedly built by a giant. Yes, and there’s a bit of poetry that goes with it. It’s very like this, if not exactly so: ‘His name was Leon Gawer, a might strong giant, who built caves and dungeons, many a one, no goodly buildings, ne proper, ne pleasant.’ That is very close to it anyhow.” He gave out a little breath, clearly at the end of the clue. “Now, you must tell me the name of the town.”
“I don’t even know which shire you mean,” Laura cried as Haddy rolled his eyes. “It could be here in Staffordshire, or in Cheshire, or Derby, or even Nottingham. Come, Kenneth, you must tell us more than that.”
“Very well,” he agreed. “I realize that was fairly small as clues go. So let me add this, it is north of Nantwich.”
“Well, that does help a trifle,” Haddy conceded. “At least we now know we’ll be out of Staffordshire and into Cheshire.” Then a calculating grin spread over his face, and he reached into his pocket, extracting the oiled paper map which he’d been using on their journey. “Let’s have a look, shall we?” he said to his partner as he unfolded the map.
“No fair!” Michael cried, even as he laughed with appreciation at this duplicity.
“I shouldn’t talk after the trick you and Genevieve just delivered,” Haddy said in his best sanctimonious tones.
“No one said how we must find the book.”
“And no one has said we mayn’t look at a map.”
“Come into the light,” Laura urged, holding one of the lanterns aloft.
Kenneth said nothing, his thumbs in his vestpockets.
“It appears they are to be allowed,” Xavier commented. Genevieve acknowledged the comment, where no one else bothered. She found herself smiling at him, unable to take her eyes away until he moved and looked down at the map, too. I freeze in place like a rabbit whenever he looks directly at me.
“Look you, we’ll want to stay on the mail roads as much as we may,” Haddy pointed to the slender line of the road they’d traveled earlier. “That takes us up through Newcastle. Then we’re into Cheshire, and the first town is Church Lawt, which is east of Nantwich. But we know our destination is north of the latter.” His finger followed along as he spoke. “Hmmm. See here, Middlewich is north of Nantwich, and that makes a kind of sense. Sounds the sort of place a giant might build dungeons and whatnots, eh?”
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