“He rescued me last night, didn’t he?” Charlotte said, her eyes glassy for a moment as she relived the moment he took her up in his arms.
“You called him your duke,” Emily said. “And then you fainted.”
Charlotte closed her eyes and blushed. “What must he think of me?”
“Frankly, we were both too busy wondering why you were locked in a chest at the Masonic lodge,” Emily said. “Did they kidnap you?”
“The Freemasons didn’t even know I was there.”
“Truly?” Emily’s voice had newfound respect in it.
“Branwell has become one of them. I snuck in to listen to their most secret meeting. I heard many things of interest but at the last minute, purely by mischance, I was locked in the chest.”
“That’s wonderful,” Emily said, her admiration warm and genuine.
“It certainly is.” A masculine voice made both girls’ heads whip round toward the tent. “I should have known any sister of Emily’s would also be as brave as a lion.” Harry was fully dressed now, his coat decorously buttoned over his shirt. He was cautious as he stepped outside. “Is it safe for me to come out?”
Charlotte caught her breath. He was as handsome as she recollected from the night before. His dark wavy hair set off his piercing blue eyes. He could be the very model for her duke. What would it be like for him to take her in his arms? She could always ask Emily, Charlotte thought sourly.
Emily gestured for Harry to come closer. “Harry, this is my sister, Charlotte.”
Charlotte pursed her lips, unsure of what was proper. She didn’t want to come off as a shrew, but she had found them locked in a disreputable embrace.
“Charlotte, don’t be a prude,” Emily scolded. “Each of us is an adult and entitled to do what we want, so long as no one else is hurt.”
Catching her bottom lip between her teeth, Charlotte still hesitated.
Harry stepped forward. “Harry Casson,” he said, holding out his hand. Charlotte looked down at it, conscious of her sister’s censorious eye upon her. She made up her mind and took his hand in hers. His fingers were long and fine-boned, but she felt the calluses on his palm.
“Charlotte Brontë,” she said. “I don’t believe we were properly introduced last night.”
“A pleasure to meet you.”
“I must thank you for coming to my rescue,” Charlotte said, feeling the heat creep up her neck and cheeks.
“Think nothing of it,” Harry said, a smile on his lips. He glanced between Charlotte and Emily, as if wondering how they could be sisters; one so tall and wild, the other tiny and prim. “How did you come to be spying on the Freemasons?”
“I was trying to protect my brother, Branwell. I fear Robert Heaton is luring him into a web of dangerous secrets.”
Harry turned to Emily. “You were right about Branwell. But what could my uncle want with him?”
“Your uncle?” Charlotte said, her thoughts racing. “You’re Rachel’s missing son?” She stared at him with even more interest. How could she not have noticed that the uncle and nephew shared the same piercing blue eyes?
Harry started. “What do you know about my mother?” His intensity left Charlotte breathless.
“Nothing,” she managed to say. “Not since I met her that day on the moors.”
“Charlotte!” Emily cried. “You’ve actually met Rachel? Harry wasn’t even sure she was still alive!”
“I think it was her . . .” Gratified by their reaction, Charlotte didn’t want to disappoint them.
His eyes fixed on Charlotte, Harry ordered, “Describe her.”
“Her eyes were blue, like yours. And like Robert Heaton’s.”
Harry nodded.
“She was beautiful, or had been once. She had reddish-blond hair, with streaks of gray.”
“That’s my mother!” Harry exclaimed. He pulled at his collar and muttered, “Gray hair? I never should have left her.”
“Never mind, Harry,” Emily said. “You’re here now.” She turned to Charlotte. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”
“Heaton told me not to,” Charlotte said simply.
“What is your relationship with Heaton? Are you in league with him?” he cried, lunging toward Charlotte.
Emily stepped between them. “Harry, Charlotte would never do anything criminal. She’s absurdly righteous.”
“Thank you, Emily,” Charlotte said waspishly. “Harry, I can assure you I am not working with Heaton. In fact, he quite dislikes me and my meddling ways.” Her smile was rueful.
“Charlotte, I don’t mean to sound suspicious,” Harry said, “but you do see you must tell me everything if I am to trust you?”
“Harry, I already told you . . .” Emily began to defend Charlotte, but Charlotte touched her arm. “It’s all right, Em, I don’t mind,” she said. “I met her by chance on the road from Bradford. She had come from the moor. She stopped my carriage. She spoke so wildly, I feared for her sanity. Then your uncle arrived and took her away.”
“Where did he take her?” Harry asked.
Charlotte shook her head. “I’ve no idea. But on my oath, she was alive less than a week ago. Although . . .” She faltered, recalling her own misgivings.
“What? What aren’t you telling me?” Harry demanded.
Slowly she said, “Her wrist, where Heaton grabbed it, was bruised. I wondered at the time if she had been restrained.”
“I’ll kill him!” Harry vowed, starting toward the path to Ponden Hall.
Emily moved to intercept him. “That won’t rescue your mother, which is your first concern.”
“Emily, you heard Charlotte. He’s tying her up! What else has he done to her? What’s to stop him from killing her?”
Charlotte’s eyes were wide, and even Emily’s face looked pale.
“He wouldn’t do such a thing,” Emily said, trying to reassure herself as well as Harry.
“I’d lay even odds he had something to do with his father’s death. Why not his sister’s, too?” Harry ran his fingers through his thick dark hair.
Emily found her voice. “Because it would be too suspicious.” She gained confidence as she developed her argument. “There is already talk about your grandfather. If Rachel dies, too, and your uncle is the only one to gain . . . You can see how it looks.”
Charlotte couldn’t stand to be ignorant any longer. “Emily, you’re wading in dark waters—tell me what is happening.”
“Charlotte, it’s too dangerous,” Emily said. “Go home.”
“I will not!”
“You should both go home,” Harry said. “This is my battle. I’ll find my mother. Then I’ll take care of my uncle once and for all.”
Her shoulders pushed back, Emily said, “Harry, you don’t know me very well if you think you can call me off because it might get dangerous.”
“Besides, our family is involved now, too,” Charlotte said, standing next to her sister. “There are Branwell and Father to think of.”
The mist began to turn thicker until it was a drizzle of rain again. Keeper leapt to his feet and nudged Emily toward the tent. “Keeper thinks we should continue this conversation where it is dry,” she said.
Harry held the flap open. Charlotte went in first, eyes wide open to take in every detail. She picked up a book from the cot. “Byron?” Charlotte asked. “Small wonder you and Emily are friends.”
“Very amusing, Charlotte,” Emily said, her arms folded across her chest.
“Please sit down,” Harry said. “I apologize the accommodations are not more luxurious.”
“I’ll begin,” Charlotte said, sitting on the cot. “Harry, what does Heaton gain from keeping your mother hidden away?”
“Money. She’s inherited half of my grandfather’s fortune.”
“But isn’t he rich enough?” Charlotte asked.
“For some men,” Emily said slowly, “there’s no such thing as enough.”
“He wants capital to expand the mills.�
� Harry scowled.
“Show her what we found today,” Emily said.
Harry reached into his satchel and handed Charlotte the papers they had taken from Ponden Hall. She held them close to her nose to read them. Harry flashed an amused glance at Emily, who shook her head with mock disapproval.
“This is your grandfather’s will,” Charlotte said after a moment. “Where did you get this?” She glared at her sister. “Don’t tell me you took this from Ponden Hall?”
“From Heaton’s own locked desk drawer,” Emily boasted. “I picked the lock!”
Charlotte put her hand to her mouth. “Emily! You stole Heaton’s papers? How could you be so reckless?”
“No more reckless than you were when you infiltrated a Freemasons’ meeting.” Harry said. His admiration was unmistakable, and Charlotte felt a blush creep up her neck to her cheeks. “The next paper is an application to have my mother declared incompetent.”
“How cruel!” Charlotte whispered.
“And wicked!” Emily agreed.
“But you’re her son,” Charlotte said. “You would be in charge of her money, wouldn’t you?”
“Harry’s been away for years,” Emily said. “Perhaps Heaton thinks he’s dead.”
“He’s too sure of himself to risk the whole venture on the chance Harry might be dead.” Charlotte shook her head. “There must be more to his plan.”
“We found this, too.” Emily held up the registry of marriages.
“Bradford parish’s missing register?” Charlotte asked. In answer to Emily’s questioning look, she said, “Father told me about it.”
“Why would Robert have it?” Emily drummed her fingers on the edge of the cot. “It must mean something.”
Charlotte read the will a second time. “Your grandfather’s will requires any child must be legitimate.” She stressed the last word.
Emily stared at her sister with admiration. Sometimes Charlotte’s maddening insistence on rules and procedures paid unexpected dividends. “Harry, where were your parents married?” Emily asked. “And could you prove the marriage? Do you have a marriage certificate?”
“Of course I don’t have their marriage certificate.” Harry looked puzzled. “They wed in Bradford, I think.”
“Your uncle has the register of marriages for the Bradford parish,” Charlotte pointed out. “If he also had taken or destroyed your parents’ marriage certificate, you might find it impossible to prove your parents’ marriage.”
“That’s absurd,” Harry protested. “Uncle Robert can’t just deny something everyone knows to be the truth. What about the priest who performed the ceremony?”
“That would be Reverend Smythe, a close friend of Father’s,” Charlotte said. “He died two years ago.”
“Charlotte, does Harry have any other way to prove he’s legitimate?” Emily asked.
Charlotte felt as though she had grown several inches: Emily was asking her for advice. She thought for a few moments. “There aren’t any other marriage records. But wait: The baptismal record asks for your parents’ names. Where were you born?”
“Haworth.”
“Father!” Emily and Charlotte said together. Harry looked confused.
“Father would have baptized you,” Charlotte explained. “He performs almost all the baptisms in the parish. And he keeps meticulous records.”
“Couldn’t Robert steal that book, too?” Harry asked.
“He already tried,” Emily said to the amazement of the others. “He was the intruder who Father ran off with his pistol. He cut himself on the window.”
Charlotte nodded. “I saw the cut on his hand today.” “Might he try again?” Harry asked.
Emily and Charlotte shook their heads. “Father is extremely careful,” Charlotte said.
“No one could get near,” Emily agreed.
Harry pounded his fist into his hand. “This is not getting us anywhere!”
“Oh!” Charlotte’s sudden cry startled both Emily and Harry. “I know what Heaton wants with Branwell. I found some scraps of paper in his room covered with what looked like Father’s writing. But what if Branwell was imitating his writing?” She hated to think her own brother could be so wicked.
Emily had no difficulty imagining Branwell as a forger. “Branwell would be very good at it, I would think. Charlotte, what exactly did the scraps of paper say?”
With miserable eyes, she looked from Emily then to Harry. “ ‘Bastard.’ ”
This scheme I went over twice, thrice;
it was then digested in my mind;
I had it in a clear practical form:
I felt satisfied, and fell asleep.
I need some air,” Harry said. He walked out into the rain and climbed the hill toward Ponden Hall.
“Harry—” Charlotte started after him, but Emily held her back. “Let him go,” she said. “He has an awful lot to think about.”
“Should he be alone?” Charlotte turned to look at Emily. “Shouldn’t you go to him?”
“Why?” Emily asked sharply. “He’s a grown man. He doesn’t need me to think for him.”
“But . . .”
“Charlotte.” Emily gave her sister a shake. “If we want to help Harry, we must devise a plan to rescue Rachel.”
Charlotte nodded. Ever since Rachel had stopped her carriage on the road a week ago, she had felt there was a task left undone. A story in need of an ending. But there was another victim to protect. “What about Branwell? He can’t fully understand what his involvement with Heaton means. We have to save him, too.”
Emily eyed her sister warily, but decided not to argue. “Perhaps we can do both. But first we find Rachel—that’s the essential thing. We must do it quickly. Who knows what Heaton has planned?”
“Well, I know where she was.” Charlotte looked thoughtful. “Rachel was on foot when I met her. She couldn’t have come from far away. We just need to find the nearest Heaton property. You can do that easily.”
Emily’s fingers twisted around each other. “Charlotte, I know I mock you for being practical sometimes . . .”
“Often.”
“Often,” Emily conceded. “But I have no idea how to find out what property the Heatons own.”
“Mr. Greenwood, the stationer, is also Haworth’s property clerk. He would help if you asked.”
Emily was puzzled. “Why would he help me especially?”
“He’d do anything for you.” An edge crept into Charlotte’s voice. “He’s completely smitten with you.” Under her breath she added, “Like Harry.”
“Charlotte, don’t be ridiculous,” Emily snapped.
“All you need do is ask.”
“Is the shop open on Sunday?” asked Emily.
Charlotte rolled her eyes; Emily never did any errands, so she hadn’t the faintest idea of when the shops were open. “He opens in the afternoon on Sundays.”
“Fine. I’ll ask him,” Emily said. “And what will you do?”
“I’ll find a way to keep Father’s records safe from Bran-well.” She paused. “That will keep him and Father safe.”
Emily glanced up at Harry, silhouetted on the hill. “This is a good plan, Charlotte, because it’s up to us. Harry can be emotional,” she said, thinking of how he had tossed the valuable book on the fire. “We’re more reliable.”
Charlotte, to Emily’s great surprise, burst out laughing.
Emily pushed open the door to the stationer’s shop, the bell ringing sweetly above her head. The shop was empty except for Mr. Greenwood, looking small behind the battered wooden counter. He straightened up as soon as he saw her and adjusted his sweat-stained collar.
“Hello, Miss Brontë,” he said. “You’re looking very well today.”
“Thank you, Mr. Greenwood,” Emily said.
“I saw you walking on the moors a few days ago.” His hairless skull was dotted with beads of perspiration.
“I didn’t notice you,” Emily said. She wondered why he suddenly looked so
stricken.
“Are you going to walk today? The weather is clear now, but I heard it’s raining a bit to the north.”
“Perhaps, after I complete my errands,” she said.
“Are you out of writing paper already?” Mr. Greenwood asked anxiously. “I can’t get any more until tomorrow.”
“We have enough.” Emily hurried to reassure him. “Charlotte hasn’t begun writing yet. As soon as she does, I’ll replenish our stock.”
“Then what can I do for you today?”
Emily leaned over the counter. “I heard,” she said in a conspiratorial whisper, “you have a record of every piece of property in Haworth.”
Mr. Greenwood seemed to stand a little taller. “That’s true. Would you like to see my map?” Without waiting for her answer, he disappeared into the back room and came out with a rolled-up map. Emily moved aside the dusty bottles of ink and collections of pen nibs.
With a practiced flick of his wrist, Mr. Greenwood unfurled the map. “It’s beautiful!” Emily exclaimed, distracted from her cause by the exquisite detail. Mr. Greenwood had drawn tiny representations of every building. His calligraphy took full advantage of the different-colored inks he had at his disposal. Farms were green, mills blue, and houses carefully drawn in red. The owners or tenants’ names were carefully noted.
“You must have studied each building to get such detail,” Emily said.
Mr. Greenwood looked gratified and sheepish at the same time. “It’s not required, but I like to illustrate my maps. It’s by way of being a hobby of mine.” He let her admire it for a few moments longer before he asked, “Were you looking for something in particular?”
Emily ran her finger along the road between Bradford and Haworth. “Does the Heaton family own any property near here?” She pointed to the area where Charlotte had met Rachel.
“No, their properties are clustered around Ponden Hall and their mills.” Emily must have seemed disappointed because he said, “But they rent a large farm at Top Withins.”
“Why? They have plenty of their own, don’t they?”
“But Top Withins includes the spring that provides water for their most productive mill. They want to control the water.”
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