Suzanne Robinson

by The Treasure

  “Good.”

  “Besides, this debacle with Miss de Winter has me worried about you.” Acton glanced at Valin’s untouched plate. “You don’t look well.”

  Courtland appeared in the doorway. “I agree. You look terrible, Valin. Any kippers left? I’ve been up since five trying to find references to old Beaufort’s treasure in the family records.”

  “Never mind the treasure,” Acton said. He rose, went to Valin, and placed a hand on his brother’s arm. “See here, old man. You’re losing weight. You’re pale, and you’re miserable. I was wrong about turning our little band of thieves over to the authorities, but you were wrong too. You should release Miss de Winter and send her away.”

  Courtland was piling kippers on a plate. “I agree, old fellow. I keep telling you it’s mad to hold her prisoner. It’s doing you more harm than it is her.”

  Valin nodded, deep in thought. “True.”

  “And she’ll never tell you anything,” Acton said.

  Courtland sat down with his kippers. “Exactly.”

  Valin regarded the two solemnly.

  “You must see it,” Acton said in a quiet tone of certainty.

  Walking over to Courtland, Valin slapped his brother’s back. “You’re both right. I’ll release her.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Acton said. “It’s better if you don’t see her alone.”

  Valin was already headed out the door. “I don’t agree. For what I have in mind, seeing her alone is exactly the right thing.”

  It was almost noon when Valin arrived at Hartwell Keep. As he dismounted, Yarlet rode into view with a basket over his arm.

  “Morning, lordship. I’m just back from the village with the lady’s breakfast. She hadn’t stirred when I left, but likely she’s awake by now.”

  On the way upstairs Valin began to frown. What if he’d ruined everything with Emmie? She was convinced he’d deliberately tricked her into making love. She might hate him. She might not listen, the way he hadn’t listened. If he couldn’t resolve this misunderstanding, he’d have to let her go no matter what it cost him. His honor demanded it, dammit.

  By the time they reached Emmie’s door he was scowling, his disposition as foul as it had ever been. Yet he almost laughed at himself. Before Emmie had come into his life he would never have noticed the descent of gloom and ill temper. Because of her he was aware that his humor suited that of a demon with a toothache.

  Yarlet knocked on the door and unlocked it. As the portal swung open Valin strode in quickly, determined to finish this business as soon as possible. He was halfway across the room before he realized it was empty. Looking around the room, Valin went cold. Emmie’s luggage stood open, her gowns and possessions strewn about the room.

  Valin stared mindlessly at the gown of indigo blue, but he snapped out of his daze and shouted, “Yarlet!”

  The man stuck his head inside the room. “Lordship?”

  “Miss de Winter is gone.”

  “But she was here,” Yarlet said as he looked around the room in astonishment.

  “When?” Valin went to the window and examined it. “When did you last see her?”

  “Last night, lordship. I brung her supper and ate mine.”

  Growing colder, Valin left the window and approached Yarlet. “And after that?”

  “Well, let me see.” Yarlet rubbed his chin. “There weren’t a sound out of her after I took her tray out. I had me own supper, and it was so quiet I fell asleep and didn’t wake, ’til dawn. You said not to give her no trouble or disturb her ’less she asked for something, so I left her alone.”

  Valin said nothing, and Yarlet asked, “Shall we go after her, lordship?”

  “What? Oh.” Valin’s gaze strayed back to the indigo gown, and pain stabbed through his chest. She had left him without a word. “No. There’s no need.” He closed his eyes against the images the indigo gown evoked. “I was going to release her, anyway, and she’s been gone a long time.”

  Valin dismissed Yarlet and prowled the room, furious with himself for discovering the truth about his own and Emmie’s feelings too late. He would find her. He had to.

  He didn’t know how long he roamed about that deserted room, but eventually he heard footsteps on the stairs. Acton shoved the door aside as he walked in with Courtland on his heels.

  “I was worried.”

  “I wasn’t,” Courtland said, “but he wouldn’t stay home so I came, too. I say, where is she?”

  Valin picked up the indigo dress again, savoring the way it cascaded in soft folds from his hand. He breathed in the scent of honeysuckle. “She’s gone.”

  Acton surveyed the room and shrugged. “She’s a thief. We should have expected her to try to escape.”

  Valin returned to the window and looked down at the woods.

  “Evidently she’s an excellent thief, to have escaped this place,” he said. Suddenly he frowned and leaned out the window, looking up at the roof. “An uncommon good thief indeed.”

  His brothers joined him.

  “What are you looking at?” Acton asked.

  Valin came back inside and straightened his coat. “How did she get out?”

  “Through the door, I suppose.”

  Courtland shook his head. “It was locked.”

  “And there’s no rope hanging from the window to the ground, or anywhere else,” Valin said.

  “Then she must have taken it with her,” Acton said as he threw up his hands. “Really, Valin, what does it matter? She’s saved us the trouble of releasing her. Forget it, and let’s go home.”

  Courtland latched on to Valin’s arm and began to lead him out of the room. “Yes, let’s go home. I need to examine the caskets again so I can get a better idea of their age.”

  “Must you make even a treasure seem tedious?” Acton asked him. “We should be trying to cheer Valin up, not bothering with moldy caskets.”

  A mulish expression appeared on Courtland’s face. “The coins and jewels are of historical importance.”

  The quarrel continued all the way back to Agincourt Hall, but Valin hardly heard it. The shock of finding Emmie gone was fading, and he was left in his own inner hell. The world seemed to remove itself to a distance. Even the horse underneath him seemed insubstantial compared to the soul-destroying agony in which he lived. He’d driven her away with his clumsiness, his foul temper, his lack of perception. This was the source of his pain. This and the fact that there was no guarantee that he’d be able to find his bewitching, rebellious, and fascinating Emmie. If she could discover a treasure no one else had found in hundreds of years, she could evade him forever.

  And what if he did find her, but she wouldn’t listen to him? The uncertainty tortured him. Valin vaguely realized his brothers were still arguing as they reached Agincourt Hall. He trailed them upstairs. On the landing Courtland appeared in front of him, which forced Valin to look up.

  “Valin, old fellow, wake up.”

  “Yes?”

  “The key. You locked the caskets in the Russian room. Remember?”

  “This is absurd,” Acton said. “Valin doesn’t want to look at the damned treasure. Can’t you see he’s upset? Let’s find some brandy and have a smoke.”

  “Artifacts relating to the Armada are of incomparable historical significance, Acton. I’m not waiting.” Courtland held out his hand to Valin.

  Valin found the key in his pocket and gave it to his brother. Following Courtland into the room, he slouched into the nearest chair and lowered his head in his hands.

  “They’re gone!”

  Lifting his head, Valin saw Courtland standing beside the table where they’d left the chest and jewel casket. It was bare. Valin rose and walked over to stare at the place where the treasure had been.

  Acton laughed. “By Jove, she’s made off with the loot, after all! What a woman.”

  “How could she have taken it?” Valin asked in a stunned voice.

  “I don’t know,” Acton said, “but it’
s obvious she has, old man.”

  Courtland’s eyes were wide. “Amazing.”

  Valin felt his black mood recede. He drummed his fingers on the table, thinking quickly.

  “No,” he said.

  “What do you mean, no?” Courtland asked.

  Valin crossed his arms over his chest and walked back and forth before the table. “There was no rope at the keep, and this room was locked when we got here.”

  “You’re not making any sense,” Courtland said.

  “This whole thing has unhinged you a little, Valin,” Acton said. “Forget about the treasure. You didn’t want it. We don’t need it, and you certainly don’t want to report the theft.”

  Valin was still pacing. At this last comment he stopped in front of Acton.

  “You’re acting against your character of late, dear brother.”

  “Blast it,” Acton said. “You’ve been chivying me about my conduct for years, and now that I’m trying to reform, you complain.”

  “But have you reformed?” Valin asked quietly.

  Courtland went to Valin’s side. “Now you’re not making sense again.”

  Valin held Acton’s gaze. “What doesn’t make sense is Emmie getting out of Hartwell Keep without leaving any trace of her methods. What doesn’t make sense is Emmie taking the risk of getting caught coming back here for the treasure, when she could get clean away. What doesn’t make sense is how she could have vanished without a trace—unless she had help.”

  “Then Yarlet must have let her go,” Acton said with a twisted smile.

  “And then gone to fetch food for someone he knew wasn’t there anymore?”

  Courtland was frowning. “I say. That is odd.”

  “Emmie’s gone, and the treasure’s gone,” Acton said.

  “She wouldn’t have had the time to get here on foot, steal the boxes and a horse, and get away before someone noticed.” Valin moved closer to Acton. “Come to think of it, only a member of the family could take a horse without causing an uproar.”

  Acton pounded the table. “Damn you, Valin!”

  “You were out late last night.”

  “I’m always out late.”

  “And you’ve been trying to prevent us from looking at the treasure ever since Courtland mentioned it.”

  “I was concerned for you.”

  “You helped Emmie get away, didn’t you, Acton?” Valin walked around the table and approached his brother, who retreated.

  “You’re mad,” Acton said.

  Courtland looked from one brother to the other. “I say.”

  Valin stalked toward Acton. “You let her go, and that’s why there’s no rope at the window or sign of scratches on the door lock.”

  “She’s a thief, for God’s sake,” Acton said as he backed away from Valin. “She escapes from places.”

  Valin backed Acton into a corner near a display table and grasped his lapel. “And the reason you let her go was so I’d blame her for the disappearance of the treasure instead of you. By God, Acton, I should thrash you bloody.” He gripped Acton’s shirt and dragged him close. “Tell me where she’s gone, dear brother, or I’ll make you wish you’d jumped from the roof of Hartwell Keep rather than lie to me.”

  Acton’s mouth worked, but no sound came out. Valin smiled.

  “And while we’re having this little conversation, you’re going to tell me what you said to convince her to go.”

  “I didn’t—”

  Valin looked over his shoulder. “Courtland, don’t we still have an assortment of torture instruments?”

  “In the armory,” Courtland said with awe.

  “Be a good lad and fetch a few of them for me.”

  Acton tried to jerk free of Valin’s grip. “You aren’t going to do anything to me.”

  Valin shoved his brother against the wall, and Acton’s head knocked against the wood.

  “To find Emmie, dear brother, I think I might break you on the rack.”

  17

  Emmie stood in the children’s playroom and watched Flash instruct Phoebe and Sprout in the game of chess. Flash’s rules were original and tended to change with his moods, but that didn’t seem to bother his siblings. She had spent three whole days visiting her little family, days that began early with a walk in Hyde Park and ended early with bedtime stories. Days full of ordinary activities, humble tasks, and peace.

  During this visit she had enjoyed many things a lady shouldn’t: mending, dusting and polishing furniture, preparing meals. Usually her days were filled with schemes, tricks, and scrapes with the law, and the regularity and peace of such ordinary tasks were a refuge. This was the kind of life she longed to lead permanently—not one of luxury, but one filled with tranquility and love. Emmie was quite certain she’d never be able to afford her dream.

  Leaving the children to their game she went downstairs to the drawing room, found her bonnet, and put it on in front of a mirror in the hall. A pale little face looked back at her. It had been over a month since she had left Hartwell Keep and sent for Betsy and the others in Calais.

  Her lack of color reflected the strain and wretchedness of those weeks. At first she’d hidden in the rookeries in case Valin came after her. Days passed, during which she alternately dreaded his finding her or hoped he would come. Then she would castigate herself for wanting him to appear and sweep her up in his arms. The past couple of months should have taught her she could depend upon no one but herself.

  As the August days lengthened into weeks, desperation compelled her to set watchers to spy on the North town house. Always the report was the same. The place was deserted, and no one seemed to expect the marquess to come to London. She continued to have the place watched anyway. It wasn’t until a few days ago that she’d been able to overcome her confusion and decide she needn’t remain in concealment.

  Tying her bonnet ribbons, Emmie slipped on her gloves and picked up a leather case by its handle.Inside, wrapped in velvet, were Henry Beaufort’s coins and jewels. She hadn’t gotten rid of them. Ordinarily she would do that as quickly as possible, but she delayed at first because she thought Valin would hunt her down through them. Later she decided the pieces were too distinctive to sell in England, and she should send them overseas. Once this decision was made, she still hesitated.

  Betsy and Turnip grew annoyed with her reluctance to turn their find into money. A shouting match ensued, with Betsy accusing Emmie of not wanting to sell the treasure at all. After denying this vehemently, Emmie admitted the truth of the accusation to herself. She didn’t want to sell the jewels and coins. Much as she hated to admit it, she thought of them as her only connection with Valin. Sometimes, though, she hated the sight of them, blaming the shining hoard for her misery.

  If she hadn’t discovered the clues to their hiding place, she would never have sought out Valin’s company and been caught in a trap of her own design. She would never have fallen in love with the sneaking, lying varmint. And the longer she kept the treasure the more difficult it was for her to contemplate selling it. It wasn’t hers; it was Valin’s. She had never stolen from someone she loved.

  “Goodness gracious mercy,” Emmie said to herself as she left the house. “What a time to acquire integrity.”

  She got into her carriage and leaned out the window. “To the bank, Turnip.”

  “Yes, missus.”

  Emmie settled back against the squabs and gazed out the window at the sunny streets. If she wasn’t going to get rid of the treasure, she would put it in the bank. It was the safest place. Meanwhile she would compensate Becky and Turnip out of her own pocket.

  That would be another strain on her purse. Her solicitor, who knew her in her guise as the children’s lady guardian, had informed her that the time for paying Flash’s school fees was approaching. She had but a couple of months. In addition, Phoebe would need a proper governess rather than a nurse. Soon she would be moving Pilfer into the household, and he would need special tutors to bring his education up to
the standards required of Eton and Harrow.

  Emmie began to feel overwhelmed again. Since she’d come home, her grief over Valin had served to make her other burdens more onerous. Sometimes it seemed all that kept her going was the knowledge that Flash and the others had no one else upon whom to depend.

  The trip to the bank passed without incident, and Emmie returned to the boardinghouse. She washed, changed into her Mrs. Apple clothes, and was putting away the bank documents when Dolly appeared and danced across the room in excitement.

  “Hello, luv!”

  “What’s gotten into you?” Emmie asked as she sat down at her desk.

  Dolly pranced over to the desk and winked at her. “Heard a bit o’ news at the Black Peacock last night.”

  Emmie’s heart battered against her ribcage. “About the marquess?”

  “Him, nah. What would I hear about him? I heard of a lady’s maid what’s down on her luck in the servants’ lurk next door, so I went over and made her acquaintance, like. Her name is Kitty, and she told me her mistress tossed her out ’cause the master couldn’t keep his hands to himself. Their name’s Bagshot.”

  Dolly poked Emmie with her elbow. “Upstart folk they are. Come from a family of secondhand clothes sellers, but come into blunt selling sewing machines.”

  “So?”

  “So Mrs. Bagshot has a mountain of jewels. Mr. Bagshot don’t believe in safes and banks, and all them necklaces and things is just laying in a locked closet.”

  Dolly dropped to her knees and shoved Emmie’s shoulder. “It’s just the kind of lay you like. Old Bagshot and his missus is mean, sly creatures. They don’t pay their servants hardly anything, and work them near to death. Tossed poor Kitty out without her wages, they did. Now she has no blunt and no character to show anyone who might hire her.”

  “She’ll be on the streets in a week.”

  Dolly nodded. “Sooner.”

  Emmie traced the grain of the wood on the surface of her desk. If she managed this lay, she might be able to send Valin’s treasure back and use the new haul to provide for the children.

  Turning to Dolly, she said, “You and me, Dolly. No one else. We’ll split everything equally.”