One wall held a bookcase, empty of any offerings. Isabel placed her hands in the middle section and pushed. Nothing happened. She pushed harder. "Bother."
"Problem?" he asked.
"The bookcase contains a hidden door between the two studies. It shouldn't be locked. I don't think it even can be locked."
He stepped closer to her. "Show me where it hinges."
Isabel took his hands and placed them on the wood. Then he leaned his shoulder against the shelf and thrust with all his might. The hidden door protested but inch by inch it gave and he wondered when it was last opened. Twenty years, or had a curious young girl used it more recently?
Eventually he pushed the shelf far enough that they could slip through the opening. Even in the gloom, he recognised the room beyond: the study the duke showed him to when he had Alick sign a contract to take his daughter. This time he could sit on the fancy sofa if he wanted—there was no aristocrat to leave him standing in a corner.
"Over here," Isabel whispered as she headed to a spot behind the enormous desk. "I will need a light."
In the corner sat an unremarkable armoire made from a pale wood. A geometric design ran up each side and along the top. Approximately waist height, it had two doors with handles that were fashioned as long metal drops. It seemed plain and functional compared to the ornate and expensive furnishings on display in the study. He tugged on one of the handles, but the doors didn't budge.
He closed his eyes for a moment and let his wolf side roam the study. He was alert to anything that might hint of a magical trap. Work of mages or the mage-blooded often produced a low hum that the wolves heard but others did not. Nothing vibrated along his senses. Did the duke not use mages, limiting himself to afflicted creatures to do his bidding? Mages were ranked higher than dukes in England so perhaps he didn't want to request anything of a superior.
"I'll fetch the key," Isabel said, and dropped to her hands and knees to disappear under the enormous desk. There came a muffled sound, a faint rasp of metal, and then she re-emerged, holding aloft a large iron key.
"How did you ever discover that?" Alick asked.
"I was hiding under the desk one day. Then, having discovered the key, I had to know what it unlocked." She grinned and he saw the mischievous child still residing inside her. Shame she never had a raucous collection of siblings to take on her adventures.
Alick picked up a candle in a silver holder and carried it over to the corner. Only when it was shielded by their bodies did he strike a match and light the wick. The flame flickered over the golden wood of the cabinet. He had little need for the extra light but it would aid Isabel.
Isabel inserted the key, unlocked the doors, and pulled them open. Inside the cupboard had numerous drawers and shelves. Sleek velvet cases in a variety of shapes sat on one shelf. Another held rolls of bank notes, piles of stocks and bonds, and black bags of golden guineas.
"Correspondence is in here." Isabel pulled open one long drawer, crammed with papers.
Alick set the candle on the top of the cabinet and picked up a handful of tied letters. He flicked through, looking for anything written in French or with the tingle of ensorcellment. He really hoped to spot the imperial seal, but he doubted their task would be that easy. The large clock in the corner of the room kept them company, ticking off the seconds that merged into minutes. There was so much to go through and he was mindful of Hamish's one-hour deadline.
"Have you found anything?" he asked, the suspense eating at him. They were so close he could smell French perfume. Yet if the cabinet really did contain evidence of Balcairn's treachery it would also signal the downfall of his wife's family.
"Nothing." There was an edge to her voice. "I swear I once saw letters in French in here and they stung my fingertips."
Item by item, they ransacked the cupboard. Finally he gave way to his curiosity and pulled out one of the velvet boxes. When he opened it, fire burst forth.
"Mother's diamonds. Most of her jewellery is stored in here," Isabel muttered.
"They should be yours." The collar was enormous, a good three inches wide with a central teardrop diamond. He wondered how many thousands of pounds it was worth. A necklace worthy of a queen.
She shook her head. "It all belongs to the duchess and will go to Walter's bride."
She snapped the case shut and took it from his hands. "There is nothing here. Father must have moved them to Mayfair."
"Or destroyed them." While he believed that she had once seen something in the cabinet, there was no way of knowing what had become of the letters. Personally he would have fed them to a fire to stop them ever biting him in the arse. Who knew if the duke took a similar precaution?
"No," she said and her face contorted for a moment in thought. "Father likes to keep hold of anything he can use as leverage."
Alick wondered if that included his daughter, as she locked the armoire and hid the key back in its resting spot. Then they crept through the quiet house and slipped back out the duchess' study window.
"Well?" Hamish asked as they crept back to him and the horse.
"Nothing," Isabel said as she swung into the saddle.
Alick shook his head at her definition of ‘nothing.’ "Nothing except for a fortune in gold, bonds, and jewellery."
Hamish looked from one to the other as Alick stripped off his clothes and stowed them away again.
"Are you certain the letters you found were from Napoleon and not a casual French correspondence?" the captain asked.
"Oh, yes. One had the imperial seal, and why would you ensorcell an ordinary letter? Details like that do tend to stick in one's mind, despite the passage of time." Isabel put heel to her gelding and led off in the dark.
The two men dropped to soft pads and trotted along by the horse. Alick mulled thoughts over in his head as they returned to the lodge.
As Isabel unsaddled the horse, the men gathered up their clothing and dressed. The route home had given everyone plenty of time to think. Alick left his cousin to do the talking. There was a reason Alick was just a sergeant and Hamish was the captain of the Highland Wolves. Alick was pulling on his boots when heard the first softly spoken question directed at Isabel.
"Does your father spend much time in Oxfordshire?" Hamish asked.
Isabel hung up the bridle on a hook and fetched a short bristled brush. "No. For the last couple of years he has mainly been based in Mayfair; he wants to be closer to Parliament. It is unusual that he has spent the last week here."
Hamish made a noise but remained silent. The calm night was punctuated only by whispered stroke of the brush over the horse's coat.
Alick held his tongue for as long as he could. "What are you thinking?"
Hamish donned a waistcoat and then looked to his cousin. "If I had some form of correspondence with Napoleon, and assuming there was a reason I hadn't destroyed it, then I would keep it close. Somewhere I knew no one would ever stumble upon it."
Alick snorted. Pursuing a letter that may or may not still exist was a wild search after wisps of smoke. Their time would be better spent searching cellars for the vampyre and the shadow men. Or trying to figure out how the merchant on their list was connected to the traitors.
Isabel finished brushing the saddle area on the horse and laid down the brush. When she spoke again, her voice was so quiet it was a mere suggestion on the air. "Father has a hidden safe in Mayfair. One that he does not know I found, one that he thinks even the servants are unaware of. It has a blood spell upon it but he seems to forget that I carry his lineage in my veins."
Alick didn't like the way that comment was heading. Blood spells protected something belonging to a particular person but some allowed a direct relative, like a son or daughter, to also bypass the enchantment. "It's speculation though. He could also have thrown the letters into the fire, and that's assuming they weren't naughty notes from a French mistress."
Hamish turned his gaze to Alick. "Everything is speculation and conjecture until w
e find evidence."
20
Isabel
* * *
The next morning Isabel again awoke in Alick's arms. This time she stretched and enjoyed the heat that washed over her limbs at the contact. Just as she rolled over to lift her head and offer herself up for a kiss, he slipped away. He muttered about leaving her to get dressed in private and was gone before she could object.
She sat up and stared at the shut door and an ache took up residence in her body. Was he really giving her privacy or did he leave her for other reasons? In the tempest of anger he brought her pleasure, but in the quiet moments alone together, he ran like a startled rabbit. Odd.
While pondering how to work up the courage to kiss Alick without being steaming mad at him first, Isabel sat in the kitchen, listening to the chatter of the others. A strange sense of belonging washed over her. She’d had a difficult start to her relationship with the other women but she was growing to enjoy the open conversation about a vast range of topics. There was no stiff formality and they used each other's Christian names, not titles or surnames. They laughed often, and some of Ianthe's comments were decidedly ribald. Isabel loved it.
Sarah took a seat and picked up her cup of tea. "Do you think you ladies could forage up some mushrooms? The men are cooking that venison haunch over the spit tonight and mushrooms would be a grand accompaniment."
"Oh, I would love a walk and a stretch," Aster said and Dougal gave a soft woof from under her seat.
Isabel nearly jumped with excitement; for once she had a snippet of practical knowledge that would be of assistance. "I know where the ones for eating grow around here and we wouldn't have to venture too far into the forest."
Ianthe arched an eyebrow. "Aster is not supposed to wander away from the lodge without a lupine companion."
Sarah looked in a store cupboard and produced two wicker baskets. Then the front door rattled and loud voices filled the lodge as the men returned from their morning tasks.
Aster took one basket from Sarah and handed the other to Isabel. "Don't worry, Ianthe. There has been no sign of the duke's men for two days since the wolves scared them off, and Dougal and I are both feeling cooped up. Hamish and Alick have returned; please send one of them along to carry our baskets once they have washed up."
Decision made, Isabel led the way, taking the small track that ran from the back of the stables. It looked like an animal path, but it was a quiet walk through the dense forest. Conversation flowed more easily between the two women and Isabel revelled in talking to another woman who abhorred shallow topics and wanted to discuss the war.
"I must say, I quite like the new Mrs. Ferguson. I do hope that I might call her friend," Aster said as they found a patch of fat mushrooms growing in the rich detritus under a stand of trees.
Isabel turned to stare, sure the woman was jesting. Emotions tumbled through her. She had never had a genuine friend. A true one, not a society friend who kissed the air by her cheek but sharpened her claws behind her back. The butterflies in her stomach gave flight.
"I would like that," she said with a tiny smile.
She had a friend. One who liked her, the real Isabel, and not the title. She turned her face so Aster didn't spot the ridiculous grin she sported. The former courtesan was thawing toward her, but Isabel suspected she would need to prove her worth to Ianthe before that woman opened up. They had both seen the worst of society, whereas Aster was more trusting.
Soon the baskets were filled with brown and white fungi. It was only as Isabel stood that she thought how odd it was that Alick or one of the others had not joined them.
"Where do you think they got to?" she asked Aster. They were protective of the woman and it was strange they hadn't hurried along the path to shadow her, even if her father's men had disappeared.
"I'm sure they're not far away," Aster said, lifting her skirts with one hand to step over the low-growing plants as they picked their way back to the path.
At that moment, Dougal crashed through the undergrowth and leapt into the middle of the worn track. He sat and stared intently at a spot in the distance that only he could see. His head cocked to one side and his right ear lifted.
Aster waved at her dog. "I would say someone approaches now."
A low growl emanated from the little terrier and he shuffled back toward his mistress.
"Dougal, don't be so silly. It's only Alick or Hamish." Aster reached down and patted the dog's head but he refused to be comforted.
A chill scurried down Isabel's spine. "Come back here, Aster, into the sunlight."
Isabel took her friend's arm and walked her back along the path to where the trees pulled back and a small glade opened out, and the warm earth was bathed in sunlight.
"In case it is not one of the wolves, better to stand where shadow men cannot reach?" Aster murmured as she fussed with the canine.
"Where they cannot draw on the dark to hide their faces from us," Isabel replied. She reached under her skirt and pulled the knife free from her garter, then she hid it among the mushrooms she carried. The handle nestled between two caps and at a casual glance looked like a skinny companion.
A man appeared around the bend, ducking his head to miss a low-hanging branch. Despite the warm weather he wore a long black coat and a soft military cap pulled low over his brow. Isabel recognised him, as did Aster, but it was neither of their husbands. It was one of her father's shadow men. The interchangeable Mr. Smith. She drew in a sharp breath, echoed by Aster.
Isabel had chosen a spot to make their stand that gave them the greatest amount of room to move and bright light to counter Smith's particular affliction. They could have struck off through the trees, but their long skirts would hamper them and it would not be a quiet exit.
The man raised his head and caught sight of them.
"Lady Isabel," he called out. "Or, I suppose, Lady Isabel no more."
A grin cut across his face as he neared. Dougal continued to bark and growl even as he slid closer and closer to Aster, until Isabel thought he might disappear under her skirt.
Mr. Smith tugged on the brim of his cap in the scantest regard to courtesy. Isabel knew this particular Smith, now that he couldn't draw on the shadows to obscure his features. This was the one who had caught her unaware the night of the ball, the one who said he would have stood up to duel her. Never had she been more grateful that Alick had taken his place.
Aster stooped and fussed over Dougal and avoided the man's gaze.
"No, I am Mrs. Alick Ferguson now, and of no import to anyone." Isabel kept her voice light, all the while glancing back down the track, looking for any sign of Mr. Ferguson.
Smith's sly gaze ran over her and then to Aster. "I'm so glad I found you. Two young ladies such as yourselves shouldn't be out here all alone. Your father wouldn't like it."
"I am no longer my father's responsibility, for which I understand he is rather relived." Isabel tried to keep the bitterness from her tone. Her father thought to throw her out and watch her flounder. Instead she stretched her wings and learned to fly in her new environment. She was the butterfly who had broken free of its glass container and soon she would soar.
Smith's gaze fixed on Aster, whose face was sheltered by the brim of her bonnet, the only shadow available in the bright clearing. "Perhaps since we have happened upon one another you could satisfy my curiosity and introduce me to your friend?"
The chill down Isabel's spine froze and locked her back rigid. "I don't think that is necessary, and we are due back at the lodge. Good day to you."
Aster straightened slowly, as though not wanting to draw his attention further. Dougal snarled as he placed himself between the stranger and his mistress.
Smith's hand snaked out and grabbed Isabel's arm, holding her still. "Lady Isabel would never forget her manners. Have you become a rude oaf like your new husband?"
She hissed at him, "Alick is a hundred times the man you could ever be."
"Your husband isn't a man at all
, but a wolf wearing the skin of one." Then he laughed, a harsh noise that made Dougal's growl deepen. The dog's lip curled back and he revealed his canines.
Smith reached into the pocket of his long black overcoat and drew out a pistol. He pointed it at Dougal. "Introduce me to your friend or something unfortunate will happen to the mangy mutt. Do tell me it’s some relative of your new husband."
He was bluffing, Isabel was certain of that. He would never shoot the quick terrier, but Aster made the decision for her. The woman stepped forward and pushed his arm down, so the pistol pointed at the dirt. "I am Mrs. Hamish Logan. Satisfied? Now, let us be off, Isabel."
She turned and called Dougal to her, but the man let go of Isabel and lunged for Aster.
The woman jerked but he held her fast. "Let me go. This is most uncalled for."
"Not just yet." He placed the butt of the pistol under her chin and tilted her head up. The angle allowed the sunlight to caress her face, free of the shadow cast by her bonnet. He stared at her face until she met his gaze, and then he chuckled. "You have such unusual eyes. I have only ever seen one other person with violet eyes—Sir John Warrington. He had a maid, you know, who wore dark glasses."
Isabel's breath came short in her body. Where were Hamish and Alick? In the space between breaths she came to a decision. Aster was her friend and no one would hurt her friend.
"A maid who outwitted you and escaped." Aster spat out the words.
He laughed. "I thought it bad luck that I lost sight of you in the mess hall. But now I know differently. You had a reason to run. My boss would love to talk with you."
Aster smiled and kept calm, despite the pistol pressing into her skin. "My husband would love to talk to him, too. Perhaps we should arrange a luncheon?"
The sly smile returned to Smith's face, his attention fixed on Aster. "I don't think we need bother him. You can come with me now. Leave the annoying pup behind."
Layers to Peel Page 18