* * *
Eliza locked the door and the three of them sat in a circle in the middle of the bed. “Who do you think he was?” She asked.
“A lover,” Rosemary giggled.
“No,” Sophia answered. “He wanted to hurt her.”
“And Miss Crawford was afraid,” Eliza added. “Could either of you hear what he wanted?”
“Only that she was to return it to him tonight, at midnight,” Rosemary offered.
“When Atwood is gone,” Eliza ended in an ominous tone.
The girls looked at each other, suspicion formed in their minds.
“We will be there when they meet,” Eliza finally said.
“We can’t do that. Miss Crawford would be very angry,” Sophia insisted.
Rosemary rolled her eyes. “We will hide and she will never know we are there.”
“And if he tries to hurt her,” Eliza continued, “we will protect her.”
The color drained from Sophia’s face, but she said nothing more.
* * *
Vincent stared in the fire and sipped his brandy. What was he to do with Miss Crawford? Though seduction was an intriguing idea for the plan, it was not a level to which he wished to sink. That was Percer’s expertise and he did not want any part of his own personality to reflect that of Percer’s.
However, chances were, Percer had already seduced Miss Crawford, with the promise of marriage as soon as the map piece was found. So, it wasn’t as if he would be bedding an innocent. Yet, the thought of bedding Miss Crawford for revenge left a sour taste in his mouth. It was the revenge that soured him, the bedding however offered intrigue.
Why, of all men, did she have to be involved with Percer? She deserved so much better.
Perhaps he should help her. Miss Crawford had no family that he knew of, and taught. No doubt Percer determined her susceptibility and her location to him, and set out to make her fall in love with him, all so she could gain access to this house for a piece of paper. There was a very good chance Miss Crawford was innocent, or had been, and would soon be dropped the moment her mission was completed.
Vincent liked to think that was the way things were, but his gut told him differently. Too often she changed the subject when a question became too personal. Besides, she had never told him of a betrothal. That in itself was a lie by way of omission.
Yet, the betrothal did not sit well either. If she were in love with Percer, why had she reacted to him in the manner she did. He could have sworn that she was about to kiss him last night. If he had not pulled back, would she have placed her lips on his? If so, where would it have led?
Perhaps Percer instructed her to seduce the paper out of him if necessary. He certainly hoped that was not the case because he would give in. Not that he would give her the paper, but he would allow her to seduce him.
The thought of Miss Crawford giving him pleasure brought a smile to his lips. Oh, it had been too long since he had made love to a woman. Perhaps the answer to his current need was sleeping right next door.
Regardless, he would determine her motive and plan. If seduction were involved, on her part, he would gladly follow. And, with any luck, he may just be able to turn Miss Crawford against her fiancé.
A quiet knock sounded at the door. Vincent glanced at the clock and smiled. He downed the last of this brandy and called for her to enter.
He smiled. “Ah, Miss Crawford. I am so glad you are punctual.”
“I expect it of my students so must expect it of myself.”
“An admirable trait. Can I get you anything before we get started?”
“No,” she answered and took a seat in front of his desk.
The door to the hall had been left open. Vincent wondered it if had been intentional on her part. It didn’t matter. He walked over and closed it before he took a seat behind the desk, he picked up the first sheet of correspondence and looked at her. Tonight she wore a raspberry dress, with ecru lace around her neck. The color was very becoming. Again, he knew he had Wesley to thank. Prior to Wesley, Vincent would have considered the dress a dark pink with lace. Words like raspberry, with regard to a fabric, nor ecru ever entered his vocabulary.
The dress, however, is not what caught his attention. It was the paleness of her skin. Even her lips were without color. Her eyes, a dull grey. There was no life. “Are you feeling well, Miss Crawford?”
She looked up at him, as if startled. “Yes, thank you.”
He did not question her response, but could not help wonder what was wrong. Not that it was any of his concern, but it did give one pause.
Did she fear him? No, that couldn’t be the answer. Then why was she disturbed? He would ask, but did not believe she would give a truthful answer. Instead, he held out the correspondence to her. “Would you read this for me please?” He stood and poured himself a brandy.
She read the latest news from his London solicitor and when finished, placed it on the desk.
“Perhaps it would be better if you sat here.” He instructed her to take a seat behind his desk. She raised questioning eyes to him.
“It would be easier to write the reply on a stable surface, do you not think?”
She visibly swallowed. “Yes, it would.” She sat, retrieved a piece of clean parchment, readied the quill and waited for his dictation.
Vincent rattled off a reply without thought. This was remarkable. One piece of correspondence read and another dictated without even the slightest hint of a headache. Yes, he should have employed a secretary long ago.
While she read, or wrote, he strolled his library and thought through the requests and responses. He almost felt giddy with the freedom. For the first time since the war, he was without pain and had completed more letters than he could finish in a month.
The clock struck twelve and Miss Crawford jumped in her seat.
“Is something wrong, Miss Crawford?”
She glanced at the clock. “Shouldn’t you be going?”
“I have decided I will no longer visit the cemetery.”
Her face blanched. “Oh, I had just assumed.”
“No,” he dismissed her. “We have accomplished much tonight. I thought we could continue for a bit more, unless there is somewhere you need to be.” He meant it as a joke, considering it was midnight, but she blanched further.
After a moment she cleared her throat. “No, I am fine.” She picked up a piece of parchment. “Shall I read the next one?”
Vincent tried to get through two more letters but it was near impossible. Miss Crawford became more jittery as each second passed. She glanced out the window more times than he could count and she broke three quill tips. At one in the morning he called an end to the evening. “I think we have accomplished enough. Shall we continue tomorrow?”
She stood and nodded. “Of course.”
Vincent watched her go. Something had upset her but for the life of him he did not know what. She was fine until he decided not to leave. Why did she want him out of the house?
He walked to the window to stare out at the clear night and took a sip of his brandy. It was the same one he had poured over an hour ago. He could not remember the last time he had drank so little in an evening. He had no pain and for that he could thank Miss Crawford. Well, perhaps not her directly, since he had been the one to ask her to act as his secretary, but she had fulfilled a need that he truly didn’t know he had.
A flash of dark pink caught his eyes and he watched it move through the yard. What is Miss Crawford doing out at this time of night?
He didn’t think further, but opened the doors leading to the terrace and followed her. The moon was high and full tonight so he had no difficulty following her path as she turned into the woods.
Where is she going and what is her purpose? The thoughts plagued him as he stepped into the woods. He did not have far to go before he heard her voice. Vincent stepped off the trail and behind a tree.
“I am sorry I am late. Lord Atwood didn’t leave tonight, a
s he has in the past.”
“I know. I saw you through the window.”
Percer! What was the bloody bastard doing on his land? The answer was obvious. He was meeting his fiancé. If this turned out to be a lovers tryst, he would be sure to interrupt and make sure Percer didn’t miss his next appointment at dawn.
“I have the paper.”
Had she found his piece of the map? No, impossible. That was kept in his room and as far as Vincent knew, she had not been in there…yet.
“I knew I could count on you, Theresa.”
Theresa? Why was he calling Miss Crawford by that name? Was Tess a nickname?
“May I go now? You have what you wanted.”
“Not quite yet, dear.”
Vincent’s blood boiled at the endearment. All he needed was a few more words to prove he had been used and he would make his presence known.
“What do you want from me?” her anguished voice cried.
Percer chuckled.
Vincent edged forward to see them. They stood in the middle of the path, in a break in the trees. The moonlight shown down on Miss Crawford’s black hair.
“Why haven’t you called on Atwood?” she asked.
“Why should I?” Percer reached forward and snatched the document out of her hand.
“I was led to believe you and he were very close at one time,” she countered.
Did Miss Crawford not know their history? If the two were close she would not ask such a question.
“True, friends since we were children.”
“Yet, you would rather hide in his woods than visit him?”
“He no longer wishes to see me. Or, have anything to do with me for that matter?
“Why?” Miss Crawford took a step back from Percer. Vincent wondered if she was afraid. This meeting was not going as he had anticipated when he first saw them together.
“I was there the night his wife died.”
“Did you kill her?”
Maybe Miss Crawford knows Percer for who he really is. If that were the case, why was she betrothed to him?
“Ah, Theresa, you wound me. But no, he was heartbroken over her death and wants no reminders of that night.”
Vincent snorted at the comment then covered his mouth in an attempt to muffle any sound. As dearly as he would love to call Percer out, right now, he would rather remain silent for the moment and find out what he could learn.
“It was well over a year ago, perhaps he has changed his mind.”
Percer offered a dry laugh. “My dear, Theresa, I have written and contacted him in London. While we may enjoy a friendship amongst the ton, I am not welcome in his home.”
The man was a bloody liar and Miss Crawford seemed more innocent as each moment passed. For some reason, that gave Vincent a good deal of relief. Something he would examine later, in the warmth of his chamber.
“If he knew you were here?” she asked.
“He would not like it and he would ask me to leave. However, if you do not believe me, we can return to the house and ask him.”
Oh, please do. I would gladly await your arrival.
“His mood will be much worse for the reminder and for being disturbed as I know this is when he works. How do you think he will react when I tell him he is harboring a murderess?”
Murderess? Miss Crawford had murdered someone?
“By the way, I thank you, my dear.” He folded the piece of paper and put it in his breast pocket.
Miss Crawford turned to go. “If that is all, I will bid you goodnight.”
Percer reached out and grabbed her arm and yanked her against him. His lips flattened against hers.
Vincent stiffened and watched as Percer kissed Miss Crawford. What was their relationship?
Tess fought against him and hit Percer with the one hand she had free. He finally lifted his head. “Did you forget there is one more thing you need do for me.”
Vincent was about to go to her rescue when Percer pulled away. Clearly Miss Crawford did not welcome his attentions.
“What is it?” She bit out before she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Atwood has another piece of the map. I want you to get it for me.”
“Why don’t you ask him yourself?” She spat. “You are friends.”
“He refuses. Atwood claims it is a myth and insists on holding onto it as a family heirloom.”
“Heirloom?”
“It is one of the few possessions he has of his great grandfathers and he refuses to part with it.”
Had Miss Crawford given up a piece of the map? He never dreamed that is what the piece of paper held. So much more was becoming clear. Percer was obsessed with finding that treasure and he would ruin whoever he could, without guilt, to obtain all pieces. Had Miss Crawford simply been another victim?
“Where does he keep it?”
Percer shrugged. “He will not tell me because he knows I want it.”
“You truly believe this map leads to treasure?”
It sounded as if she didn’t believe the map held the secrets of a treasure either.
“It is worth trying to discover, don’t you think?”
“Well, I don’t know where he keeps it so I cannot help you.” She jerked her arm from his hand.
He grabbed it again. “Ah, Theresa, don’t you understand? If you don’t retrieve the piece of the map for me, I will turn you in. Do not doubt that for a moment.”
Her chin came up. “So, I will go to the gallows. You will still be missing a piece of the puzzle.”
He grinned down at her. “Then I will have someone else find it for me” He nodded toward the house. “Which girl do you think would be most susceptible to my charm? Miss Westin perhaps?” He shook his head. “No. However, Lady Sophia would be more than happy to assist me, don’t you think? She is that susceptible age and would believe anything I told her, an older, handsome man, if I declared my love. Girls are so easy and simple.” He lifted a hand to her head and brushed a thumb across her cheek. “Just as you once were.”
Vincent could see her stiffen in the moonlight. One of her students had been threatened and Miss Crawford would not allow any of them to be hurt, not matter how vexing they were at times. Percer also knew who to pick, who was the weakest, to do his bidding. How long had he been watching the house? Had he watched the school prior to them moving here?
“I will find it.” She pulled away and marched back down the path. His laughter followed her.
There was no one but who shuddered at meeting her in a
lonely place, in the dust of evening, or by the light of the moon,
a circumstance that was deemed to be ominous of some evil.
Wake Not the Dead
Johann Ludwig Tieck
Chapter 15
The girls sat before the fire in their chamber, trying to get warm.
“So, first, we need to find a piece of a map,” Eliza announced.
“If not, he will try to seduce me to do it,” Sophia grumbled. “As if I would fall for someone his age. He is old. At least thirty.”
“Some gentlemen think highly of themselves when they should not,” Rosemary assured her.
“Miss Crawford may find it first.” Sophia stretched her feet and pointed her toes toward the fireplace.
“I hope she does. But if not, we will help her,” Rosemary insisted.
“Miss Crawford a murderess?” Eliza looked at her friends. “I don’t think that can be true.”
“One never knows what is the truth. My mother always says that nobody really knows what goes on in a household,” Sophia insisted.
“But a murderess? If that were the case, Mrs. Wiggons would have never let her teach.”
“That is true,” Sophia sighed.
“Finally,” Eliza looked at both of the girls. “Lord Atwoods’s wife is back from the dead, sleeping in his chamber.”
Rosemary pulled her robe tight.
“And, our school will not be done before she begins
to get hungry.”
“Oh, dear.” Rosemary clasped the lapels together at her throat.
“What are we going to do?” Sophia cried.
“All we can do,” Eliza answered. “Find the map piece, determine if Miss Crawford has murdered anyone, and kill a vampire.”
* * *
Vincent paced in his chamber and sipped his brandy. What was he to do now? Even if Miss Crawford was engaged to Percer, it was not something she agreed to.
He understood her giving up her piece of the map. But how had she gotten it? There were no Crawfords with pieces, unless it had come from her mother’s side of the family. No, it was passed from son, to son, to son, unless there was no male issue.
He stalked the table beside his bed and yanked open a drawer. Inside was his piece, along with it was the list of names. He read through them. “Palmer, Banter, Trent, Latimer, that would be his, Ford-Creigh and Walters.” There is no Crawford on the list.
He read over them again. “No,” he uttered in astonishment. “It can’t be.”
He slammed the door behind him and took the stairs two at a time and strode for the servant quarters.
“Wesley,” he called out and banged on the servant’s door.
A moment later it opened. “You could have used the bell pull,” Wesley offered in a dry tone as he opened the door.
Vincent marched into his room. “What do you remember about Ford-Creigh?”
“The man on the list?” Wesley asked and ran his hands through his already messed hair.
Vincent held the list and pointed to the name. “Yes, what do you know of him?”
“He died with his wife. I think a boating accident.”
“What of his children?” Vincent demanded. He knew Miss Crawford was tied to this family. And, the boating accident fit with how her parents died...
“He had one child, a girl.”
“What happened to the piece of the map?”
“Supposedly it went to the daughter, though it could have been given to his brother.” Wesley sank down on the end of his bed.
To Walk in the Sun (Wiggons' School for Elegant Young Ladies - Book 1) Page 13