Rivals of Fortune / The Impetuous Heiress

by Jane Ashford

  “Haven’t I helped in the treasure hunt?”

  “Not lately you haven’t. You’ve been too busy digging with Father and riding all over the countryside with dandies.” Frederick took several mincing steps and made a mock bow.

  Joanna laughed. “How horrid you are. But I mean to go with you just the same.”

  Frederick laughed, too, his good spirits restored by this show of interest. “All right. But I shall leave at two sharp. Mind you are ready. You’ll see, Joanna. We’ll find the treasure all right and tight.”

  Joanna wisely made no reply to this, and after warning her again not to be late, Frederick bounced out of the room.

  They took the gig to Erland Abbey. The rain had nearly stopped, but both wore cloaks well pulled up around them to keep off stray droplets and mud. Joanna had insisted they send a note before them, so they found Jonathan Erland at home and waiting.

  He seemed glad, even excited, to see them. “I believe I have found something,” he said as they walked down the hall to the library.

  “Not the treasure?” cried Frederick, deeply chagrined.

  “No, not that. But a clue perhaps.”

  “Ah, I have found out something too.”

  When they had sat down, Frederick poured out his story. “So you see,” he finished, “there must be someone else looking for the treasure. We must take care.”

  Erland nodded a bit dubiously. “It is possible, though it might have been something else, or perhaps only some sensation seeker.”

  Frederick started to protest, but Joanna was ahead of him. “That is what I said. It is ridiculous to imagine that someone else would come to dig at the Abbey. Who would it be? One of the neighbors? Nonsense.”

  “Yes,” replied Erland slowly. He seemed as uncertain of her assertion as of Frederick’s.

  The boy snorted. “Well if that is not the stupidest thing. There are heaps of people who might have heard of it. In Oxford perhaps. One of Father’s students. I wager that Sir Rollin Denby told everyone.”

  “He did not,” retorted Joanna hotly before Erland could speak. “He would not do such a thing.”

  Frederick snorted again.

  Erland was looking at Joanna, an anxious expression in his gray eyes. There was a momentary pause. Frederick had turned away, and Joanna was frowning at him. Erland cleared his throat briefly, then said, “Well, well, it is all over, you know. And no one has trespassed again. Let me tell you what I have found. It may mean that anyone can dig as much as he wishes without disturbing us in the least.”

  Frederick turned back immediately. “What is it?” Joanna, too, looked interested.

  Erland opened a drawer of his desk and took out the charts they had found some days ago. “I have been going over these with your father,” he said. Frederick made an inarticulate noise. “Without, of course, telling him of our search. He has much more knowledge of historical documents than I, and he has been a great help.” Erland unfolded one of the sheets. “We have concluded, from some of the markings here and the probable dates of the notations that some of my ancestors may have been Jacobites.”

  Joanna gazed at him blankly.

  Her brother frowned, waited for something more and then said, “What has that to do with anything? I daresay they may have been, but what have Jacobites to do with the treasure?”

  “You know who they were?” asked Erland.

  Frederick looked superior. “Of course. They wanted the Pretenders for king, the Stuarts. It was all hundreds of years ago.” His smugness wavered a bit. “Or a long time ago at least.”

  “It was,” agreed the man solemnly, only the twinkle in his eyes showing what he thought of the young Rowntrees’ reception of his news. “But the important thing is that there were several plots and rebellions over the question. And many times, men had to be hidden from the authorities for long periods of time. The oldest of these charts suggests, very obliquely, that Erland Abbey was one such hiding place.”

  Joanna was frowning. “You mean,” she said slowly, “that there is some sort of secret room?”

  “I think so. It may be that this is the family tradition my uncle wished me to remember.”

  “A secret chamber,” murmured Frederick, immense gratification evident in his voice. “First-rate. Where is it?”

  Erland smiled. “That is the problem. If there is such a room, it is the obvious hiding place for the money. But the charts are by no means clear about the location. Come and look.”

  Frederick and Joanna jumped up and came over to the desk.

  “You see that here,” said Erland, pointing, “there are several unusual lines on the chart, on the side of the house nearest the ruins. Your father thinks these indicate some sort of built-in hiding place there, but we cannot make out exactly where. The instructions are purposely misleading. They were breaking the law, you understand, and had to be careful. The chamber might be anywhere in that wing.”

  There was a short silence as the three of them thought of the huge old house and all the nooks and crannies it contained. Searching even one wing would be a monumental task.

  “Well, we must simply look everywhere,” said Frederick. His expression was complacent. “I am ready.”

  Erland laughed. “Indeed, I see you are. But it would be better to form some plan of action first.”

  “Pooh. I say, start at once.” Frederick suited his actions to his words. “I shall get a lantern. I daresay some of the rooms are dark.” He ran out of the room.

  Erland laughed again. “He is full of enthusiasm.”

  But Joanna was frowning. “Too full. He is abominably rude, though he doesn’t mean it.”

  “I know it.”

  “You must not let him plague you to death.”

  “He does not. Quite the contrary. I enjoy having some lively company in this gloomy barrack.”

  Joanna looked at him. “You don’t like living here?”

  “It isn’t that.” Jonathan looked about the room. “I’m fond of the old place, right enough. But it needs so many repairs I cannot make. That galls me and depresses my spirits occasionally.”

  “Well, but you will when you find your uncle’s fortune.”

  He smiled wryly. “Do you truly believe there is a fortune, Miss Joanna?”

  Her eyes widened. “Don’t you?”

  “I don’t know. I wish it, of course, for many reasons, but I cannot quite bring myself to believe it.”

  “Frederick believes it,” offered Joanna, not knowing quite what to say. Erland looked tired and dispirited.

  He smiled. “Indeed he does. If anyone can find a treasure, he can.”

  “You will. I know you will,” said Joanna impulsively.

  Erland looked directly into her eyes followed by a long moment of silence. For some reason, Joanna found she was holding her breath. “Do you think so?” he said finally, allowing her to breathe again. “It is important to me.”

  “You could repair the Abbey,” she agreed.

  “Yes—and I could think of marriage, a family, as I cannot now.” He watched her. “I never did think about such things until I came to this neighborhood. But now I do, often.”

  A sudden thought came to Joanna, making her move involuntarily. Erland saw it and gave a bitter little laugh. “It is all ridiculous, of course. A treasure.” His tone was derisive. “I don’t really suppose that there is such a thing. But I will grasp at any straw.”

  The look in his eyes made Joanna get to her feet. She felt a little breathless again, and her emotions were uncertain. Though Erland had not said anything directly, the look in his eyes and the way he spoke suggested that he felt some special interest in her. She was startled, confused, and certain that she did not wish to continue this conversation.

  “No,” said the man sharply as she turned away. Joanna looked at him nervously. “I mean, I d
id not intend to say anything. I know I cannot yet…that is, I have no right…oh gods, what a tangle.”

  The moment was horridly embarrassing. Joanna found that she was incapable of movement, and she wondered wildly what she should do. She wanted to get away, but she couldn’t seem to begin.

  Erland recovered first. “Miss Rowntree, I must and do apologize,” he began. But he was interrupted by a sudden noisy clanging from the lower regions of the house, followed by the sound of voices raised in angry dispute.

  “What is it?” exclaimed the girl automatically.

  “Let us see.” They hurried out of the room together, both looking relieved.

  Following their ears, they went down a corridor and descended a narrow set of stairs, the noises increasing in volume as they went. They came out in the kitchen, to be greeted by the sight of Frederick running past, head down, arms pumping. Hot on his heels was the housekeeper, Mrs. Smith; she was brandishing a broom and scolding continuously. “Lanterns, is it?” they heard her mutter. “Lanterns, and then oil, and then perhaps a bit of bread and butter or a slice of cake. Cake! As if I kept such nonsense in my kitchen. And the next thing you know, the minute I turn my back, the milk pail on the scullery floor and all the cream ruined. Trying to reach the shelf, is it? I’ll show him shelf. Boys! Won’t have ’em in here. Worse than rats.”

  Throughout this monologue, Mrs. Smith chased Frederick with the broom, once managing to strike him glancingly. At last, the boy saw the two of them in the doorway and hastily ducked behind Erland. “She’s mad,” he gasped, and without another look behind dashed up the stairs and disappeared.

  Mrs. Smith also noticed her employer. She lowered the broom and made no move to follow Frederick. But the look in her eye was daunting. “Mr. Erland!” she said before the others could speak. “I will not have boys in my kitchen. It’s not what I’m used to, and it’s not what I’ll stand.” The tone in which she said the word boys implied that she would indeed have preferred an infestation of rats to Frederick’s visit. “He’s pushed over the pan where the cream was rising, and it’s spoilt. There’ll be no milk for your breakfast. Such things never happened in the Master’s time.” She crossed her arms and looked at him. Mrs. Smith had never gotten out of the habit of calling Thomas Erland “the Master.” To her, he remained so even though dead, while his young nephew was Mr. Erland.

  “Oh, I am so sorry,” stammered Joanna.

  But Erland made a quick gesture to silence her and turned to Mrs. Smith with raised brows. “The milk was an accident, I’m sure, Mrs. Smith. Frederick will apologize. You make too much of a trivial incident. And you must become accustomed to having my friends in the house.”

  “I’ll not have boys, and I’ll not do for boys,” answered the woman implacably.

  Erland looked even haughtier. “You will be polite to all of my guests, I hope, or we shall fall out.”

  Mrs. Smith struggled for words. Finally, she muttered, “Extra butter, a joint twice a week, dust the corners, air the hangings, and now—now BOYS!” Her tone was progressively outraged as she spoke. “I won’t have it,” she exclaimed at the end, “Things were never so under the Master.”

  “My uncle, regrettably, is dead, Mrs. Smith,” replied Erland cooly.

  Mrs. Smith was fumbling with the strings of her apron. At last, she got it untied and flung it down at his feet. “You may do what you will,” she snapped, infuriated, “but I’ll not stay to see it. I give my notice this minute.” And with this parting shot, she stamped off.

  They stood silently, listening to her heavy footsteps die away. Erland was turned a little away from Joanna; she could not see his face, but he appeared to be laboring under some agitation. “Oh, I am sorry,” she said. “It was all Frederick’s doing. He is entirely at fault. I shall scold him roundly.”

  Erland turned, and Joanna saw to her surprise that he was laughing.

  “Scold him?” he said. “More likely I shall reward him handsomely. He has rid me of the worst housekeeper in the county. I have puzzled and puzzled how to make her leave, and he did it in three minutes. Where is he? I must thank him.” He turned and began to climb the stairs.

  It was so absurd that Joanna had to laugh also. “You are roasting me,” she said as they climbed. “I know you did not care for Mrs. Smith, but you cannot be pleased to be without a housekeeper.”

  “Can I not? I am more than pleased to be without Mrs. Smith. I daresay I am a better cook than she ever was.”

  Joanna laughed again.

  “You don’t believe me? But I have many times cooked a meal on the trail. I am a fine cook. Ah, here he is.” They had reached the hall by this time, and Frederick peered out at them from behind the staircase.

  When he saw who it was, he came out, his expression sullen. “I did not mean to knock over the milk,” he said. “And I am sorry. I tried to tell her so. The oil for the lantern was sitting just above it. Rum place to keep oil, I thought. And I slipped when I reached for it She had no reason to chase me that way.”

  “Frederick, my lad,” said Erland, putting an arm over the boy’s shoulders, “there is no need to apologize. Mrs. Smith has left me, and I was never happier about anything in my life.”

  Frederick looked up at him suspiciously. “You’re bamming me.”

  “I’m not.”

  Frederick looked at Joanna, who was still smiling slightly, then back at Erland. “Heigh ho!” he cried then. “We can search all we like now.” And he ran back down the stairs for the lantern, followed by the laughter of both the others.

  Fifteen

  They did not actually search that day. Joanna insisted that it was time they went home, and Frederick was brought around by the promise that he might poke about all he liked tomorrow. Joanna was eager to leave; after the excitement of Mrs. Smith’s departure faded, the embarrassment of the previous minutes in the library returned, and she did not want to stay at the Abbey. Erland seemed to concur.

  As they drove home in the gig, Joanna was too preoccupied even to deliver the customary strictures on Frederick’s neck-or-nothing driving. Her emotions were in turmoil: on the one hand, it was exciting and flattering to be clearly the object of a man’s regard; on the other, she was embarrassed and uneasy, because she was fairly certain that she did not return it. The thing that confused her even more was that she was not entirely certain. Before Erland had spoken to her, she would have unhesitatingly said that she cared for him only as a pleasant friend. But in that awkward moment in his study, she had been forced to consider him in another light, and with that, something had changed. She did not know just what. And now, all she wished for was the solitude of her own chamber and time to think.

  This wish was not to be granted. When Frederick pulled up the gig before the door, it was immediately clear that they had callers. “Ugh,” said the boy. “I shall take the horses around to the stables. You may do the pretty in the drawing room. You like that.”

  Joanna sighed, but she said nothing as she got down. Frederick took the gig away, and she started for the door. The sooner she went in, the sooner it would be over and she could retreat to her room.

  In the drawing room, she found an ill-assorted group. Her mother sat on the sofa chatting desultorily with Sir Rollin Denby, and opposite them, Selina Grant and Constance Williston were making stiff conversation in two armchairs. Everyone looked relieved when Joanna walked in.

  Sir Rollin rose and bowed slightly. “I called to see how you got on after our mishap,” he said, “and I was fortunate in finding Miss Williston here. I meant to go on to the Rectory, of course.”

  From the corner of her eye, Joanna saw Constance grimace, and she hurried to say, “How kind. It was too bad, was it not? Did you get a wetting also?”

  “I did indeed.” Sir Rollin smiled wryly. “In fact, I cut a pretty figure altogether. Not only was I caught out in the storm, I lost my way in the lanes and had
to ask directions. The cottager I spoke with made it clear he thought me mad.”

  Joanna laughed. “I knew it was something like that.” She was glad to hear Sir Rollin’s story. Too many people had seemed to think that he had simply left them. She could not resist throwing Constance a speaking glance.

  “Ah, did you think I had abandoned you?” asked the man, his voice amused.

  “Of course not.” Joanna looked across at Sir Rollin. As usual, he was the picture of a fashionable Londoner. She found herself comparing his careless elegance with Jonathan Erland’s equally careless dishevelment. There could be no question that Sir Rollin shone in contrast. He looked up suddenly, his sparkling hazel eyes meeting Joanna’s darker ones, and smiled. Joanna’s heart beat a little faster.

  “Come and sit here,” he said, pointedly drawing her a little away from the others. It was not quite polite, but Joanna could not resist sitting down beside him. He seemed to hold her with his eyes. “There was so much I meant to say to you on our ride,” continued Denby, “and then I got caught up in seeing the town and said none of them. Can you forgive me?” He laughed down at her.

  “Of…of course,” stammered Joanna. Then, realizing this was an inane response, she began, “I mean…”

  “No, no, let it go at forgiveness. Don’t let us go on about my cloddishness.” Joanna thought that Sir Rollin could never be cloddish, whatever happened. “I am so glad you took no hurt,” he continued smoothly. “I really cut a poor figure, stumbling through the mud and wet. I wish I could have rescued you all. Miss Williston mentioned that she took a fall.”

  Joanna nodded, recounting the story of their homecoming. “Luckily, the injury to her ankle was less serious than we feared. She can walk on it already.”

  He nodded, paused a moment, then asked, “And how is your digging getting on? I have not been able to look in these past few days.”

  “It is not going too well. We cannot seem to find the church, though Papa was sure he knew where it was. However, Mr. Erland has given him the chart of the ruins. I daresay he will find it soon.”