“You can’t expect it to be sitting on a mantel, my dear. Naturally it would be so well concealed that a chance discovery of it was impossible.” Steyne rose and extended his hands to draw her to her feet. “Will you show it to me now?”
His hands were as reassuringly firm as they had ever been, and for a moment he didn’t let go of hers, his eyes looking steadily into her wide brown gaze. Theodosia felt the breath catch in her throat and her fingers trembled slightly. Embarrassed, she would have withdrawn them if his grip had not been so firm; if the light in his eyes had not been so warm. When he spoke his voice was infinitely gentle.
“I know I’ve made a royal bungle of everything to do with you, Doe. I don’t see how you can possibly forgive me, but I hope you will. There’s no excuse I can offer for my arrogance. I can’t even plead youth as an extenuating factor, since I was more than old enough to recognize what you were doing. Unfortunately, my prejudice against your father was so great that instead of respecting you for staying and being a dutiful daughter, I thought you stubborn and even lacking in sense. I can’t think why, when I knew what courage it would take to tolerate his indifference. You will admit that he was indifferent to you, won’t you?”
“Yes,” she sighed. “He was everything you said, but he was still my father and I was only nineteen. Your suggestion that you could put pressure on him to force him to agree to our marriage was . . . appalling to me.”
“As it should have been. Honestly, Doe, I find it difficult sometimes to believe I ever said that. My frustration at his total refusal to a match in every way unexceptionable—even advantageous—was monumental. It was tempting to want to see him humbled, I admit, and my influence with the bishop was such that I could have done it. I can’t say that I wouldn’t have, if you’d given me permission. Do you realize that during that one summer I was there he gave notice to a maidservant because she had an occasional fit and to another because she put an egg in the rice milk? And both of them well-known to be from families who desperately needed the small amount the girls made? This was a clergyman whose comfort came before his charity, and I fear it made me feel justified in bringing him to heel. I shouldn’t have judged him; I know you tried not to. Can you forgive me, Doe?”
Theodosia let out a shuddering breath, lowered her eyes and raised them again. “Of course I can. In fact, I did a long time ago. You see,” she explained guiltily, "I really understood then, and I secretly wanted you to do anything necessary to make my father agree. But I felt so wretched for thinking such a thing. It was almost as though I had inherited my father’s selfishness and conceit. For a long time I worried that I was acting the martyr by staying with him—an even worse fault than selfishness—but after awhile I came to terms with both my obligations and my inclinations. I’m at peace with myself, Marc, and I want you to be, too.”
If Theodosia meant this statement to be comforting, Steyne found it far otherwise. Was she saying that she had ceased to love him? That even his renewed presence had failed to fan the flame that had once burned so vigorously? Was it possible that he alone remained in love? He hadn’t even realized he was, at first, with the remnants of anger and hurt still clinging to him, but he knew now.
"Doe . . . I . . ." he began urgently, but there was a sweet, high voice chanting outside the Summer Parlor and Theodosia drew apart from him.
Amy tripped into the room singing, “Goosey, goosey, gander, Whither shall I wander? Upstairs and downstairs and in my lady’s chamber.” She smiled delightedly at finding the two of them there and asked, “Now why do you suppose a goose would wander about like that? I’ve never seen a goose in the house, have you?”
“No dear,” Theodosia replied, straight-faced.
“I should think not! Why, Mama would consider it the very worst sort of housekeeping to have a goose wandering about. Or a gander,” Amy added, to be perfectly correct. “Lord Steyne doesn’t have geese wandering about his house, does he?” Her eyes, full of youthful humor and curiosity, darted to his.
“Not when last I looked,” he assured her. “All the geese at Kingswood are down by the pond.”
“So are ours,” she admitted, almost disappointed. “But that is not so unusual as the rest of the rhyme, really. Why would you find a cup of sack and a race of ginger in the lady’s room?”
Theodosia, more familiar with Amy’s analytical turn of mind than Steyne, attempted to give some reasonable explanation. “I shouldn’t think it so farfetched to find a cup of wine there, but a ginger root . . . Perhaps my lady had been making ginger wine, or thought to flavor her sack with the ginger.”
The child delicately wrinkled her nose. “Ugh. That would be terrible. Mrs. Flowers makes her ginger wine with sugar, lemons, yeast, raisins and brandy, and of course ginger and water. Putting a piece of ginger root in a cup of wine would be ghastly.”
“Yes, I’m afraid you’re right,” Theodosia admitted, “but it’s all of a piece with geese wandering about the house.”
Amy giggled. “I should like to see a gander wander into a lady’s chamber. You may be sure there would be no end to the rumpus. Can’t you just hear Charlotte calling for the footman? What fun! Perhaps I should . . .”
“Oh, no, you shouldn’t, young lady,” Steyne interposed, visions of geese strolling about Charton Court immediately coming to mind. “At least not until I’ve left, if you please. I should hate to trip over a goose in the middle of the night.”
Ever alert, Amy regarded him curiously. “Do you wander about at night then, Lord Steyne?”
Steyne caught Theodosia’s quizzing eyes on him and answered with a rueful grin, “Occasionally, though I’ve never found a cup of wine in my lady’s chamber. Toothpolish, yes, but not even a trace of ginger.”
"Well, of course everyone has toothpolish in her room,” Amy said doubtfully. “I should think if you were looking for a glass of wine at night it would be best to look in the dining saloon. Fyfield always leaves a decanter there.”
“I shall remember,” he promised.
“Mama has gone to have a talk with Edward,” Amy confided to them. “I think I shall go and cheer him up afterward.”
“That’s kind of you, dear,” Theodosia said, “but Lord Steyne and I wished to talk to both of them so perhaps you could see Edward later. Are they in the office?”
“No, the library. Well, in that case I shall go to see the kittens.” And she departed with a cheerful wave, chanting yet another rhyme about four and twenty tailors who were routed by a snail.
When she was no longer in hearing distance, Theodosia said, “Perhaps this would be a good time to tell them my theory. Edward is bound to be depressed.”
“As you wish.” It seemed to Steyne that she was avoiding a confrontation between them, but he could understand her concern. She had adopted the Heythrops as her own family and the care and solace of each of them was of paramount interest. He searched her face for any sign that she was willing to adopt him, too, but she was tidying her embroidery away into a workbox and when she had finished, she said simply, "Shall we go?”
They found Lady Eastwick about to leave the library, but apparently she and her son were entirely in charity with one another. Edward even managed to convey the impression to Theodosia that he was sorry for the way he had behaved earlier. But it was to Steyne that he turned to ask, “Have you found out anything more about my uncle digging?”
The excursion with Thomas to the estate boundary seemed a very long time ago, but Steyne marshaled his thoughts and explained, as briefly as possible, what they had learned that afternoon, both at Mr. Oldbury’s and at the site of the digging. Lady Eastwick shook her head sorrowfully and Edward frowned. When the viscount had finished, he looked questioningly at Theodosia.
Theodosia was seated opposite Lady Eastwick in one of the comfortable leather chairs. “I almost hesitate to propose my theory to you. Lord Steyne thought I had quite lost my mind when I told him. Still, I think it can do no harm and might have a shred of merit.”
His mother, exhibiting her endearing perplexed expression, turned to Steyne. “And you don’t think Miss Tremere might be right, sir?”
The viscount allowed himself a glance at Theodosia before answering. “I think there is every chance that she is,” he replied. “Just at first I thought she might be having a persistent nightmare, but after seeing the poem and the other documents I tend to believe the treasure and the tradition have something to do with Arthur. I was just asking her to show me the plaque, thinking that might give me some clue as to the solution. Miss Tremere thinks the figure might be that of a bear.”
“By Jove, it might!” Edward exclaimed, all admiration. Suddenly he frowned. “Did it occur to you that perhaps the plaque itself is the treasure?”
Instinctively Theodosia turned to Steyne, who cocked his head thoughtfully and said, “It might be, but it’s rather obvious and other than its legendary associations would have little intrinsic value.”
“And there is the seventh earl’s letter urging his father not to remove the treasure to a new location,” Theodosia reminded him. “It seems senseless to think that he would move an item that is in plain view and has been for generations.”
"Hmm, yes,” Edward admitted. “On the other hands think how much more significant the plaque is with these connotations! Keepers of the Trust. Do you think we are descended from Arthur?”
“Lord Steyne doesn’t think he had any descendents,” Theodosia said, smiling at Lady Eastwick, who, Theodosia felt sure, was already alarmed that her son would develop visions of grandeur if allowed to pursue this line. “I thought it might well have been an aide in battle to Arthur to whom he entrusted the ‘spoils of battle' or the ‘reward.’ Perhaps the man was even killed in the line of duty and the treasure was bestowed on his family.”
“Let’s have a look at the plaque,” Edward suggested. Although that was precisely what Steyne wished to do, he had hoped for a chance to be alone with Theodosia when he did. Instead, all four of them made their way to the chapel, which was cool and only faintly lit by the late afternoon sun. The bronze plaque was located on the tower wall, close to the floor, so that it was necessary to light candles and hold them close to the wall, and even then the figure was not easily discernible. It might have been a bear, but it was partially melted from the Seagrave fire, and probably rather primitive to begin with. Steyne ran his fingers over the ancient carving and shook his head.
“Impossible to say. If this is the ‘treasure’ I’m afraid you’re not likely to learn any more about the family secret. An expert on post-Roman Britain might be able to tell you something about its age and even the design but my own knowledge in that area is nonexistent. I’ve seen coins, of course, and even some of the finds at Bath, but I’ve never studied their significance.”
“One of your forebears,” Theodosia told Edward, "was fascinated by the location of the plaque and had it removed. The floor was taken up here, too, but nothing was found. Lord Steyne believes that the treasure is most likely in the house, since it was built after Seagrave was destroyed. The first earl’s poem was undoubtedly meant to locate it there, and the same situation could not be duplicated at Charton Court. I wonder . . .”
She looked to Steyne, the germ of an idea beginning to form. “Do you suppose they attempted to duplicate the location on a theoretical level? I mean, rather than literally keeping it in a graveyard, they kept it with likenesses of those who were gone? Certainly the house is the most safe and secure location. Are there paintings of scenes of battle? Oh, my God!”
Her companions could read the dawning of revelation in her eyes, and Edward, replete with his family’s history and every artifact at Charton Court, made the leap with her.
“The wooden medallions!”
“Yes, of course,” Lady Eastwick murmured, catching their excitement. “There is a background scene of battle behind one of the men, an unidentified figure. But surely every wall in the house has been tapped. The medallions will have been, too.”
Steyne dismissed this problem. “If the location was chosen for its secrecy, you may be sure it will have been built so as not to reveal anything by a cursory inspection. Shall we investigate?”
The wooden medallions were located in the Long Gallery where the family assembled for dinner each evening, and were so familiar that the Heythrops had ceased to pay much attention to them. The room was almost entirely paneled in oak and the carved medallions ranged along the short section of wall between the two main doors which gave onto the room.
Lady Eastwick led the way straight to the most likely medallion at the farthest end: The head of a man was encircled within a larger square and the space between was filled with a minutely carved scene of battle below and two animal-like figures above, facing one another. They might have been the artist’s conception of a bear—if he’d never seen one.
“Actually, they look some nightmarish vision of a mad dog,” Theodosia laughed.
Edward ran his fingers along the outside of the medallion but could feel nothing unusual. He pushed and pried and shook the area; the medallion remained intact. Thinking that perhaps a secret panel included more than just the one medallion, he proceeded to examine the entire area, looking for a concealed catch or some trick which would release the paneling. Everything remained precisely as it had for hundreds of years.
Exasperated, he stood back and looked to Steyne for help. The viscount tapped at each medallion and panel, listening intently for any difference in the sound they made. To Theodosia there seemed none, but Steyne finally turned around and said, “Only the medallion itself, I think, but it’s almost impossible to tell. The difference in hollowness is minimal.”
“Well, we’ll just have to cut it out,” Edward informed them.
His mother regarded him reprovingly. “The paneling is much too fine to be destroyed in any way, my dear. I’m certain that if this is where the treasure is stored, there is a way of releasing it without any damage. I know you’re impatient to get to the truth of the matter but I cannot allow you to disfigure anything. In time we will learn the secret of opening it, but we should dress for dinner now. Heavens, we’ve already made incredible progress today, and I’m sure the children would love to join in finding how to open it.”
"Dear Lord, Mother, don’t tell the children about it while James is here! One of them is sure to let something slip. He’ll be leaving soon. In fact, I thought he was leaving today.” Edward hadn’t considered the matter previously and looked to the viscount for some explanation.
Steyne gave a languid gesture. “James changed his mind again. I dare say he’ll be ready to leave tomorrow, since he’s had no success at his digging.” He could not tell if this possibility affected Theodosia in any way, for she had turned to Lady Eastwick to comment that there might now be no need to use the spurious “treasure” after all. As the group dispersed to dress, he walked beside her and asked what she had meant.
“Lady Eastwick had her sister send an ancient belt buckle so that we would have tangible evidence of the summer’s adventures. I was going to write some clues and have the children find it, in case we had no success with the real hunt.”
“I see. How very foresighted of you, Doe.” They had reached the upper landing and he placed a hand urgently on her arm. “Could we talk for a minute?”
Theodosia was about to agree when Amy bounded down the hall toward them. “Oh, Miss Tremere, you’ll never guess what I’ve found! How do you do, Lord Steyne?” She dropped a curtsy and dimpled with pleasure as he bowed to her. “Thank you!”
“What is it you’ve found, dear?” Theodosia asked, her eyes dancing.
“Found? Oh, yes, of course. Do you remember the book you lent me on rare plants? Well, I am quite sure I have found one just like the picture in the book. I was playing with the kittens behind the stables when I saw it. Will you come and see it? I took it to the schoolroom. Would you mind if she came with me, Lord Steyne?”
"Not at all,” he lied, smiling ruefully at Theodosia. He watched them walk down the hall hand in hand, Amy talking so fast that she almost had to skip to keep up with herself, until they disappeared around the corner. Theodosia did not look back at him. Although he was very fond of Amy, Steyne silently deplored her awkward propensity for interrupting at just the wrong moment.
With a sigh he entered his room and regarded with unalleviated gloom the evening clothes set out on his bed. He had worn them every night since he came to Charton Court and he made a firm resolve never again to travel so lightly.
Chapter Seventeen
Edward had hastened in his dressing so that he could arrive in the Long Gallery before it was time for the family to assemble. Feeling that he had no reason to worry about anyone coming upon him, he was poking at the medallion when his uncle entered the room. James so rarely joined them for a meal that he was the last person Edward had expected to see. An anguished flush suffused his face.
“Trying to absorb your ancestors’ powers by rubbing them like a magic lamp, Edward?” his uncle asked sarcastically.
“No, no. I thought there was a bit of a scratch, don’t you know? Probably someone has carelessly grazed it in carrying a tray through the room.” Even to himself, this sounded a feeble excuse, and Edward tried again. “Or perhaps it has been there for a long time and I simply never noticed. I’m sure it’s of no significance.”
James would have been sure, too, if his nephew were not obviously trying so hard to explain himself. When the young man guiltily hastened away from the medallions, James began to wonder why all the mystery. He said nothing, but studied the rest of the family as they entered. Lady Eastwick, he noted, glanced toward the medallions but shifted her eyes when she saw that James was in the room. No one else glanced at them, but it seemed to James that they made a concerted effort not to. His curiosity was piqued.
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