Hidden in the Heart

by Beth Andrews

  * * * *

  Upon reflection, Lydia was not sorry that their adventure had ended. While they were searching for the murderer of Mr Cole, they had developed a degree of camaraderie. They might almost have been brother and sister.

  But although she had no brother, Lydia was very sure that one did not kiss one’s brother the way she had kissed John. In fact, she had never had the least desire to kiss any man in such a fashion. However, she now found that she very much wanted to do so again: but only with John. This was most disturbing.

  It was now that she understood John’s remark at the ball. He said he did not think of her at all. What he had meant was that he did not need to think of her. She was simply there. She was his companion and fellow adventurer. She was his friend. There was no need to dwell on any feelings he might have for her. In truth, she had felt the same.

  Things were no longer so simple. One might as well face the fact that she now saw John in a very different light: as an attractive young gentleman who might or might not play a significant role in her future happiness. It was obvious that his own thoughts were moving in a similar direction.

  It occurred to her that she would very likely marry him. Thoughts of marriage had never entered her head before. She left such things to Louisa. How odd that her new acquaintance should have caused such a revolution in her thinking.

  It was not that Mr Savidge was extraordinarily good-looking. His countenance was pleasing enough, and he had a fine figure. But there were other gentleman who could boast better features and more address. Yet she felt an affinity with him which was undeniable. She would not put a name to this feeling. She would not define it as ‘love’ without further cogitation and perhaps several more kisses.

  Still, it was an interesting and unexpected development - an adventure in its own right.

  Chapter Ten

  SHOCKING DISCOVERIES

  The next evening, Thomas Savidge dispatched a number of armed men to Wickham Wood. Not many of the residents of Diddlington were aware of this maneouvre, and most that did know were mystified as to its intent.

  However, within twenty-four hours of this expedition, the news was everywhere: a gang of murderous smugglers had been apprehended in the wood. The praises of Diddlington’s Justice of the Peace were upon everyone’s lips. What genius! What foresight! What uncanny abilities (hitherto unsuspected) the man must possess! The invaluable contribution of his son and of Miss Bramwell were, of course, completely unknown to the general populace.

  ‘Mr Savidge has certainly surprised me,’ Mrs Wardle-Penfield confessed to Camilla and Lydia. ‘I truly did not think he had it in him.’

  ‘I would not doubt,’ Lydia said demurely, ‘that he had information from another source, which perhaps contributed to the success of his venture.’

  ‘Indeed, I think you must be right.’

  The saga of their battle with the bloodthirsty gang grew richer with each re-telling. From a dozen desperate men, the number of smugglers swelled to ‘near ‘bout a hundred’. The flesh-wound which one of Mr Savidge’s men received became a mortal injury from which only the hand of Providence had saved the unfortunate fellow. It was therefore left to John - who had been present on the momentous occasion - to supply Lydia and her aunt with a more accurate account of the proceedings.

  * * * *

  Lydia persuaded Aunt Camilla to invite both John and Monsieur d’Almain for tea one afternoon. It was some time before she could convince her timid relation that it would not seem at all fast for them to be entertaining two gentlemen in their house.

  ‘Dinner, perhaps, might not be appropriate,’ Lydia conceded. ‘But tea can surely give offence to nobody.’

  In the end, the two men were gratifyingly flattered at the invitation, and the four spent an enjoyable hour - or rather more - together. If tongues wagged afterward among the old tabbies of the village, that was only to be expected.

  ‘You must tell me all about it,’ Lydia insisted to John, referring to the apprehension of the smugglers.

  ‘I would not wish to discompose your aunt, Miss Bramwell,’ he protested.

  Camilla had been gazing into the eyes of her other guest, but managed to adjust her attention - perhaps because d’Almain himself seemed very interested.

  ‘I assure you, I shall not be at all discomposed,’ she said graciously. ‘Now that they have been apprehended, I feel that we may all rest easy in our beds at last.’

  ‘I rested quite well before they were apprehended,’ Lydia remarked, causing the gentlemen to smile while her aunt merely sighed at her lack of sensibility.

  ‘We - that is, I,’ John began with a sideways glance at Lydia, ‘had determined that there might be some smuggling activity in Wickham Wood. I lay in wait on Tuesday evening, on purpose to discover whatever might be going forward there.’

  He described pretty much what they had witnessed together, which Lydia already knew. She displayed far more interest when he continued to tell how he had informed his father of all he had heard and seen.

  ‘Whatever did Mr Savidge say?’ Aunt Camilla asked.

  ‘At first,’ John admitted, ‘he thought it all a hoax.’

  ‘He should have known you better than that, monsieur.’ The Frenchman shook his head decisively.

  ‘He certainly should have!’ Lydia seconded this assessment.

  ‘When I did manage to persuade him that it was no Banbury story,’ John proceeded with his tale, ‘it was almost worse. He told me I was a young fool, with no more sense than a billy goat.’

  ‘Quite right, too,’ Aunt Camilla concurred. ‘Not that you were not monstrously brave and clever, but consider what could have happened. You might have been murdered by those cutthroats!’

  ‘Possibly.’ John shrugged, then went on with his story. ‘In the end, I helped him to organize a search party. From the direction we - I - had seen the lights moving that night, I had a fair idea where their hiding place was located.’

  Armed with this knowledge, it had not taken long before they found the entrance to a cave, well hidden by rocks and bracken. The entrance was small, but opened into quite a large chamber, where boxes of smuggled liquor and other goods were stored. One fellow was posted just inside the mouth of the cave, but he was easily overcome by the men appointed as the executors of His Majesty’s justice.

  Once they had seized the lookout, half of them waited in the cave for the other members of the gang to arrive, while several others were stationed at points nearby to capture any who might try to escape through the woods. They had not long to wait. That evening, when the rest of the gang came to collect some of their loot, they were no match for armed men who had been warned what to expect.

  ‘And none of them escaped?’ d’Almain enquired, brows raised in surprise and admiration.

  ‘Not that we are aware of,’ John conceded. ‘There may be other members of the gang who were not in the woods that night. No doubt we will learn more in time.’

  ‘Have they confessed to the murder of Mr Cole?’ Lydia could not forbear to ask, since it was the principal cause of this campaign, however little the others might be aware of it.

  ‘No,’ John answered curtly. ‘Three of the men did, indeed, confess to the murder two years ago.’

  ‘Who was the victim?’

  ‘Apparently, one of their own.’ John rubbed his chin, looking around at them all. ‘He had been found taking rather more of his share than was customary. It was an act of revenge.’

  ‘But they deny any knowledge of this latest crime?’ d’Almain queried, frowning.

  ‘Exactly so.’

  ‘They must be lying!’ Camilla exclaimed, unable to consider any other possibility.

  ‘What motive can there be for lying?’ d’Almain asked reasonably. ‘They will hang for one murder just as easily as for two.’

  ‘Then we are back where we started!’ Lydia cried, exasperated and perplexed.

  ‘Pardon?’ the Frenchman said in his native tongue.

 
‘Miss Bramwell,’ John explained, ‘was convinced that the two crimes were connected, and that solving one would lead inevitably to the solution of the other.’

  ‘It is certainly logical,’ d’Almain admitted.

  ‘But it appears to be false.’

  ‘But that means ...’ Aunt Camilla’s voice died away on a note of acute distress.

  ‘It means,’ d’Almain said with a bow, ‘that the good people of Diddlington are still free to believe that I am the murderer of Mr Cole, even if I am not responsible for the death of the other unknown fellow.’

  The other three hardly knew what to say. This was undoubtedly what they had all been thinking, but would hardly have dared to voice aloud in his presence. It was almost a relief to hear him acknowledge the fact.

  ‘They are all fools!’ cried Camilla, at which point d’Almain reached across to clasp her hand and bring it ceremoniously to his lips.

  ‘I know that you, mon ange, would never believe something so vile of me,’ he said huskily.

  Once again the others were speechless. Such an overt display of his partiality for Miss Denton was so very un-English, and not at all the thing. Lydia did not disapprove, but she thought it rather excessive, and suspected that John felt the same. Her aunt, meanwhile, was so overcome by emotion that Lydia expected her to either swoon or weep. However, she managed to exercise enough self-control to choke out something quite unintelligible which everyone simply accepted as her assent to the gentleman’s statement.

  ‘As a matter of fact,’ John interrupted with a slight cough, ‘I can tell you, in confidence, that the smugglers were asked whether they were acquainted with you, sir. They denied any knowledge of your existence.’

  ‘Then we may be easy on that head,’ Camilla said, eager to grasp at this straw - which Lydia was quick to break.

  ‘Since they also deny any involvement in Mr Cole’s murder,’ she said, ‘their lack of knowledge does not immediately acquit Monsieur d’Almain.’

  ‘In the minds of many here, I am already guilty.’

  This was unquestionably true, and it was on this unsettling thought that their tea, which had begun so promisingly, ended. The gentlemen took their leave, and the ladies took to their beds: Camilla with an attack of nervous exhaustion and Lydia with a mind already beginning to consider possibilities. For she was determined that the Frenchman should not be pilloried for something she had no doubt he would scorn to do.

  Chapter Eleven

  A SERVING OF SCANDAL-BROTH

  The outcome of Lydia’s reflections was one which was becoming most common: she determined to speak to John about them. Before she could accomplish this ambition, she was treated to further food for thought from an unexpected source. Mrs Wardle-Penfield paid them a brief visit, assuring them that she was merely ‘dropping in’ to see how they were getting on. It soon transpired that she was eager to learn about the visit of the two gentlemen, which had become the latest on dit in this Lilliputian society.

  ‘Of course,’ the grande dame pronounced smoothly, ‘Monsieur d’Almain has such polished manners, one might almost mistake him for an aristocrat. No one can hope to rival the French in such matters, after all.’

  Lydia clenched her teeth together, refraining with difficulty from making a cutting remark at this obvious lure. It was clearly impossible to sneeze in this village without someone proclaiming that there was an epidemic of the influenza.

  ‘We had a most enjoyable afternoon, did we not, Lydia?’ Aunt Camilla answered coolly. She was displaying more backbone lately, Lydia thought. If that was the Frenchman’s doing, he was already a hero in her eyes.

  ‘Most enlightening,’ Lydia agreed. ‘Mr Savidge told us all about the capture of the smugglers.’

  ‘Indeed! I do not know what this town is coming to,’ Mrs Wardle-Penfield bridled, preparing for an oration. ‘Such goings-on have never been heard of here. Most of the men, I believe, were from other villages nearby, and yet you may be sure that they will all be clapped together and known throughout the nation as “The Diddlington Gang”. Quite shocking!’

  ‘It may be a real boon,’ Lydia said brightly. There will doubtless be many a visitor at the Golden Cockerel, who is there for no other reason than to see the spot where the Diddlington Gang was apprehended.’

  ‘We hardly want that class of visitor here.’ The older woman looked as if the very idea made her ill. ‘The leaders, no doubt, will be hanged, and the rest will end their days in Australia - a dreadful, wild place unfit for human habitation, by what I hear.’

  ‘I do not know,’ Aunt Camilla was inclined to think otherwise. ‘I have always thought Australia a terribly romantic place: wild, perhaps, but no more so than America.’

  ‘America!’ Mrs Wardle-Penfield spoke the name as if it were hell itself. ‘Another land fit only for felons and vile religious sects.’

  ‘I own I should love to visit America,’ Lydia said. Then, with her usual practicality, she added, ‘Australia, I confess, is too distant. I fear the journey would be excessively tedious.’

  By now they had strayed a considerable distance from their original topic, but the older woman was determined to direct the conversation back to where they began.

  ‘Well, I am sure we owe the capture of these criminals to the efforts of Master John.’

  ‘He is monstrous brave, is he not?’ Camilla agreed, expressing genuine admiration. Lydia wondered if she would have applauded the bravery of her niece, had she known of the part she played.

  ‘At least we will not now have to endure all this talk of ghosts and goblins in Wickham Wood,’ Mrs Wardle-Penfield said with some satisfaction. ‘I believe that they found several white sheets, along with various accoutrements for simulating spiritual phenomena.’

  ‘You, of course, were never fooled by such cheap theatricals,’ Lydia praised her, acknowledging her genuine good sense and giving credit where it was undoubtedly due.

  ‘I should think not!’ Their guest appeared affronted at the very notion. ‘I place no more store in the supernatural than I do in Sir Hector’s treasure.’

  ‘Sir Hector’s treasure?’ Lydia could not allow this interesting reference to pass by unquestioned.

  ‘Utter nonsense!’ Aunt Camilla admitted, shaking her head and sharing a smile with her old acquaintance. ‘More village tales, my dear niece.’

  ‘Is there treasure hidden at Bellefleur?’ Lydia asked, her pulse beginning to quicken in spite of herself.

  ‘So it has been rumored these twenty years or more,’ Mrs Wardle-Penfield concurred. ‘But nobody takes such things seriously.’

  ‘Perhaps they should,’ Lydia answered, as much to herself as to the other two. ‘Yes, perhaps they should.’

  * * * *

  It was another two days before Lydia was able to see John. Aunt Camilla was feeling poorly, which was not an unusual occurrence, especially when she was fretting herself so dreadfully concerning Monsieur d’Almain. She was determined to rouse herself from her bed to fetch a headache powder from the local apothecary, but Lydia very kindly offered to go in her stead. After all, she said reasonably, the exercise would be most beneficial to her, and the poor maid was behind hand with the housework as it was.

  What could be more reasonable? And, more importantly, what could be so convenient for her own plans? At last she might contrive to speak with John!

  Off Lydia went, her steps light and quick. She first patronized the apothecary, concluding her business rapidly and setting out thence in the direction of the inn. She briefly acknowledged the greetings of her fellow pedestrians who were now all well acquainted with her. However, she did not linger to chatter but hurried on her way with a wave and a smile.

  Preparing to enter the inn, she was almost knocked down by a lady in a morning-dress of cherry-red and a matching hat trimmed with deep purple plumage. She was very obviously one of the lightskirts kept by wealthy gentlemen who frequented the area, and it was equally plain that she considered herself superior to persons
who had no such lucrative connections. Lydia made a mental note to ask John who the woman’s protector might be. Her aunt would be horrified by the very idea, but she knew John would not mind.

  As fate would have it, John was assisting his father that day with the inn’s accounts. Mr Thomas Savidge was dealing with some work in the stables and John was closeted alone in the small office at the side of the building. He was plainly curious when Miss Bramwell was presented at his door, but not unhappy to see her.

  ‘Can you spare a few minutes, sir?’ she asked, very formally for the sake of the waiting manservant.

  ‘Certainly, Miss Bramwell.’ John was equally polite, motioning her to take a seat on the other side of the desk. ‘Please do come in.’

  ‘I suppose,’ she said in a low voice as the servant retreated back to the entrance hall, ‘it would not do for us to shut the door?’

  ‘That would cause the kind of talk which I’m sure neither of us would wish,’ John said. Nevertheless, he did get up and half-close the door, letting it stand perhaps six or eight inches ajar.

  ‘I have been thinking,’ Lydia began earnestly.

  ‘I’m done for now,’ John muttered, with his sudden impish smile.

  ‘Do be serious,’ she complained.

  ‘What is it, Lydia?’

  She fidgeted a little, hoping that he would not laugh at what she was about to suggest. Even to herself it seemed unlikely. But one must proceed in some fashion, and this was the only avenue which presented itself to her at the moment.

  ‘What do you know of Sir Hector’s treasure?’

  John scowled at her. ‘To whom have you been speaking?’

  ‘Mrs Wardle-Penfield told me about it.’ She added, attempting to be just, ‘I must say that she placed no faith in its existence.’

  ‘Neither does anyone else.’

  ‘Then where did the rumors originate?’ she asked.