The Secret Hunter

by Susanne Saville

Her sister sighed impatiently. “Who is Clovis to me?"

  "...or he to Hecuba,” Gwenllian finished merrily.

  "What?"

  "Hamlet."

  "One foreigner at a time, if you please. I care about this Clovis because...?"

  "In short,” Gwenllian raised her head and uttered her next words with quiet gravity. “The bee is the oldest emblem of the sovereigns of France."

  * * * *

  Gwenllian and collarless Oliver silently stalked the halls, looking for Geoffrey. Almost silently. The pug still snuffled and snorted and his nails clacked whenever he was not trotting on carpeting.

  In her hand she held Geoffrey's watch. She had volunteered to restore it to him, since Letticia had been responsible for seeing Isabella's and Mariah's jewelry safely home. Gwenllian had hoped to corner him alone, but Geoffrey was being difficult. He had returned late from Church and now he was nowhere to be found.

  "Well, let us go back to the kitchen,” she told Oliver. “Perhaps he is outside."

  Oliver perked up at the word ‘outside.'

  Gwenllian perked up once they were outside as well. Finally she had found him. He was admiring the flowers around the pinery.

  "I think I came across something of yours, sir."

  Geoffrey jumped at the sound of her voice. “Ain't you the quiet mouse."

  She held out the watch. “I believe this is yours?"

  "Why, yes.” His eyes narrowed. “Where did you find it?"

  "In the drawing room,” she cheerfully lied. “You must have left it behind by accident."

  "I must have done.” The words agreed with her, but Geoffrey's tone of voice said quite the opposite. She had the strong feeling that he did not believe her. But he did not challenge her story.

  Geoffrey pocketed his watch. “Thank you for returning it."

  Her heart fluttered but she kept her voice calm. “The engraving inside it is very well executed."

  His eyes narrowed again. “What engraving?"

  "You are unaware of the decoration?"

  "The watch is new to my possession, though not new to the world. I haven't the blunt to purchase custom items. So what did the previous owner have engraved?"

  Such frank comments on his monetary situation were unexpected, to say the least. Gentlemen did not normally consider such topics appropriate to discuss.

  She shifted uncomfortably. “It matters not."

  He stepped a pace closer to her. “What did the others think of it?"

  "Others, sir?” She backed an equal step away. “I did not show it to anyone else."

  "What fine weather we are having,” declared Mr. Faircross’ voice.

  She turned. Mr. Faircross and Mariah were approaching.

  "Fine weather indeed,” agreed Geoffrey as they passed Gwenllian and stopped beside him.

  "Why are you talking to Miss Lloyd?” Mariah sounded as if she were astounded that anyone would do such a thing of their own free will.

  "She returned a watch I had lost,” Geoffrey explained.

  "Was it stolen? I had something stolen,” declared Mariah, as if oblivious to the affront her words conveyed against Primroselea.

  "Come, come, do not say such a thing,” chided Mr. Faircross. “It is probably mislaid. I have mislaid many a thing only to discover it later."

  "What did you lose, Miss Howard?” Gwenllian asked, making a point of keeping her voice level and impassive.

  Mariah looked at her for several seconds before answering. Just stared at her. She stared directly back.

  "Perhaps I did lose it,” Mariah replied, her voice just as impassive. “It was not important. I shall look for it again, later."

  "That is for the best,” Mr. Faircross said amiably.

  Gwenllian excused herself on the pretext that her dog needed more exercise and walked him around to the opposite side of the house.

  She glanced about to make certain they were alone. “Well, what did you think of that, Oliver? I wager ‘twas that silver ring Mariah lost—so why did she not specify? And why was it lost? Letticia should have returned it."

  Oliver had nothing to say on the matter and instead claimed part of a large hedge on behalf of pugs.

  * * * *

  The after dinner entertainment tonight was to be a concert on the glass armonica. Chairs had been set up in the saloon, the musician was prepared and everything was in readiness. Gwenllian loved the haunting, chime-like sound of the armonica. But, unfortunately, she had a task to complete.

  She held to the back of the room so that she could sneak out before the concert began. The guests filed past her. They had been surprisingly accepting of Letticia's explanation at dinner that Mr. Wyckliff was indisposed. But then, most of them had their own problems to attend to. Which reminded her, she needed to speak to her sister.

  As Letticia passed, Gwenllian swiftly pulled her aside. “Mariah can't find her ring. Where did you—"

  "Shh.” Letticia jerked away, scowling, and made little shushing movements with her hands. Before Gwenllian could say more, her sister had moved away down the room.

  Mariah's ring would have to be rectified later. Gwenllian waited until everyone was settled in front of the armonica. As their seat backs were toward the door, it was simple to slip out of the room unobserved. She thought briefly of fetching Oliver from the kitchen but then decided he was best deployed where he was.

  * * * *

  Daniel heard a light scratching at his closed and locked bedchamber door.

  "Mr. Wyckliff?” The soft voice belonged to Miss Lloyd. “Mr. Wyckliff?"

  Rising from his bed in one fluid movement, Daniel strode across the room and leaned against the wooden door. “I am here, Miss Lloyd. Are you alone?"

  "Yes."

  "Where is my guard?"

  "I sent him down to the kitchen to fetch Oliver for me. I could not ask for the key to your room, that would not be proper and he isn't my footman, after all. But he is giving us some time to talk. I think he is sympathetic to star-crossed lovers."

  An unexpected surge of excitement pulsed through Daniel's stomach. “You told him we were lovers?"

  "No, no, no.” Her fingers tapped upon the door. “Well, I might have implied it,” she admitted. “It was the easiest explanation for why I would need a private conversation with you. Do you mind awfully?"

  He did not mind at all. He wanted to kick down this door, sweep her into his arms and tell her so. But for her sake, that must not be. He swallowed. Levity was probably his best defense.

  "I despair of you, Miss."

  She laughed. “I despair of us both. Now listen, I found the ‘enlightening’ bit in Geoffrey's watch mechanism. The bee. The symbol of France."

  He smiled. “Clever lass."

  "Not so clever. I have yet to reckon what you are."

  Daniel inhaled. His mission had not been compromised yet. He knew whom he had to seek out tonight. There was no logical reason to let Miss Lloyd in on even part of his secret. He should tell her to stay away, to leave him alone. Better her feelings be hurt than her person. To divulge his mission would mean to share its danger. There were so many things he would like to share with her. Danger was not one of them. It was not fair to her. But it was so tempting, that idea of sharing.

  "Mr. Wyckliff, are you still there?"

  He should not give in to temptation. He did not need an ally.

  "Mr. Wyckliff?"

  Temptation triumphed. “I have been sent here to locate a French spy."

  She did not miss a beat. “That could be anyone in this house."

  "Including you?"

  Miss Lloyd chuckled. “I suppose I should be flattered you think me capable of such cunning. Let us see, I have been to France with Letticia on her bridal tour, so I suppose I could have made a connection then. The same could be said of the Baron and Letticia. Then there is Geoffrey and his engraved bee—which he says is not his. And Isabella has a pendant with French engraving. Which I think is another matter entirely. Although
it might show that the Baron has a preference for French. Miss Howard has a mysterious ring. I think that leaves only Mr. Faircross with no suspicious connection. Which most likely means it is him and he is just too wily for us.” There was a pause. “It is not me, by the by."

  "I did not think so. For one thing, you own a pug."

  She laughed. Her laughter was such a pleasant sound. “And I should be too busy with my high-maintenance dog to have time for spying."

  He smiled. “I was considering more the kindness of heart it must require to look after the animal, but have it your way."

  She giggled.

  "To return to our suspects, Mr. Faircross is not free from suspicion as you suppose,” he continued. “He does not sleep in his room at night. Neither does the Baron."

  "I think I know where the Baron sleeps.” Her voice seeped with disapproval.

  Daniel felt relieved. He had wrestled with the knowledge of the Baron's nightly pilgrimages to Isabella's bed. He should not get personally involved, and he knew it. But the man had cost him time—time that could have been better spent following his true prey—and it irritated him. The man should be, if not punished, then inconvenienced. Especially since his behavior was an insult to a sister of Miss Lloyd's.

  "He might not be there much longer,” Daniel volunteered. “Judging from the way she throws herself at me, Mrs. Wood is tiring of him."

  "So ... oh, wait, I see the footman at the end of the hall.” Miss Lloyd's voice trailed off into mumbling.

  Instinctively Daniel's body tensed. “Something's amiss?"

  "I think he is returning without Oliver.” She sounded concerned.

  Apparently her pug was not in the kitchen. With modest graciousness, Miss Lloyd asked the footman if he might possibly search the house for her dog. No man could refuse such an appealing request. Daniel heard footsteps receding into the distance.

  "The footman has gone, but I am uncertain how much time we have. I hope he finds Oliver presently."

  Daniel felt her worry. He tried to sound reassuring. “He can't have gone far."

  "Yes, that is true.” He heard her sigh deeply as if trying to calm herself. “So it is Isabella for certain? The Baron's mistress, I mean."

  "Yes. Why?"

  "I found a ring in Mariah's room. A plain, silver ring with an inscription. It's not in French, but it is still highly suspicious for an unengaged girl to have a love token."

  "How do you know it is a love token?"

  "It has ‘Rose Marie’ engraved inside it. Roses are generally symbolic of love, are they not?"

  Daniel frowned. “It is rather an awkward endearment.” Silently, he ran through the horticultural names that he knew. It was a short list. “Isn't there some sort of Rose-marie plant?"

  "Rosemary,” Miss Lloyd corrected him. There was a pause. “Rosemary for remembrance,” she whispered. Then, louder, “I cannot believe I did not think of that."

  "Does it signify the giver?"

  "Not necessarily. It could still be considered a play on Mariah's name, and the Baron likes such diversions. But it might have nothing to do with Mariah. I am thinking that, it being such a plain ring, it might not belong to a woman."

  "It would be better suited to a man, you mean. For wearing on his smallest finger."

  "Precisely. In which case, the mystery would be, why does Mariah have it in her possession? Wait, the footman is returning."

  Returning with unsettling news. Oliver was not in the house.

  * * * *

  Someone had taken Oliver for a walk. That was all. That had to be the answer. Gwenllian rushed down the stairs. On the way, she met Letticia coming up. The concert must be over.

  "We need to speak,” her sister whispered.

  "Not now, I must find Oliver."

  "Yes, now.” Letticia grabbed Gwenllian by the arm and marched her up the stairs and into the closest unused bedroom. She shut the door. “You cannot bring up the existence of that ring again."

  "Why, have you found out to whom it belongs?"

  Letticia's hands twisted together. “It belongs to me."

  "Is it not a gentleman's ring?"

  Her sister's eyes widened in surprise.

  She pressed ahead. “Mariah was searching your things. Is that what she hoped to find?"

  Letticia's hands clenched together. She stared down at her feet. “Not precisely."

  "We shall be here all night unless you tell me what you mean."

  "Mariah was trying to find proof, but of course I left none. So she ended up stealing this ring from Mr. Faircross."

  "Mr. Faircross?” Gwenllian's mind raced. “But why ... why?"

  "Because I gave it to him. Out of my pin money. To wear when we are together, to remember. Mariah probably hoped to blackmail me, or denounce me to Edgar. Which she cannot do now that it is no longer in her possession,” Letticia finished happily.

  "You have been seeing Mr. Faircross?” The concept was so unwelcome that the words dragged across Gwenllian's lips.

  Her sister winked. “I've been doing a great deal more than seeing him, dearest."

  Gwenllian felt like she had been knocked sideways. The Baron was being betrayed. She had been betrayed. “Mr. Faircross was in your bedchamber the night I spoke of Mr. Wyckliff being a highwayman. That was how he knew,” she mumbled. “Why did you let me rattle on, thinking we were private, when you knew that we were not?"

  "I could hardly say, ‘Excuse me, my lover is hiding under the bed.’”

  "And that is why you have been having ‘difficulty sleeping!’ Between Mr. Faircross and prowling around after the Baron's mistress, I wonder you get any sleep at all.” Gwenllian shook her head. “I cannot believe it. I cannot believe it."

  "What, that I did not tell you? I did not want to burden you with the knowledge."

  "No, I cannot believe you would do such an immoral thing.” Her shock was giving way to anger. “How could you behave that way, like a, like a ... How could you? Have you thought about the consequences?"

  No, of course she had not. When did she ever?

  Letticia shrugged. “What does it matter? My husband is unfaithful."

  Gwenllian had to restrain herself from yelling. “Yes, and he is in the wrong. Now you are in the wrong as well.” She began to pace back and forth across the room, unable to keep still. “You are risking everything—your marriage, your position, your reputation. And ... and ... you not only risk yourself. You risk opening up our entire family to derision. Do you not think Society insults us enough?"

  "Oh, I remember those insults. I remember how it was, caught between classes. Too rich so the neighborhood children despised us, too ill-bred for Society to have anything to do with us. It was a lonely, miserable existence and I am not going back. I shall have a son and remain in this house and be a darling of Society. And I am not risking my marriage. I am solidifying it."

  "How do you reckon that?” Gwenllian growled.

  "It's my duty to give Edgar an heir, and he's going to get one."

  "Whether the boy is his or not?"

  "Precisely. He will never know. Where is the harm in that?"

  Gwenllian threw her arms in the air with a short, guttural shriek of frustration. “I cannot believe my own sister would say such a thing. It is dishonest, that is the harm. Your soul is in peril."

  Letticia ducked her head. “I do love Hugh—Mr. Faircross,” she said quietly. “But what can I do? Even if I desired a divorce, we all know divorce is essentially a male prerogative. A proper one requires bags of money and an Act of Parliament, I believe. You hear of rural men, who can't afford to pay, divorcing their wives by selling them—but you never hear it the other way ‘round, do you? What wife gets to sell off her deceitful husband? A wife belongs to her husband. I have rather the same prospects of divorcing Edgar as a horse does in renouncing his master."

  Gwenllian sighed. “What you say is true, and if you were looking for a way out I would aid you. But you aren't. You are deliberately de
ceiving. How can I condone deliberate deceit?"

  "If he can find happiness with others, then why cannot I?” Her sister's ire was rising now. “By what right do you lecture me? You are not so pure, little miss pinery."

  She winced, but ignored the taunt. “What if the Baron finds out? You realize he could use your own dowry money to divorce you."

  "He will never find out,” Letticia answered, her head high.

  Gwenllian swore mildly under her breath. “I cannot reason with you. I must go find Oliver.” Her hand closed around the doorknob. “You can give my excuses to everyone. I am retiring to bed and I won't be coming down until morning."

  "Yes, go, go,” her sister snapped. “At least I am not panting after some vulgar scoundrel. He's as common as you are."

  Gwenllian leaned back in from the doorway. “Apparently as we all are. Perhaps Society was right about us after all."

  Then she slammed the door.

  * * * *

  Oliver was nowhere to be found. Gwenllian had been around the gardens and down the shrubbery walk at least five times. Although her Argand lamp illuminated quite well, darkness hampered her search, making her fear that her pug was still out there but that her restricted pool of light had missed him.

  Perhaps he had wandered off and was lost along the cliffs? She started down the lawn towards the Channel, her lungs tight and stomach knotted with worry. About half-way to the cliff a shape moved toward her out of the darkness and stepped into her circle of lamplight. It was Mr. Costeroe. Gwenllian had forgotten about him. But at this moment she welcomed an extra pair of eyes.

  "Might you help me? Have you seen my pug dog?"

  Mr. Costeroe shook his head and looked concerned. “Not seen him all day. P'rhaps you should check the cliff, in case he fell over."

  "Yes, I thought of that.” She could not keep the distress out of her voice. “Of course, he does not normally waddle that far."

  "But he must have done if he's not here."

  That certainly sounded logical.

  "We had better check, dontcha think?” He rather resembled an undertaker, what with his somber voice, morose expression and mostly dark clothes.

  She fought the panic rising in her chest. “Yes, certainly, we must inspect the cliff area at once.” Her poor Oliver could be suffering and in need of help this very moment.