Thanking Goodwin, he added, “That will be all for tonight.”
The valet retired to where he slept in a room beyond Arthur’s bedroom and dressing room. Arthur suspected Goodwin stayed awake as long as he did, feeling it was a valet’s duty. Telling him to sleep had done no good, so Arthur did not bother.
Carrying the folded sheet to his desk, he broke the wax. He brushed the shards into his hand, opened the window beyond the desk and threw them out into the chill night.
He started to close the window, then saw a light flash higher in the other wing of the house. It must come from the nursery. He had not realized its windows would be visible from his.
Someone moved in front of the light. Even from the distance, he recognized Maris’s silhouette. Not with his eyes, but with his heart, which began hammering against his chest as if it could batter its way out and go to her. His mind sought any excuse for him to go up to the nursery. He halted those thoughts. Or he tried to, because his hands ached to sweep up through her lush, golden curls in the moment before he pressed his face to it, breathing in her jasmine scent.
The draperies closed on the nursery window, and the light blinked out like a star consumed by clouds. He leaned forward, and his shoulders sagged. He felt as if he were in a great tug-of-war, his yearning pulling him toward Maris and the promise he had made to his father holding him back.
I know my request shocked you, but it is vital for the future of Cothaire that you marry someone who knows how to handle a household like ours. She must be able to oversee the servants, leaving you free to concern yourself with estate issues.
Father’s words resounded through his head day after day. Even if Arthur broke the vow he had made to him, he was unsure if the earl would give his blessing to Arthur courting Cothaire’s nurse. He knew what Cranny would have said. Marry as Father wished and set up Maris as a mistress, and then Cranny would have laughed when Arthur told him that was not the way to live a Christian life. Arthur’s attempts to persuade his friend to open himself to the faith Gwendolyn treasured as well had been futile.
But he should not judge Cranny when he had faults of his own. He glanced at the letter on his desk. Hypocrisy. There was no other name for it. He had proudly proclaimed he had contempt for liars and had quoted Proverbs to Maris, but he had told more half-truths than he could count since assuming Cranny’s duties. If she knew of his dishonesty, would she turn away from him? He would never know because his secrets had to remain hidden.
Arthur latched the window before lighting the lamp. Sitting, he opened the letter from Gwendolyn. He frowned when he saw there was no page folded inside it, the page he passed along to the next courier. Had it fallen out? Or was the message in the words on the hastily scribbled page?
He had his answer after an hour of struggling to decode the words, not even looking up when he heard doors open and close. His valet knew not to disturb him. Gwendolyn’s handwriting had never been illegible before. Blots of ink concealed some letters completely. He hoped his guesses were correct as he filled in the words he could not read. The last two sentences caught his eyes and held them:
Place this message in your primary hiding place in the next three days. If you cannot, alert me immediately.
So there should have been another message inside the folded page, but it was gone. Bending over his desk, he took another piece of paper and coded the words: No message included. Lost. Resend. He sealed it by pressing his forefinger into the soft green wax.
He leaned away from the pool of light on his desk. Rain splattered on the window. Sending the message tonight would be foolish. Higbie and his men were not the sole highwaymen who loitered beneath the trees, waiting like spiders for a victim to be snared by their web.
Blowing out the lamp, Arthur crossed the room to the slit of light visible beneath his bedroom door. He opened the door and walked past the grand tester bed with its dark red curtains. A single lamp shone on the small table beside the bed, where a glass of water waited beside his well-thumbed Bible.
Another glowing light shone beneath Goodwin’s door. Arthur knocked on it.
Goodwin opened it immediately, and Arthur wondered if the valet listened for his footsteps. The valet was fully dressed, but fatigue weighted his eyes.
“What may I do for you, my lord?” he asked.
Arthur held out the sealed letter. “Would you see that this is taken to Lady Gwendolyn Cranford as soon as the sun rises? Remind the messenger it is to be delivered into her hands only.” He had given the same instructions with every note he sent to Gwendolyn.
“I shall.” Goodwin took the note. “Will there be anything else?”
“No. Go to bed.” He grinned. “Really to bed this time. Dawn is not too many hours off, even at this time of year.”
“Good night,” Goodwin said, then shut the door.
Arthur returned to his own bed. He hooked a finger in his cravat and loosened it. Pulling it off, he tossed it and his collar onto a chair in front of the window. His coat followed as he sat on the chest at the foot of his bed. He yanked off his boots and set them beside the chair. Stretching when he stood, he unbuttoned his waistcoat and folded it carefully before laying it atop the other clothing.
He stifled a yawn as he went to the head of his bed to draw back the covers. Goodwin had readied the bed every night until Arthur told him he would prefer to do the task himself. He wanted time alone to read the Bible and say prayers without his valet bustling about the room.
As he reached to toss the covers aside, Arthur saw an unusual lump at the foot of the bed. It moved. Who was there?
He shifted the lamp so its light spread across the covers, which matched the bed curtains. There, curled up on the dressing robe Goodwin had left for his use, was Molly. The little girl, the quieter of the twins, was asleep and sucking her thumb.
How had she gotten into his room without being noticed?
He smiled as he recalled how he had not paid any attention to the sound of doors opening. He had been too focused on decoding Gwendolyn’s message. His inattention to anything else had allowed the child to sneak in.
Arthur stood, his smile vanishing. Maris must be looking for Molly, and he doubted she would consider looking in his rooms, because until now, Bertie was the only child to come here. More than an hour had passed since he had first heard a door opening. Maris must be frantic.
Leaning forward, he slipped his arms under Molly and his dressing robe. Lifting both, he tucked the robe around the little girl. The corridors would be chilly and damp. She nestled against him with the trust of a young pup curled up with its littermates, and his heart filled to overflowing.
The corridors were silent. Most of the servants were abed and so was his family. No wonder Molly was able to slip through the house unseen.
He turned the corner toward the stairs to the nursery. A light, like a lost star, was coming down them at a rapid pace.
“Arthur!” Maris ran toward him. “Have you seen—?”
“Shhh,” he warned, then looked down at the little girl.
Relief swept over Maris’s face. “Where did you find her?”
“At the foot of my bed.”
Her eyes widened so far he could see white around the brilliant green. “Without her sister! They usually stay close to each other.”
“Is the other one missing?” He was careful not to use Lulu’s name.
“No, she is asleep upstairs.” Maris walked toward the stairs with him, keeping her steps slow to match his as he tried not to jostle Molly. “How did she slip in without anyone noticing?”
Trying not to laugh, because that might wake the little girl, he told her. He did not mention Gwendolyn’s message. Only that he had been writing a letter.
“I am sorry she interrupted you.” Maris held out her arms.
A single step would carry him into her embrace, but she was reaching out for Molly rather than him. How he envied the little girl as Maris took her from him and cuddled her close!
&n
bsp; She looked at him in surprise when he followed her up the stairs. Asking him to remain in the day nursery, she disappeared up the stairs to the night nursery, where the other children would be asleep, unaware of Molly’s adventure.
Arthur sat on the window bench, which was the only seat large enough for him. He listened to Maris’s light footsteps overhead and the creaks and groans of the old house settling for the night. Outside, the shapes of the inner curve of the cove were silhouetted against the sea.
Solutions to his puzzles were out there. One of these days, he would find them. He had to believe that. He could not give up his search for the truth about Cranny’s death. Now he had taken on the herculean task of finding answers about the children, the ones here and the one missing from Warrick’s village. Tomorrow night’s meeting might help if he and Maris could uncover a secret that someone had kept hidden.
As if he had spoken her name aloud, Maris walked into the day nursery. She wore her unflattering gray dress, and her glorious hair was in its severe bun. He would rather see her in a soft dressing gown, her feet bare and her hair curling around her.
She must not have guessed his thoughts because she smiled and said, “You didn’t need to wait, Arthur.”
“I know, but I also know you are curious about the search for Warrick’s missing child.”
“Very.”
He stood and motioned for her to take his place. He could not sit beside her, breathing in the scent of jasmine. He would be able to think of nothing but bringing her into his arms and sampling her lips. He almost laughed. That was all he could think of whether he was in the same room with her or halfway across the moor.
“Neither of the footmen I asked Baricoat to send to the village and the nearby farms discovered any news about the missing child. I did not expect they would sniff out anything, because having another child appear in Porthlowen would set every tongue wagging.”
“Unless someone is hiding the child, and no one knows of it.”
“You have a macabre imagination.”
Maris smiled. “I read widely when I was young, and I honed my imagination then.”
“Do you have any ideas where to look?” He wondered why he had not asked her before.
“Has anyone talked to the youngsters in Porthlowen? Adults seldom think twice before talking when children might overhear. They believe toddlers will not understand or be interested, but one thing I have learned is they are interested in everything. Even if they don’t comprehend what they have heard, they often can repeat it back.”
Arthur leaned his shoulder against the wall and smiled at her. “Another brilliant idea, Maris. We should talk with them as well as the adults after the meeting at the church tomorrow night.” He did not add that the suggestion might work as well for obtaining information about Cranny’s death. Small children would not have been abroad at the hour when duels were held, but older ones might be. If they were not supposed to be out, they would not admit to what they had witnessed unless asked directly.
“I hope it helps.”
“It has already, reinvigorating my conviction the truth will eventually be known.”
Her voice took on a playful tone as she flicked her fingers toward him. “Then go forth, my lord knight, and seek the wrongdoers and rescue the meek babes who look to you for deliverance from those who have stolen them from their rightful homes.” Maris laughed, and the sound twirled in him like the sweetest music he had ever heard.
“Your wish is my command.” He picked up her hand and bowed over it. “I, dubbed Arthur the bear, do so pledge to do everything in my power to make your wish come true.”
He bent over her hand again, but this time raised it to his lips. As he brushed it with a light kiss, her eyes widened in surprise before softening in an invitation he ached to accept.
He must not, not when he had just finished a desperate note to the woman he was going to marry. Dropping Maris’s hand, he wished her a good night’s sleep. He was unsure if she replied as he left the nursery. The pounding of his heart urged him to pull her into his arms. It was too loud in his ears to hear anything else. He must not listen to his heart, but he had no idea how to silence it.
*
Maris watched the door at the back of the church. The meeting was ready to begin. Past ready, for she had seen the parson check his pocket watch more than once. The church was filled with restless people. The pews were crowded, and more parishioners stood along the walls. A half-dozen children sat on the steps leading up to the altar rail. They were giggling, but stopped when a woman leaned forward to remind them to mind their manners in the church. By Maris’s count, almost everyone from the village and the nearby farms had come to the meeting. That spoke of how important the topic of a bell for the church tower was.
But where was Arthur? He was the one who had asked for this assembly, and he had failed to arrive, even though the meeting was supposed to start at least a half hour ago.
A rustle of whispers from the rear of the church alerted her to Arthur’s arrival. He strode in, his greatcoat flapping behind him. Mud stained his boots and breeches, and it was clear he had ridden hard and fast. She wondered if he had been chasing information on his friend or on the children. He might have been busy with estate business.
He was so handsome, her heart shuddered through a pair of beats before racing. As he took off his hat and his dark hair fell forward into his pale eyes, she thought of how she had filled with joy when he pressed his mouth to her hand. She wanted to comb her quivering fingers through his hair. Instead, she clasped her hands in her lap and looked down at them. She must be careful, or she could find herself in as tenuous a situation as at Bellemore Court. Arthur was not beastly like Lord Litchfield, but entangling her life with his could be as disastrous when in a fortnight he could be announcing his betrothal to Lady Gwendolyn Cranford.
“Lord Trelawney!”
At the imperious voice, Maris looked at where Arthur had paused in the aisle. To his left, Mrs. Thorburn was regarding him with her usual frown. Charity Thorburn was, in Maris’s opinion, inaccurately named, for she could find something to complain about in any situation. She had few friends in Porthlowen because of her sour comments.
“Good evening, Mrs. Thorburn.” He bowed his head toward her.
The woman’s frown deepened, adding lines to her thin face. “Is this meeting truly about the church bell, or is that an excuse to put those six boat urchins in front of everyone again?”
Maris drew in a sharp breath. Did anyone else share Mrs. Thorburn’s suspicions?
Arthur kept his smile in place. “As you can see, none of the children from the boat are in attendance tonight.”
“They do not have to be here for them to be the topic of the meeting.”
“The topic I am here to discuss is a bell for the church.”
She made a harrumphing sound as she sat beside Peggy Smith, the young woman who worked at the store in the village. The girl looked dismayed, but wisely said nothing.
Arthur continued along the aisle. When he glanced toward Maris, he looked away swiftly. Was he regretting he had kissed her hand last night?
Another question for which she had no answer.
As soon as Arthur sat beside Elisabeth in the front pew, his brother welcomed everybody and thanked them for coming. He led them in a prayer to keep their hearts and their ears open; he asked for the first comment.
To Maris, it seemed as if the congregation was in agreement about raising the money for the bell. Someone asked if the bell would be ready to hang before the war was over. Its main purpose beyond announcing services and marriages and funerals would be to alert the village to French pirates. When Parson Trelawney reminded them not all pirates were French, heads nodded.
Maris listened closely to all that was being said. Arthur got up to answer a question. From the way he scanned the crowd, she knew he wanted to demand that the person who knew the truth about the children stand and admit it. She could not imagine a single reaso
n why anyone in Porthlowen would conceal the truth.
Arthur also told the gathered people about the missing child. Maris saw a few shocked faces, and some parents held their own children closer, but the majority of the villagers had already heard the news. He thanked them, but she knew he was disappointed nobody had any information to share.
“Do you have anything else for us, my lord?” asked Mrs. Thorburn in her usual sour tone. “If not, may I suggest this meeting be adjourned? Many of us need to rise early on the morrow.”
“One last thing.” Arthur stepped aside to allow Raymond to invite the parishioners to join him in a prayer for those in need, especially the little girl whose family longed to have her home with them.
As Maris raised her head when the prayer ended, with a blessing and gratitude to all who had attended, she noticed Mrs. Thorburn was the first out the door.
Maris rose and smiled when she heard Arthur tell his brother he had handled the meeting with the flair of a politician in Whitehall. Seeing how many of the people were leaving, she decided it would be best to talk with them outside. She hurried up the aisle, but stopped before she ran into the Winwood twins.
“This meeting was an inspired idea, Lord Trelawney,” Miss Hyacinth said, and Maris realized Arthur was right behind her.
“We are stronger when we come together to discuss a subject,” added her sister.
“Actually,” Arthur said, “the idea for this meeting was Miss Oliver’s.”
“Your idea, Miss Oliver?” asked Miss Hyacinth. She exchanged a glance with her twin. “My, my!”
“I told you, sister, there was more to Miss Oliver than what we see at first glance,” Miss Ivy hurried to say.
“Having a chance to air our opinions to our parson and to you, my lord, is a true pleasure. And may I say it would appear you have a true treasure in Miss Oliver?”
Miss Ivy refused to be outdone, even when heat seared Maris’s face at the effusive compliments. “I daresay you are a diamond of the first water, both inside and out.”
Love Inspired Historical October 2015 Box Set Page 37