Impetuous

by Candace Camp

  “Please forgive me for creating a scene back there,” Cassandra apologized. “I am not usually so—”

  “How disappointing.” Sir Philip grinned. “I was hoping to see you vanquish your foes in similar manner many more times during our life. It was vastly entertaining.”

  Cassandra made a face at him. “I am more interested in what you wanted to discuss with me. What is it?”

  “This.” They had reached his office, and as they stepped inside, he pulled a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and handed it to her. “Mr. Bigby replied to my note.”

  “Oh.” Cassandra sighed. “I can tell from your face that the news isn’t good.”

  “He refuses to sell the prayer book.”

  Cassandra began to read the note. “‘It is with regret, blah, blah… But I would account it a great honor if you would visit my home this afternoon to see the Queen Elizabeth prayer book. I would be more than happy to show it to you, as well as my entire collection of books.’” She looked up excitedly. “Philip!”

  “Yes, I have already sent back a gracious acceptance of his invitation for both me and my fiancée.” He sighed. “But I’m not sure exactly how we will be able get the map.”

  “Perhaps you could manage to slip the book into your pocket while he isn’t looking.”

  Philip feigned shock. “I had not realized what a larcenous girl I was marrying.”

  “We would return it as soon as we got the map out of it,” Cassandra protested. “But it isn’t workable. He would be bound to notice if you didn’t return the book to him. However, we don’t have to have the whole book. You can look through it and find the map. I shall distract him and give you plenty of time to examine it. I know enough from Papa about old books to keep him talking for quite a while.”

  “Cassandra…” Philip’s face was tinged with concern.

  “What? Why are you looking at me like that?” She had the sudden, horrible notion that he was going to tell her that he had reconsidered the engagement, and she realized how very much she did not want him to.

  “It’s just…well, I am afraid that the map may not be there.”

  “Oh.” Cassandra felt almost giddy with relief at his words.

  “It has been a very long time, and the book has passed through two owners since my father, as well as the book dealer, twice. Father’s agent…God knows how many Nevilles have opened it and looked through it. I am afraid that the map was found long ago and simply tossed away. No one would have known what it was.”

  “But Margaret would not have simply stuck it into the book among the pages. I am sure she would have been more subtle than that. She would have wanted to make sure that it couldn’t fall out. Perhaps she somehow tucked it inside the cover or attached it to a page or something.”

  “Perhaps. I hope so. I just don’t want you to be too disappointed if this turns out to be a dead end.”

  “I won’t be,” Cassandra promised, faintly surprised to find that she was telling the truth. She was beginning to discover that her love for Philip overshadowed everything else.

  They drove to Mr. Bigby’s residence a few hours later, where they were shown immediately to his drawing room.

  Mr. Bigby popped up out of his chair and bustled over to them. He was a balding, stocky man, bluff and energetic. “Sir Philip!” he cried and shook Philip’s hand enthusiastically. No matter what the size of his fortune, he was obviously impressed to be hobnobbing with a baronet. “It is an honor to meet you. An honor, indeed. And Miss Verrere. I once read an article by your father—it was about an illuminated manuscript. Most erudite. Most erudite, indeed.”

  He paused for a breath, and they murmured polite words of greeting.

  “I am sure you are eager to see that book, now, aren’t you?” Bigby told his butler, hovering outside the door, to bring them refreshments in the library. Then he hustled Cassandra and Philip off down the hall.

  It was an impressive place, almost as large as the library at Haverly House. Several of the bookcases were fronted with glass, which locked to keep out intrusive hands. “These are my old books, the rare ones.”

  He went to the center locked cabinet. In the middle, on the second shelf by itself, facing out, was a small, old leather-bound book. A row of small pearls, a few of them missing, lined the front cover.

  Bigby unlocked the front of the cabinet and raised it, indicating to Cassandra, who was standing nearest, to take the book. Gingerly, Cassandra picked it up and took it out of the case.

  “Oh, it’s lovely,” she breathed, appreciation of the antique volume overcoming even her desire for the map for the moment.

  The spine of the book held three large jewels. The edges of the pages were gilt and the paper tissue thin. Cassandra opened the cover with great care and read the faded, spidery writing inside. “‘For Sir Everard, my loyal knight. Elizabeth R.’ Oh, my. I can hardly believe I am holding this in my hands—something Queen Elizabeth once held.”

  She lifted her face and looked at Mr. Bigby. Perfect understanding gleamed in his eyes. “It takes your breath away, doesn’t it?”

  Cassandra nodded. She remembered herself enough to glance through the book a little, discreetly checking on the insides of the covers and flipping through the thin pages. Nothing fell out of it or made itself immediately apparent. She handed the book to Philip. “Look at this. Isn’t it wonderful?”

  He nodded, taking it, a similar awe on his features. Cassandra turned away, taking Mr. Bigby’s arm. “Would you mind showing me some more of your collection? It is vast. What are these books over here?” She gently tugged him away from Philip.

  It was not hard to get Mr. Bigby talking about what was obviously his favorite subject. He showed her around the library, opening several of the glass shelves and taking out books for her to inspect. Cassandra oohed and aahed over them and fortunately had enough knowledge from her father to ask intelligent questions. Bigby beamed, expounding on each book. Cassandra was sure she could have kept him talking even longer, but finally a servant knocked on the door and entered with their refreshments.

  Philip, smiling politely, handed back the prayer book to Bigby, thanking him for allowing him to look at it. “If ever you want to sell it, please let me know.”

  “Of course, of course. But I doubt that day will come—at least until I’m dead.” He stroked a loving hand across the cover and set the book reverently back in its place of honor, closing the shelf and relocking it.

  Cassandra looked at Sir Philip, trying to determine from his face whether he had found the map, but he wore a maddeningly wooden expression. She was forced to wait through a polite consumption of tea and several more pleasantries before they took their leave and she was able to question him.

  “Well?” she asked eagerly as soon as she had taken a seat in the carriage, while Philip was still closing the door.

  He looked across at her and smiled. Her hopes rose. “Well…I looked all through it and couldn’t find a thing. I peered down the spine and felt all around the cover for a slit cut into it or a bump beneath it. Nothing.”

  Cassandra slumped. “Oh, no…”

  “But, then,” Philip continued, “I slid a fingernail down the paper on the inside of the cover, right beside the spine, and, lo and behold, it lifted a fraction. I managed to slip in the ends of my fingers, and I felt something. I tugged, very carefully, and this came out.”

  He held up a thin sheet of paper, folded many times.

  Cassandra stopped breathing for a second. “The map?”

  He nodded. “The map.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CASSANDRA WAS ACROSS the carriage in an instant, sitting beside him and peering over his shoulder as he carefully unfolded the aging paper.

  It was difficult to make out the faded ink on the yellowed paper in the closed carriage, b
ut it was obviously the work of the same person who had drawn the map they had found at Chesilworth. There were little stick drawings indicating various landmarks, as well as writing, none of it close to the drawings. Just looking at it was enough to make Cassandra’s insides shake. They had done it! They had actually done it! Much as she had believed in the treasure, as badly as she had wanted to find it, there had always been a part of her that feared she would never locate both parts of the map, never find the dowry.

  “It makes no better sense than the other one,” Philip said in exasperation. “But perhaps when we get home and put it together with the other map, it will all be clear.”

  Their plan to put the maps together was interrupted, however, by Aunt Ardis greeting them from the drawing room. “Ah, Cassandra. Sir Philip, there you are. We have a visitor. You must come in here and meet him. I am sure you will be delighted.”

  Cassandra frowned. She was nearly dancing with impatience to get to the maps, but there was no way to politely avoid the invitation since her aunt had spoken right in front of whoever their visitor was. Forcing her face into a pleasant expression, she stepped into the drawing room, Philip on her heels.

  She stopped so quickly that Philip nearly bumped into her. She stared at the man rising from his seat on the sofa beside Joanna. He was grinning broadly.

  “Look who came to call on us!” Joanna cried, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Your American cousin.”

  “Mr. Miller,” Cassandra managed to recover enough to say. She stepped forward to give him her hand. “What a surprise. I thought you were long since in America.”

  “This is Miller?” Philip asked a trifle rudely and cast a meaningful glance at Cassandra. He fixed the young man with a hard stare.

  Miller looked a trifle taken aback, but replied, “Yes. David Miller, sir, at your service.”

  Cassandra introduced Philip, and he nodded politely, shaking Miller’s hand, but he kept his eyes fixed on the young man in a way that Miller obviously found disconcerting, for he kept glancing over at Philip the entire time he was there.

  “I, too, thought I would be home by now, Miss Verrere,” Miller said, replying to Cassandra’s earlier statement. “But when I returned to London after my visit to you, I found out that there had been quite a delay in one of the products I most particularly wanted to ship home. It took a great deal of time and trouble to straighten it all out. It is finally done, however, and I am hoping to leave next week.”

  “I am sorry you had so much trouble,” Cassandra commiserated. “What have you been doing to keep yourself busy?”

  She ignored Philip’s snort, hastily turned into a cough when Miller looked at him oddly. David began to describe his visits to various museums and such.

  “Haven’t gotten out of London and seen the countryside any?” Philip asked.

  “Not much, except for my trip to see the Verreres,” he admitted. “Of course, I had to travel to Manchester to speak directly to the manufacturer once.” He smiled a little self-deprecatingly. “Frankly, I was running out of things to do. That is why I went back to the bookstore yesterday. When Mr. Simons told me that Miss Verrere was staying here in London, I was thrilled.”

  “Yes, poor Mr. Miller was afraid that he had missed you,” Joanna interrupted, cutting a look over at Philip to see how he reacted to her words. “Your cousin is so devoted to you.”

  Cassandra knew Joanna was hopeful that David Miller’s presence would cause some sort of conflict between Philip and Cassandra, but she knew that her cousin was not aware of exactly how great a bombshell she was blithely dropping in their laps. It looked more and more as though Philip was right: David Miller must be the man who had broken into their houses, looking for the maps. It was hard to reconcile his boyish, eager manner with the soul of a criminal.

  David blushed a little at Joanna’s words.

  Joanna plowed on. “When I told him that you had gone to that Bigby fellow’s to look at books, he said he would wait for you. Isn’t that sweet?”

  “It was very kind of you,” Cassandra told David politely.

  He stayed for some time, idly chatting, until it was difficult for Cassandra to keep a smile fixed on her face. She wanted only to get rid of him so that they could examine their maps. Besides, it was difficult to be polite and friendly with someone when the whole time she was busy trying to determine if he was the same height and build as their thief of the night before.

  Finally he took his leave. Cassandra scurried up to her room to retrieve the map they had found at Chesilworth and brought it back down to Philip’s study. He set a lamp in the middle of his desk and spread out the two maps side by side in the lamp’s full glow. They leaned over the desk and gazed down at the papers.

  They looked like two confusing maps. There seemed no connection between them. Nothing jumped into crystal clarity. Cassandra and Philip glanced at each other. He moved the maps around, trying them against each other on different sides and at different angles. It still made no sense.

  “This is mad,” Philip said in disgust. “Only a bunch of disjointed names and symbols, nothing matching. There is nothing the same on both maps, no meeting place.”

  Cassandra studied them. Tears threatened at the backs of her eyes. It was too awful—to have come so far and done so much, and still the location remained a complete mystery!

  She reached down and touched the tissue-thin paper Philip had taken from the book today. “I wonder why this one is a different kind of paper. The one we found at Chesilworth was on good, thick bond. This is so easily torn—why would she have used it?”

  “Made it easy to fold it and slide it beneath the back cover,” Philip answered pragmatically. “Anyone would have noticed a bulge there.”

  “Yes. I suppose. Still, it isn’t a large piece of paper.” She looked at the map copy she had made. It, too, was on thin paper because she had used it to trace from the original map. Suddenly her heart began to pound. “Oh, my God!”

  “What?” Philip glanced at her, startled, then down at the maps at which she was staring so fixedly. “What is it? Did you think of something?”

  “I’m not sure. It’s just this thin paper…it’s like what I put over the map to trace on….” With trembling fingers, she picked up the tissue map and laid it gently on top of the other. The symbols and names from the other map showed through, but it was an even bigger jumble.

  Carefully she turned the top page around, and suddenly everything clicked into place. The word creek on the new map lay beside the word Littlejohn on the first, and above them both was a squiggly line. Now the rows of lollipop shapes said copse of trees, and the square building held a steeple and the legend Saint Swithin.

  “I’ll be damned!” Philip stared at the map, stunned. “I know where this is. This church is no more than a mile from Haverly House, and this road leading from it past the creek… I know this place.”

  “What about this hut, the peat-cutter’s hut? And the stone wall?” She pointed toward the small square, her fingernail tracing the words fifteen paces to a mark stating stone wall. On the other side of the wall, an arrow pointed five paces to a spot where a small round-topped chest was drawn, along with the simple word, “Dowry.”

  “They’re not familiar to me. But you have to remember that this was drawn almost two hundred years ago. The hut has probably fallen to pieces by now. The remains of it might still be there, though. And the wall.” He looked at Cassandra, excitement glowing in his eyes. “We can find it now, Cassandra. That treasure is in our hands.”

  * * *

  THEY SET OUT for Haverly House the following morning. Aunt Ardis grumbled about racing down to London to spend only three or four days, then racing back, but she allowed the maids to pack her trunks with only a minimum of fuss. She had apparently taken to heart Cassandra’s warning of the day before and was afraid of losing the va
luable connection to the Neville family. Cassandra had heard her assuring Joanna during one of her pouts that there were “other fish in the sea.”

  The servants had finished piling their cases atop the carriage and strapping them down, and they were just about to walk out to the carriage when there was a loud rapping on the front door. One of the footmen opened it and was nearly bowled over by a well-dressed man, who barreled into the hallway. He stopped, ignoring the agitated footman, and swung his head around. His gaze fell on Sir Philip, standing with Cassandra and the Moultons, and he charged forward, shaking off the footman’s hand when he grabbed for his arm.

  “Sir Philip! By God, I won’t stand for this!”

  “Mr. Bigby?” Cassandra stared at the man in astonishment. His suave demeanor of the day before was gone. He was red in the face, his eyes flashed, and he had not even worn a hat to cover his head.

  “You appear upset,” Philip said in a classic understatement. “Perhaps we should go to my office and talk.”

  “I’ll talk right here and now!” the man thundered back. “You may be all high and mighty, but if you think that I’ll just let you take my—my jewel—my precious—“ He spluttered to a stop, looking as if he might burst a blood vessel.

  “Calm down, man,” Philip said in a tone of aristocratic command, and, amazingly enough, it seemed to decrease Mr. Bigby’s agitation somewhat.

  “That’s better. Now, kindly tell me what on earth you are talking about.”

  “The Queen’s prayer book, of course!” Bigby snapped. “What else?”

  “What about it?”

  Bigby let out a snort. “You know good and well what about it! Don’t try to cozen me with your elegant ways. It’s gone!”

  Cassandra gasped, and Bigby glanced at her, nodding vehemently.

  “That’s right! Gone. Stolen. Right out from under my nose.”

  “And you think that I did it?” Philip asked in tones of amazement.