A dismayed Bathsheba saw her daughter’s countenance light up. Lisle’s expression was only a slightly muted version of Olivia’s.
The children looked at each other, and it was clear that neither could wait to get at their spades and pickaxes.
But Olivia surprised her mother yet again.
“Thank you, my lord,” the girl said, “but I must leave the treasure hunt to Lord Lisle. Mama and I depart today.”
“It isn’t my treasure hunt,” Lisle said. “It’s yours. Edmund DeLucey was your great-great-grandfather, not mine. I should feel like a great idiot, digging all by myself while everyone looked on. Besides, what fun would it be to find it if you’re not there? This was your quest.”
“It is more than a treasure hunt,” said Lord Hargate. “It is a quest to put old ghosts to rest. Unless the matter is settled for good and all—unless every possible avenue is exhausted—Edmund DeLucey’s descendants will continue to believe in the treasure. Then one or another of them will turn up to hunt for it. Then once again they will disrupt both the family and the workings of the estate. How many men have been taken from their regular work to chase after you pair?” he demanded, directing a frigid glare from one to the other. “Have you any notion of the burden you have placed upon the servants, not to mention the inconvenience to the family? The least you can do is complete the job you began and do it thoroughly.”
“Yes, my lord,” said Lisle.
“Yes, my lord,” said Olivia.
And “Yes, my lord,” Bathsheba had no choice but to say, because he was absolutely right. One or another of the Dreadful DeLuceys would take courage from Olivia’s daring act and try again.
The matter had to be ended once and for all.
And, as usual, she would simply have to make the best of it.
WHILE THE OTHER men went out with the children, Benedict stayed behind, saying he had letters to write.
He had meant only to write to his mother, to assure her he was well, but his mind wandered to his brothers, each of whom would be affected, though to different degrees, by his decision to go away with Bathsheba.
Then he thought about the report he had promised to write for one of the parliamentary committees, and the letter to a barrister regarding one of his clients, and the letters he needed to write seeking royal clemency in two troubling criminal cases.
He must find successors to head his various philanthropic endeavors, too.
He sat at a writing desk in the library, the pen in his hand, the paper before him still blank.
“Rathbourne, I must speak to you.”
He turned at the sound of the familiar voice.
Bathsheba stood for a moment in the open French windows. A breeze from the garden wafted in.
He dropped his pen and rose. “I thought you meant to go with the treasure seekers,” he said.
She closed the doors and came inside, and the room brightened several degrees.
“I ought to be there,” she said. “There ought to be a witness from Edmund DeLucey’s side. But they will find nothing today. Everyone knows that, except the children.”
“I know what you are thinking,” Benedict said. “I saw the panic in your eyes when Mandeville told them they hadn’t dug deep enough.”
“You know he will keep contriving excuses to delay our departure,” she said. She began to pace the room, her hands tightly folded against her stomach. “Today, they must dig deeper. Tomorrow he will make a case for digging at the New Lodge. You know he is not concerned with laying ghosts to rest, whatever your father says. Mandeville wants to give my daughter to Jack’s family. He thinks—everyone thinks it—that I am not a fit mother. He wishes—and who can blame him?—for Olivia to have every material advantage. And perhaps he wishes to make peace between the families before he dies.”
“I told you I would not let anyone take Olivia from you,” Benedict said. He crossed to her and took her tightly folded hands in his.
“By law a child belongs to her father, and thus to her father’s family,” she said.
“Fosbury will have to take it to the law, then, and be prepared to spend the next decade or more in expensive legal wrangling.”
“You forget,” she said tightly. “If you go away with me, you will not be able to afford expensive lawsuits. If you go away with me, you will have no influence over Lord Fosbury and any of his sympathizers. You will no longer have the king’s ear.”
He knew all this. He knew what he would lose.
But he was intelligent and capable, and he would soon make a new life for himself. A happy life, with a woman he loved and a child to whom he’d already become attached.
“Then I shall have to be clever and cunning instead,” he said. “We shall simply have to take Olivia away in the dead of night.” He drew Bathsheba into his arms. “Stop fretting. Have a little confidence in me. Try to remember I’m perfect.”
She laughed then, and he felt the tension go out of her.
“The trouble is, I am not,” she said. “I am not at all sure it is right to deprive her of—What is that noise?”
Birds, he thought at first. The shriek of angry crows.
Bathsheb
a went to the French doors and opened them. The sound came again.
Not birds.
A scream.
Bathsheba picked up her skirts and ran.
He raced after her.
“MAMA!”
“Coming!” Bathsheba cried. Rathbourne was ahead of her, his long legs carrying him farther, faster.
“Mama!”
Olivia burst out from a turning and ran toward her mother, arms outstretched. She was filthy, black from head to toe, but she was running, unhurt. A moment later, Lord Lisle appeared, equally dirty. “Sir!” he called. “Uncle!”
Bathsheba slowed and stopped. Rathbourne did, too.
“Mama,” Olivia gasped. “We found it!”
Chapter 20
“IT” WAS A SMALL, DIRT-ENCRUSTED BOX ABOUT a foot in length, and perhaps nine inches in height and depth.
One of the outdoor servants who’d assisted in the excavation carried it to the terrace. There, family and guests gathered round to watch as another servant stepped forward to brush off the dirt. But Peregrine took the brush and cleaned the box himself. He worked steadily and as gently as if the thing were made of alabaster, though his hands shook with excitement.
In fact, the box proved to be made of wood and covered in brass-studded leather.
It also proved to be securely locked.
“We’ll have to saw it off,” Peregrine said. “Or pry it open. It’s quite old. The wood is probably rotted. One good kick ought to break it open.”
“Wait.” Olivia knelt to study the lock. “An ordinary key might work,” she said. “Or I could use hairpins. Locks are not usually very complicated.”
Benedict edged closer to Bathsheba. “She can pick locks, too?” he whispered.
“Why do you think I wanted to move to a better neighborhood?” Bathsheba said. “She has learnt a great deal too much.”
Olivia was trying her hairpins, without much success.
“Try this,” said Lord Hargate. He handed the girl his penknife.
She eyed it warily. “I might spoil the blade.”
“It can be sharpened.”