Vivienne picked up a twig and dragged it over the damp grass. “X marks the spot. Dig here. Shall I hold your coat?”
“It’s too darn cold. Just keep the lantern aloft.”
She did as instructed, though her chattering teeth and intense gaze made it hard to focus.
“All this exercise will wear you out.” Evidently, she was tired of this game, too, and sought more thrilling entertainment. “Your biceps look like they might burst through the seams of your coat.”
“Have no fear,” he said, throwing a spadeful of soil to join the mound on his right, “nothing will keep me from your bed. Later, you can massage my aching limbs—all of them.”
The sudden thud of the shovel hitting something other than earth drew a shocked gasp from Vivienne’s lips. It reminded him of the day in her garden when discovering the truth about his grandfather consumed his thoughts. Now, his love for this woman informed every thought and deed.
Vivienne crouched over the hole in the ground, moving the lantern this way and that, attempting to gain a better view. “It sounds like you’ve hit a box, but all I can see is a sack. Quickly, Evan. Use your hands to haul it out.”
Evan thrust the shovel into the ground next to the pile of soil. Between them, they wiped away the loose earth to reveal a box wrapped in a coarse linen grain sack.
“It’s identical to the one covering Lucian Hart’s tea chest.” Evan brushed his hands and sat back on the grass before removing the box from the sack.
Vivienne held the lantern while he examined the tea chest similar to the one in which Lucian had stored his letters. “There’s a key in the lock.”
He turned the key, his heart thumping hard in his chest as he anticipated finding hidden treasure inside. A velvet pouch full of rubies. Rare gold doubloons. Disappointment struck when he lifted the lid and his gaze settled on white fur.
“It’s rabbit skin,” he said, confused until he pulled the item out of the box. “Livingston wrapped his letters in rabbit skin.”
“Oh!” Vivienne dropped down beside him and placed the lantern on the ground. “Rabbits are a symbol of good luck.”
“It’s fair to say luck played no part in any of this. We’ve been hunting for treasure worth a king’s ransom and found a pile of grubby letters. And were it not for your keen insight, we might never have found the tea chest.”
She shrugged and held out her hand. “Having gone to all this trouble, we may as well read them.”
He agreed. “It will be proof Livingston wasn’t a pirate. But why we had to follow clues when he could have left them with Golding is anyone’s guess.”
They sat silently on the cold, damp grass, reading the letters, although some parts were illegible.
Vivienne tapped his arm to get his attention. “This one is from Lord Anson, thanking Livingston for risking his life. It seems he single-handily boarded a French vessel and stole back Government secrets. I wonder if that’s when my grandfather came to his rescue.”
“These are more letters confirming Livingston served the Crown.”
“It’s the truth alluded to in Gray’s poem. How might a man be remembered, as a pirate or a loyal servant to his country?”
Still, the heavy weight of disappointment anchored him to the ground. He peeled back the folds of another letter, read the first few lines before his mouth dropped open.
“Hellfire!”
Vivienne came up on her knees, panicked. “What is it?”
Evan covered his mouth with his hand while he reread the damning words. “Now I know why Livingston had us chasing our tails. He needed to make sure this letter didn’t fall into the wrong hands. He needed to know whoever found it could be trusted.”
“Evan, will you tell me what it says before my heart gives out.”
He swallowed numerous times before finding his voice. “My grandfather discovered the name of the traitor who sold Government secrets to the French. It’s a list of dates and locations where the transactions took place. The name of the French spy who moved in society and his English counterpart.” Evan glanced at the back of the letter, at the blank paper devoid of an address or wax stamp. “It’s a letter written to Lord Anson, but never sent.”
“Do you recognise the name of the traitor?” She clutched her hand to her chest. “Please. Tell me it’s not my grandfather.”
“It’s not your grandfather. Like you, Lucian Hart was honest and loyal to a fault.” Releasing a weary sigh, he glanced at the name again. “Should this information be made known, there’s no telling—”
Sensing a presence behind him, Evan stopped abruptly and glanced over his shoulder. A figure moved out from the small group of trees, out of the shadows. Moonlight glinted on the barrel of the pistol he held aimed at their heads.
“Which is why you’re going to give me that letter,” the devil in the plague mask said. The click of the hammer pierced the night air. “Don’t force me to shoot Miss Hart.”