The Wild Baron

by Catherine Coulter

  He couldn’t, however, make them out with his mother and Susannah crowding in on him.

  “Susannah, sit down. Mother, your perfume palsies my man’s senses. Please move away. Good, now let’s see what we’ve got.”

  “Rohan, you’ve been staring at it for an hour,” Susannah said, crowding close again. “Come, what do you see? What does it say?”

  Slowly he straightened. “It says, ‘Seek the room below the tide.’ Which makes no sense at all except it might mean it’s near the sea. What sea? East coast or west coast? There is another word that has only two letters remaining after the map was cut into two. ‘DU’.”

  “What room?” Susannah said. “One of those little blocks?”

  Now that was a kicker. Susannah frowned down at the small scrap of paper, then up at Rohan. “The squiggly lines are a river. Which one, I wonder?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “What’s ‘DU’?” Charlotte said. “The beginning of a town name? A shop? This is depressing. I had hoped for a better map, even though it is only half a map. It is of no use at all.”

  “I think perhaps these tiny blocks do represent houses and that they also represent a specific street in some town in Scotland, one that has a river running through it,” Rohan said.

  “How do you know that?” Charlotte asked, her smooth white forehead puckering in a frown. Rohan traced his fingertip along the blocks. “Yes, I see. That’s really quite clever of you, dearest.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “Excuse me,” Susannah said, “but I can see that they represent a line of buildings myself. I am just as clever as Rohan.”

  Charlotte looked at her thoughtfully. “I don’t know you well enough yet to judge that, Susannah. Now, why did George have this map? Why did he hide it in the locket? And this key—”

  “Yes,” Rohan said, “the key.” He laid it flat on his palm close to the candlelight and brought the magnifying glass over it. He grimaced. He tilted the glass first one way and then the other. He became aware that Susannah and his mother were crowding in again. “I can’t make out what someone carved on it,” he said finally.

  Susannah took the magnifying glass and studied the marks on the tiny key. “I believe it’s Latin,” she said at last. “Yes, it appears to be a name, but it is so worn into the gold I can’t make it out.”

  “Nor can I,” Rohan said after a few minutes. “Are you sure it’s Latin, Susannah? How do you know it’s Latin? You’re a woman. Couldn’t it just as well be German or Greek?”

  “Now, dearest, that sort of remark isn’t going to bring you a pleasant rejoinder. I did agree that it is too soon to judge Susannah’s degree of cleverness, but I do not believe that she is utterly ignorant.”

  “Thank you, Charlotte. I think. Yes, it’s Latin as well.”

  There was a knock on the door. Rohan arched an eyebrow.

  “Oh, who now?” Susannah said, throwing up her hands and staggering to the door.

  “Damnation, you’re still too weak to do that. Susannah, stop.” She did. He clasped her around her waist and held her against him, saying, “Come.”

  It was Toby, in his nightshirt. “I couldn’t stand it,” he said, rushing into speech. “Please, what’s happening? Did you find anything?”

  Rohan picked Susannah up and carried her to the bed. “You will stay here and you will not complain.” He tucked her in, then turned to her brother. “We found a half of a map inside the locket George gave your sister. Written on it is ‘Seek the room below the tide.’ And two letters of what is perhaps a town name. Your sister here believes there’s a Latin word on this small key we found with it. I don’t suppose you can make out what’s carved into the gold?”

  “Yes,” Charlotte said, coming closer to Toby, “can you make it out?”

  Toby looked at Charlotte, at the lovely clothes she was wearing, and stammered, “I’ll try.” Toby studied the word, then inked the quill and wrote it out. He looked at Rohan. “It is Latin. I believe it’s a name. ‘Leo’ with roman numerals after it. An I and an X.”

  “Leo,” Rohan repeated. “Yes, you’re right. It’s ‘Leo IX.’ A pope. Well, this could prove interesting. Toby, come with me to the library. We have a bit of looking up to do. No, Mother, please stay with Susannah, otherwise she will come after us and likely fall down the stairs and break her neck.”

  Charlotte didn’t look happy. She saw that Susannah was swinging her legs over the side of her bed, and so she said quickly, “Very well, I’ll stay here. But you will hurry, won’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  They returned to Susannah’s bedchamber in twenty minutes. Rohan was smiling and rubbing his hands together. Toby was looking thoroughly confused. “What is it?” Susannah said, trying to sit up, only to have Rohan gently push her back down. “What did you find?”

  “Leo IX was a pope in the eleventh century, specifically from 1049 to 1054.”

  The women stared at him blankly.

  “Why do we have a key that belonged to Leo IX? However,” Rohan continued after a moment, “we checked on something else too. The map refers to something in Scotland. What would Leo IX have to do with Scotland? It was a dangerous, violent time. No pope visited Scotland, but just maybe a Scot did journey to Rome to see the pope. Toby and I looked up the king of Scotland during Leo IX’s reign. There was only one. Macbeth. He was murdered by Malcolm in 1057, who usurped the throne. This happened after the pope was already dead.”

  “Usurped the throne?” Charlotte said. “But Shakespeare made Macbeth the usurper.”

  “That was all politics,” Rohan said, looking down at the key. “When Shakespeare wrote the play, James VI of Scotland had just come to take Elizabeth’s throne, in 1603, thus becoming James I of England. No, the real Macbeth was a fine ruler. He was so popular, peace prevailed so thoroughly throughout his reign, that he was able—” He stopped and smiled hugely at the two women. Then he began to whistle.

  “If you don’t tell us, I will flatten you,” Susannah said. “Now spit it out. What did you find?”

  “Macbeth was so secure on his throne that he was able to make a pilgrimage to see the pope.”

  “Leo IX?”

  “Yes, Susannah, it’s very possible. Just perhaps the pope gave him something and Macbeth brought this something back to Scotland with him. Toby will do more research tomorrow. Of course we could be wrong about the Macbeth connection, but it seems the best place to begin.”

  “I wonder where the other half of the map is?” Susannah said. “I wonder what the pope gave to Macbeth?”

  “I don’t know,” Rohan said slowly. “But one thing is likely. I think the only place we’re going to find answers is in Oxford. That is, after all, where George got half of the map, where our prisoner came from. Yes, I’m leaving tomorrow.”

  “Oh, yes, sir,” Toby said, bouncing on his heels in excitement. “That’s exactly what we must do. That’s where George lived. He must have known something. We can find out about these other men as well. May I come with you?”

  He saw the excitement in Toby’s dark blue eyes, remembered his own boundless excitement when he had been Toby’s age, and said slowly, “I will think about it. First, we must wait to see if our villain awakens. I’m still hoping that he will tell us something useful.”

  “What did the pope give to Macbeth?” Susannah said again, more to herself than to them. “It must have been something he prized, a treasure of some sort. But why?”

  “Macbeth was a good man,” Rohan said. “Evidently a man to trust. Perhaps the pope had to give whatever it was over to Macbeth. Perhaps he had no choice in the matter.” Rohan threw up his hands. “It’s all supposition. But it is a start.”

  “There is another thing, dearest. Did you forget our dinner and ball on Friday night? Everyone has been invited and everyone has, naturally, accepted.”

  “Look at Susannah’s face, Mother. Also, she might still be staggering about on Friday.”

  “No, I will be perfe
ctly fine,” Susannah said. “But he’s right, Charlotte—my face is a mess.”

  “Two days from now. Hmmm.” Charlotte lightly traced her fingertips of the bruises. “They should be light enough by Friday so that some judiciously placed cosmetics will do the trick. Sabine is really quite good. I will have her attend you.”

  “She shouldn’t wear cosmetics.”

  Charlotte straightened, looked at her son, and raised a perfect blond eyebrow. “Goodness, dearest, why ever not?”

  He had no answer except, “She doesn’t need it. She would look foolish. She would look like an opera girl.”

  “He should know,” Charlotte said with a good deal of satisfaction. “About opera girls, that is.”

  “You cannot cancel the party,” Susannah said. “If I look too awful, then I won’t come.”

  “Very well,” Rohan said, seeing no hope for it. “Wear any bloody cosmetics Mother believes you still need.”

  Charlotte nodded, then said calmly, “I will have no arguments from you, Susannah. You will wear one of my gowns. I doubt Rohan will let you out of bed long enough tomorrow to be measured for a new one.”

  Rohan felt an intense bolt of lust. She was ill; she was in bed. But it didn’t seem to matter. “I’m going to bed. Toby? Are you coming?”

  By Friday Susannah wasn’t staggering about at all. The bruises on her face had faded considerably. Rohan knew that his mother would powder her all up, but he supposed he couldn’t say anything.

  As for their villain, the man had finally awakened, but he refused to say a word. He just turned his head to the wall whenever anyone came into the room.

  “I wish I had some thumbscrews,” Rohan said, loud enough for the man to hear. “I believe I will go to the village and see what the blacksmith has lying about.”

  There was no getting a thing out of him.

  Marianne wouldn’t permit her mother out of her sight, letting loose a howl anytime Susannah attempted to excuse herself, if only for a moment. Rohan imagined that the child held Susannah’s hand even when she relieved herself.

  Toby and Vicar Byam were reading everything they could find about Macbeth, king of the Scots, and his reign.

  Rohan and Toby planned to leave Saturday morning for Oxford.

  He’d said to Susannah, “You know you can’t come. Marianne won’t let you go anywhere, and I refuse to relive our first trip through Oxford. It was a nightmare. Besides, this could prove dangerous.”

  “Then I don’t want Toby to go.”

  He’d nailed himself to the floor with that one. An excellent representative of his gender, he said, “I will think about it.”

  They were expecting thirty neighbors that warm moonlit evening. Rohan was pacing the entryway, looking alternately up the stairs for Susannah and gazing at his mother, who was turned out beautifully, her glorious blond hair piled atop her head with long curls down her neck and a pale peach silk gown slithering over her body. One of the footmen was so taken when he saw her that he dropped the dreadfully ugly epergne that had sat for years in the center of the huge dining table.

  Where was Susannah? Then he heard someone clear his throat, loudly. It was Toby, standing at the top of the stairs. “Rohan? Milady? Are you ready?”

  There was a squeak behind Toby and a wail. “Oh, Toby, how could you?”

  “A fanfare,” Rohan said loudly. “Commence.” He laughed, waiting. Then she appeared beside Toby. Rohan didn’t move. Actually, he didn’t think he could have in any case. He could only stare at her. “Susannah?” His voice sounded low and rusty. He continued to stare at her, at each step she took, bringing her closer and closer to him.

  She walked down the stairs so carefully and slowly that he wondered if she was wearing new slippers and they pinched her feet. She’d sworn to him that she was no longer sore or dizzy.

  “I am pleased,” Charlotte said. “I shall compliment Sabine myself, although she knows she is a genius.”

  “Oh, my God,” Rohan said, though he hadn’t meant to say anything of the kind. He’d seen dozens of women more beautiful than Susannah, but for the life of him they had just disappeared without a trace from his mind.

  She stopped dead in her tracks, looking him in the face for the first time. She ran her tongue over her bottom lip. “I look all right? It’s your mother’s gown, but she assured me that the color suited me. I have never worn anything of this shade of blue. Is it too light? Too dark? It is a wonderful gown. I’ve never had anything so very lovely. Sabine arranged my hair for me. Is it all right? Do you like all the braids and twists and things?”

  He got a hold on himself. “I like that shade of blue and the matching ribbon in your hair. You look acceptable. Yes, fine. Are you ready? I believe I hear our first guests arriving. Mother, come here and give everyone a sweet smile and tell poor Susannah that she won’t scare our guests away.”

  “Yes, dearest. You have not shamed me, Susannah.”

  “Thank you, Charlotte.”

  “Where is Marianne? She finally let you go?”

  Susannah smiled then, although she was so nervous she wanted to faint. “I promised her cook’s apple tarts if she would let go of my ankle.”

  Toby, garbed entirely in black, just like Rohan, laughed, shaking his head. “Marianne’s a little pig. I asked her if she wanted Susannah or an apple tart and she shouted, ‘Tart,’ at the top of her lungs.”

  “That sounds interesting,” Charlotte said.

  Lord and Lady Dauntry were the first to arrive. Rohan liked Lord Dauntry, a man who tended his lands well and treated his tenants fairly. He was lucky in his offspring, but his wife was another matter. She controlled her husband, her four daughters, her two sons, and even the pretentious Mrs. Gibbs, a local matron who could trace her roots to the Conqueror. Rohan was also of the belief that Lady Dauntry could very probably fillet a fish with her tongue without stopping her conversation.

  He didn’t realize how much of another matter Lady Dauntry was until nearly midway through the evening. Dinner had gone quite nicely, and the dancing had begun.

  Rohan danced a cotillion with Susannah, then danced a country reel with his mother. Everyone had treated Susannah with a good deal of curiosity. He picked up some talk about the kidnapping and how he had ridden up to Mountvale House with her naked and sitting on his lap. He’d expected that kind of exaggeration. On the whole, he was rather proud of his neighbors. At least most of their talk was behind their hands. They were polite to Susannah when they weren’t talking about her.

  He watched her dancing with Amos Mortimer, a rather desiccated older gentleman who raised pigs, not for market but as pets. She danced beautifully. As for Mr. Mortimer, though his thin legs looked barely capable of holding him upright, he could dance and he did it well.

  It was nearly midnight when Toby caught him at the end of a country reel. “Hurry! Hurry, Rohan! They’ve got Susannah and I think they’re going to bury her. She looks ready to spit. She also looks ready to fall over. Most of the powder’s off her face and you can see the bruises. Hurry, you’ve got to stop it. You’re the only one who can stop it.”

  “Who? Stop what? What are you talking about, Toby?” But Toby was already running out of the ballroom and up the stairs, Rohan on his heels. Had the man escaped? Had he captured Susannah?

  Toby skidded to a halt in front of the open door of the ladies’ withdrawing room. He waved to Rohan, his finger pressed against his lips.

  13

  “I AM TRULY MUCH BETTER NOW, MA’AM,” SUSANNAH said easily enough to Mrs. Hackles, but to Rohan’s ears she sounded ready to scream. “You are so kind to inquire about my health. I admit that I was a bit shaky for a little while.”

  Lady Dauntry had sent in her troops to soften up the enemy. Now she was primed to advance, her cannon all lined up and ready to fire. She gave Susannah a sweet and quite deadly look. “I see that dear Charlotte managed to cover the bruises on your face.”

  “Yes.”

  The three ladies were circle
d around her, between her and the door. This was odd. What did they want? Lady Dauntry continued, “As for the rest of it, I believe you were perhaps dancing a bit on the fast side with young Peter Briar, the poor boy. He really isn’t quite up to snuff—your sort of snuff, that is.”

  What was Lady Dauntry talking about? Susannah said only, “Yes, I had to catch my breath when the dance stopped. Why is Peter Briar a poor boy?”

  “As I said, you were on the fast side.”

  Susannah knew when a double entendre had hit her in the nose. She wanted to leave now, but the two other ladies were effectively blocking the door.

  Mrs. Hackles, obviously a crony of Lady Dauntry’s, seemed intent on pushing the point in case it had been lost on Susannah: “But this wasn’t the first time you were too fast, was it? No, there you were, naked in the baron’s arms. His hand was against your naked leg. All of us saw you. Mrs. Goodgame was quite distressed, as were Lady Dauntry and I. Yes, the dear baron was carrying you—in his arms. He had dressed you in his shirt and coat. He had obviously seen you naked.”

  “But I had been kidnapped,” Susannah said, raising her hands in protest, perhaps even to ward them off, then dropping her hands again because she realized it would be useless. “Truly I was kidnapped. The man who kidnapped me is just down the hall. Ask any of the footmen. Ask Charlotte. Ask the baron.”

  “It isn’t that, dear,” said Mrs. Goodgame, obviously another fine markswoman. “It’s that the baron even brought you up here and put you in your bed. How do we know that? We know everything. He probably even reclaimed his shirt and jacket; it would be in his nature to do so. He has known you, my poor Mrs. Carrington. Known you.”

  “Yes,” said Lady Dauntry, her slick politeness long gone. “We all know that a young woman newly widowed is not all that careful with her reputation.”

  “But I have been widowed for a year.”