His friends had already arrived. Randall tossed a scoop of coal onto the fire. “More damned cold Scottish weather,” he said gloomily as he limped back to a chair by the fire. The search had been hard on his damaged leg.
Kirkland grinned. “It’s bracing. Only thin-blooded Sassenachs would complain. Has anyone ordered dinner?”
“It’s on its way,” Will replied. “Have you learned anything?”
“A possibility. Faint. What about you two?” Kirkland accepted a glass of claret from Will and subsided on a chair by the fire, stretching his legs out wearily.
Will said, “The other engineers I called in to examine the steam engine agreed with Mactavish. The patched hole in the boiler was meant to destroy the ship. No real engineer would repair a boiler that way because it was guaranteed to fail. But none of us found any evidence to suggest who might have done such a wicked thing.”
“It had to be a man with engineering experience,” Kirkland said. “And he had to do his damage at the right time, so it wouldn’t be discovered.”
Will nodded. “Our best guess is that he came aboard one night when the boiler had been set in place but not yet bolted down. Since a project like this is talked about in half the taverns along the Clyde, a clever man could easily learn when to make his move. If the patch was discovered, the accident would have been prevented but the vandal who did the damage wasn’t likely to be caught, so there was little risk in trying. Randall, have you learned anything about the men who worked on building the Enterprise?”
“I’ve interviewed most of them. They’re well-respected locals with solid reputations and no reason to destroy another man’s ship,” Randall replied. “You know Ash—he never minded paying good money to hire the best. His employees are the sort who believe that everyone who works on Clydeside benefits by engineering innovations.”
“Most?” Kirkland refilled his glass with claret. “Did you find some men who might be less upstanding?”
“One of the men lost when the ship sank was new to the area. His name was Shipley,” Randall replied. “He was variously considered to be either Irish or a Londoner, but he was the silent sort. No one knew much about him except that he was bad company but a capable engineering assistant. With tattoos.”
“Was his body found?”
Randall shook his head. “Not yet.”
“If he died in the explosion, he probably didn’t cause it,” Kirkland said. “Of course, he could have set his trap and abandoned ship before the explosion. But if he did, his absence would have been noted, I think, and none of the survivors have mentioned such a thing.”
“I’ve written Lady Agnes about what we’ve learned, and also to ask if she knows anyone who might want Ash dead,” Will said quietly.
There was a brief, heavy silence. “We can’t be sure that damaging the ship was aimed at Ash,” Kirkland said finally.
“No. But that’s the most likely explanation. No one else aboard seems a likely target of a murder plot, and there are enough other steamships under development that it’s unlikely that anyone would have singled out the Enterprise for destruction,” Will said bluntly. “Whereas Ash was a duke, and a man who in some quarters was resented merely for existing.”
“If someone wanted Ash dead, it wouldn’t have been difficult to kill him with a knife or a pistol ball,” Randall said. “If the explosion was an assassination attempt aimed at him, considerable effort went into making his death look accidental.”
“An accident is a chancy way to kill a man,” Will said. “He might easily have survived. Half the men on the Enterprise did.”
“If he’d survived, another attempt could have been made,” Kirkland pointed out. “We were lucky to find the wreck and salvage the engine so quickly. If the ship had gone down in deeper waters, it might not have been recovered and we’d never have become suspicious.”
“Now that we’ve reported in, have you found anything, Kirkland?” Will glanced at the leather tube on the table.
Kirkland opened the tube and pulled out a rolled map. “After our salvage operation, three men were still missing. Ashton, Shipley, and a sailor named O’Reilly. This morning, I learned that a body washed ashore well down the coast.”
Randall stiffened. “Ash?”
“O’Reilly. He was wearing one of those Irish sweaters with the elaborate patterns that can be used to identify the bodies of drowned men. So Ashton and Shipley are the only ones still missing.” Kirkland spread the map on the table, weighting the corners so the others could see the coastal area from a little north of Glasgow all the way down to Lancashire. “I spent the afternoon in a fishermen’s pub buying drinks and asking about water currents. Specifically, how far a body might be carried if lost by Arran Island, and where it might end up.”
“Assuming it’s ever found,” Randall said grimly. He came to stand by Kirkland so he could study the map. “Where did O’Reilly end up?”
Kirkland tapped the map. “Near this village, Southerness.”
Randall whistled softly. “That far? It’s just across Solway Firth from England.”
“There are so many factors of wind and weather and tide. We should make inquiries over in Ireland—that’s actually closer to Arran than Southerness.” Kirkland sighed. “No one carried that far could have survived, not in such cold water. If Ashton had made it safely ashore, he would have returned to Glasgow by now, or at least sent a message to his people there.”
“He might have been injured so severely that he couldn’t do that,” Will said stubbornly.
Kirkland recognized that Will couldn’t bear to let go of hope, no matter how slim. “It’s possible,” he agreed. “But not very likely. Too much time has passed since the accident. An injury that severe…probably wouldn’t have been survivable.”
Randall tapped places along the coastline where crosses had been drawn. “What do these marks mean?”
“Most likely spots for a body to turn up, based on the usual currents. I think we should split up and visit other areas around Southerness to see if drowned men have been found,” Kirkland said. “In some villages or farmsteads, the locals would just say a prayer and bury a body that had no identification.”
“How shall we divide the territory?” Will asked.
They quickly split up the likely sections of coast so they wouldn’t overlap. With that decided, Randall said somberly, “This is the only thing left we can do. After, we shall all have to return to our normal lives.”
Will sighed. “I’m not looking forward to telling Lady Agnes we failed.”
“Her prime concern was always that we do our best,” Kirkland said. “Success was valued but not essential.”
Two serving maids entered with trays of meat, bread, and potatoes. Kirkland realized he was famished and it was time to end the discussion. He glanced at the map for the southernmost cross. “When we’re done, let’s meet at this little town on the English side of Solway Firth, since it’s more or less opposite Southerness and looks large enough to have an inn.” He tapped his finger on the spot. “Hartley.”
Chapter Fourteen
Mariah soon found that Adam had not been joking about building her a garden. In the days that followed, he hired half a dozen men from the village to start clearing the neglected beds and plantings. The spring growing season was just beginning, so bringing order to the gardens now was imperative.
That was by day. By night, they were now sharing a bed, though they kept to the physical limits Mariah had set. Once, Adam had risen, swearing under his breath, and returned to his own room before he lost control.
She was glad for his restraint, and sorry to see him go. She loved having him near, loved the pleasure she was learning from him. And she was tentatively learning to pleasure him as well, so after that night, he hadn’t had to leave.
Where would it all end? With him remembering and leaving her, or with them becoming lovers? Or both, though not necessarily in that order.
She had grown fatalistic. She would e
njoy him as long as she could—and try to avoid doing anything that would ruin her future.
Adam’s team of laborers tackled the larger gardens, but he worked on the enclosed garden personally. His goal was to create a true meditation garden that would produce serenity in all who entered. Chopping vines and clearing over-growth gave him a deep sense of satisfaction, though by the end of the day his mud-splotched appearance pretty well settled the question of whether or not he was a gentleman. He wasn’t.
Mariah was impatient to see the meditation garden, but he wouldn’t allow her before he was ready. Once a day, she would leave her office for some fresh air and try to slip into his garden. He would stop her. It was a game they both enjoyed.
He had just finished cleaning the weathered stone fountain he’d found embedded in the wall when he heard Bhanu approaching, which meant that Mariah was, too. He hastily rose and wiped his hands on a battered old towel, then went to intercept her before she reached the garden entrance.
Mariah gave him a wickedly coaxing smile. In her plain blue morning gown, she was enchanting. “Are you finished yet? I am perishing of curiosity!”
He shook his head, eyes dancing. “Not yet. Of course a garden is never really finished, but I want this one to be in reasonable shape when you see it.”
“Forbidding entrance is the best way to make me want desperately to visit.” She made a quick move to circle around him, but he caught her, laughing.
“Some things are worth waiting for.” He bent and kissed her, only their lips touching because he didn’t want to muddy her dress. Her mouth was a feast, and he would always hunger for her.
“You’re just trying to distract me,” she said breathlessly when the kiss ended.
“Is it working?”
“I’m afraid so.” She gave him a look of exaggerated confusion. “Why was I wandering down this path?”
He cupped her chin in one hand, his touch caressing. “You wanted to ask me when the garden would be ready for you to view, and you were offering to have Mrs. Beckett pack a picnic luncheon for us to eat here on that day.”
She chuckled. “That was my mission? Very well, when will the viewing be?”
“Two days from now, if the fine weather holds.” He glanced at the sky. “Which is never certain in this part of the world.”
“I shall hope for the best. Mrs. Beckett will be delighted to cooperate. She adores your hearty appetite.” She quietly tried to slip around him.
He got a firm grip on the slippery wench and kissed her again. “I shall see you later at dinner and we can trade news of our accomplishments.”
“Very well.” She glanced down at Bhanu, who was happily investigating interesting scents. “Bhanu, will you come with me or stay with Adam?”
The dog glanced at her, then returned to sniffing. “I think you and the garden have won her allegiance for the moment.”
“She is a fickle beast and will be looking for you soon enough.” He studied the dog. “How is it possible for a creature to be simultaneously so lovable and so ugly?”
“She’s an exceptionally talented dog.” With a last win-some glance, Mariah turned and headed back to the house.
Adam felt as if his heart followed her down the path. What a lucky man he was. Apart from his chancy dreams, he still had no memory of his past, but Mariah had been right when she said the present and future mattered more. As long as he had her, perhaps the past didn’t really matter.
The fine weather held, for which Mariah was grateful. She envied Adam for working outside. She spent much of her time in her study developing plans to improve the estate with the rather modest funds at her disposal. Adam had been a great help. Even better, the vicar had introduced her to Horace Cochrane.
Mr. Cochrane had been steward to an earl in Northumberland. Since he was getting on in years, he had recently retired and come back to his home town of Hartley. A month of leisure had persuaded him that he preferred working, but at a less strenuous pace. In just a few days at Hartley, he was already making a difference.
On the day she was to visit Adam’s garden, Mariah found it difficult to concentrate on her accounts. It was a relief when midday arrived and she could set her work aside. Adam had announced at breakfast that he wanted to blindfold her so she could enter the garden and be surprised. That had given her the idea of surprising him in turn. Eyes dancing with amusement, she descended to the kitchen to collect the picnic basket Mrs. Beckett had prepared.
As always, he heard her approach on the winding path and came to meet her. His outside work suited him wonderfully. The bruises had faded away, and he was fit and healthy. He was hatless, his dark hair tousled and the vivid color of his eyes enhanced by all the greenery around him. In his white shirt and dark blue trousers, he looked positively dashing.
She greeted him with a smile. “The fine, sunny spring day you ordered has turned up right on schedule.”
“I’m most pleased about that. Orders for perfect weather so often go astray.” He kissed her, making her toes curl with pleasure. The last days had been so perfect that she felt as if they were on their honeymoon.
Taking the heavy basket, he said, “Am I to use one of these large floppy bows as your blindfold?”
She nodded. “I thought tying scarves on the handle made the basket look festive. This is a special occasion, after all.”
He glanced down the path. “Where is Bhanu?”
“She considered joining me but didn’t want to leave the kitchen—Mrs. Beckett is roasting a joint for dinner.” Mariah grinned. “Plus, Bhanu and Annabelle are getting quite friendly. I saw them curled up around each other by the hearth.”
“Faithless pup.” He set the basket down and untied the blue scarf, carefully chosen to go with her gown. As he wrapped the cloth around her head so that her eyes were completely covered, she remarked, “This is very foolish, you know. I’m sure I’ll love what you’ve done even if there’s no surprise involved.”
“I hope so.” He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, then picked up the basket. “But the real reason for blindfolding you is so that you will first experience the garden with other senses. Sight is so powerful that it overwhelms everything else.”
“That’s an interesting thought.” After a dozen steps, she said, “You’re right, I’m more aware of how the stones feel under my feet. Small irregularities, the tufts of grass between the stones, when one stone is raised or depressed.” She tightened her grip on his arm as she stepped on a particularly low stone. “Strange to have to depend on another person for something as simple as walking.”
“I won’t lead you astray.” His voice was low and compelling.
Intensely aware of the rich tones, she asked, “Did you blindfold me as a…a metaphor for the way I’ve been guiding you since you can’t see your past?”
Voice startled, he said, “I hadn’t thought of it that way, but it’s true.” He kissed her forehead. “You haven’t led me astray.”
The trust in his voice made her cringe inwardly. After a few more steps, she said, “Did we just pass through the archway that leads into the garden? The air felt…more compressed for a moment.”
“You’re very perceptive.” He led her forward another dozen steps and stopped, removing her hand from his arm. “We’re here. Tell what you sense.”
“To begin with, I just heard you set down the basket. The bricks I’m standing on feel different from the flagstones of the path that led here. Softer but more even.” She turned in a slow circle. “The air is very still—the walls protect us from the breeze. They also collect the sun. Your garden is noticeably warmer than outside.”
“What do you hear?”
She caught her breath. “Running water! The overall sound is made up of several smaller sounds that are like different notes, high and low. Did you install a fountain?”
“I restored an existing fountain that had been concealed under the vine,” he replied. “What else?”
“Birdsong. Songbirds are eve
rywhere in the country, but I usually don’t notice them so much. There are pipits right here inside your garden, aren’t there? And I hear…warblers and sparrows, I think. Farther away. Layers and layers of lovely sounds. And the scents! Daffodils are in full bloom, I think. I can smell them. They always make me think of butter. But there are other scents, too. Different plant smells. And I think that espaliered fruit tree is starting to blossom. Apples?”
He chuckled. “You’re doing very well with this. You’ve used scent and sound and touch. Everything but taste. Would you like to nibble on a flower?”
“I can do better than that.” Using his voice as a guide, she moved to him and caught his arms, then stretched up to kiss his throat. “Mmm, salty. Very pleasant.” She squeezed his arms. “Strong but a little yielding. A nice, solid feeling.”
He laughed and drew her into a hug. She was very aware of how the length of her body pressed against his. The stimulating pressure of her breasts against his chest, the throb of blood through her most private places because of their closeness.
Abruptly vision returned when he pulled the scarf from her eyes. She was almost sorry to be pulled from the world of her senses, though glad to see his darkly handsome face so close to hers. “You’ve graduated with flying colors,” he said. “I was brought blindfolded into a garden as a child, I think. Again, I don’t really remember, but it feels as if I experienced this myself, long ago. That’s why I wanted you to try this.”
“Was that visit to the other garden you remembered?” she asked as she stepped from his embrace.
He frowned, then shook his head. “Perhaps, but I really don’t know.”
Wanting to take the dark expression from his face, she surveyed the garden. It had been lovely in its wild state, but Adam’s careful work had created a deep sense of harmony. An old wooden bench had been set invitingly under the tree, and what had been a ragged patch of greenery had been turned into a pleasant swath of grass.
Loving a Lost Lord Page 11
