Oliver frowned. “I do not like the idea of her being at the mercy of Lord Enfield.” He thought over the butler’s suggestion and knew that if a person needed care, no matter how terrible a person their father might be, Marybeth would not have hesitated to render aid.
“To Enfield?” Mr. Wheatly asked.
“To Enfield,” Oliver confirmed with a nod.
Chapter 30
Oliver and Mr. Wheatly left the croft and set out for the Enfield Estate. Oliver dreaded the probable confrontation that was to come if Lord Enfield were in residence. He hoped to slip unnoticed through the servants’ entrance and inquire if any of them had seen Marybeth, but he doubted such a thing was possible in the contraption they were in. He voiced his thoughts to Mr. Wheatly, and they did what they could to remain out of sight coming up behind the manor house.
They dismounted and walked over to the servants’ entrance. They entered the house and moved toward the sounds of the kitchen. When they reached it, they found the house to be in a state of mourning. Black arm bands were worn by every member of staff within the room. Half of the women in the room looked as if they had been crying.
“What has happened?” Oliver asked a young kitchen maid without introduction, his concern overtaking his manners.
“Lord Stephen, heir to Enfield, has died,” the maid sobbed, catching the attention of the cook.
“Who are you and what are you doing in my kitchen?” the cook demanded.
“Please excuse our poor manners, madam,” Mr. Wheatly bustled forward, bowing in respect to the cook, the epitome of butlery decorum. He kissed her hand causing the cook to blush. “We are looking for a young woman, a healer, Miss Marybeth Wright. Do you happen to know if she has been here? Tending to Lord Stephen perhaps?”
“Yes, she was here, but she is not here now. You would need to speak with the new heir, Lord Alexander, about her as I know very little myself on the matter.”
“Is Lord Enfield at home?” Oliver asked, hoping that he was not.
“No, Lord Enfield is not present at the moment,” the cook answered eyeing him suspiciously. “You do not look well, lad.”
“I am well,” he lied, grabbing the edge of the table to steady himself as the world moved around him most unsettlingly. When it stopped, he attempted to speak once more, “Where might we find Lord Alexander?”
“I will inform the butler of your presence and he will decide whether you are worthy of speaking with His Lordship,” the cook announced. “Until then you may wait over there out of the way.” She waved them over to a side table with chairs. “You look famished,” she observed. “I will have a maid bring you something to eat and drink in a moment.”
The cook bustled out of the kitchen in search of the butler. A young kitchen maid brought them each a cup of water. “Do you think we will be granted an audience?” Oliver asked her.
“I have no way of knowing that, now do I,” the maid snipped then went on about her business.
“Not the friendliest, most well-mannered of persons are they,” Mr. Wheatly noted disapprovingly.
“No, they are not,” Oliver agreed. “I suppose working for such a terrible man as Lord Enfield would have something to do with it.”
“Indeed,” Mr. Wheatly murmured, taking a drink of his water.
Moments passed and the cook returned, bringing them each a bowl of vegetable broth and a crust of bread. “The butler is inquiring with His Lordship now. Eat,” she instructed, then returned to her own work.
Oliver and Mr. Wheatly did as they were told and quickly ate the food before them. It had been a long day of riding about the forest. They were both more tired and hungry than they had realized. They finished their brief repast and sat waiting for a reply to their request. They were not made to wait very long. A cacophony of thundering footsteps greeted their ears no sooner had they finished eating. The kitchen filled with tall, broad-shouldered, dark haired, grey eyed men, seven in all.
Oliver and Mr. Wheatly both stood and waited to see what had brought on such a response. The kitchen staff looked as if the world might be ending as they gaped at their masters in complete and utter shock. It was clear that such a sight was rare indeed to them. Lords did not usually descend below stairs en masse, if at all.
Lord Alexander stepped forward. “My butler tells me that two unsavory characters have been asking about a Miss Marybeth Wright. I take it that you are said persons?”
Mr. Wheatly placed a staying hand in front of Oliver before he had a chance to say something that they would both regret. “Unsavory no, My Lord, but we are indeed looking for Miss Wright,” Mr. Wheatly answered, bowing in an effort to give the proper courtesy.
“I recognize you. You are the butler at Arkley Hall, are you not?”
“Yes, My Lord.”
“And what is it that you desire from Miss Wright that she has not already given to your household?” Lord Alexander demanded to know. All seven of the brothers’ stance bespoke a willingness to do either of their visitors harm should they misspeak. Oliver was quite taken aback by their response.
“She has not returned home, and we are concerned for her wellbeing. Our master, the Duke of Arkley, left in search of her two days hence and has not returned. We fear the worst might have happened,” Mr. Wheatly spoke the truth as best he could in spite of the noblemen’s glares.
“She is not at her croft?”
“No.”
Lord Alexander exchanged a look with his brothers. “I see.”
“To be quite frank, My Lord, we were somewhat concerned that Lord Enfield himself might have done her some harm,” Oliver admitted throwing caution to the wind.
Instead of reacting angrily, Lord Alexander nodded slowly as if considering the idea as being plausible. “It is possible. He was quite angry over the passing of his heir, our brother Lord Stephen. He no sooner returned from the forest, before storming off back onto it.”
“That does not bode well for Miss Wright’s safety, My Lord, but would he harm His Grace the Duke of Arkley over such a matter?”
“In a fit of temper, it is entirely possible that he might if the Duke were perceived to be in his way,” Lord Alexander admitted, his face lined with concern. “Thank you for bringing this to our attention. My brothers and I will join your search.” Examining Oliver’s pale face, he noted, “Perhaps it would be best if you both returned to Arkley Hall to await their return there. We can see to searching the forest.”
Oliver started to shake his head, but the pain cut him short. “I will not abandon her.”
Lord Alexander studied him once more and a light of respect sparked in his eyes. “Very well,” he nodded his consent. “But we will not wait for you.”
“Agreed,” Oliver nodded slightly so as to avoid any further pain.
The brothers filed out of the kitchen and back up the stairs, while Oliver and Mr. Wheatly made their way back out to the Dowager Duchess’s contraption. By the time they had crawled back into it and were ready to set off again, the seven brothers appeared around the side of the house, mounted and armed to the teeth. They were a menacing bunch, their eyes as cold as steel, filled with determination.
With a nod of Lord Alexander’s head all seven brothers set off in different directions, their horses’ hooves pounding the ground in thunderous unison. Oliver and Mr. Wheatly rode back toward Arkley lands. “We should look to see if they might be at Blackleigh Castle. Marybeth has always spent a great deal of time there with her grandmother’s birds,” Oliver suggested.
“Right,” Mr. Wheatly nodded, and turned the horse in the direction of the castle.
* * *
When Marybeth awoke again it was to the sound of men talking to one another. At first it was muffled, indistinct, but then as she climbed further to the surface of consciousness, she realized that she recognized one of the voices as the Duke’s. “Release her and I will do whatever it is that you wish. There is no need to cause her any further harm.” His voice sounded very angry.
> “Felix,” she mumbled, lifting her head to look in the direction his voice had come from.
“Ah, look who is awake,” another voice she recognized remarked, chilling her to the bone. It was Bernard Weatherton, the Earl of Bredon.
“What have you done?” she asked in fear. “I did everything you told me to do!”
“Yes, you did, but my plans have changed.”
“Your plans?” Marybeth asked as she attempted to sit up and face her captor.
“Yes, my plans,” the Earl sneered in disgust as he hauled her to her feet.
Marybeth looked around her and found Felix being held at gun point. “I did as you said. I stayed away from Arkley Hall, from the Duke. Why have you gone back on your word?”
“Because at that point there was still hope that my sister would wed the Duke and Arkley would be hers. His secrets would have become her secrets, including those of Blackleigh Castle. Instead, you came along and ruined everything. No sooner did we return from Bath than Cordelia absconded in the night. She has gone to live with our aunt in France. We are out of time and the debt collectors are upon our doorstep. I need the treasure now and the two of you are going to get it for me.”
“I do not know where the treasure is,” Marybeth protested. “I have never known.”
“I have searched every room in this castle and have found nothing. I had hope to purchase it and have it rendered asunder stone by stone, but was refused; however, I did not let that stop me, and I began removing stones. It was during this time that I found the tunnel leading to Arkley Hall. It occurred to me then that the Duke must already have the treasure in his possession; however, my hired man searched every corner of that manor house before his death and found nothing resembling a treasure.”
“You hired the intruder that plagued the walls at Arkley Hall?”
“Yes, I did. A rather ingenious plan if I do say so myself. I had hoped to get rid of you, witch, by using him to scare you as a ghostly apparition, but you did not go.”
“I do not believe in ghosts.”
“Unfortunately, neither did the Duke. At the very least I had hoped that he would remove you from his household when you failed to keep his mother alive, but your potions worked. Had you not arrived, the Duke would have wed Cordelia as his mother’s last dying wish and all would have been well. As the last remaining heir to the Arkley Estate, when the Duke died from a terrible accident, all would have gone to his dear grieving widow in hopes that an heir might still nestle within her womb.”
“You lied to me. You never had any intentions of killing the Duke if I did not leave him, did you? That would have ruined your plans.”
“Yes, I lied. Oh, not about wanting to kill the Duke, simply the reason and timing of it all. Once Cordelia and he had wed, I would have killed him, and taken his wealth as my own. I had it all planned out, but what I did not plan for was you. The witches of this forest have been a bane to my family’s existence for centuries. We would have killed you all were we not afraid of being cursed for it.”
“It was my ancestor in the legend who supposedly hid the treasure. Was it one of your men who searched my croft two nights past?”
“Yes, but only as a matter of course. I have long known that your family did not hold knowledge of the treasure’s location in spite of your familial connections.”
“How could you know such a thing?”
“Because it was my father and Lord Enfield who tortured the information out of your mother. After everything that they did to her, if the treasure had been in your family’s possession, she would have told them.”
“What?” Marybeth’s head reeled with his confession.
“Yes, Lord Enfield and my father were cousins. We are family. The quest for the treasure has been passed down from father to son for hundreds of years. My father died having given up, surrendered his birthright, leaving our family in ruins. I vowed upon his deathbed that I would be the one to find the treasure, break the curse, and set my family free once and for all.”
“Do you have any idea what he did to my mother?!” Marybeth screamed launching herself at the Earl with murderous intent.
The Earl jumped back laughing. “Tsk, tsk, Miss Wright. Another move like that and you will pay the price. I would not sully myself with a witch such as yourself, but I am certain that one of my men would be glad to do the honors on my behalf.” A chuckle from his men said that they indeed would be glad to do so.
“Leave her be!” Felix shouted angrily fighting against the men who restrained him.
The Earl’s eyes flashed angrily. “I will see you dead before this day is out, Your Grace,” he sneered. “Do not make me do something we will both regret before the proper time.”
A commotion at the entrance to the castle caught everyone’s attention as angry shouts could be heard echoing across the stone floor. “I want her dead!” Lord Enfield’s voice demanded as he entered the room. “I want to hold her still beating heart in the palm of my hand.”
“What has happened?” the Earl stepped between Marybeth and Lord Enfield blocking her view.
“Stephen is dead! She let him die!” Lord Enfield shoved an accusatory finger past the Earl at Marybeth. “I curse the day that you were ever born,” he hissed stepping around the Earl to loom menacingly over her. “I should have slit your mother’s throat making sure that she was good and dead. As it is, I should have killed you in your cradle.”
“Why did you not do so?” Marybeth asked. “You had ample opportunity, having had me watched for so many years. Why did you allow me to live?”
“I thought you might one day be useful to me,” he growled. “I was wrong, and have naught but the pain you have caused to show for it.”
“I did not let Stephen die. I fought to save him. I would never allow a man to die, let alone my brother, without fighting with everything I have to save them.”
“I do not believe you,” Lord Enfield spat on the ground at her feet and leaning down, grabbed her up by the hair. “And now you will pay,” he drew his knife from its sheath in his boot and placed it to her throat.
“Enfield!” The Earl stepped forward taking command of the situation. “I need her for leverage. Alive.” He placed a hand on his cousin’s arm and pulled the knife away. Lord Enfield released her, throwing her to the ground.
“You have no leverage,” Marybeth retorted angrily. “We know that you are going to kill us when you are done with us. How does it possibly benefit you to use me as leverage with such knowledge?”
“I will kill you quickly if you cooperate. If you do not, I will make it a slow and painful death. One in which the Duke will be forced to watch you raped and tortured before his very eyes. I will then hang, draw, and quarter you, feeding you to my dogs for the mere joy of having done so. Then I will castrate the Duke, cut out his tongue, and chop off his fingers, so that he may live with the knowledge of what was done to you, but never be able to seek justice by revealing who maimed him.”
“You are a sick, disgusting, perverse monster!” Marybeth cried out on a sob. The image his words painted caused her stomach to turn over and she swallowed back the bile that arose within her throat.
“I will kill you, Bredon, before this is done. Mark my words,” Felix seethed, his eyes shooting black arrows of hatred into the skull of their enemy. “I will kill you.”
The Earl laughed at his declaration. “You may try.”
Chapter 31
Oliver and Mr. Wheatly approached Blackleigh Castle. Through the trees, they could just make out the movement of men milling about outside the castle walls. They looked like armed guards and Oliver wondered if the Duke had arranged for them to guard the tunnel. “Did His Grace arrange for more guards?” he asked Mr. Wheatly.
“Not to my knowledge,” Mr. Wheatly shook his head. “After the intruder was apprehended there was no need for further guards.”
“I know that he posited the notion that perhaps the intruder had been led astray by another’s influence, b
ut I do not recall the Duke taking any further action on the matter.”
“No, I do not believe that he did.”
“Shall we go and see for ourselves?”
“I am not certain,” Oliver sat in thought studying the men circling the castle. “Something seems amiss here. Do you recognize any of the men?”
Mr. Wheatly peered through the trees attempting to get a better look. “I cannot say that I do, but I do not know every man in the county.”
“I would feel better about approaching them if I were not in a nearly invalid state,” Oliver admitted. “I fear I would be of no real use in a fight in this condition.”
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