by June Calvin
It made her heart ache to see the distress in Thorne's tense features. Allison put her hands to her temples. “I need to think. There is something that is eluding me, something that explains—” Thorne turned his head. “What is that?”
Allison looked behind him. “You can see her!”
“No, I thought I heard something.”
“She’s there. Barely visible, but unmistakable.”
“It sounded like a bell. Probably a stray sheep has fallen into the ha-ha.”
“That is how her voice sounds. She is speaking to us.”
A flash of realization illuminated Thorne’s drawn features. “Her voice sounds like bells? Can you understand her?”
“Yes, if you will be quiet.”
Thorne waited, nostrils flaring, while Allison listened to the soft tinkling voice. As she listened, the Silver Lady, little more than a shining fog, floated toward a comer of the room and disappeared into a large locked cabinet.
“She says the answers to your questions are in there and asks us to join her at the keep tomorrow morning early.”
Allison waited for Thorne to scoff or warn her away. But the look of sudden enlightenment, of awe, became even more pronounced. He stood up and moved toward the cabinet. “I have heard mysterious bells at the castle all of my life. I used to dream up entire fairy kingdoms on the basis of those bells. Do you think—”
“She was trying to communicate with you? Yes! Oh, Thorne, what is in there?”
He stopped before it. “I shall have to get the key; it is locked up in my room.”
She stood beside him, looking inquisitively into his face.
“Locked in that cabinet is an authentic copy of the original will written by the first Baron D’Aumont and a careful genealogical chart that has been kept through the years, tracing the heirs to the Silverthorne treasure.”
Chapter Thirteen
Allison reverently placed the ancient parchment documents on the long table Mr. Swinton used to catalog Thorne Hall’s library. Thorne lit three tall branches of candles and dispersed them around the table. Together they bent over the will.
“I have personally compared this copy to the original, which is sealed in two-sided glass and kept in the vaults beneath my London solicitor’s office,” he told her.
She read through it swiftly. It was short and contained nothing unexpected. The first baron left his land and livestock to his eldest son. He directed that all gold, silver, and precious stones be divided equally among his heirs, male and female alike.
“Well?” Thorne demanded as she sat back in her chair, frowning.
“That doesn’t explain ...” She stood up, the better to see the genealogies Thorne had spread out on the table. Some ancient, some as recent as her own birth, they spanned many generations of English history.
“I wish you would tell me what you are looking for,” Thorne demanded. “Then I could help you look, or more likely, answer your questions out of hand. I assure you my father made me familiar with these documents early on, and I had the painful task of reviewing them at his death.”
Allison bit her lip. In her eagerness to discover the math about the enigmatic behavior of the family ghost and thus find the treasure, she had forgotten that his father and brother had perished in the same pursuit.
“I am sorry to awaken painful memories,” she said, placing a comforting hand on his sleeve.
He quickly covered it with his own. “Never mind. I must confess my curiosity has been aroused. So I ask again. What are you looking for?”
“It is what you are looking for. Why, if the Silver Lady truly is able to lead the heir or heirs to the treasure, hasn’t she done so before now?”
“In fact, why doesn’t she just tell us, instead of making us prowl through all of this lot.” Thorne gestured impatiently at the fifteen or so documents.
“Hmmm?” Allison wasn’t really attending. Her index finger delicately traced the main family tree, following the line from “Silver” Thorne, knighted by Queen Elizabeth in 1602. His son, the first Baron D'Aumont, died during one of the last battles of the English Civil Wars and was succeeded by his brother. Since then the succession had passed in an unbroken line from father to son down to Thorne. James’s pedigree took but one additional line, as his father was the fourth marquess’s younger brother. They were not a prolific family, Allison noted, but they always managed to produce an heir.
Nothing there seemed to answer Thorne’s question, so she moved to the next sheet, which traced her own descent from the eldest daughter of the first baron’s daughter, Elena, by her first husband, Baron Marpold. Her subsequent marriage to Sir Broderick Ramsey apparently was childless.
“Elena must be the Silver Lady.”
“That is the generally held belief.”
Next came the descent of Elena’s youngest daughter by Baron Marpold. Curious, Allison shuffled briefly through the other papers.
“What are you looking for?”
“I thought there were three daughters.”
“The middle daughter’s line died out in the 1750s. That genealogy is here somewhere, but surely it is irrelevant?”
Nodding, Allison returned to the genealogy leading from the youngest daughter of Elena to Thorne’s and James’s mothers, who had been sisters. While she perused this one, Thorne grumbled in her ear, “As you can see, both James and I are doubly entitled to this mythical treasure. So why hasn't this troublesome spirit guided us to it long since?”
“I think she tried. For some reason I can see her and you cannot. But the bells you have heard ...”
Thorne’s eyes widened briefly, an echo of his awe a few moments before when he had realized the significance of his childhood experience. “Well, when you find it, my double descent surely means that I get two shares.”
Allison looked at him out of the comer of her eye to confirm that he was quizzing her. “Rather, it means that I get half because I am the one she communicates with.”
He smiled, but quickly sobered. “Come, Allison, admit she is a fraud or worse. It is getting late, and—”
“I have it!” Allison clapped her hands together and spun around gleefully. “Something in the tableau I saw tonight—”
“Tableau?”
“Oh, I never told you about that, did I?” Allison proceeded to describe the scene in her bedroom, which she had at first thought was a dream. ‘They all perished, taking the secret of the treasure with them. Before they did, I heard Elena say that the treasure was left to the baron’s descendants, that it must not go to their uncle.”
“That’s not what the will says,” Thorne growled. “It says ‘heirs.’ Gowan D’Aumont was the only male D’Aumont left after the two brothers disappeared. Elena bore the first baron’s only grandchildren, but they were all girls.”
“I know. Perhaps it was drawn up in haste, or poorly planned. But if that—vision? dream? whatever it was that I saw in my chamber tonight—is true, the first baron would not have wanted his brother to inherit the treasure.”
Thorne nodded. “He despised his brother, that we know from the family history. So you are saying that none of the succeeding barons were entitled to the treasure, that my only claim to it is through my mother.”
She nodded, eyes glowing. “Don’t you see? Through the years the heirs to the title have believed themselves qualified to claim it, had it been discovered, nor would any have disputed them. Until your father and his brother married your mother and her sister, descendants of Elena, that would have meant that a large part of the baron’s legacy would have gone to the descendants of a hated brother.”
Thorne walked away from her to pace the room, brows furrowed in thought. At last he said, “It is a great deal to assume on the basis of a dream.”
“Not a dream, a ghostly apparition. And there are other clues.”
“Such as?”
“I often saw the Silver Lady as a child, though after the first few times I did not mention it because you and Jamie teased
me so. That time when I was nine was the only time I was completely alone with her, and it was the one time she tried to lead me to the castle keep, instead of merely looking on with a sad expression on her face. Why? Because there were always others there who weren’t entitled to the treasure! Your father, to be specific, for we never went there except in his company.”
Once more Thorne paced the room. Allison watched him, trying hard to keep her mind on the puzzle the ghost had set for them, instead of upon the attractive man before her. At last he spoke. “There is a family tradition ...” He darted to a shelf near the cabinet in which the legacy documents had been kept, grabbed a bound leather volume, and began shuffling through it.
“Here it is!” He laid it on the library table in front of Allison. She picked it up, looking inquisitively at him.
“My Uncle Whitaker appointed himself family historian. He collected all of the family and local lore about the treasure and the ghost.”
Allison opened the book and scanned the first few pages, which told the story of the disappearance of the first baron’s heirs and the first appearance of the Silver Lady. “ ‘She was seen shortly after the accession of the second baron, while the king was visiting him.’ This is fascinating, Thorne. Literally dozens of them saw her fleeing toward the north wall and into the north tower. And the maid who had served her...” Allison’s voice trailed away. She dropped her head into her hands.
“That makes for unpleasant reading, I know.” Thorne placed a comforting hand on her bowed neck.
“They tortured her,” Allison whispered.
“She could tell them nothing that wasn’t common knowledge, though. Men will do much evil for the sake of wealth.” He paused a moment, then added, “Women, too.”
Allison looked up anxiously, her eyes asking. “Do you mean me?”
“I was thinking of my stepmother.” He took the book from her, turning the pages rapidly. “Here. This is the part I particularly wanted you to read.”
She read the passage out loud.
This story is told of brothers Sylvester and Gerrard D’Au- mont, offspring of the fourth earl, who during their childhood years often explored the castle. This was a few years after the family ceased to live in the castle. In the summer of 1717, both boys claimed to have seen the ghost fleeing in the direction of the north tower, which they had been forbidden to explore. Their obedience to this parental decree was reinforced by the sight of a menacing male ghost, an armored soldier covered in blood, whose cold presence frightened them very much.
One day Gerrard, the younger of the two, was walking by himself on the castle grounds. He claimed to have seen this same lady ghost, who beckoned him into the keep. He tried to follow her, but she disappeared. This story was given little credence, for an estate worker who followed the boy into the keep saw nothing.
Allison looked up, eyes shining. “So I wasn't the first heir to be led into the keep.”
“Uncle Whitaker included every story he could find, no matter how trivial. There are several deaths reported, caused by rock slides. Searching among the ruins for the treasure has always been a dangerous business. If you'll notice, a loose sheet in the back, added after the book was bound, takes note of your sightings.” Curious, she turned to the back of the book.
Allison Rainsville, daughter of Lord Catherton, descendant of Elena D’Aumont’s oldest daughter by Baron Marpold, three sightings. At age four, iold her father there was a sad-eyed lady following them around the castle. At age five, mentioned seeing a 'shining lady’ near the north wall. When she was nine, she wandered off by herself and subsequently said the Silver Lady smiled at her and motioned her to follow. The ghost attempted to lead her into the keep. This distressed Lady Catherton considerably. She believes the spirit is evil, and that it seeks to lure her daughter to her death.
“She believes!” Allison exclaimed. “I am astonished. She has always absolutely refused to allow that there could be such a thing as a ghost.”
“Perhaps she hoped to convince you, to prevent just such a quest as you have embarked upon.” Thorne solemnly regarded her, the grey eyes reflecting the same concern.
Shaking off the urge to surrender all interest in the ghost to one who so obviously was concerned for her safety, Allison turned back to the page with the story of Sylvester and Gerrard, and studied it. “I suppose you called Gerrard's story to my attention to show that the Silver Lady also tried to lure a descendant of the second baron into the keep. That would disprove my theory about why the ghost has never revealed the treasure's hiding place.” She referred to the sheet that traced Thorne’s line. “I see Gerrard died young—seventeen. Did he ...She lifted dread-filled eyes to Thorne. “Did he die looking for the treasure?”
“No.” Thorne sat down beside her. “He died of the smallpox. I pointed it out to you because his mother, my great-grandmother, cuckolded her husband and was divorced by him in 1720.”
Allison had not heard of this bit of old scandal. “Are you saying ...” Allison's face lit up. “If she cuckolded him then, she might have done so earlier. Another man might have fathered Gerrard.” Her joy quickly faded. “But that doesn't help my case.”
“There’s more. The descent of the middle daughter is not really irrelevant at all, as it turns out.” He shuffled through the papers scattered over the table. “Yes, here it is. The last of her line was named in the divorce petition. He subsequently married my greatgrandmother in 1722, but they were childless. He died without issue in 1750.”
Allison put her hands to her mouth, too bowled over by this information to speak.
“So you see, dear distant cousin, if she planted a cuckoo in my great-grandfather’s nest, sired by the man she later married, that would explain why Gerrard, walking alone, saw the lady motioning him into the keep. It may prove your theory that she will only reveal the treasure to direct descendants of the first baron, her father.”
“You believe in her.”
Thorne sighed. “With great reluctance. I admit I am beginning to do so.”
“And. I think, in her good intentions.”
“As to that, I reserve judgment. I shall initiate a careful search of every square comer of the keep from tunnels to battlements. But don’t get your hopes too high, Allison. You must know that this selfsame search has been made at least once in every generation. I doubt that much of the disrepair of the various castle buildings can be laid as much to treasure hunting as to siege engines.”
“Thorne, you can be incredibly thickheaded. Or should I say pigheaded! Such a search is doomed, as all of the others have been, without the Lady’s help. We must go there tomorrow, the three of us, at first light, with no other persons on the premises, and let her lead us to it”
He shook his head. “I won’t allow you to take the risks that might entail. Given time enough, I will discover the keep's secrets, if indeed, it keeps secrets!”
She ignored his pun. “No, you don’t understand. She urged haste upon us.”
“After all these years, she can jolly well wait a few weeks longer.”
“She says there is someone who can find it now. I think she means Newcomb. Jamie must have read this book.” She lifted the volume of family tradition and shook it at him. “He doubtless conveyed the information to Newcomb. What if he also stumbled on something in the family papers that reveals one of those subterranean tunnels you spoke of? Newcomb might carry it off before we can find it.”
“I find that extremely far-fetched. Still. ..” He muttered an almost inaudible, scandalously insulting epitaph upon his cousin. “Drat that JamesTor telling Newcomb family secrets! I am going to wake him up and find out exactly what he told the man.”
He turned and strode out of the room, carrying a branch of candles. At the first landing he recalled his manners and waited for Allison, letting her precede him up the stairs. When they reached the third floor, he turned to escort her down the hall to her room.
Allison hung back. “I’m going with you to see Jamie,�
�� she said.
“Shhh. Do you want Aunt Agatha down on us?”
“No,” she whispered, “but I do want to help waken Jamie. I want to be quite sure you don’t murder him.” She smiled up at him to soften her words.
The heavy-lidded, slumbrous look crept into Thorne’s eyes. “But I was looking forward to putting you to bed.”
Allison wagged an admonishing finger at him. “Behave yourself, sir. Else I will indeed rouse Aunt Agatha and tell her of your improper advances.” Not waiting for a reply, she turned on her heels, tossing him a saucy grin over her shoulder, and walked rapidly toward the other wing, where Thorne’s and James’s quarters were.
He caught up with her and stopped her by catching her elbow. “You don’t know how difficult James can be to wake when he has imbibed too much. He’ll singe your delicate ears.” He lifted his free hand and delicately caressed one pink earlobe.
Allison tossed her head and stepped away. He is in a dangerous mood, she thought. With the slightest encouragement he would make love to me. Aloud, she responded, “More so than you did a few moments ago in the library? I have excellent hearing, Thorne.” She was gratified to see that his face flushed with embarrassment.
“A thousand pardons. I never meant... Ah, well, if you go with me, perhaps you can prevent the encounter from degenerating into a brawl.” He offered her his arm and, holding the candle branch high, escorted her down the hall and into his cousin’s suite of rooms.
Thorne looked in the bedroom first to be sure James was decent, then motioned Allison to join him as he stood looking with disgust on the fully clothed recumbent figure slanting across the bed. He handed her the candle branch.
