Baleful Godmother Historical Romance Series Volume One

by Emily Larkin

  “Is it safe?” Merry asked dubiously.

  “The main cavern is perfectly safe,” Sir Barnaby assured her. “The smaller ones . . .” He exchanged a glance with Marcus, and shrugged. “They appear safe.”

  Merry pressed her lips together. All roofs appeared safe until they fell on one’s head.

  “Don’t go any further than the main cavern, if you don’t want to,” Sir Barnaby said. “But you have to see that, Miss Merryweather. It’s a wonderland!” He’d completely forgotten about his villainy. All his stiffness, his awkwardness, his inner misery, were gone. “Marcus found something, too. Show them, Marcus!”

  Merry sat back and watched the two men, not fully listening to their words. There was ease in the way they spoke to each other, ease in the way they sat shoulder to shoulder, knees bumping, ease in the way Sir Barnaby reached across and turned whatever it was over on Marcus’s palm. They were eager, enthusiastic, excited, shedding dirt and dust on the sofa, finishing each other’s sentences. Merry eyed them thoughtfully. This is what they were like when they were boys. As close as brothers.

  Sir Barnaby held whatever it was out to her. “Look!”

  Merry took it—and blinked. “A tooth?” And not just any tooth. A carnivore’s fang that was longer than her thumb, gray and pitted with age. She stared at Marcus, her mouth half-open in astonishment. “You found this?”

  A grin split his dirty face.

  Merry looked at the tooth, and at the Roman coin in Charlotte’s hand, and suddenly she was bursting with excitement, too. “I want to see this cave.”

  * * *

  Merry was less certain of her decision the next afternoon, when she stood at the entrance to the cave wearing her oldest walking dress, her oldest shawl, her oldest gloves, and her sturdiest boots. The aperture was part crack in the hillside, and part excavation. The darkness inside seemed deep and dangerous. Do I really want to do this?

  “You don’t have to, Miss Merryweather, if you truly don’t want to.”

  She glanced up and found Sir Barnaby watching her with an expression of such earnestness that she had to smile. “I do want to.” And she did. She was just . . . a little nervous.

  Marcus went first, then Charlotte, and then it was her turn. Merry took a deep breath and climbed into the hole, clutching her lantern tightly.

  The passage was narrow and short, and she barely had time to become more nervous than she already was before it opened into a vast cavern.

  Merry halted, staring.

  “Incredible, isn’t it?” Sir Barnaby said, coming to stand alongside her.

  Merry nodded, speechless. He’d been correct yesterday: it was a wonderland.

  The men had spent several hours here this morning. Now, she understood what they’d been doing. There were candles everywhere—on the floor, in niches, on ledges—casting golden light that turned the cavern into an enchanted palace. Pinnacles of rock thrust up from the floor and hung suspended from the ceiling, and on the far side of the chamber, she saw what looked like a waterfall of stone.

  “The ones that hang down are called stalactites, and the ones that stand up are stalagmites,” Sir Barnaby said quietly in her ear.

  Merry nodded again, still speechless.

  “Would you like to look around?”

  Merry found her voice. “Yes.”

  Sir Barnaby gave her his arm, and Merry clutched it while they explored the cavern. The strange formations looked as if they were made of melting wax—and yet they were rock-hard to the touch. The waterfall was rock-hard, too. Even the thinnest and most fragile of the stalactites, looking like pieces of straw, were rock-hard.

  At the back of her mind, Merry was aware of the weight of the hillside pressing down on her—rock, earth, trees—but the forefront of her mind was filled with wonder. She made a complete circuit of the cavern, and then went back to stare at the solidified rivulets that made up the stone waterfall.

  “Impressive, isn’t it?” Sir Barnaby said.

  Merry nodded.

  Footsteps crunched on the floor behind them. “I’m going to show Charlotte where we found the coin and the tooth,” Marcus said. “Do you wish to come, Merry?”

  Merry hesitated. She thought of the groom waiting outside with the horses and the picnic hamper—I could sit in the sun and wait for them—and then she fingered the pocket of her shawl, crammed with candles and a tinderbox. “I’ll come.”

  Marcus led them along a large passageway. Candles flickered here, too. The air was cool and moist, smelling of damp earth. The passage twisted erratically. The roof grew lower. Another passage opened to the left, dark and unlit.

  Merry’s underlying nervousness blossomed into full-grown anxiety. Her awareness of the weight pressing down on them became stronger. Even the blackness that hovered beyond the candlelight seemed to have weight. She gripped Sir Barnaby’s arm tightly. “How much further?”

  “Another dozen yards or so.” His hand covered hers on his arm. “Would you like to turn back?”

  Merry shivered. Yes. “No,” she said stoutly.

  The passage ended in an array of caverns, small and large, opening out from one another like rooms in a house. Light flickered from half a hundred candles.

  Marcus had found the tooth near a stalagmite shaped like a beehive. Encased in the rock at the base of the stalagmite were other toothlike lumps. “I think these are more of them,” Marcus said, tracing the shapes with his fingers. “But there’s no getting them out. Heaven only knows how long they’ve been here!”

  “What animal do you think they’re from?” Charlotte asked.

  The men looked at each other and shrugged. “Bear?” Sir Barnaby said. “Wolf?”

  “And the coin? Where did you find it?”

  Sir Barnaby led them to one of the smaller chambers. On the far side was the entrance to yet another cave. The dark, gaping hole looked like a mouth. Merry repressed a shiver.

  “It was lying here.” Sir Barnaby stirred the dirt with the toe of his boot. “As if someone had dropped it.”

  It was very odd to think that a Roman had stood where they were standing now. Merry raised her lantern and gazed around. A rock seam snaked across the ceiling.

  “What’s in that cave?” Charlotte asked, pointing to the unlit mouth.

  “We haven’t had time to explore it yet. This place is an absolute warren.”

  “Is this cave safe?” Merry asked, her gaze on the snaking seam.

  “It’s been here for hundreds of years,” Marcus said. “Maybe even thousands.”

  That doesn’t mean the roof won’t collapse, Merry thought—but didn’t say aloud.

  “To think that a Roman stood here . . .” Charlotte said, wonder in her voice. She crouched, placed her lantern on the floor, and began sifting through the dirt with her gloved hands.

  They all searched for several minutes, and then the men started talking about teeth and claws and bones and skulls, and went back into the main cavern.

  Charlotte stayed in the smaller chamber. “I should very much like to find a coin of my own,” she confessed, and Merry recalled that Charlotte’s father had been an antiquarian.

  Merry glanced over her shoulder. Sir Barnaby and Marcus crouched beside the beehive stalagmite, heads bent close together. Finding these caves was a blessing. The men’s friendship was whole again.

  Charlotte climbed to her feet, picked up her lantern, and peered into the unlit cave.

  Merry went to stand nervously alongside her. The cave was small and roughly circular, its floor several feet lower than where they now stood and its ceiling much higher. Straw-thin stalactites hung down. On the far side was the entrance to yet another cave, looking for all the world like a little arched doorway. Gnomes live beyond there, Merry thought.

  “Look! Do you think those are coins?”

  Merry looked where Charlotte was pointing. Several tiny, dark objects lay on the ground.

  “They look as if they could be,” Merry admitted “Shall I get Marc
us?”

  “No. These are our coins.” Charlotte grinned at her, then crouched and jumped lightly down into the chamber.

  Merry reluctantly followed. She raised her lantern and examined the roof. It looked safe, although there was another dark, twisting seam above her head.

  “Coins,” Charlotte said, with deep satisfaction in her voice.

  “Roman?”

  Charlotte held a coin close to the lantern and peered at it, her spectacles reflecting the light. “Yes.” She stood, dusting her gown. “There are times I miss being a man, you know. Breeches are so much more practical than gowns.”

  “Charlotte! Merry!” a male voice bellowed.

  “Down here,” Charlotte called. “Don’t panic. We found some more coins.”

  Merry doubted that Marcus heard her. The echoes of his shout boomed and reverberated, bouncing off the rock, so loud it seemed to shake the cave.

  And then, with a gritty whoomp, part of the roof did collapse.

  Chapter Eleven

  Dust filled Barnaby’s eyes, filled his mouth and nose, and noise filled his ears—booms and cracks—rebounding and echoing until it sounded as if the entire cave system were collapsing around them.

  Gradually the noise died to a clatter of rolling stones. Barnaby found himself on hands and knees, blind, half-deaf. Each inhalation brought more dust, choking him.

  He coughed, blinked, and lurched to his feet. No, not blind. He saw candlelight, and air thick with dust, and another lurching shape: Marcus.

  Barnaby blinked again. Before, he’d been standing in the entrance to the cave where he’d found the coin, empty of Lady Cosgrove and Miss Merryweather, with a dark opening gaping on the far side; now, he was standing in the entrance to . . . disaster. Half the cave’s roof had come down, and the dark opening was gone.

  “Christ.” Horror held him frozen for a moment—and then panic took over. He began frantically heaving chunks of limestone aside. “Miss Merryweather! Lady Cosgrove!” Dust rose from the rubble, as if the rocks were smoking.

  Marcus joined him, flinging rocks aside. They worked silently, frantically.

  A sound caught Barnaby’s attention. He grabbed Marcus’s arm. “Listen.”

  Marcus froze, his head up, questing.

  The sound came again, faint and far away. “Marcus?”

  “Charlotte?” Marcus bellowed. He began scrambling up the pile of rubble. Another chunk of rock detached itself from the ceiling, almost hitting him.

  Barnaby caught Marcus’s arm and hauled him back. “Quiet!” he choked out. “If you shout, you’ll bring it down on our heads.”

  He saw the struggle on Marcus’s face—panic versus self-control. Self-control won. Marcus inhaled a shuddering breath. He turned back to the rubble. He didn’t shake Barnaby’s hand from his arm. “Charlotte?” His voice was pitched low, as quiet as if they were in church. “Can you hear me?”

  “Yes,” came the faint answer.

  Barnaby tilted his head, trying to catch where her voice was coming from.

  “Are you and Merry all right?” Marcus asked in the same, low voice.

  “We’re fine. Just a little . . . alarmed.”

  High up to the right, a hole gaped between the ceiling and the rockfall. Barnaby released Marcus’s arm and pointed. “Up there.” Dust caught in his throat and made him cough. “Her voice is coming from there.”

  Marcus nodded. He examined the rubble, examined the ceiling. “I’m going up.”

  “No, I’m going up. You get back out there.” Barnaby jerked his thumb at the larger cavern behind them.

  Breath hissed between Marcus’s teeth. “She’s my wife—”

  “You have a son, Marcus! If the rest of the roof comes down, one of you needs to survive, else Charles will grow up an orphan.”

  When Marcus was angry, his face became bony. It became bony now. Very bony. “Damn you for being right!” He swung away and strode out to the larger cavern, hands clenched.

  Barnaby turned back to the rockfall. “Lady Cosgrove? Miss Merryweather? Stand as far back as you can. I’m going to see if that hole’s big enough to get you out.”

  He waited several seconds, then began to climb the rubble. Chunks of rock rolled and shifted beneath his boots, rattling to the ground. When he was nearly at the top, he dislodged a huge slab. It slid down the pile like a toboggan, slamming heavily into the cave floor, sending echoes reverberating.

  Barnaby continued warily, creeping on hands and knees, on his belly, his head almost brushing the crumbling roof. The hole was about a foot and a half high and nearly three feet wide. He wriggled carefully forward, and peered into the cave beyond.

  Half the ceiling had detached in one large chunk that sloped steeply away from him to bury itself in the chamber floor. It looked like a giant’s tombstone. Beyond it, on the farthest side of the chamber, stood Miss Merryweather and Lady Cosgrove.

  His gaze skipped over Lady Cosgrove, and settled on Miss Merryweather. She stood gripping her cousin’s hand. His eyes made the same mistake they’d made the very first time he’d seen her, telling him she was a child. A small, dusty, waiflike child. And then he blinked, and saw her for who she truly was. Small and dusty, yes, but not waiflike. Strong. Self-possessed. Resolute. Her posture was ramrod straight, her chin slightly up, as if defying anyone to call her scared.

  Barnaby released the breath he’d been holding. She’s unhurt. “Are you all right?” he asked, quietly.

  “Perfectly,” Lady Cosgrove said, her voice cool and calm.

  Barnaby tore his gaze from Miss Merryweather and examined the slab of rock. He touched it cautiously, and then less cautiously, and then pressed as hard as he could. It didn’t shift so much as an inch. To his eyes it seemed safer than the sliding pile of rubble on his side—but its sheerness made it impossible for the women to climb, and the floor of the chamber was a good fifteen feet below the hole. “We need some kind of ladder to get you out. It’ll take us a while to fetch it. Um . . . try not to make any noise.”

  “There’s a small grotto behind this cave,” Lady Cosgrove said. “It looks quite safe. We’ll wait there.”

  “Do you have spare candles?” Both ladies, he was pleased to see, still had their lanterns.

  “I brought six candles and a tinderbox,” Miss Merryweather said, and then she smiled wryly. “Just in case.”

  Courage and common sense, and a sense of humor. Barnaby felt his heart give a little stutter. I think I love you, Miss Merryweather. He cleared his throat. “I’ll fetch some blankets. Try not to worry too much. We’ll get you out.”

  * * *

  He climbed back down the rockfall and went out into the cavern where they’d found the tooth. Marcus pounced on him. “Well?”

  Barnaby described the second chamber. “We’ll need a rope ladder to get them out.”

  “I’ll fetch one.” Marcus spun on his heel.

  “And send the groom in with those blankets for the picnic. And the candles we had left over. We need more light—and so do they.”

  “Will do.” Marcus ran from the cavern. Barnaby heard the tap-tap-tap of his boots and then that sound faded. He went back into the smaller chamber and stared at the pile of rubble.

  Fifteen minutes later, the groom arrived, a bulky picnic hamper in his arms, two blankets over one shoulder, and a rope wound around his waist.

  Barnaby hastily relieved him of the hamper. “Thank you, Sawyer,” he whispered. “Keep your voice down.”

  The groom glanced warily into the small chamber. “His lordship said to give the hamper to the ladies, if we can.”

  “We’ll try. The candles?”

  Sawyer dug into his pockets and produced four candles. “I put the rest of ’em in the hamper.”

  Barnaby placed the hamper on the floor and opened it. It had been hurriedly repacked. “I left in the food,” Sawyer whispered. “But I took out most of the glasses and plates, so’s I could fit in all the lemonade. Thought they’d need something to drink.”<
br />
  “Good thinking.”

  Barnaby lit the four extra candles and placed them around the small chamber. Then he and Sawyer climbed the rockfall, lugging the hamper and the blankets. There wasn’t enough space for them both at the top. Sawyer, the ex-pugilist, was a hulking man; it was easy to imagine him jamming fast in the hole. “Stay here,” Barnaby breathed. “Pass the stuff to me.”

  He inched forward on his belly and stared into the next cave. The huge slab hadn’t moved. It still looked like a giant’s gravestone, its foot buried in the cave floor, its head resting just below his chin. Opposite him, low in the cave wall, was a hole shaped like a small doorway; the entrance to the grotto Lady Cosgrove had spoken of.

  The blankets unrolled as they slid down the slab, arriving at the bottom with a faint, sighing swooop. The hamper was more difficult; it took their combined efforts to shove it through the gap. Several chunks of rock dislodged, rattling to the floor.

  Barnaby lowered the hamper on the end of the rope. The gritty, sliding sound it made brought both ladies from the grotto. He beckoned them forward.

  They untied the hamper, gathered up the blankets, and retreated to the far side of the chamber, where they stood, looking up at him.

  Barnaby stared down at Miss Merryweather, at her dusty, disheveled ringlets and pale, heart-shaped face and determined composure. “Shouldn’t be more than an hour or two,” he said, in a low voice.

  Both ladies nodded.

  Barnaby hesitated. Should he try to haul them up now, using the rope? Between him and Sawyer, they ought to be strong enough. But it would be like a wrestling match at the top, and the gap wasn’t big enough for him and someone else, and more rock would come down.

  No, it was safer to wait for a ladder.

  Barnaby coiled up the rope. “We’ll get you out. I give you my word.”

  * * *

  By the time Marcus returned, Barnaby and Sawyer had enlarged the gap as much as they dared. With every movement they made, rubble shifted beneath them. Twice, large chunks tobogganed to the floor, striking with great cracks of sound. The second time this happened, a shower of stones fell from the ceiling, making them both duck. The clatter from that was just dying—and Barnaby’s heartbeat returning to something approaching normal—when Marcus arrived. He brought three gardeners and two stablemen with him, and shovels, ropes, and a rope ladder that had been hastily cobbled together.