by Candace Camp
“Do you have guns for us to carry, Moreland?” Frank asked. “We should be armed.”
“I have a couple of revolvers,” Theo said, eyeing him askance. “But surely, Mr. Mulcahey…you are not planning on going.”
“Of course I am. Why the devil wouldn’t I?”
“Da, no, you might get hurt,” Megan said without thinking.
“Oh, I might, might I?” he replied, putting his fists on his hips pugnaciously. “So it’s feeble I am now?”
Megan sighed, realizing she had said exactly the wrong thing. “No, I don’t think you are feeble. But we cannot have too many of us there or we shall be too easily noticed.”
“‘Us’?” Frank raised his eyebrows so high that they threatened to disappear into his hair. “‘Us’? So you’re saying that you are planning to go in, but I am too many?”
Megan scrambled to think of the right way to phrase her words to keep her father from objecting, but Theo was there before her, saying smoothly, “We need all the help we can get, Mr. Mulcahey. But Megan is right. We cannot have too many people entering the house, or someone will be bound to notice. But we will need to have someone in reserve—in case we get into trouble. If you and Megan could wait on the grounds or in the carriage, where no one could see you, then if we don’t return in a reasonable time, you could sound the alarm.”
“Hmm.” Frank frowned, glancing from Theo to his daughter somewhat suspiciously.
Over her father’s head, Theo sent Megan a significant look. She knew what he was trying to do. She could keep her father out of harm’s way by standing watch with him outside, away from the actual fray. Of course, that would also serve the purpose of keeping her out of harm’s way, a factor she was certain was not lost on Theo. He had caught her pretty neatly, she thought.
The idea rankled, but Megan was also sensible enough to admit that, much as she would have liked to be in the thick of the fray, it made more sense for her and her father to remain outside and the men to enter the house. Theo’s brother Reed and Tom Quick would be handier with their fists if the need arose than either she or Frank.
Sending Theo back a sharp look to let him know that she was aware of exactly what he was doing, Megan replied, “Yes, I suppose you are right. We should wait outside, Da. In reserve, so to speak, in case they run into trouble.”
“I will give you one of my revolvers, sir,” Theo promised her father, leaning forward to say in a quiet voice, “if you will stay with Megan and watch out for her, it would be a great help to Dennis and me.”
“Aye, I understand,” Frank agreed. “I’ll do that. No need for you and Den to be worrying your heads on that score.”
With that matter arranged, they settled down to making plans for the evening raid on the museum. First they tucked Barchester away in one of the guest rooms of the house, the door locked to make sure he could not get away to warn Coffey if his expressions of remorse and willingness to help were merely playacting.
Theo sent for Tom Quick, then went upstairs to engage his brother’s aid for their project. Dennis and Megan took the other Mulcaheys upstairs to meet Dennis’s son.
The afternoon was a quiet, loving interlude in the action of the day. Despite the worry over Dennis’s daughter, Megan and her family could not help but rejoice in this time spent together. For years certain that their brother and son was dead, murdered, they were filled with elation to be able to be with Dennis, to talk and laugh and, for this little while, to be the family they once were.
While Deirdre and Frank were talking to Dennis’s son, Dennis took Megan aside, saying, “Let’s walk for a bit, shall we?”
“All right.” She led him down the stairs and out into the garden behind the house.
Theo had lent Dennis some of his clothes, and except for his longer hair, he now looked very much like the brother she had once known. He was silent at first, and Megan glanced over at him, wondering what had made him pull her away from the others.
“You and Theo…” he began slowly.
“Yes? What about us?”
“He is a good man,” Dennis said quietly. “I want you to know—if I could have chosen someone for my sister to marry, it would have been Theo.”
Megan smiled, unaware of the trace of sadness in her eyes. “I am not marrying Theo. Don’t be absurd.”
“Do you love him?”
Megan’s eyes flew to her brother’s. “Dennis…”
“Well, do you?”
“What if I did? It would not matter. You don’t understand. I wouldn’t have, really, until I had been here for a while. Theo is going to be a duke someday. He has responsibilities. There are certain expectations.”
“I never thought I would hear you spouting such poppycock,” Dennis retorted.
Megan grimaced. “I am being realistic. That is all.”
“No. You are being foolish. Either that or you don’t really know Theo.”
Megan’s eyes flashed, and she opened her mouth to retort hotly, but Dennis went on hastily, “The Morelands marry as they wish. All you have to do is look around you to know that is so.”
“I know that his brother and sisters married to suit themselves. But they are not going to be the ones to carry on the title. It’s a different thing.”
“And what about his father?” Dennis asked quietly. “Theo told me how his parents met and married. The duchess was not a titled lady. Or even anyone that his family or peers would have considered suitable, I imagine. She was a reformer. A bluestocking, Theo called it.”
Megan simply looked at him, whatever she might have replied dying in her mouth. It was true. The duchess came from a good family, but her father had been merely a scholarly gentleman, with no title.
“I think you are trying to prepare yourself for the worst because you are afraid,” Dennis went on. “Afraid that he does not love you enough to marry you.”
His words pierced her, and Megan’s hand went to her chest, as though to protect herself from the wound. Was he right? Megan knew, had known from the moment she remembered her dream, that she loved Theo beyond anything, that she was fated to love him the rest of her life. He loved her in return, she had told herself; he could not have made love to her in that way if he had not.
But Theo had never uttered the words. He had not said, I love you.
And Megan knew, with a pang, that Dennis had indeed touched upon her deepest fear. When this was over, would she lose Theo? He was the love of her life, but what if she was not the love of his?
CHAPTER 20
They set out on their mission in the early evening. The sun had set, and dusk had fallen, deepening the shadows that pooled around the bushes and trees that surrounded the museum.
It took two carriages to carry them all. Deirdre had remained behind with Manco, despite both their protests. Barchester rode in the first carriage, with Tom Quick and Reed watching him. Dennis and Theo followed, with Megan and her father.
The carriages stopped around the corner from the front entrance. They disembarked swiftly, moving along the dark street to the drive and onto the grounds of the museum. They melted into the shadows of the trees that lined the drive, walking around to the back of old house.
Theo took Megan’s hand in his and squeezed it gently. She looked up at him, her heart in her eyes. “Be careful,” she whispered.
He smiled down at her and raised her hand to his lips. “I promise I will.” He leaned closer, murmuring, “I’m not one for speeches. But I swear to you that I will be back.”
Then he was gone, slipping out across the yard behind the others.
Megan watched, her heart in her throat, as her brother and her lover followed Barchester and the others to the rear door of the museum. Barchester opened the door, and they slipped inside. Megan and her father waited, watching.
Time stretched out painfully. Frank kept taking out his pocket watch and studying it as though it would give him the answer to the universe.
Finally he whispered to Megan, “It’s been
fifteen minutes. How long do we give them?”
Megan, who had been fidgeting in place and telling herself that it had not really been very long since they left, frowned, her stomach tightening. “I’m not sure. They probably had to hide. They may have had to wait for Coffey to leave. Theo said they would be out within twenty minutes, but…”
She knew, as she felt sure her father did, that the two of them were there more to keep each other out of trouble than for any other reason. No one, including Megan herself, had really thought that she and Frank might have to go in to rescue the rescuers. But now, as she stood there, a feeling of dread was burgeoning in her stomach.
Something had happened to Theo.
She waited, watching the house, hoping for some sign that Theo and the others were all right. She glanced at her father and found him studying her as anxiously as she was staring at the house.
“What is it?” he asked. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m not sure. It’s just…I feel…anxious.” There was a sudden, fierce stab of pain in her chest, and her vague, generalized fear changed to something compelling and dramatic. Megan looked at her father, alarmed. “Something has happened to Theo. I can feel it.”
Her father was not one to question such a feeling. “Then we had better go in. They’ll need us.”
Megan nodded and started toward the house. But Frank grabbed her arm and pulled her back into the shadows, nodding meaningfully. She turned and looked where he was indicating. There were two men hurrying along the driveway.
They looked, Megan thought, as though they were late. What if the ceremony had started earlier than Barchester thought? What if Theo and the others had walked in on a house full of people instead of an empty one, or one occupied by only Julian Coffey?
What if Barchester had lied to them, and had led Theo and Dennis into a trap?
Her stomach twisted nervously, and she had to force herself to wait, watching the two men enter. She and her father held back for another long moment to give the men a chance to move out of earshot.
She looked at Frank, and he nodded, and they slipped across the driveway and up to the rear entrance. They hesitated for a moment in the shadows, looking carefully all around. There was no sign of anyone coming up the path that ran from the drive to the back of the house.
Megan moved forward to the door and twisted the knob. It was locked. The last men to enter must have locked it behind themselves.
Frank touched her arm and moved around the shrubs to the window that lay beyond it. It, too, was locked. The anxiety in Megan was building almost to a fever pitch.
“There is a window down there.” Frank Mulcahey pointed to a long opaque window set low in the wall, almost on the ground. “I’ll bet it goes into the basement.”
Megan nodded. “Let’s try it.”
That window, too, was locked, but Megan was too worried to search for an easier ingress. Instead, she picked up a rock and rapped it sharply against the glass near the catch. Careful to avoid the jagged shards, she reached in through the hole she had made, then found the catch and released it.
They lay down on the ground and peered inside. It was dark in the room below, but they could make out, dimly, boxes stacked below them. Across the room there was an outline of a door, light coming in around the cracks. Megan looked at her father, raising an eyebrow. He nodded back and turned around, wriggling feetfirst into the space. He hung for a moment, then dropped down.
Megan peered in. He had landed on the crates and boxes, and seemed unharmed. He stood up and motioned for her to enter. Megan nodded and followed his example, twisting around and crawling backward through the window. There was a stomach-churning moment when her feet dangled in the emptiness and she clung to the sill of the window, but then she drew a breath and let go.
The drop was not far to the crates, and though she crumpled onto them, she did not hurt herself. She turned and scrambled off the box onto which she had fallen and onto the floor. Her father was waiting for her, and they made their way across the room. Though they could see very little in the dark, they could make out the thin line of light around the edges of the door. Frank stumbled against something low on the floor and cursed softly, but they moved on.
She was glad to find the door unlocked, and Megan opened it a crack, peering out into the hallway. They were, indeed, in the basement of the museum. The hallway was lit only dimly by light coming from a corridor that crossed it. Megan opened the door wider and slipped out. On tiptoe, she and her father went lightly down the hall to the crossing corridor, which, she suspected, was the main hallway of the basement. When they reached it, they edged forward and took a peek around the corner.
This was the hall in which she had been knocked unconscious, Megan thought. It was empty at the moment, but she could hear the sound of voices coming from one of the rooms down the way.
The two of them crept along the corridor, the sound of voices growing ever louder, until they reached the door from which they issued. Carefully, Megan pushed the door open a crack, and she and Frank put their eyes to the slit between the doors. Megan had to clamp her mouth firmly shut to keep from gasping aloud.
They were looking at a large room, empty of furniture. Around the walls were brackets into which flaring torches had been lit, lighting the room with a reddish glow. A group of people stood in a loose semicircle, facing a slightly raised dais. They were all dressed in brightly colored cloaks made from layers of long feathers. They wore elaborate headdresses, hammered from gold or silver, with feathers stretching high up from them. They were, Megan realized, the same sort of cloaks and headdresses that she had seen on the walls upstairs in the museum. Perhaps they were the very same ones. In addition, each participant wore a mask. Some were half masks and others full. Some were more elaborate than others, but they all served the purpose of rendering their wearers both exotic and anonymous.
On the dais, where they were all gazing reverently, stood a marble altar, about three feet high, and on it lay a child. Megan’s breath caught in her throat, for the child was very still. But then she caught the slight rise and fall of the girl’s chest, and she let out a silent sigh of relief. Caya was still alive.
She was dressed in a long garment of finest white linen, and her arms were decorated with gold bracelets. A small headdress had been placed on her head, and the colorful feathers were a bright contrast to the long black bob of hair below. Her eyes were closed, and Megan suspected that she had been drugged.
At the four corners of the table stood iron stands with small braziers sitting on them, and strong-smelling incense curled up from them, perfuming the air.
A man stood chanting, facing the wall beyond the altar. Bright plates of gold hung on the wall, inscribed with geometric designs and stylized figures. His hands were raised, arms spread out, as he intoned something in a harsh, guttural language Megan had never heard before.
He was dressed, she could see, in a long tunic that covered him almost to his feet. It was made of row upon row of thin golden plates, brilliant in the light of the torches. She could see the back of his towering headdress, the arch of feathers stretching up.
The man turned—she felt sure it was Julian—and she saw the elaborate front of the headdress, which was attached to a mask of gold. It was the stylized head of a jaguar, the sort she had seen on one or two of the stone statues upstairs. The eyes were huge emeralds. The mouth was open in a wide, square shape, and it was through this that the man inside looked out at the room.
The figure, glittering and hard, inhuman in aspect, was enough to send a ripple of primitive fear down her spine. This, she thought, must have been what Theo had seen struggling with her brother in the cave. It was no wonder that, feverish and drugged, he had been uncertain of exactly what he had seen.
The man raised his arms again in a benedictory manner and began to chant.
Megan eased back, letting the crack in the door close. She turned to Frank. “We need to find the men,” she whispered. “We
will need to have their help with that many people in there.”
She could not, would not, think about the fact that Theo, Dennis and the others might be lying dead somewhere in the museum.
Frank nodded, and they scooted back and started down the hall, looking into every room they passed. Just around the corner, they found a large room with an open door. Lit by an oil lamp, the place was full of cabinets, shelves and tables, with various vases, bowls and other museum objects stacked upon them. It seemed to be a sort of storeroom. They also saw, in one corner of the room, several bound bodies. Megan sucked in her breath sharply.
It was Theo and her brother and the other men, tied hand and foot. Fear stabbed through her, fierce and paralyzing.
It took a moment for reason to reassert itself. Surely they could not be dead, or Coffey would not have bound them head and foot. They must have been knocked out, or perhaps drugged.
She ran to them, Frank right beside her, and dropped down on her knees beside Theo. Her finger went to his throat, and she let out a sigh of relief when she felt the steady beat of his pulse. “He’s alive.”
“Aye, they are,” Frank agreed, starting to work on the knots that bound Dennis’s hands.
All the men were, including Barchester, and as Megan began to work on Theo’s bonds, she said, “At least we know that Barchester did not betray them. They must have been discovered.”
“Aye. Big group like that, it’s no wonder.” Frank cursed as his fingers slipped on the hard knot. He let out a low cry of triumph when he managed to undo it a moment later. He slipped the rope off Dennis’s wrists and chafed at them, trying to restore life to his no doubt numbed hands.
“Theo!” Megan whispered as she worked. “Theo, wake up!” She paused in her work to pat his cheek. “Wake up. We need your help.”
