A Heart in Jeopardy

by Holly Newman

  "Promise me one thing, Miss Leonard. I know you will not accept a monetary reward. I shall not embarrass you or myself by offering such again. Just promise me that if you get any inkling that the Norths are again in the area or that they might learn of your part in rescuing Chrissy, you will immediately come to Castle Marin for safety."

  "Oh, piffle, they won't—"

  "Promise me!"

  Leona ran a hand across her aching forehead. What harm could there be in making that promise? It was an easy one to keep for she doubted the Norths would return, and what reason would they have for suspecting her? Because of her attire, whoever saw Chrissy and her leave was bound to believe some man or boy had been responsible.

  "Miss Leonard—"

  Leona sighed. Her head throbbed, and her whole body seemed to ache. Lying in bed, she realized that all she wanted to do was sleep. Sleep meant peace.

  "All right, yes, I promise," she said wearily. She summoned the dregs of a smile to her lips.

  "Good. Excellent. Then we'd best be off. We have a long way to go, and the family is awaiting us."

  His crisp, forthright tone brought a strangely sad and disappointed frown to Leona's lips, but she was too tired to wonder why as Maria led them down the stairs and saw them on their way.

  Leona stared at the contents of the little box that young Abraham Tubbs—cheerful and whistling through the gap left by the loss of his two front teeth—delivered to her not five minutes past. His mood was infectious and suited the bright sunny day in March. Leona couldn't help smiling and laughing in kind, but the lighthearted mood evaporated when she opened the box. Carefully she set the box on a table and sank down into a nearby chair, her eyes never leaving the object before her. In the box, nestled snugly in a bed of lamb's wool as if it were a valuable piece of jewelry, was a brass button. Molded into the face of the button was the Leonard family crest. The button came from an old suit of Charlie's, a suit she had worn one cold sleeting night three months ago.

  Leona closed her eyes. She wished it were as easy to dismiss the implications of the box and its contents as it was to banish the sight of it by simply closing her eyes. Regrettably it wasn't.

  She lifted her hand from her lap to see the folded square of paper she held. It came from the box, neatly covering the button. She turned the paper over and over between her fingers, staring at it. She dreaded unfolding it. It could contain threats, taunts—or it could contain nothing.

  With her other hand she lifted the button from the box, her fingers closing tightly about it, imprinting its raised design into her palm. Then, her fingers trembling slightly, she unfolded the pristine white square of paper. The handwriting inside was prim and slightly rounded, but there was nothing school girlish about the message.

  We knows it was you that meddled.

  We won't forget neither.

  In the end you pay. And in more than coin.

  The past had become the present.

  The memory of her promise to Mr. Deveraux leapt into Leona's mind. Vehemently she rejected it, her lips pursing stubbornly as she willed the memory away. She'd been ill that day, too ill to be totally cognizant of her actions. Deveraux knew she was ill. He had taken unconscionable advantage of her weakened state by forcing her to make a promise to him. His action was neither gentlemanly nor honorable and therefore did not deserve consideration.

  Not so! The errant, protesting thought coalesced in her mind. She shook her head against it. He was wrong. Not her.

  Ignoring the tiny pinprick of conscience that protested her rationalization, she replaced the button and paper in the box, absently massaging with her thumb the area where the crest temporarily incised its design into the soft flesh of her palm.

  "Leona? Is something the matter? Did Abraham Tubbs bring you bad news?" Maria Sprockett walked quickly to the mantel to set down a basket of dry potpourris. The scent of lilac rose in the air.

  "I don't know," Leona said slowly. She shook her head from side to side, her eyes and mind turned inward.

  "Whatever do you mean? Are you all right, my dear? You're a trifle pale...." Maria lay a cool hand on Leona's forehead.

  Leona slid out from under Maria's hand and rose to her feet, pacing the room. "I'm fine. I merely have a great deal to think about."

  "May I help?" she asked, her pale blue eyes darting over Leona, belying her calm tone. She folded her hands before her as she stood and waited for an answer, worry widening her eyes.

  Leona paused in her pacing. "Maria, if someone made a promise to do something, but she was not at her best or not thinking clearly when the promise was extracted, could she later be held to that promise? I mean, if the requestor knew the other person was not at her best, wouldn't his actions be considered unhonorable? And wouldn't that also negate the promise?"

  Maria shook her head vaguely. "I'm afraid I don't understand. What are you talking about? You'll have to tell me specifics. I'm not good at puzzles."

  Leona threw up her hands in exasperation then whirled around to point to the box on the table. "I mean that."

  "That?" Maria picked up the box and opened it. She took out the folded paper and button. "It's just a note and a button."

  "What kind of button?"

  Maria looked at the face of the button. "Oh, it's one of the crested ones. What did it come off of? I'll just get my sewing kit—"

  "No, Maria. There's no need. The button came off Charlie's old suit. The one you threw away."

  "The one I threw ... Oh, you mean the one you wore when you rescued the little Deveraux girl? What—" A look of horrified comprehension stained Maria's face. She glanced worriedly at Leona, then quickly opened the note and read it. She looked up at Leona again, then down to the note in her hand. "I'll start packing at once," she said solemnly as she put the button and note back in the box, her slender hands trembling.

  "No."

  "Leona, this is what Mr. Deveraux feared, or at least something of this nature. This is why he made you promise to go to Castle Marin. I would never have thought it. Like you, I thought the Norths gone for good. Mr. Deveraux is clearly a clever man, a very far-sighted and clever man."

  "Maria, I am a grown woman. I do not start at shadows."

  Maria blinked. "But this note is no shadow!"

  Leona dismissed it with a wave of her hand. "It is most likely a simple scare tactic. I'm safe enough here at Rose Cottage."

  "What about your promise?"

  "Mr. Deveraux knew I was unwell and not in a position to think clearly."

  To anyone else, Leona's tone brooked no argument. Maria had been with Leona too long to be intimidated, however. She stiffened, her hands again clasped before her. "I don't know about that. You seemed to be thinking clearly enough the entire time you argued with him." Her manner was reminiscent of the one she used in the schoolroom when her pupil proved recalcitrant.

  "Well, I wasn't" Leona said peevishly, irrationally vexed that Maria would not automatically accept her stand when she herself knew the foundation was shaky. "He took undue advantage of my incapacitation to wring that promise from me. Under the circumstances, I cannot see why I should be held to such a promise."

  "Nonsense. Where is your sense of honor, Leona Clymene Leonard? Where is that family honor that you are so fond of tossing in everyone's face?"

  Leona turned to look at a small framed picture that hung cm the wall. It was a hand-colored engraving of the family crest done many years ago, the heavy paper stock stained and spotted with age. "I have my honor, and my honor will not let me be taken advantage of when I am ill," she said tightly.

  "Are you certain you're not confusing honor with pride?"

  "Do not be ridiculous," Leona snapped, thoroughly nettled at the gentle sting of truth. She sighed. "But if it will make you feel any better, I'll take the note and button over to Sir Nathan. He has come by often enough in the last two and a half months to prove his concern." Her mouth twisted wryly for she strongly suspected there was more on the lonely, widowed mag
istrate's mind than a three-month-old kidnapping, though she swore she'd neither done nor said anything to encourage him. "We can set out tomorrow afternoon if you like."

  "Today."

  "Now, Maria—"

  "Don't." She held up her hands and turned her head slightly away. "Don't even start your cozening ways with me. My mind is made up. I know where my duty lies. We go to see the magistrate today, or I'll write to Mr. Sharply and advise him of all your activities."

  "What?!"

  Maria winced but stood firm. Her thin face remained implacable.

  "That's—that's blackmail!" Leona glared at her, two high spots of color blazing on her cheeks.

  "Yes, I know," her friend calmly responded, but her hands trembled at her own audacity, and Leona was certain that with a little more pressure Maria would relent.

  Leona stared, thinking, but Maria merely compressed her lips firmly and stared back. Then again, maybe she wouldn't relent, for it appeared gentle Maria had the bit firmly be-tween her teeth. The parlor was quiet save for the steady tick-tock of the clock on the mantel. Finally Leona burst out laughing and stepped forward to hug her companion and friend.

  "All right, I concede. We'll go see Sir Nathan Cruikston today." Better him than Deveraux, she silently rejoiced. Though why she should think that she refused to examine.

  The drive to Sir Nathan Cruikston's home was made in uncomfortable silence. Despite Leona's efforts to ease tensions between Maria and herself, Maria—as she vowed earlier—was having none of her cozening ways. In disgust, Leona gave up and slouched back in her seat, contenting herself with staring out the carriage window at a countryside showing early signs of throwing off winter's mantle.

  It left her uncomfortably alone with her thoughts which, Leona considered acidly, is precisely what Maria intended. Though years away from the schoolroom and her governess role, there were occasions when Maria still played the governess with unerring alacrity. Allowing a student to puzzle through a problem on her own, particularly a knotty philosophical one, was an old governess ploy. Ploy or not Leona vowed it would not work. She was the one wronged and had nothing to be sorry for.

  For days after he and Chrissy left, Deveraux haunted Leona's dreams. Too often she saw his face near hers as it had been when he carried her upstairs. The harsh planes of his face, the long swoop of black lashes veiling the clearest and the most vivid blue eyes she'd ever seen, the fall of his thick black hair against a wide brow, were all images that plagued her. She dismissed those images, when she could, as a by-product of her illness. Then, in the light of day, unbidden, and when she least expected it, the memory of his arrogant sneering expression when he thought her involved in the kidnapping would come into her mind. He was hard and threatening. What kept him in her thoughts and dreams were her attempts to puzzle out his change in manner. What happened that alleviated his suspicions? Was it just because he knew Charlie? Or was it something to do with duty? The swift change in him had been unsettling, leaving her bereft of action. Most likely that is why she was so shaken when Chrissy held them close together and when he carried her upstairs. His actions were inconsistent and therefore left her unbalanced.

  Leona was not accustomed to being out of control of a situation, to say nothing of being out of control of herself. Control gave her substance, it gave her an identity, and had since she was twelve years old when her mother died and she took charge of the Leonard household. Lack of control was not a feeling she desired to repeat, for it was far too unsettling. Therefore, to avoid these unsettling feelings, it was mandatory she stay out of Nigel Deveraux's realm.

  She chewed on her soft lower lip. Still, she conceded, there was the matter of the promise, but she could not admit that to Maria.

  The carriage, driven by the oldest Tubbs boy, Noah, approached the magistrate's home. Leona straightened in her seat and cast a quizzical glance at Maria. She was annoyed to spy a faint smile on her companion's lips. What could she be smiling about? Suddenly, Leona hoped Sir Nathan was safely away from home.

  As the carriage drew up in front of the house, the front door opened and Sir Nathan himself came out to greet them.

  Suspicious, Leona turned to look at Maria, one eyebrow climbing up her forehead.

  "When you sent the housemaid to Mr. Tubbs requiring a horse and carriage for the afternoon, I sent along another note requesting he advise Sir Nathan of our intentions," Maria explained with strained brightness.

  "What? And I suppose you also told him of the box and note?"

  Righteous indignation thinned Maria's lips. "Of course not. I merely advised him we would call."

  Leona blinked and began to make an apology when the carriage door was opened and the steps let down.

  "Miss Leonard!" said Sir Nathan as he handed her down. He held her fingers warmly, far longer than absolutely necessary, before turning back to the carriage to hand Maria down. "Ladies, please, this way," he invited, guiding them toward the house. "I've ordered refreshments to be served in the parlor. Jessica will be here directly. She's gone to check on my daughter Pamela. I've told Jessica all about you. She's most interested in meeting you."

  "Jessica?" inquired Maria.

  "My sister," explained Sir Nathan. "Came to live with me when my poor Mary died. Been wonderful for the children to have her here, especially when my duties call me away. Ah, here she is now."

  The fashionably dressed woman descending the broad marble staircase moved with restrained elegance, but there was nothing restrained in her expression as she keenly studied their guests. There was a sharp avidity in the look she gave Leona. It startled her and made Leona feel like a horse being considered for purchase. When Sir Nathan introduced them, she could almost imagine the woman asking to see her teeth. With deep foreboding Leona realized this visit was a mistake for reasons that had nothing to do with that blasted button.

  "I'm so pleased to meet you at last, Miss Leonard. My brother has told me so much about you and how good you were to Lady Christiana. That poor child."

  "Yes, a bad business. A very bad business," agreed Sir Nathan.

  "My brother tells me you were ill after that horrid night. I trust you've not suffered any lasting effects?" Jessica Cruikston guided them to a sofa and chair grouping near the tall windows that overlooked the parklands surrounding the manor. Without seeming to do so, she arranged the seating so Leona shared the sofa with Sir Nathan while she and Maria took facing chairs. While she poured tea and offered cakes, she kept up a stream of social patter asking Leona questions regarding her family and her life at Rose Cottage. Leona answered politely, drawing Maria into the conversation when she could and introducing other subjects of conversation such as Napoleon's recent escape from Elba, but she could not deflect Miss Cruikston from her subject. The woman possessed the tenacity of a dog with a favorite bone.

  Leona realized she was going to have to be the one to stop this conversational interview. She drained her cup and set it down on the table, refusing Miss Cruikston's offer for more. She turned slightly to face Sir Nathan making it clear to his sister that he was the object of her visit.

  Miss Cruikston smiled.

  Maria Sprockett, to Leona's silent wrath, was finding it more and more difficult to maintain an air of gravity.

  "Sir, you must have wondered at the suddenness of our visit," she said.

  "Oh, not at all, my dear Miss Leonard. My only regret is that it wasn't sooner."

  "I have come for your advice. Your advice as a magistrate," she hastily clarified when she saw his overly pleased expression.

  "Of course, my dear," he reached out to pat her hand reassuringly.

  Leona ground her teeth. "This morning I received a package in the mails. I would like you to see it." She opened up her reticule and took out the small box, handing it to him.

  He opened it. "A button, Miss Leonard?"

  She leaned forward, one finger reaching out to lightly trace the raised figure on the button. "The design on the face of it is the Leonard family
crest. The button came from the suit of clothes I was wearing when I rescued Chrissy—Lady Christiana. I lost the button that night."

  Sir Nathan glanced at her sharply, the image of the anxious suitor falling away. Leona relaxed, suddenly more comfortable. Sir Nathan was, if nothing else, a dedicated magistrate.

  "I suppose we must assume this is from the Norths. The question is, what does it mean?"

  Leona was silent a moment, her lips pursed as she considered what and how much to tell him. One of Maria's fine- lined brows climbed upward. A lightning flash of irritation streaked through Leona. She pursed her lips, then sighed and reached again into her reticule. "This note came with the button," she said reluctantly.

  Aware of some tension between Miss Leonard and Miss Sprockett, Sir Nathan glanced from one to the other, perplexed. He unfolded the square of paper.

  "What is it, Nathan?" asked Miss Cruikston when she saw the dismayed expression on her brother's face.

  "It appears young Deveraux's concerns were well founded," he said heavily. He looked at Leona. "Before he returned to Castle Marin Mr. Deveraux warned me that he felt Lady Christiana's kidnappers were not the sort to abandon their game as bad luck and go on to other endeavors. He expected they might try some form of revenge action. This note proves him right."

  "It would seem so on the surface, but I'm inclined to believe it is more in the nature of a ruse. They are trying to scare me, for I ask you, what would they benefit from taking action against me? I have neither money nor position."

  "My dear Miss Leonard, from what Mr. Deveraux told me, it doesn't appear that money was the primary motive in the kidnapping of Lady Christiana. You, my dear, have lived a sheltered existence far removed from the cankerous aspects of our great country. You have no notion of the depths of depravity men sink to. Some, regrettably, are forced into it by circumstances in their lives. Others are the devil's minions from birth. I, just as a country magistrate, have seen more horrors than you can imagine, things that are not fit for polite discussion with gently bred ladies."