With another quick reconnoiter, he located Pamela chattering with Edmund, and judging that to be a gainful occupation for both of them, Drake followed in the direction of the others.
Taking the old stone steps at a breakneck pace, Drake caught up with Eileen and her companions just as they lighted the sconces in the turret chamber. Eileen paid him no heed as she began tugging on the old Turkish rug covering the planked floor. Pushing aside her wide skirts to accomplish this task only resulted in a tangle. Michael efficiently took the corner of the rug from her grasp. He glanced up at Drake as he flung the carpet back, revealing the outline of a trapdoor. Putting aside their differences, Drake and Michael lifted the trap while Eileen darted about the room, removing paintings from the walls and easels.
“What’s this about, Neville?” Teddy asked uneasily as the others wandered about, lifting stacks of canvas at random, admiring the works or relinquishing them to Eileen when she reached for them.
Drake took a particularly large piece from Eileen’s hands and examined it before lowering it through the trap with the others. He had already noted Eileen’s work tended to fall into two categories: the highly detailed, accurate portrayal of the landscapes around her, and the fanciful, impressionistic scenes of a fairy-tale world of her imagination. Although certainly not of the popular style of the day, he preferred the latter, and these were the ones she was depositing in the hidden chamber.
Over the top of a canvas depicting a fallen unicorn in a forest of blood red, Drake lifted his gaze to meet Eileen’s stubborn impenetrable one. A chill settled around his heart as he finally understood the meaning of these crumbling castles and glades of green with their crimson rivers and black shadows. He lowered the canvas through the door and headed for the next one.
“There is no gold at the end of the rainbow and leprechauns don’t exist, Teddy,” he said aloud. “Hide the Irish landscapes.”
Michael and the others caught on, and the room emptied of tapestries, embroideries, and canvas depicting a land they had thought existed solely in Eileen’s imagination. The real world remained hanging on the walls and lying about the floor. Teddy picked up a scene of a turbulent sea and propped it on an empty easel.
“The forest in your uncle’s study.” Drake said, but caught Eileen’s arm before she could flee to hide this one last piece. “It’s his favorite. He would miss it if it were gone. If de Lacy doesn’t know the artist, how much would it reveal?”
Drake read the stricken look upon Eileen’s face. The landscape Sir John had chosen was a fairly accurate representation of the glade Drake had seen near her former home. Shadows surrounded the dappled greenery, and an incongruous swatch of blue velvet lay crumpled by a streambank, as if someone had shed their clothes and dived into the cool waters. Only the telltale splotches of red-brown stains gave evidence of the true story. Drake shuddered as he finally understood the scene wasn’t imaginary.
Few would notice the stain—Sir John never had. De Lacy certainly would.
“I will fetch it,” Drake said curtly. “Michael, take Eileen back before she is missed. Stay with her and keep her out of trouble. Teddy, come with me. If we’re caught, we’ll call it a prank. Just keep the painting from de Lacy.”
Throwing orders like a general on the field of battle, Drake cleared the room. He still hadn’t the opportunity to talk with Eileen, but he was gaining some comprehension of the problem. His own suspicions of de Lacy multiplied his fear for Eileen.
By the time Drake had hidden the painting in the study and returned to the hall, Pamela and Edmund had departed to parts unknown. Sir John and de Lacy were pulling aside the arras into the keep where Eileen’s studio was, while Eileen and Michael danced in the center of the crowd. Drake wondered angrily why he worried over the irresponsible twit, but he made no effort to desert her or seek out his straying fiancée. He waited for the dance to end.
As Michael politely led his partner from the floor, Drake caught her elbow and propelled her toward an alcove that had once housed a Summerville knight.
“I say, Sherburne, you’ve got no right to treat the lady so roughly,” Michael protested.
Drake ignored the protest. “De Lacy is on his way to the studio now. Warn us when he returns.” And with no other explanation than that, he removed Eileen from the crowded hall into the privacy of the alcove.
She turned on him with all the fury of the storm he had predicted earlier. “You are interfering, Drake,” she whispered, keeping her back to the room. “Leave me alone. Keep your family out of this. I have enough concerns of my own.”
“Obviously,” he replied dryly. Hand on her shoulder, he shoved her into the small velvet sofa behind the curtain. “Now talk.”
Obstinately she crossed her arms and remained silent. Drake could easily have throttled her, but, distracted by the curves revealed by her low-cut gown, he recognized the wisdom of keeping his hands to himself. The past weeks had not abated his desire for her.
“Talk, or I will tell Sir John you can. And then I will show him your hidden paintings and demand explanations from de Lacy.”
“You wouldn’t!” Eileen said, glaring at him.
“I most certainly would. As you have so frequently pointed out, you are not my responsibility. I will hand the facts over to the man who is.” He leaned his shoulders against the wall, crossed his arms, and waited.
“That is extortion!” Eileen angrily clenched and unclenched her hands. “What do you want to hear that you don’t already know?”
“All of it. What is it you remember that keeps you silent among friends?”
“My mother,” she whispered, so softly as to be almost inaudible. “And my father.” This last came out as an involuntary sob.
Immediately Drake dropped to the seat beside her and produced his handkerchief. “Don’t cry, Eileen. Not now, not here.” Remembering that day in the forest, he knew he could never survive another such scene. If Sir John did not kill him, any number of her suitors gladly would, for he would tear down the alcove draperies and carry her away with him for all the world to see.
“I’m sorry. There is no other way I can tell it.” Half-angry, half-accusing eyes peered out from behind the linen of his handkerchief. “I warned you.”
Steeling himself against the softer feelings her tear-lashed eyes produced, Drake rose and paced angrily in the narrow space. “Then let me try the tale. De Lacy is your father’s brother. He inherited the estates and the title when your father died.”
“I don’t know. It must be assumed.” Eileen tore at the ball of linen in her hands.
A thought struck Drake. “Was your father Catholic, by some chance? The churchyard where he is buried once belonged to an abbey.”
Eileen glanced up in curiosity. “I would not know. We attended chapel. I remember the pretty windows. And my mother now is a nun, or whatever it is called.”
“But your mother’s sister is not Catholic. I suspect your mother converted to your father’s religion. But he would not have inherited the estate or the title if he were a practicing Catholic, the law prevents that. He could not even have worn a sword.”
The trace of bitterness in Drake’s voice reflected the pain of his mother’s ostracism as a Catholic. The revolution of the Catholic prince in the north reflected the country’s division.
Eileen said quietly, “He wore a sword.”
“I suspect he professed Anglicanism for the sake of his lands and family. Many do. Your uncle would be in a position to know.”
“I don’t know anything of that.” Eileen interrupted. “I know only that man killed my father and my mother.”
Drake stopped his pacing and stared at her as if she had gone berserk. “Your mother is alive.”
“No, she’s not.” Eileen threw away the wadded linen and stood up. “He killed my mother. That is not her behind those walls. That is only her shell. She died when my father died, just like everybody says.”
She tried to leave, but Drake caught her arm and sw
ung her around. “You were only five years old. You cannot know for a certainty that your uncle was responsible. Your mother would have had him thrown in prison if she had known such a thing.”
Eileen glared at him. “My mother is dead, or she would have done just that. I tell you, I saw the whole thing. For my mother’s sake, and for the sake of the friends who protected us, I can say nothing. But he knows. Just look in his eyes. He knows. I did not remain dead, and now I have come back to haunt him.”
She wrenched away from Drake’s grasp, leaving him staring at the swaying curtains after her.
The shock of realization rippled over Drake like an icy waterfall. She had not only seen her father’s murder, but she had seen her uncle commit it. The man freely walking these halls was a murderer and quite likely a rapist. And the Eileen he knew would never allow it for long.
Drake swore every oath he had ever heard and some that had no source but his own frustrated fury. He had no idea what the little witch had in mind, but he could count on it being unpleasant for all concerned. And he could do nothing.
With a horrifying remembrance of a silver dagger wielded much too swiftly, Drake tore through the curtains into the crowded ballroom. He easily found Michael’s tall frame advancing toward him, but Eileen’s petite one had been swallowed up in the throng of glittering finery.
He greeted Michael with a curt “Where are they?”
“Edmund and de Lacy are preparing to leave. Sir John has apparently gone to his study to fetch something.”
Drake did not inquire into Eileen’s whereabouts. Michael would have mentioned her if he had known, and Drake had a sinking feeling he knew already. Eileen’s idiot act had been too convincing. He began to elbow his way through the mob toward the front hall.
From this angle, Drake could see Edmund and de Lacy talking in low voices near the paneled entrance doors while they waited for the return of their host. Drake spied Sir John’s stout figure hurrying toward them from the family wing, his speed indicating the degree of his agitation. Drake could surmise the reason for that agitation if he had just come from the study, but Drake had no time to worry over the result of his theft when Eileen was on the loose.
From this vantage point, he scanned the vaulted entranceway. Suits of armor dotted the dimly-lit foyer. At this time of night, no lamp illuminated the stone walls from the Gothic windows above. A curved staircase led to upper levels, and the newer wings of the house led off on either side of this ancient entrance. Once, a drawbridge had probably filled those portals, but they had long since been replaced by more civilized paneling. In the shadow of the guard alcove to one side Drake located the shimmer of silver he had expected.
Drake strode into the foyer. Both men looked up in surprise and, in Edmund’s case, displeasure.
“Meant to have a word with you before you left, cousin.” Drake lifted an ironic brow at Edmund’s fur-lined cloak, acknowledging the fact that Edmund had not intended any such meeting.
“You were busy playing games with your latest acquisition, Sherburne. Far be it from me to interfere, although I should think Lord de Lacy might take some umbrage at your treatment of his niece.”
De Lacy scowled at this ploy, but before he could reply, Sir John huffed into the room.
“It is gone. I cannot understand it. Stolen. There are thieves in my house.” He wiped his brow in consternation.
As the silver and emerald figure slipped from the shadows, Drake deliberately placed himself between her and the formidable Irish lord growling his displeasure. Catching Eileen by surprise, Drake took her wrist and yanked her hand behind her back in a pretense of politely drawing her forward.
“Thank you for coming so promptly,” he drawled, easily controlling her outraged struggle. “I thought you might wish to say farewell to your uncle. He is just leaving.”
Sir John gaped in bewilderment to this non-reply to his dramatic announcement. Drake couldn’t hide the way temper jerked a muscle in his cheek or the fury in Eileen’s eyes. He silently commended her uncle’s innate good breeding as he rescued the situation.
“I apologize, de Lacy,” Sir John said hastily. “I will uncover the prankster before you return. The painting is quite a good one, and I fancy you would enjoy it. You must recognize Eileen is no common miss. Between us, we can present her to society as your brother’s daughter. People might talk, but they would have to accept her.”
De Lacy turned to study his alleged niece. Even Drake could spot the glitter of de Lacy fury in Eileen’s silver eyes, but her uncle gave no evidence of recognition. De Lacy raised a thoughtful brow to Drake, and a frown creased his forehead.
“I have seen no proof that she is my brother’s heir, sir. She is much like your wife and her sister, I agree, but several explanations for that come to mind. We will have to investigate this matter a little more thoroughly before I am convinced.”
He made a languid bow and, in a swirl of cloaks, swept out the door opened by a silent footman. Edmund held his ground a moment longer, but when it became apparent Drake had nothing further to say to him, he followed in the Irishman’s path.
The door closed and Sir John turned his anger on the battling couple before him.
“I will have explanations now, please.”
Chapter 10
“Let me go,” Eileen whispered harshly, yanking at his hold on her wrist as Sir John led them into his study.
“What, and let you take that knife to me for thwarting you?” he countered.
Sir John frowned when the marquess shut the door without releasing his grip on Eileen. “Neville, I suggest you turn my niece loose and have a seat. I’ve never seen Eileen’s temper roused, but I remember her mother’s. It was not a pretty sight, I assure you.”
He indicated the high-backed leather chair beside his desk. Without waiting for his niece to sit, he sank into his desk chair and glared at the couple.
With a quick twist of Eileen’s wrist, Drake relieved her of the silver dagger. Her cry of pain brought Sir John to his feet, but the weapon caused him to sink back to his chair. He waited for explanation.
Drake watched grimly as Eileen stalked away to the fire grate rather than take a chair. “I believe, sir, your niece has a few facts she has omitted telling you.”
Eileen swung on him with fury, but she remained silent.
Sir John’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Is telling a euphemism?”
At Eileen’s continued silence, Drake lowered himself into the leather chair and crossed his stockinged leg over his knee and his arms across his chest. He met her fury immovably. “You would rather he heard it from me?”
Eileen reached for the set of brandy snifters on the mantel. The thin crystal goblet flew accurately at Drake’s head, but he dodged, and it shattered into a million shards against the floor.
“Damn your festering, interfering carcass to the flames of hell, milord!” she screamed, with all the pent-up frustration of years. “Why did you not let me kill him? I told you to leave me alone! Leave before I take a rapier to your blue-blooded, worthless, English heart!”
Since a fine pair of elegantly balanced steel rapiers graced the wall just above the brandy snifters, her threat was less than idle. Drake rose from his chair to block them.
That Eileen could speak had frozen Sir John speechless.
“Her Irish tongue is not yet silver, but certainly swift,” Drake said dryly. “Be certain she explains in detail about that villain, de Lacy. Let me extend my apologies for allowing this charade to continue so long as it has. I trust your niece will explain my delay. If not, please do not hesitate to call on me, sir.”
With that, Drake bowed himself from the room, leaving Eileen to face her speechless uncle.
With the object of her wrath out of reach, the storm of Eileen’s anger swept away. With nowhere else to turn, she faced her uncle. “I am sorry,” she whispered.
Her head seemed to bend beneath the weight of her heavy auburn tresses, and for the first time Sir John noted
the track of one forlorn tear over a pale cheek. He knew better than to be fooled by her momentary regret. One wrong word and that proud chin would tilt, and she’d be off and running again. He fingered the silver dagger with disbelief.
“Will you tell me?” he inquired.
“There is nothing to tell. Meeting my mother made me remember.” Eileen sank to the sofa.
“You remembered how to speak?” the baronet persisted.
“Yes. And I remembered how to hate. I hate him. I have always hated him. And he knows it.”
“De Lacy?”
Eileen nodded.
Sir John felt the blood leave his face and his fingers curl into fists. She had only been a child when she’d last seen her uncle. “Why, Eileen? Why do you hate him?”
She looked up then, her eyes blurred with tears. “You will not believe me. No one will believe me. And he would kill anyone who accused him of it. Do not ask.”
“Eileen, he has been a guest under my roof. I cannot deny him access to his only relative without cause. Despite his words tonight, we know you are his niece. Give me reason to deny him.”
“That is what I cannot do,” she insisted. “If he knows I speak, that I remember, he will destroy us all. Don’t you see? That is why my mother hides, to protect me, to protect her friends. Let me go on as I have, and he will suspect nothing and go back from whence he came.”
Sir John stared at her delicate, tear-stained face with incredulity. With her speech returned and her heritage known, she had the beauty, wealth, and wit to take anything she wanted from life. And she pleaded with him to settle for a life not unlike the one her mother led. It was impossible. Surely she must know it.
“I have a few more years of experience than you, Eileen. Let me decide for myself what must be done. Tell me, or let me call Drake if you cannot explain.”
Silver Enchantress Page 10
