To Walk in the Sun (Wiggons' School for Elegant Young Ladies - Book 1)

by Charles, Jane

  “There is nothing foolish in thinking that,” Miss Morris admonished.

  Vincent had to agree. A man would have to be dead not to be interested in Miss Crawford. Or perhaps not. Didn’t half the town believe he was actually dead? So, anyone dead or alive would be interested in her.

  She offered a grateful, yet small smile to Mrs. Wiggons and continued. “I learned that he was only after my piece of the map. Or my uncle’s actually.”

  “Go on,” Vincent prompted when she paused.

  “I heard them arguing one night. I had come down the stairs and stood outside of my uncle’s study. I feared he was turning Percer out. But what I did hear chilled me to the bone.” She stopped and walked to the window, her back rigid. Vincent did not urge her to continue but waited for what came next.

  “He said he had no intention of marrying me.”

  Her voice came from somewhere far away and Vincent knew she had returned to that night and was no longer in the room with them.

  “My uncle said he had learned enough to deny the marriage. Percer said it didn’t matter. That he didn’t really want me but the map.”

  Vincent wanted to go and comfort her. He must have taken a step because Miss Pritchard’s hand on his arm stopped him. He looked in her direction and she simply shook her head. A sad smile on her lips.

  “I heard Percer say, ‘Give it to me and I will be gone’. I peeked through the crack in the door and saw that he held a gun on my uncle.”

  Good lord, she didn’t go in, did she? If so, how did she get the gun from Percer?

  “I ran upstairs to my room and grabbed my father’s pistol. After I loaded it, I ran back down. When I got there, Percer still had the gun trained on my uncle who swore he did not know about the map piece.” She gave dry laugh. “Of course my uncle knew exactly where it was, he had hidden it in my room. It used to be in a book in the library, but he feared a common room was not safe enough and had me hide it in a false bottom in my jewelry box.”

  Miss Crawford turned to focus on the group. “I stepped into the room and leveled my father’s gun on Percer and demanded that he leave. He laughed at me.”

  Vincent’s blood ran cold with the thought of her facing Percer, or anyone, with a pistol ready to shoot her.

  “He pointed the gun at my uncle. I pointed mine at him. He demanded that I tell him where the map was. I asked him if the courtship had always been a lie. For some strange, self-loathing reason I wanted to know. He laughed harder, as if the thought of being attracted to me was too much to comprehend. It is really all I needed to know. I lifted my gun further and demanded that he leave. He turned to look at my uncle, who had moved from behind the desk to the front. I demanded that he leave again and insisted that my uncle knew nothing of the map piece.”

  Vincent noted the tears in her eyes and Miss Crawford turned away from them once again. He knew this had to be incredibly difficult for her.

  “My uncle approached and insisted we didn’t have the piece. Percer said that was too bad, for now he would have to shoot both of us for nothing. He pointed the gun at my uncle’s head. I knew he would shoot. I remember my finger on the trigger. My uncle screamed no and placed himself between me and Percer the moment I pulled the trigger.”

  Her shoulders slumped. Again Vincent took a step in her direction. Miss Pritchard kept hold of his arm.

  “The servants were there in a moment. Percer was yelling at how I had shot my uncle because he refused to allow me to marry Percer. That he only had his own gun out in self-defense.”

  Miss Crawford turned back to them. “I don’t remember much of what happened after that, except the blood. There was so much blood. . .”

  “Move on, Tess,” Mrs. Wiggons encouraged.

  Miss Crawford looked up at her. A tear fell down her cheek. “The servants did not know me well and they believed Percer. I was taken and locked in my room until the magistrate could be summoned. Percer swore he would see me hang for the murder of my uncle, unless I turned over my piece of the map. He was still convinced I knew where it was even after our denials.”

  The tears fell freely now but she did nothing to wipe them away. Vincent’s heart went out to her and all he could think of was bringing her comfort. Miss Pritchard’s hand finally fell from his arm and he moved forward to gather Miss Crawford in his arms. He held her tight against his chest as the sobs wracked her body.

  Percer needed to die for what he had done to so many and he would happily put a bullet in the blackguard’s heart.

  He offered soothing words that he hoped were not empty of meaning. “I will protect you. I will not let him harm you further. You have my promise.” These were said into her hair, in hushed tones. Vincent did not know if the others heard him or not, nor did he care. This woman, who cried her heart out, had stolen a piece of his. She had stood, ready to defend someone she loved, and not flinched. He had seen seasoned men on the battlefield turn from danger, but this woman faced it head on.

  He had not thought it possible, not after Veronica, but this small wisp of a woman made him hope again. Hope that love had not left him after all.

  The sound of someone bumping into a piece of furniture in his room brought his head up. The three other women looked in the same direction. They had heard it too. Vincent brought a finger to his lips and urged them to be silent. He disengaged himself from Miss Crawford and Mrs. Wiggons soon replaced him as she cooed quietly to the teacher.

  Vincent walked silently toward the door. He picked up a candlestick and blew the light out. Slow and steady he entered his room. A figure could be seen on the opposite side of the bed. He raised the weapon and advanced on them. He stopped when he noted the size. This was not Percer.

  He drew closer, noted the blond hair and let his arm drop. “Miss, what are you doing in my bedchamber?”

  The young woman turned and looked at him with wide blue eyes and gasped. “Lord Atwood, please forgive me.”

  “Lady Sophia Trent, what are you doing in his lordship’s bedroom?” Miss Morris demanded from the doorway.

  The girl cringed. “I only wanted to return this.” She held up his piece of the map.

  Vincent grabbed it from her hand. “What were you doing with this?”

  “I was trying to make a copy.” Her eyes shifted to Miss Morris and she shrugged. “Not an exact copy, but one good enough to fool Lord Percer.”

  Save me from well-meaning females. “To what purpose?” Vincent demanded.

  Lady Trent swallowed, then focused her eyes directly on Vincent.

  Not another one, too strong for her own sensibility.

  “To save Miss Crawford. If Lord Percer believed he had the right piece, he might go away, and perhaps he would think he had enough to leave the others alone.”

  Vincent cocked his head at her statement. “What do you know of Percer’s demands?”

  Her eyes shifted back to Miss Morris, but Vincent did not look in that direction. He simply waited. The girl’s eyes came back to his. “We were in the woods last night. We heard everything.”

  He would beat them all. Surely their parents would understand. “What possessed you to be out there so late at night?”

  “Because we heard him earlier and knew we had to save Miss Crawford.”

  This was too much. He needed one question answered at a time. Yes. He had to think this through logically, or illogically, given he was dealing with young women who couldn’t be past fifteen.

  “So, you decided to save Miss Crawford. How did you know where to find my piece of the puzzle?”

  Again her eyes shifted to Miss Morris.

  “Please look at me when you answer the questions or I will ask you teacher to leave.”

  Her eyes returned to his and she worried her bottom lip. Vincent wondered if she would ever respond.

  “I found it, by accident.”

  “What else would bring you to this room if you were not looking for my piece of the map?”

  She blanched. “We, um, well, we, yo
u see. . .”

  “Spit it out!”

  “We came to see if your wife was here.” She took a hasty step back.

  So, this was what they had conjured when they saw him carry Miss Crawford that night. It was all too much and Vincent threw his head back and laughed. When he recovered he looked down at the young girl. “Had you found her here, what would you have done?”

  “Not I, but Eliza. She was the one prepared.”

  Vincent noted that she hadn’t answered the question, but he could very well guess. If he could, he would burn every book containing that wretched story.

  “So, in the process of looking for my wife, you found the piece of the map?”

  “Yes, and the list.”

  “Yet you did not take the list. Why not?”

  “I already knew the names.”

  * * *

  Tess gasped from the doorway. She had heard more than she cared to and would have another talk with the girls, not that it appeared to do any good. Both Vincent and Sophia focused on her and she stepped further into the room. “How could you possibly know the names?”

  Tears flooded the girl’s eyes. “Because my father is on that list. I saw it at home.”

  The wind was knocked out of her. It was not possible that three people possessing parts of the same map were all living under one roof. “Give me that list.” She held out her hand.

  Sophia picked it up and handed it to her. Tess read through the names. “I didn’t realize this Trent was your father.”

  “It isn’t an uncommon name.”

  “And you knew what to look for when you heard us discuss the map?”

  Sophia nodded her head.

  Tess sank down onto the bed. This was too much.

  Sophia rushed forward and sat down beside her. “You don’t need to worry, Miss Crawford. I won’t let him seduce me.”

  Those words brought her back to reality. “Of course not.” Tess bit back the smile at Sophia’s earnest assurance.

  “I heard him in the woods. Even if he tried his very best, it would never work. Why, he is much too old for me.”

  Tess could not take anymore. Sophia was so urgent, so serious, so like a soldier that she couldn’t help but laugh.

  Lord Atwood walked forward and placed his hand on Sophia’s shoulder. She looked up at him, as did Tess. “That is very brave of you.”

  Humor twinkled in his eye and he winked at Tess.

  “I am worried though.” Sophia slumped against Tess.

  “You needn’t be. We will see that nothing happens to you,” she tried to assure the young girl.

  “You don’t understand. I worry for my father.”

  “I am sure he will not come to harm,” Lord Atwood comforted.

  Sophia stood and faced them both, her back rigid. “Are you both mad?”

  Her angry tone stunned them. “He has Miss Crawford’s. He wants Lord Atwood’s.”

  “But he isn’t going to get it,” Atwood insisted.

  “He already has three of the six,” she cried.

  “Those won’t do him much good.” Tess tried to comfort the girl, not understanding why she was suddenly so upset.

  With a frustrated sigh, she stalked across the room. “Do you, by chance, know whose pieces he has?”

  Tess looked at Atwood. He shrugged his shoulders.

  “What do you know of the other names on the list?” Sophia demanded.

  Tess stiffened at the rebuke from the child. Atwood seemed to stand a bit straighter as well.

  Tess reread the names. She absolutely nothing about the others.

  Sophia grabbed it from her. “I do,” She insisted. “He has the pieces of Banter, who was shot in a hunting accident. Shortly thereafter, his house was ransacked.”

  A cold dread swept over Tess.

  “He also has the one belonging to Lord Gibbons. He was killed when apparently thugs attacked him in London. While everyone was at his funeral, his house was robbed as well.”

  Tess glanced up at Atwood. Any humor he possessed before had disappeared.

  “That leaves Davis and my father,” she cried.

  Tess stood and went to the child. “I am sure you father is taking every measure of security.”

  “That doesn’t mean that Lord Percer won’t get to him, or my mother, or anyone else in my family.”

  “I will send a note to him immediately,” Atwood assured the girl.

  Sophia looked up at him. “Davis too?”

  “Do you know the identity of Davis? All I’ve ever had is the name.”

  “Lord Parham, Gaylord Davis.”

  “I’ll see that it is done, immediately,” Atwood insisted.

  Tess turned to the young girl. “Do Eliza and Rosemary know what you have told me?”

  The girl looked down sheepishly. “No, I was afraid to tell them.”

  “May I ask why?” Tess suspected it was because Sophia knew the importance of keeping this secret.

  “They would both think it grand and decide to look themselves. They could never understand the danger.”

  Tess’ respect for the child grew. Perhaps she wasn’t as foolhardy as the others.

  “It is one thing to pretend, or possibly believe, someone can come back from the dead. But it is something entirely different when there is a real monster, who will kill to get what he wants.”

  A chill ran down Tess’ spine. Yes, Sophia was a bit more mature than her two closest friends and she had to respect how the girl had gone along with them with nary a word. “Would you like to stay with me tonight?”

  Sophia smiled at her. “No. They are waiting for me now. If I don’t return they will come to investigate.”

  “They still think my former wife roams the house?” Atwood questioned.

  Tess turned to him, a small smile pulled at his lips. She turned back to Sophia, who turned a light shade of pink.

  “I am sorry, Lord Atwood.”

  He laughed. “It is better they worry about fictional monsters than what we truly need to be concerned with.”

  “I agree.” The tension appeared to have left Sophia and her shoulders relaxed she walked to the door. She stopped and turned toward Tess. “I promise to be alert and cautious. I made that promise to my father and I am making it to you, as well.”

  The girl was very wise. “Thank you, Sophia.”

  The door clicked shut and Atwood turned toward her. “Would you join me in my study, Miss Crawford? I have two letters that need to be written and delivered.”

  A thrill ran up her spine and Tess chastised herself. Just because she ended up, almost, on her back last time didn’t mean it would happen again. Besides, things were different now. The situation was more precarious than she thought possible. The last thing on Atwood’s mind was seduction, just as it should be the last thing on hers.

  In such manner would she frequently exhort and cheer him,

  so that, in a short time, his melancholy entirely disappeared.

  He now ventured to declare to the unknown that passion

  with which she had inspired him. . .

  Wake Not the Dead

  Johann Ludwig Tieck

  Chapter 18

  Vincent held the door so Tess could precede him into the library. There was little light from the low embers in the fireplace and he moved around lighting lamps and candles. She stood in the spot where she stopped, not sure what to do. He turned to her. “Please, take your seat behind the desk.”

  Tess made her way to the comfortable chair, retrieved a piece of foolscap and readied the quill.

  Vincent paced before the fireplace, beginning the letter to Sophia’s father and stopping only to start up and then back track. Tess wrote and crossed out words, knowing she would have to recopy the correspondence once he decided exactly what he wanted to say.

  With a frustrated sigh, he turned to her and ran his fingers through his hair. “I can’t come right out and tell the man what has happened, or the threat he faces.”

  Tes
s set the quill aside. “Who do you trust above all in this house?”

  “Wesley, of course,”

  “Have him deliver the message verbally. It is better that this situation be explained in person rather than read in a letter.”

  He looked at her, a smile tugged at his lips.

  “Very good, Tess.” He walked to the bell pull to summon his valet. “However, I cannot send him.”

  Tess leaned back in the chair. “Why ever not?”

  “I need the man,” Vincent answered as if she asked a ridiculous question. “He will know who to send however.”

  A scratch sounded at the door. “Come,” Vincent announced.

  Wesley stepped into the room. “We found no one in the house, Lord Atwood. And everything is locked and secured.”

  “Thank you, Wesley. We managed to find the map piece.”

  The valet’s face relaxed. “Very good, sir. Will that be all?”

  “No.” Vincent sighed and rubbed his dry, tired eyes. When this was over he was going to sleep for a week, if the students managed to remain quiet, that is. “For this conversation we need privacy.”

  After he closed the door, Vincent explained everything that had happened. Well, not everything, for which Tess was grateful. Wesley grew pale, walked to Vincent’s decanters, and poured himself a glass of what Tess assumed was whiskey. He downed it and poured another, then turned to his employer. “I don’t know it didn’t occur to me before.” He walked across the room and sat into the large leather chair.

  “What?” Vincent watched him with interest.

  “The names. I should have made the connection.” The man sipped from the glass.

  “I don’t follow?” Vincent shared a confused look with Tess.

  “Everyone one of those men have estates, or at least the families do, close bu. The furthest on away is only a day’s ride, and all are along the coastline, like this one.”

  “So, you think they all knew each other?” Tess prompted.

  “Or at least when that map was originally drawn up.”