A Rumored Fortune

by Joanna Davidson Politano

  “As if you know what I have or do not have.” The words slipped out of my tense lips before I could stuff them away. I remembered with vivid clarity the joyful little cottage full of children, the wonderful smells of baking, the chubby baby. With a deep breath, I lowered my voice and finished my statement as warmth poured over my skin, heating my cheeks painfully. “There is wealth and there is lack in everyone’s life.”

  His hard look evaluated me thoroughly, but I did not wish to explain further.

  Stepping past him, I approached the small knot of men. “I need a little more time. Set a date in the future and I will find a way to meet it.”

  “Friday.” Donegan Vance strode toward me. “Give her until Friday.”

  Three days? I shot him a look.

  “I cannot do without them in the fields longer than that. You’ll simply have to find a way to give them something by then or they’ll make good on their threat to search out the fortune themselves.”

  I forced a swallow and straightened. “All right, Friday.”

  But I had no idea what I’d have to offer by then.

  As I slipped back inside, heart pounding and temples throbbing, I heard whispers. Amos and Margaret lingered in hushed conversation that ceased the minute my footsteps echoed on the floor.

  “Bad news?” I forced myself into their conversation as only a lady of the house could.

  Margaret fidgeted with her apron. “It seems there’s been a fire at James Prescott’s country house last night.”

  I frowned. “I do hope he’s unharmed.”

  “We’ve not heard yet, but they did say everyone escaped.”

  I simply nodded as I passed through the hall to the stairs, wondering why on earth the servants thought the matter held enough weight to speak so secretly of it.

  14

  No season in the vineyard is meant to merely be endured, for each is necessary for the grapes to grow.

  —Notebook of a viticulturist

  You’re doing it wrong.”

  I shoved back the cloth band restraining my hair the next morning and stabbed the shovel into the ground, wishing I’d located a hat to guard my skin from the penetrating sun. “It’s manure. How could one possibly do it wrong?”

  Donegan took the shovel and struck the dirt clods in my wheelbarrow, mixing it with the fertilizer. “Like this. Nice and even. Each plant needs a mix of both.”

  Perspiration tickled my skin beneath my work dress, irritating me almost as much as the man before me. “Would you like my help or not?”

  “Not if it makes more work for me.”

  I dusted my hands against each other. If only I could convince the regular laborers to return to the field so I did not have to do their work nor tolerate their manager. “The roots will be covered, and that’s the point, is it not?” The sun had begun to make my head ache, and Donegan’s correction did nothing to ease the pain.

  “Nutrition for the vineyard is the point. Grapes are nothing but the overflow of whatever you put into the soil.”

  Donegan’s simple statement hovered in my mind hours later as I shifted on my rigged platform near the ceiling, a cool cloth across my sun-warmed forehead. The overflow of whatever you put into the soil. I dabbed brown and black onto my ceiling-wide mural, giving the pictured dirt texture and rich color like ground coffee to symbolize the valuable nutrients it provided.

  Is that the secret, God? Is it the soil? And if it was, what sort of clue did that offer regarding the fortune? Frustration tugged at the edge of my concentration as possibilities circled and were discarded by my overworked mind. If it meant he’d buried his treasure, I’d no sooner find it on this vast estate than if he’d thrown it into the channel.

  But no, it wasn’t buried—I had seen it. Several times. In that instant, an image poured over my thoughts with such clarity that I could nearly walk through it in my mind. There had been a weathered black trunk with metal banding, and an iron keyhole on the front. It always sat open on a table in the window alcove of a workroom, amid piles of paper, while Father bent over his test tubes and soil samples. Beautiful old books on vineyards lined the fireplace mantel where the words Legendary Harlowe had been etched.

  I remembered stretching onto my tiptoes until I could peer over the side of the trunk across the room and catching the barest glimpse of the chaotic pile of coins and pound notes that nearly filled it.

  I blinked at the paint smeared across my bedroom ceiling. At least now I knew where to look. But where was that dirty little workshop? Where was that chest?

  God, can you not just tell me where it is? It was like he wished to dangle before me all these images to remind me that the fortune did, in fact, exist, without actually guiding me to it. But why?

  Why will you not let me find what we so desperately need?

  Yet he remained as silent and distant as my earthly father had been.

  A knock at the door made me jerk, a streak of brown appearing across my delicate swirls of green. “Yes?”

  Lucy breezed in, frizzy dark hair framing her face. “Ready to dress, miss? Dinner will be upon us straightaway, and your vineyard manager said to tell you he’d be in attendance.”

  After dropping my brush into the tin of water and swirling it clean, I rolled to the edge of my platform and climbed down the ladder. “I’ll wear the brown with gold trim tonight.”

  “Of course, miss.”

  At least by donning brown I’d be likely to match the newest dinner guest.

  As she laced my corset, I held the post of my bed and aligned my spine to the familiar restraint. “Lucy, do you recall a room with books on vineyards? Something besides the library and the study. Lots of books, and a fireplace.”

  Her eyes rounded. “You’ve remembered something. Is it where the treasure is?”

  I pinched my lips into a smile and shrugged.

  “Oh, what a wonder! I do wish I could help you, but I don’t remember seeing such a place and I haven’t the courage to snoop about the empty rooms. I scare too easily. I even have a whole stack of books I’m waiting to read until I’m married so I’m not sleeping alone with my thoughts.”

  “Have you set the date yet?”

  “I’ll be old and wrinkled by the time he’s released back to me. The queen, she does love to keep her soldiers a good many years when they sign her contracts.”

  I smiled at how a simple mention of her intended softened her so. If only Queen Victoria knew what a torture such service was on her soldiers and the ones left behind, perhaps she’d limit their terms.

  A sudden jerk cinched my waist, perfecting my posture and shortening my breaths, and my mind turned to the dinner for which I was dressing. “So you’ve met the new vineyard manager, that Donegan Vance.”

  “Yes, miss, he is rather . . . hard to miss.” After securing the stays, she fitted the bodice and draped the gown over my body, tugging it into place and letting it hang in waterfalls of rich brown and gold material about my frame.

  “And what do you think of him?”

  Her fingers paused on a hook and eye closure near my waist. “I wouldn’t know how to answer that, miss.”

  “Oh come now, speak plainly. You know you won’t see trouble over it.” Since my rescue of the girl years earlier, it had become our habit to speak frankly when we found ourselves alone. “Your brother Jimmy is among his workers, is he not? What does he say?”

  Her fingers resumed their work, but her mottled face tipped down. “Jimmy doesn’t get on with him, but he isn’t known for hard work any more than I am for my charms.”

  “And you? You sound as if you like the man.”

  “Well, miss, I don’t want to. He’s rough and common, so I know I mustn’t. But I can’t help but enjoy his honesty. I’m not one to read people well enough to know when they’re lying, but I never wonder with Mr. Vance.”

  Indeed, no one did. Not a single one of his opinions ever remained a mystery.

  Despite my maid’s approval of Donegan, worry trailed
me down to dinner that night, tensing my body as I watched the great double doors. Andrew sat across from me with his usual good-natured countenance, yet there was a remarkable silence about him. I forced a swallow and focused on unfolding my napkin.

  “Darling, you seem unwell.” Mother’s soft voice drew the focus of everyone at the table, as was its natural tendency.

  I tore my gaze away from the door and planted it firmly on the orange-colored soup before me and the little green herbs floating on top. “Only a bit exhausted.”

  “You shouldn’t be exerting yourself so. Is that horrid vineyard man distressing you?”

  Footsteps clomped over the hall tile, jerking my attention back to the door. Then the carpet of the drawing room muffled the steps until the newcomer pushed open the adjoining door and Donegan Vance entered the dining hall. He’d replaced his tunic and trousers with fresh garments and every inch of him looked impeccably clean, but otherwise he looked much the same.

  “I’ve invited Mr. Vance to join us for dinner.” I turned to Mother, entreating her with my eyes. “As I’m sure you know, he is responsible for any future crops we hope to have at Trevelyan Castle, and we must keep him well fed.”

  Mother’s face smoothed into the hostess mask she donned around guests who were necessary but slightly unsavory. “How thoughtful of you to join us, Mr. Vance. We hope you find our home comfortable.”

  He bent his body onto the laughably delicate chair opposite me and I tensed at his rugged presence in this formal room. How greatly he contrasted with Andrew, who sat beside him, from hair color and complexion to demeanor. “It would be a sight better if you had a little more cushion to these chairs, but it’ll do nicely.”

  The frozen expression remained as Mother’s eyes flicked over this intruder with refined judgment sparking behind the mask. “I trust these fine French dishes created by our highly trained kitchen staff will meet your expectations, at least.”

  I cringed at the quiet sarcasm, but Donegan merely nodded in her direction. “Anything that fills a body will do.”

  What an impossible situation, with both Donegan and Andrew at our dinner table and Mother passing silent judgment over everything. As a manservant discreetly placed a steaming bowl before our newest guest and stepped away, silverware clattered on porcelain and chair legs scraped against the wood floor. With neat movements, Donegan draped a linen napkin into his lap and lifted his glass. “May I compliment you on the spread of your table, Mistress Harlowe?”

  “This is only the beginning course, Mr. Vance. It is meant only to whet your appetite for what will follow.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “What a show of extravagance.”

  “I believe our cook has prepared a specialty tonight. I do hope you’ve brought your appetite.”

  Murmurs of assent and approval filled the air.

  Donegan’s voice rose again. “If anyone is lacking in that area, I’m sure you’ll have plenty to borrow from your field hands.”

  My spoon stilled in the lovely soup. I dared not look at Mother. Heat rolled over my bowed head down onto my shoulders. So, this is why he’d asked to join our table. The man wanted to guilt us into paying what we did not have to the field hands he so heartily defended. How greatly this man broadened our troubles since arriving, and I ardently wished that he’d never come. We ate mostly in silence through the rest of the meal.

  After the main course had been cleared, Mother spooned jam onto bread and her silvery voice shattered the silence thick with tension. “Have you any news with the search, Neville?”

  He nodded, taking a piece of bread and a generous portion of jam. “Progress is rather slow, but we’ve identified a few places to investigate.”

  I set a slice of bread on the edge of my plate and looked up at this invited enemy. “Where might that be? Perhaps I should join you when you search.”

  “Quite unnecessary, but kind of you to offer.” He smiled around the crusty bread and jam that we could hardly afford. “Aunt Gwendolyn has graciously encouraged us to search where we will.” He finished his assertion with a dab of his napkin across his crumb-dotted mustache.

  “It’s no trouble, I assure you.” I pushed my shoulders back against the slats of the chair and prepared for a verbal spar.

  Donegan replaced his spoon and looked directly into Neville’s narrow little face. “I believe the lady is informing you that she will be accompanying you, regardless of your underhanded desire to search for her money alone.”

  Neville gulped and then coughed and hacked. Ellen shot him a look. Mother froze. I tried to stare Donegan into silence, but the ripple effect of his words tickled me. Donegan Vance proved a hard-nosed adversary, but an equally forceful ally. Interesting that he intended to be both to me.

  When the conversation shifted to the other end of the table, I caught his attention. “I told you not to ruffle any feathers.”

  His mouth lifted in a roguish smile and he shrugged. “I don’t listen well.”

  By the time we’d completed dinner, it had been decided that the treasure hunters should adjourn to the drawing room for further planning. I watched Donegan in my peripheral vision, trying to guess his next move. Please don’t follow us, please don’t follow us.

  Mother lifted her voice with quiet command. “Mr. Vance, I release you from all obligation to accompany us beyond the meal. Please, feel free to return home and rest. I’m sure you work harder than any of us.”

  He rose with the other diners and placed the napkin beside his empty plate. “I thank you for the food. I find it did meet my expectations, my lady.” With a slight bow toward the head of the table, he left through the same doors he’d entered.

  When the remaining diners retired to the drawing room, Neville unrolled his working map across the table. “We’d thought to begin our search in the underground floor of the towers and see what we could find.”

  Mother glided to her favorite Queen Anne parlor chair facing the table. “I can tell you now with some certainty that the room you seek will not be in the lower levels. No books would endure the moisture.”

  Shock rippled through me as our guests exchanged looks.

  “What books?” Ellen spoke for the group.

  Mother spoke again. “The room we are looking for has rows and rows of books. None of the lower floors have any books at all.”

  Where had she heard this? I’d never uttered a word of my suspicions to anyone, except . . .

  Lucy. My gaze flew to the little maid wringing her hands in the shadows of the room, watching me with apology streaked across her face, and my heart sank. The girl hurried over and slipped a teacup and saucer into my hands as she whispered, “I only let a tiny bit slip and then she demanded to know more. I should have known to keep my mouth buttoned, but I wasn’t thinking.”

  With a pinch-lipped nod, I dismissed the distraught girl and turned back to my elated guests.

  “Then we shall eliminate the lower floors from our search,” Ellen said with a bright smile. “That should save a little time.”

  As panic tightened around me, the moon’s glow through the long windows whispered a tantalizing invitation to escape into the fresh night air. It was bright enough to walk about outside and I couldn’t bear to pass up the opportunity. Excusing myself, I moved toward the narrow passageway between the hall block and the keep tower, whipping a cloak around myself and exiting into the gardens that overlooked the vineyard. I wove through the hedges to a vine-wrapped pavilion at the top of the vineyard’s slope, a nearly abandoned folly of raised platform and stone columns, and stepped into its shelter. From here I could look over the entire sea of vines rising and cresting along the hills in perfect rows bathed in bright moonlight.

  For as long as I could remember, this view had held more wonder for me than all the castles of Somerset. An audible hush filled the air and a pleasant breeze ruffled my hair against my cheek. I tugged the cloak tighter around me and thought of secrets and legends and luscious vineyards.

  Somew
here past the rows of green roared the Bristol Channel, dangerously beautiful and dark. What if the fortune lay somewhere in the great expanse of water? I tried to picture Father rowing out with that chest to drop it into its depths. The image of Father floating on those choppy waves, a little speck lost in that great darkness, wrapped a band of fear around my chest that rose to encircle my neck.

  I closed my eyes. I cannot bear it, God. Why can you not finish what you began to tell me? I’m trying to find him, but I need your help. Are you so far away that you cannot hear me? It was as if he’d appeared ahead of me on the path to beckon me on, then he grew distant. Why don’t you answer? Am I not trusting those words from you? My stomach knotted.

  “Thinking of painting the night sky?”

  With a cry I spun toward the voice, my cloak slipping from my shoulders. My breath came out in quick puffs as Donegan Vance stepped up into the little pavilion.

  He retrieved my cloak and handed it to me. “It could use a little color.”

  His playful tone loosened my tongue as I accepted the cloak. “What are you doing here?”

  “I merely came to thank you for allowing me to join you for dinner.”

  “Why do you insist on sneaking up on me so often?”

  “I find it to be the least expensive form of amusement. And as I seem to be working for no pay . . .”

  I glanced away, recalling the painfully awkward meal. “Is that why you’ve forced your way into our dinner, to investigate our financial situation?”

  “I believe I attended as your guest.”

  “You know what I mean. I thought you wanted to come so you could learn something.”

  “I have. I learned that I strongly mistrust every single person in your home. You shouldn’t tell any one of them a thing.”

  I heaved a sigh, the weight of the race weighing me down. “For once I agree with you.”

  “Miracle.” The corners of his mouth twitched. “Now then, won’t you tell me what has so captured your mind this night? You look as though you’re pondering the height of the sky.”