“Almost certainly. Sam hasn’t told me about anything, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t know something.”
“Could we ask him?”
Melinda looked troubled for a minute and, wringing her hands, she finally replied, “I suppose, but I haven’t even told him about you. I have been trying to keep him out of this mess. But the little sneak probably does know something. I just don’t want him to insist on coming with us everywhere we go. It will only put him in more danger.”
“Aw, sis. You’re no fun!”
David whipped his head around to look out the window to their left and, in the tree just beyond, he could see a young freckle-faced boy sitting easily on a thick limb.
“Samuel!” Melinda gasped. “How long have you been out there?”
The lad shrugged. “On and off from the time you brought these people home. Are they really here to stop Lord Blackwood?”
“Yes, son, we are,” David said as he walked over to the window. “Now how about you come in here before you give your sister heart palpitations.”
Reaching past the sill and into the tree, David took hold of the boy’s arms and helped him through the attic window. Once Sam was firmly on his feet inside the room, Melinda affectionately chucked him upside the head.
“One of these days you are going to kill me with worry.”
“You always think that, Mel. I don’t think you are nearly as worried as you say you are.”
“That doesn’t make a lick of sense, Sam. Now hush up and tell us what you know about the earl.”
“How can I hush up and tell you something?” Sam said with a smirk.
Sarah and Hannah exchanged a sidelong look. Clearly Hannah was also remembering moments in their youth where conversations with David went much like this.
“Lord, give me strength,” Melinda begged the ceiling. “Just tell us.”
Snickering, Sam complied.
“Well, you are right that Blackwood keeps that piece of paper with him all the time. Usually in his breast pocket. I think he even sleeps with it.”
“That is what we feared,” Sarah sighed.
“Yep. So you think it’s got some poem on it? What’s the poem about? Is it famous or something? Worth a lot of money?”
“No, not precisely,” David hedged. He looked at Melinda. How much did she want her brother to know?
As if reading his mind, Melinda said, “If we tell you, do you promise to stay as far away from the earl as possible until I say it’s safe?”
“Oh, boo.” Sam pouted. “Why can’t I go with you? Wouldn’t I be safer where you can have an eye on me?”
“Wheedle all you want, little brother. That is the deal.”
“Besides,” Emily interjected, “we will need someone here to cover for us if anyone were to come looking.”
Rose was quick to nod. “Exactly. And Sam, there is no one we would trust more to keep our whereabouts safe than a clever boy like yourself.”
Sam kicked at the floor, but it was clear the compliment had hit its mark. “Fine, I will stay here with Auntie.”
Melinda looked at the ladies gratefully, before living up to her word. “I can tell you then. The poem was written by the last earl—”
“Ooh, he was nice!”
“And supposedly,” Melinda continued as if Sam hadn’t uttered a word, “it contains clues to where he hid his last will and testament.”
“What’s a ‘willing test’ment’?”
“A will and testament,” Rose corrected him, “is a document in which someone writes down how he wants his belongings distributed after death. It can also name his intended heir.”
“And why is it so important that we find this thing?”
“We are hoping it will lead us to another heir. Someone other than Herbert Villiers,” Sarah answered.
“Someone nice, you mean?”
“Exactly. But I don’t see how we are going to get a hold of the poem. Not if Blackwood keeps it on him all the time.”
“Perhaps we can surprise him. Knock him out and take it? You look strong enough to do that, sir,” Sam said, eyeing David’s powerful build.
David was thinking the same thing, but common sense made him say, “I’m sure I could do as you say, Sam, but that is likely to put me in the same boat as the Potters. Blackwood would not hesitate to lay charges against me.”
“Then what do you suggest?” the boy said, with a challenging look at David and the ladies.
“Samuel! Manners, please.”
Sam had the grace to look sheepish, but he kept a wondering eye on the group.
Sarah accepted the challenge.
“I recall Rose telling me about the use of valerian root as a sedative. Oil is extracted from the root of the flowering plant and can be mixed into cakes and cookies—something sweet enough to cover any taste—and its effects can be felt in minutes.”
“That’s correct, Sarah,” Rose chimed in. “It’s not at all harmful and leaves no aftereffects.”
“Perhaps we can slip some into the manse kitchen and once he falls asleep we can take the poem?” Emily suggested.
Sam’s mouth dropped open. Sarah guessed that he was duly impressed with her and her friends based on the look on his face. She couldn’t help but grin.
“Very cagey, ladies,” David said. “Melinda, do you know Blackwood’s kitchen staff well enough to ask them to do this?”
“Yes, certainly. But once the lord learns of the missing poem, there will not be much time to solve the riddle within. By this point the earl has surely memorized the poem. And we have to assume he has solved some of the clues. There are so many ways this plan could go wrong.” Melinda began to wring her hands again.
Sarah couldn’t blame her. “She’s right, David. Our plan only gets us the poem, if we succeed. Everything after that…the man is dangerous.”
“Perhaps once we get the poem, we make a copy. Then we can return it, and Blackwood will never be the wiser.”
“That could be the answer, David. As long as he doesn’t suspect he was drugged.”
Sarah looked at Melinda. Her hands had stopped moving, but she still looked concerned.
“I would be so much happier if we didn’t have to get near that man,” Melinda moaned. “Somehow, someway, I just know he will know what we did. Or worse, he will suspect Sam. I will never forgive myself if harm comes to my brother. I made a promise to my father—”
Melinda looked to be on the verge of tears, and Sam made a disgusted scoffing sound.
“All right, Mel. Stop fretting. You don’t have to go anywhere near that man.”
“What are you talking about? How else are we going to get that poem?”
With a flourish, Sam pulled a wrinkled wad of paper from his pocket.
“You all can use my copy, of course.”
Chapter Eighteen
There are clues everywhere that show there is something beyond the flat world we see.
—The Duke of Lancaster
Sam simply grinned as everyone in the room gaped with the same astonishment David felt at the boy’s statement.
“Your copy?” Melinda echoed. “When were you going to tell us you had made a copy? Never mind that. How did you make a copy?”
“That day you caught me outside the window? When we saw Lord Blackwood smash that statue-thing? Well, before that he had been sitting in a chair with its back to the window. Forever, it seemed like. And, boy, was it boring. To pass the time, I wrote down the words on the paper he was reading. It wasn’t very long. I have no idea what took him so long to finish it.”
“What did you plan to do with your copy?”
Sam lifted one shoulder. “Dunno. Maybe show it to you to see if you could figure out what was so important about it. But you got so angry with me about being there, I just stuffed it in my pocket until now.”
“It’s been weeks since then,” Melinda ground out. “Do you ever put your clothes in the laundry?”
“Ah, probably not the most i
mportant topic right now, Melinda,” Sarah said gently before turning her gaze to Samuel. “Sam, why didn’t you show us the poem from the very beginning?”
“I thought it would be fun to see the lord here come to fisticuffs with the earl!” Sam announced unabashedly.
David rolled his eyes. This young boy would have fit right in with his friends from Eton. “Well, that is not going to happen.”
“Yes, but then Lady Sarah came up with the valerian root idea and I thought it was brilliant. I wanted to see if it would work.”
Sarah could only imagine the trouble into which this new knowledge was going to get Sam. Or more accurately, the trouble it would cause his big sister. However, that was not their problem.
“I am glad you finally decided to show us the poem.”
“I never wanted to make my sister cry, I swear. Otherwise I would have shown it to you right off.”
“Oh Sam,” Melinda gushed, rushing to give him a hug.
Sam batted her away, but she prevailed and when she let go, the boy was the most magnificent shade of red.
“Ugh!” Sam grunted, screwing up his face in disgust. “Take the poem and leave me alone. Maybe I’ll go see if there are any of your scones left.”
Laughing, Melinda rubbed her brother’s head. “There had better be. I made a fresh batch just this morning.”
“I know,” Sam replied glumly, “but I think Auntie hides them all for herself when we aren’t looking.”
“Samuel!” Melinda admonished, but the boy was already halfway to the door and soon could be heard clomping down the stairs.
Melinda turned back to the room. “My aunt certainly does not hoard the scones.”
David exchanged an amused glance with Sarah.
“Of course she doesn’t, dear,” Sarah agreed. “But I wouldn’t blame her if she did. They are wonderful pastries.”
Melinda laughed and shook her head. “Regardless, that is not what we should be focusing on right now. Let’s read the elusive poem, shall we?”
More eager than she thought possible, Sarah nodded.
“Yes, let’s!”
Sarah and David watched as Melinda carefully unfolded the wad of paper. Then standing to either side of her, they read over her shoulder while she read aloud:
The truth shall you find,
When you pay heed to this old mind.
Mary from her death flees,
The ravens cry out in the Eves.
Child hides what is right,
Under cover of darkest Knight.
The little ones stay in their place,
One chance to choose the right face.
In case of Black wood,
Not all is as it should.
Knowledge is kept tucked away,
In the book used to pray.
Pale key turns gold,
When met with the maker of its mold.
“Mercy,” Sarah breathed out. “It has a kind of dark beauty, doesn’t it? Perhaps the man had a talent for poetry after all.”
“It certainly is compelling,” David agreed, “but it’s clear he didn’t want to make finding whatever he is hiding easy. And if it was meant for his heir, there may be clues here an outside person is not meant to solve.”
“Our work is cut out for us, that is certain.”
“I suppose it is best to start at the beginning then,” Melinda announced. “It seems the first two lines are just a statement of fact. ‘This poem will lead the way’ so to speak. Therefore, the clue must start on the third line. Who do you suppose Mary is?”
Sarah laughed. “I don’t know about the rest of us, but I was rather hoping you knew.”
“You are more familiar with Blackwood, Melinda. Any ideas?” Hannah concurred.
“Mary is an awfully common name, as I’m sure you are aware.”
“It is,” David agreed.
Sarah remained silent for a while. She keep reading and rereading the poem.
Finally, she said, handing the paper to David, “Do you see the way the lines are coupled? Perhaps both lines must be considered to solve the clue.”
“I don’t disagree with you, but how does that help us?” Melinda replied. “‘Ravens in the eves’ doesn’t seem any more helpful than the name Mary.”
“Maybe it does,” David said. “When you read it initially, I heard ‘eaves’ as in ‘overhang’, but it isn’t spelled that way.”
“You’re right, David!” Sarah agreed eagerly. “And it’s capitalized. Perhaps it’s a name? Melinda, does the name Mary Eves mean anything to you?”
Melinda’s nose wrinkled. “I’m not sure, but I think there are some Eves buried at St. Mary’s church.”
David looked at Sarah. “That might explain the reference to death.”
Sarah began to get excited. Could it be happening? Could they be solving this mystery?
“I think it’s an excellent possibility. It’s the only thing we have to go on, anyway.”
“Then we are off to the church…again?” Melinda said with a twinkle in her eye.
She must be enjoying the hunt, too, Sarah thought. The idea sobered her. This was no game. There was a man’s life at stake. It would behoove them to remember that fact.
“Again?” Rose asked.
“Yes,” Sarah replied. “We were there looking for the Potters just last night.”
“You certainly are getting around Chelmsford,” Hannah said a bit too nonchalantly. “Not much time for socializing, I’d guess?”
Hope was written all over Hannah’s face.
“Erm, no,” Sarah replied. “Not really.”
David quickly agreed. “Not much at all.”
Sarah looked at David and could have sworn he was fighting back a grin. Damn him, now she wanted to smile, too.
Grabbing her pelisse, Sarah avoided Hannah’s gaze. She and David were the last to go down the stairs and outside. She took the opportunity to elbow him in the ribs.
“What are we going to do?” She giggled softly. Why was she laughing? She had fretted over Hannah and her warning for days, but now, when face to face with her, she was enjoying sharing an inside joke with David. When exactly had the fear gone away? When David started treating her like a wife, she supposed. When she realized he was a different man than he used to be. In her heart, she felt this man was safe to love.
She sincerely hoped her heart was right.
“Do?” David asked, his eyes twinkling. “There is not much we can do. My sister will figure it out soon enough. You know how she can be.”
“Dog with a bone?”
“Exactly.”
“Should we be worried?” she wondered.
David stopped her and held her hands. “What is there to be worried about? This is our marriage, not hers. And I think things are going rather well, don’t you?”
Sarah was surprised to see true concern in David’s eyes. Could it be this relationship was beginning to mean as much to him as it did to her?
“Very well, I’d say,” Sarah replied softly, not moving her eyes from his.
David smiled. He leaned in and kissed her. A sweet lingering kiss that promised all sorts of previously avoided thoughts would spring to Sarah’s mind.
She smiled in return, and together they made their way down the remaining steps and outdoors.
It was a lovely summer day, and Sarah found the sunny weather fortuitous. Perhaps good things were to come.
On the carriage ride back to the church, Sarah and the others tried to figure out the next clues, but it soon became obvious that without some sort of frame of reference, they weren’t going to get anywhere. Hopefully, something at the cemetery would provide the information they needed.
St. Mary’s Church was even more beautiful in the daytime than it had been at night. Melinda led them to the outer grounds of the church where a number of graves were clustered together. A few of the markers were quite old, but most of them were rather recent—not much older than fifty years.
Looking around, S
arah asked, “Melinda, do you recall where you saw the name Eves?”
“Over there, if I remember correctly.” She pointed.
“Let us go see.”
The six spread out in the direction Melinda had shown. None of the graves seemed to be marked with elaborate markers, Sarah noted, so she was no longer sure they were on the right track. What could a small stone provide them by way of a clue?
“Over here!”
Sarah’s head snapped up when she heard David call out. Hurrying over to where he was looking down at the ground, Sarah could hardly wait to see what he had found.
Upon arriving, Sarah looked down to find a gravestone engraved with the name Mary Elizabeth Eves.
“You did it, David! You found her.”
“‘Aged twenty-one years, perished in a fire with two others’,” Melinda read. “Wait, I remember this. I was eight or nine, and one of the cottager’s homes caught fire. A bird’s nest in the chimney, I believe. Mary and two of her friends died. Earl Blackwood was distraught by the loss. He immediately had all the chimneys of his denizens’ homes examined, cleaned, or even replaced if there was any sign of fire hazard.”
“A far cry from the current Blackwood.”
“Yes, things have gotten horribly bad for his people now, especially when many can remember the generosity of the elder lord.”
“But what does this have to do with the poem? Where are we supposed to go next?” Emily asked.
“The poem mentions ravens,” David noted. “Was the bird’s nest in the chimney a raven’s nest, by any chance?”
Melinda shrugged. “I’m not sure, to be honest. Why do you ask?”
“Well, if Mary is fleeing her death and it was, in essence, caused by ravens, perhaps that leads to our next clue.”
Sarah was confused. “What do you mean?”
David smiled and looked beyond the ladies pointedly.
Turning around, Sarah could just make out the Potters’ fresco.
“What if those blackbirds,” David wondered, “aren’t blackbirds at all, but ravens?”
Melinda gasped. “That’s what Mary is fleeing from?”
“It’s possible, isn’t it?”
“Then our next clue is in the direction the ravens are flying,” Sarah surmised. She motioned for the others to follow her as she walked over to the fresco. Up close and in the light of day, the expert workmanship was almost magical in the way it brought the scene to life.
Enticing Her Unexpected Bridegroom Page 15
