by Lynda Hurst
Your servant,
Abraham Mensforth
Margaret blew out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding throughout the entirety of reading Abraham’s letter. It was thrilling to have found more information than she could hope to discover under her own steam, and it was exciting to know she was closer to further narrowing her search for the object mentioned in the Artemis clue.
Having kept the book from the Revelstoke library, she consulted it now, scanning the illuminated pictures for scenes made familiar by Abraham’s letter. Using the magnifying glass, she inspected the page containing the scene of the monastery being built. There, King John sat atop a horse in the background. There, the masons were hard at work on a mural depicting Greek gods and goddesses. Wait! Here in her room with plenty of natural light, she could clearly see what it was the masons were working on: a mural in high relief of Zeus, Apollo, Aphrodite, and there! —Artemis herself! Artemis was depicted with her bow drawn, aiming at a male archer who was directing his own aim at Artemis.
Her body positively humming with excited energy, Margaret couldn’t wait to tell Faith and Devlin what she had uncovered without Abraham’s help. But without his assistance, she would not have known where to begin to look for the treasure, and she now knew that the possible Artemis clue object was currently in London’s Royal Museum. She decided her next letter to Abraham would be one in thanks and confirmation of a date when next they could meet.
But before she could begin to draft one, she remembered the second, lighter letter she received and resolved to read it before readying her writing implements. The familiar handwriting on the envelope belonged to Jeffrey, and already she knew what the contents of his letter to her would be. Just as his last five letters hadn’t changed in his request, so it was with this latest installment upon a quick survey.
My dearest Margaret,
I want nothing more in this world than to make you my wife, but I must first have your brother’s blessing. Won’t you allow me to speak with him? I am prepared to hie myself to you from London to gain his permission and make you mine.
Faithfully yours,
J
Margaret groaned inwardly, not yet certain what it is that had been holding her back from telling him ‘yes’. She only knew that to have someone of Jeffrey’s social standing and wealth asking for her hand was not something to dismiss with a polite smile. Her history with past suitors have seen her reject every single one, but only because she was waiting for the right candidate to come along, for someone she actually wanted to marry.
Knowing herself well, she knew she was willful to a fault, and it was her own stubbornness that was responsible for her unmarried state. In other words, she hadn’t married, not because the right candidate hadn’t come along, but because the right candidate was too stubborn to notice her.
Snorting at her own foolishness for hoping Jackson would change his mind about her after so long, she reminded herself she was done waiting for the man, and she was now seriously considering Jeffrey’s suit. At twenty-five, she had to consider her options, and Jeffrey definitely deserved her consideration. She genuinely liked the man, but in a moderate way that had nothing on the tempestuous feelings when her thoughts swayed in Jackson’s direction.
Jackson had always captured her interest, even when she was a young girl, following him about and hoping he would turn around and notice her. As he grew into manhood, she found her attention focused solely on him when he was within radius, but no matter how hard she tried to arrest his notice, he never seemed the least bit interested.
She was both relieved and pleased when Jeffrey expressed an interest in her, as both a balm to her poor, bruised soul and an oasis for her tender feelings. His interest told her she was still a desirable prospect on the marriage mart and that there was no need to search high and low for a replacement in her affections.
However, her heart would never belong to Jeffrey, and it was that knowledge that kept her from giving Jeffrey a straightforward answer. Her head knew that Jeffrey would be a kind and considerate husband, who was easy going in nature and generally liked by all, but he wouldn’t love her. In the eyes of the ton, theirs would be a suitable marriage made richer through its combination of wealth and social standing. Observing her own brother together with his wife, it wasn’t a hardship to see how happy and in love the both of them were, and it made her slightly envious enough to want something just as glorious for herself.
But alas, she resigned herself to the possibility that Jeffrey may be the one she grew old with, as hard as that was to picture. Could she see herself living with Jeffrey as his wife, bearing his children, while being content without the love of her husband? Aside from the lack of love, she knew that their marriage would be a good one and she really couldn’t do better than a future duke. And her desire for children would finally be fulfilled sooner if she accepted Jeffrey.
Picking up her quill and inkpot, she readied her note to Jeffrey.
Dearest Jeffrey,
I am pleased that you are adamant about making me your wife, and will be happy to have you speak to my brother, but at a time of my choosing. The season is almost upon us, and I would love for my family to meet with you without the season’s hectic schedule hampering a proper meeting. All I ask is for your patience, just a little while longer.
Yours,
Margaret
Her note was terse, but it said all she needed to say. She just wasn’t ready, and the trappings of a London season wasn’t an ideal setting for giving poor Jeffrey a proper answer to his proposal. Sealing the note within an envelope, Margaret tried not to think overmuch on Jeffrey’s reaction to her note.
Next, she tackled the reply to Abraham, only this letter would be just as short as the first, naming possible dates when next she was in London for them to meet and her heartfelt thanks for the information he had carefully gleaned to satisfy her curious soul.
7
The Next Day—Prestonridge Manor Drawing Room
With little Grayson in the nursery taking his customary mid-day nap, the ladies of Prestonridge Manor used this time of day to assemble in the family’s drawing room and chat while going about their projects of the moment. As butler and valet respectively, Hugo and Faust loyally and unsurprisingly kept a tray of baked goods and a pot of tea available for them at the ready while the ladies often enjoyed such afternoons together in such a fashion.
The topic of discussion on this particular day was naturally about Margaret’s progress with the Artemis clue, a favorite topic of theirs, and joining them that day was Lady Mary Ellesmere, who was enthusiastically all ears when it came to the latest puzzle for them to solve.
But there was also the distressing matter of Faith’s oldest brother to add to their discourse. Faith had yet to receive word from her thought-to-be-exiled-in-the-Colonies brother, but was now directing all of her questions concerning him towards Margaret. Mary remained silent, but listened attentively to their dialogue.
“How did he look? Was he hale?” asked Faith.
“When I spotted him, my first thought was that his features looked vaguely familiar. Which is understandable given that he is your brother, Faith. Just without your red hair, but otherwise the family resemblance was telling. As for his looks, he looked well, not at all the starving earl he made himself out to be.”
“Oh, dear. I often wondered how he and James fared in America, penniless as they were when they left,” Faith said as she worried her bottom lip, concern written on her face. “My older brothers and I were never close, and they never gave me reason to believe they cared about me, but they are still my blood.”
“From what I understand, Frederick seemed to change his mind about his plans for revenge against Devlin when I told him that the two of you are now wed and with a child. That must count as something close to caring about you if that was enough to stay his hand,” Margaret explained.
“Yes, but Devlin now believes that Frederick will still seek out revenge, only he wil
l be targeting you to get at Devlin.”
“Oh, posh,” Margaret scoffed. “He can throw empty threats at me all he likes until he’s blue in the face with the effort. I’d like to see him try his worst, as I am not without my own connections and resources for protection.”
Faith knew Margaret was capable of looking after herself, but she still worried after her sister-in-law’s disregard for the harm that could befall her. Not knowing what Frederick was actually like after so many years, Faith could not discount that he was entirely capable of harming Margaret if he so chose. Bringing the uncertain topic of Frederick to a close, Faith asked Margaret to share any news concerning the Artemis clue.
Eagerly, Margaret regaled them with her latest findings, first starting with the old book she had found tucked within the Revelstoke library. The other ladies exclaimed over the book itself, which Margaret had brought with her to their impromptu tea party with the express purpose of putting it on display. Both Hugo and Faust were at work pouring the tea and setting out the plates, acting for all the world as though they took no notice of the chattering ladies, but for all intents and purposes, they were hanging on every word as they too were just as involved in the treasure hunt as they were the first time around.
“And look here,” Margaret pointed to the scene of the masons crafting the mural, “among the Greek gods and goddesses, stands Artemis herself with whom I believe to be Orion. And just like the clue, both of their hearts are nearly pierced by each other’s arrow still nocked within their bows.”
Mary peered at the page depicting the scene and remarked, “Well, that does look like it fits with the clue as we know it, but how would that picture help with finding the actual treasure? As far as I know, there isn’t a mural like that inside Revelstoke Place.”
Faith hummed while mulling over what she remembered about the clue as well as her own memories of the house in which she had grown up. “As a young girl, I doubt I would have paid attention to anything that passed as décor in that house, much less remembered a mural well-made as the picture you have describes.”
Squinting closer at the page, Faith stated, “But look at where the masons are working. They are next door to the monks’ chapel which is on the other side of the relief’s wall.”
Margaret visibly brightened at Faith’s observation, having been sparked with a new discovery. Excitedly, she said, “Oh! The chapel is still part of the house, only now on the other side of it is your family’s library! Then that must mean the mural wall would be where that great bookcase now sits!”
Faith smiled serenely. “I do believe we solved the mystery of where the mural is, but like Mary said, I don’t see how a treasure can be hidden inside a mural. Those murals weren’t exactly hollow from what I remember of their construction.”
Margaret’s enthusiasm wasn’t deterred at all by Faith’s statement, and insisted, “We should at least venture a look first before declaring it a dead end. All we need is a few strong backs to move that bookcase to take a peek behind it.”
Mary, now caught up in the excitement, said, “This is exciting, just like that day you had found the effigy of King John full of jewels and coins boarded up beneath the chapel floor. Who knew those monks all those years ago would be so good at playing find-the-needle-in-the-haystack with us? But I, for one, am enjoying the attempt.”
“As am I,” stated Margaret. “Those monks were quite clever in leaving behind their clues to each treasure piece’s location.”
“Which makes me admire my mother more for discovering the Revelstoke legacy in the first place,” Faith sighed. If it weren’t for the late Countess of Revelstoke’s earlier unearthing of the first piece of the treasure, no one would have been the wiser for it. Through the countess’ first attempt at securing that jewel-encrusted, golden crucifix, Faith had been able to learn more about her ancestor and his dealings with the long-ago monks and their connection to the treasure itself, and all of it through Margaret’s careful research.
There was once a time, Margaret had only feelings of resentment towards the countess for ultimately stealing her father from the bosom of their family and ancestral home. But once it had become known that her very own cousin was responsible for murdering both her father and Faith’s mother, those feelings no longer had a place to inhabit within her, and she could now sympathize with Faith in that they both had lost a parent whom they loved.
Patting her sister-in-law’s hand, Margaret crooned, “And as a result, her efforts have brought me a new sister and a new favorite pastime: treasure-hunting!”
“And let’s not forget your other new favorite pastime: your constant letter-writing to that handsome scholar of yours from Cambridge,” teased Mary. “I do believe all of your scholarly talk of history within those pages is just another way of flirting with the man.”
“I do not flirt with him!” Margaret defended herself, astounded at the thought. “Well, at least, I know I’m not flirting. I can’t say the same for Abraham, but we only ever talk about his studies and whatever it is I am currently stumped over. Nothing more. And don’t think I haven’t seen you with his cousin, Marquis Savarill, last season. Your own flirtation there was clear for all the world to see.”
Before Mary could squeal in protest to Margaret’s own observation, Faith had wisely cut in before an argument could escalate. “Now, now, Mary was just teasing. There’s no need to hash out everyone’s business out in the open. After all, poor Hugo and Faust are without a doubt filing away everything we’re saying, waiting for the most opportune time to bring up what we’re saying to chastise us with later.”
Faust whipped around, looking mortally wounded. “Your Grace, I would never stoop so low as to do such a thing.”
Faith only shrugged, as she wasn’t convinced by his expression or words, since experience told her that her own personal valet was not above using such information to keep her in line. But she only said to mollify him, “Of course not, Faust. Why you are just as much a part of our family that I trust you would never do such a thing.” And she beamed up at him with her most trusting smile.
Faust raised a brow, but said nothing. His face said it all: Touché. Hugo looked horrified at the indignity of a servant acting just so with their mistress.
Margaret rolled her eyes at the odd exchange between the two, still not understanding how Faith could allow a servant to treat her as though she were a child.
Faith decided then to bring the subject away from herself and faced Margaret. “I understand from Devlin that a certain someone has been writing you, Margaret. Is there something we should know?”
For Margaret, the subject made her feel anything but calm, with her temper rising to the fore. “How did you know?”
Glancing at Hugo, he kept his visage stoic and devoid of emotion, but Margaret did notice the tips of his ears had reddened at having been caught. Faith rescued him by saying, “Devlin makes it a point to know whose correspondence is whose beforehand, and Hugo was only doing his duty.”
Hugo cleared his throat and in a dignified tone said, “If you will not be needing me further, I will be seeing to tonight’s dinner plans with the cook.” At Faith’s nod of her head, Hugo bowed out and left the room in what Margaret thought was a hasty manner for Hugo’s usual aristocratic mien. Faust followed after him, clearly reading the situation as already fraught with tension and not wanting to witness a spat between members of the fairer sex.
Faith gave Margaret a plaintive look, and said, “I apologize for Devlin. You know your brother: he’s as high-handed as they come and his being a duke doesn’t help matters. I told him he was being intrusive and that he should respect your privacy.”
Margaret sighed, her temper deflating, for she indeed knew how imperious Devlin could be with those he cared for. “Unfortunately, I do know how he is, and I appreciate your efforts in trying to preserve my privacy. Well, now that it’s out in the open, you must already know that Jeffrey and I have been trading correspondence since the end of the last s
eason.”
Mary interjected, “Jeffrey Collingwood, the son of the Duke of Collingwood?” At Margaret’s nod, Mary whooped and exclaimed, “I applaud you on catching the eye of one of the most eligible bachelors of the ton!” Margaret, however, felt she couldn’t dredge up the same degree of fervor, and her uncertain look halted Mary’s exuberance in its tracks. Sharing a pointed look with Faith, Mary knew the reason for Margaret’s lack of enthusiasm at Jeffrey’s suit, as it was painfully obvious over the years how Margaret pined after her twin brother.
Faith addressed Margaret, “Has Collingwood made his intentions clear with you?”
Margaret admitted, “Yes, in fact, he had asked me to marry him at the end of the last season. But I hadn’t felt certain of my answer then, since we had only gotten to know one another a short time before his proposal.” Her hesitation stemmed largely from her uncertainty of exactly what it was she felt towards Jeffrey and whether it was enough to build a marriage upon.
Mary pressed, “And you didn’t say yes because?”
