The Sapphire Heiress (The Silver Order #1)

9 The Key

Chapter Nine

The Key

G rass and weeds crunched as Locke cut across the quiet lawn. Birds chirped overhead and the scent of dew hung heavily in the early-morning air.

Recently, mornings in the country had become far more tolerable. Hell, life had become far more tolerable. Something he suspected had everything to do with Miss Blackthorne. In this world he knew so well, she was something entirely different. Not at all what he’d expected to encounter here. Her strength was unlike any he had ever seen in her father.

He liked to think she was not Alastair Blackthorne’s daughter. But he couldn’t deceive himself, no matter how difficult the truth.

He still found it hard to believe that Alastair—the man who had been both a brother and enemy to him—was six years dead. His body eaten away to the bones now. Nathaniel’s too.

The thoughts wore heavily on him, depressing him anew. He needn’t another reminder of his unnaturally enduring youth. Not now. Not when she was so close by.

Leaning against a tree, Miss Blackthorne hadn’t yet noticed his approach. She didn’t seem much aware of her surroundings at all. She looked to be thinking to herself—about what, he feared to know. Standing there, she had that pained look again. Her eyebrows were drawn together and wrinkled—something he knew had everything to do with him . The vivacity that had once surfaced in her smile was gone. A vivacity he’d likely destroy entirely when all this was over. And that was the best of outcomes.

Locke squeezed his eyes shut. A comparable piece of his past clawed at him again. Watching her alone and unawares seemed to evoke the memory even stronger.

The smell of sea was back and just as he had done for Miss Blackthorne, he was making a promise. One he would fail to keep. He shook himself from the image, from the stark splash of blood. He had to keep control.

And that meant freeing both himself and Miss Blackthorne from Ellsworth. The plan would indeed protect the sapphire. It’s about nothing other than that , he told himself. His cares were focused on the sapphire alone. He had priorities, after all. He hardly thought of revenge anymore—and never like Ellsworth did. Finding the key needed to come first. And if there was another clue to be discovered with it, Ellsworth was right: Locke wanted to be sure the other man wasn’t there to find it.

He cleared his throat, prompting Miss Blackthorne to look up. The keen eyes he had meant to avoid caught him now, pulling him down into their depths. The moment put him on edge. Like a sudden storm, the feeling struck without warning. And now that he was caught in it, he feared he was already lost.

“I feel I should thank you,” she said.

“For what?”

“For insisting on meeting me alone.”

“Yes, well…” He stumbled, surprised that her trust had been so easily gained.

“Did you find the vault?”

He shook his head. “We’ll search again…”

In the growing silence, Miss Blackthorne leaned back against the tree, careless of how the bark might catch her dress. “May I ask,” she began with caution, “ why you insisted on meeting me alone?”

The question brought his eyes back to hers. The fearful gaze he remembered from the previous day was gone, replaced instead with a calm resolve. He blinked hard. He hadn’t done it for her sake, if that was what she was asking. “The man irritates me. Nothing more.”

“If you really wanted to get rid of Ellsworth, you could…you know…” She held a hand to her throat, her eyes cast down, too afraid to say the actual words.

He almost smiled at the idea, save for the contempt that laced each word. It was one form of disrespect he could never stand. “Kill him, you mean?”

“You’re a pirate, aren’t you? It would be easy for you. As much as I despise the man…” Her hands quivered. She couldn’t even bring herself to finish the words.

“Say I do kill him.” Locke crossed his arms. “How would you look upon me then?”

“With gratitude.” She looked up, locking eyes with him, almost hopeful.

“No, you would be disgusted. You would look upon me with fear.”

“ Now you venture to be noble? When all this time—”

“Just how should I act?” Locke demanded. “Like a vagrant? A common thief? Piracy may not be the most noble profession, but for more than a century, it was noble enough for your family.”

Miss Blackthorne stared at him, evidently still working to make sense of the words. He was surprised he had said them at all. He hadn’t meant to reveal that fact. Not yet.

“What I mean is that your father was no better man than I,” he clarified. Perhaps if she knew the truth, she would look upon him with less scorn. “He was a man of fortune.” He spoke louder, hoping to evoke her this time. “A pirate just as I. ”

Miss Blackthorne’s sneer of incredulity shifted to anger with one fierce blink of her lashes. Even then he could tell she was beginning to entertain the possibility. She’d likely had an inkling of it all along.

“We’re not all toothless savages—” he began. “Some of us even have great houses, even great names.”

Mae just stared off, ignoring him.

“Why do you think your house has all those tunnels you mentioned? They were pirates with a great many enemies and an even greater deal of loot.”

“But you kill the innocent. You kill for greed.”

“So did your father when it was necessary. He had everything a pirate needs: a flag that struck fear into the hearts of men and a bloody fast ship.”

“No, I don’t believe you.”

“On my honor, you come from a line of pirates. Every ancestor as far back as five generations has taken to the sea in search of wealth.”

Miss Blackthorne looked away, her eyes searching. Had she really never heard the rumors? Had her family managed to keep her that sheltered? “Your father’s father was a pirate too just as he was a shipbuilder.”

“My grandfather?”

“Nathaniel Blackthorne.” Just saying the name brought him back. “We traveled the high seas together, sailed waves the size of mountains.”

“What are you saying?” Miss Blackthorne laughed.

“The truth. Nathaniel, Alastair, and I captured more precious cargo than you could ever dream of. Of course, Alastair later betrayed me and stole my share of the profits. Typical pirate, eh?”

“Wait,” she held up a hand. “You’re saying that you and my grandfather worked side by side? He stopped sailing in his thirties. And you’re, what? How old, exactly?”

“Thirty-two.” Locke cleared his throat. What choice had he but to reply? There was no disguising his youth. She shook her head. “You’re lying. You would have been very young at the time.” Locke cursed the slip. Sooner or later, she might very well discover that truth. Just not now. She would think him the devil. Her opinion of him was low enough.

“My family, we were merchants.”

“Until they fell upon hard times. Had you the opportunity, would you not have seized it too?” How could she be so naive about the ways of the world, particularly how the higher classes attained their wealth in the first place? They took it.

“Don’t you see? It became a shroud,” he continued. “Your father’s business was nothing more than a lie to keep hidden their true line of work. That way, they could still parade around society with their ill-gotten wealth. What?”

Mae looked away and bit her lip. He could tell she didn’t believe him. “Pirates don’t spend all their lives at sea. They have to retire sometime.”

“It can’t be.”

“Your family brought me into it. I must say, I helped increase their profits a great deal.”

At that, Miss Blackthorne’s face soured with pain.

“Why do you think your father spent so much time at sea? Haven’t you ever thought of it?”

“I-I thought it was just part of the business.”

“What did you think he was doing all those weeks? Why do you think your brother—”

“Stop it!” Miss Blackthorne screamed suddenly and loudly. She twisted away and sank onto a large stone at the base of the tree. “They’re dead. They cannot defend themselves. I won’t hear you blacken their names.”

“I speak only the truth.”

“I told you it’s impossible. ”

Locke released a stream of frustrated curses under his breath. He regretted disclosing her family’s long-established venture into piracy, more so that he had been old enough to partner with her father. Now she only thought him madder than she already did.

Arms crossed, she sat there, obstinate.

“So you’re one of those,” he said.

“One of what?”

“One of those people who has to see something to believe it.”

“I’m certainly not fool enough to believe everything I hear. Especially your far-fetched claims…”

“Enough of this.” He let out a long breath. Something about her regarding him as a liar bothered him. But I don’t have that time to dabble with that now , he lashed at himself. “This key, where—”

“Here.” Miss Blackthorne lifted her arms to encompass their surroundings.

Amidst the languid flowerbed and brittle branches that had once been bushes, the only living thing stood in the center. A tree so ancient and wide, it provided shade to almost every corner of the courtyard.

“Here? At this tree?” Locke studied its gnarled, twisted bark. He had seen it before, but where, he could not be sure. The species, whatever it was, was not native to England. He picked at a leaf, taking a small seedpod in his hand.

“What kind of tree is this?”

“The poisonous kind. Particularly those seeds you’re holding.” Her lip quirked almost to a smile.

Locke dropped them. “How do you know?”

“My father told me. He said that this tree is really a work of art. And yet, it also serves a purpose: shading us from the heat, poisoning our enemies. But more often, art has no purpose. It’s just art for the sake of art. Ars Gratia Artis. ” She shrugged. “It’s a simple enough clue.”

Yet only one she could decipher.

“Hardly the words of a pirate,” she added .

“Not your notion of a pirate, at least.”

Locke walked around the tree. Was there some convenient nook? “Where is it hidden?”

“I have a suspicion…” Miss Blackthorne rose, her arm bracing what appeared to be a petrified root. She moved back. Without her there to distract him, the beauty of the object was impossible to ignore. Made of some brown and green marble, it blended in with the bulbous, moss-covered roots of the tree. A bench.

Locke pressed a hand to the roots, feeling the intricate engraving.

“Somewhere in here, I should think.” She bent down and peeked through the structure’s dozens of cavities. Even Locke got down in the dirt. He squeezed in right up against her. Once again, he had no choice. But this time, she didn’t shrink away like she had all the times before. Despite himself, he wasn’t immune to the contact, either. It flooded him with craving. Now he could barely concentrate. He could only stare at the dirt.

They had barely searched for five minutes, when Miss Blackthorne suddenly grasped his wrist. He swallowed. Was she—

“Did you hear that?” she whispered up against his ear. In response, his whole body went warm.

Then a voice came some distance off.

“What on earth are you two doing?”

Locke almost choked on his next breath. The clock had not yet chimed six and the day was already proving a disaster.

Locke quickly stood. Miss Blackthorne followed suit, brushing the dirt off her arms, her face a brilliant red.

From the edge of the courtyard, Miss Rosewood came closer, a shaky smile on her lips. The young woman was still jittery around him, but for all the wrong reasons. Guilt swung at his heart. Though ridiculous and plain, she seemed sweet enough, if not the personification of naiveté. With her wild sway of moods and often ridiculous manners, she was still very much a child. Locked away in the country, who wouldn’t be?

“I was taking a walk and lost one of my earrings…” Miss Blackthorne glanced hurriedly at the lifeless leaves that littered the ground. “Mr. Locke here was kind enough to aid in my search. He was just passing through to see you.”

Though seemingly momentarily distracted by the promise of a visit, Miss Rosewood caught sight of Miss Blackthorne’s ears. “I didn’t know you owned earrings. Did you lose both?”

“She did.” Locke cut in, not surprised Miss Blackthorne wasn’t much for lying. “Faulty clasps, didn’t you say?”

“Yes, I should get them fixed, shouldn’t I?”

Miss Rosewood narrowed her eyes, all too similar to her mother, but before she could speak, her governess gave her a pointed look. “What about you? What are you doing about so early?”

Locke smiled, thinking her rather clever for turning the question back on Miss Rosewood. Maybe she was a fine liar, after all.

“I saw you two from the window. You seemed to be arguing.”

“Spying is unbecoming,” said Miss Blackthorne. “And you shouldn’t walk about the western wing. It’s dangerous.”

“I was only trying to relieve my restlessness. With the ball tonight, I could hardly sleep.”

Locke groaned inwardly. How could he have forgotten their betrothal ball? He hadn’t the time for their sham of an engagement. He had a fortune he was damn close to finding. But he could not turn his back on Miss Rosewood now. He needed to keep up appearances.

“You couldn’t sleep, you say?” Locke drew Miss Rosewood’s attention. “Nor I.”

“Is that why you decided to call on me so early?” She sucked in a deep breath and held it for a moment.

“Why else? To take tea with you is one of my greatest pleasures.” At this, he caught Miss Blackthorne’s subtle eye roll. He grinned. “Perhaps you might request a tea service while I resume my search? ”

“Why, of course.”

“Oh, no, don’t do that,” Miss Blackthorne said. “You must accompany Miss Rosewood, Mr. Locke. I won’t detain you a second longer. You have my thanks.”

Damn lady. That was the last thing he wanted to do. They were so close earlier and in more ways than one. Now that was what he wanted to resume.

“Are you certain? I…” He struggled to find the right excuse. He clearly wasn’t as quick as Miss Blackthorne had been.

“Please, Mr. Locke, with your betrothal ball tonight, you are far too busy. You two should enjoy each other’s company whilst you can.”

“We shall have our whole lives to get acquainted,” Locke countered, not meaning the lie but knowing the governess was well aware of the pretense. What was she about?

“And yet, it still doesn’t seem quite long enough, does it?” Miss Rosewood sighed.

Locke near grunted aloud. Alas, he had no choice but to surrender. He hardly had the time to step forward when Miss Rosewood hooked an arm through his. Forcing a smile, he led her away from the dingy, aged bricks to the more modern parts of the manor. What was Miss Blackthorne planning, forcing him to leave like that? Sooner or later, she would find that key. And betrothal ball or not, he would claim it from her.

His heart pounded faster, the thought of seeing her alone again thrilling him far more than it should.

“You should be glad I found you.” Miss Rosewood patted his elbow. “Miss Blackthorne can be quite depressing at times. But of course, she is a governess.”

“I was doing her a kindness.” Locke snapped back, knowing that Miss Rosewood had slung the insult out of jealousy.

“Yes.” She patted his arm. “It was very kind of you to help.” When Locke said nothing in response, she frowned. “How drab it is today.”

Locke followed her gaze. The sky had indeed been overcast. From the looks of it and the feel of the gusty wind, rain was likely. Though he hadn’t noticed.

Oddly, it wasn’t the vault that distracted him, either. Even now he was too busy thinking about Miss Blackthorne to care.

*

On her knees, Mae saw it: a tip of silver gleaming in the soil, inside the tiny cavern of stone.

Most inconvenient. She had no choice but to get in the dirt on her stomach. There were spiders to fear too. As she reached in, cobwebs coated her hands. Cold as ice, the key was heavier and thicker than she imagined. She tugged with all her might. It wouldn’t budge.

Her fingers dug deeper, her nails filling with dirt until at last, she yanked it free. She held it out in the light. Intricate bands of gold and silver peeked through clumps of dirt. Something so delicately designed could not have been forged by pirates.

Mae pocketed it and kicked her way through a tangle of shrubbery.

She had heard plenty of stories about her family, plenty of slander meant only to please the gossips. They were all meant to explain how her family attained their wealth that, to them, seemed far beyond that of a simple shipbuilder. But not once, not even from the squawking servants, had she heard a tale as wild as Locke’s.

To think, her father a pirate! The idea was laughable.

If only William had been there to hear such a tale. He would have laughed with her. It was a lie, she was sure of that. The nerve. Locke simply wanted to blacken her father’s name.

But as hard as she tried, she could not ignore how it explained her father’s long absences and the recent wealth her family had acquired before William had left for sea .

Not to mention the need to keep their fortune hidden in such a way. And what about that dreadful spring when the business had lost three ships to hurricanes? They hadn’t gone bankrupt. Not in the least. They had actually been richer than ever.

Consequently, they’d taken on a new rise in status. Her mother had become revered, not just in the county, but across London’s highest circles, for her frequent parties and new carriages.

So long as Tala had had money, what did they care about her background?

What Mae wondered more was if Tala had known. Her parents had been too close for her not to.

Her mother had to know. Tala—a name that meant “bright star” in her language, she’d told Mae once—had been too smart.

Then there were the bedtime stories she’d told her. The ones that featured great battles on the sea. Perhaps Mae had always known her family’s true profession, after all—just as a tale.

But she didn’t want to think like that. She didn’t want to believe it, even if every clue led her to the same truth, even if Locke’s eyes had been nothing but sincere.

Mae stilled her steps before the back door. On the other side, she could hear the staff milling about. She let out her breath, wishing she had sought a different entrance.

When she passed through the hall, there was no avoiding the melee. At every turn, servants swept past with candles, garland, and whole armfuls of roses. The adornments were like nothing from her past. In her mother’s time, the flowers, shipped in from the most distant parts of the world, would have been orchids. The finest delicacies would come still alive in water bowls.

No theme or motif had been out of reach. One season, she’d even gone so far as to cover the ballroom in dozens of mosaic mirrors and colored glass—just to emulate how the Amber Palace of India gleamed at night .

The vulgar extravagance had offended no one—at least none of those invited. Still, the planning and expense required made Mae shudder these days. But as a child, she’d seen none of that—only a room that had seemed to change with the seasons.

The Rosewoods, who must have hired a dozen additional staff for the occasion, were doing their best to compete—particularly for those who still remembered.

“We’re to have a crush on our hands,” one of the servants said. And it was true. No one in the county, no matter how socially superior, would dare turn down an invitation to Blackthorne Manor.

There were too many memories here.

As Mae climbed the stairs, she could see the guests between the banisters again. An apparition of her mother was there too, greeting everyone with smiles and nods. Mae closed her eyes and returned to the ballroom. Great swells of skirts soared across the dance floor in smooth, gentle waves, breaking apart, then pulling together again.

But those were the golden years, long past , Mae thought. And these are the dark ages.

Reaching her room, she plopped down on her bed. From her bodice, she pulled out the key. The metal was so tarnished, it didn’t shine, not even in the window light. Scratching at it, Mae barely caught a shimmer.

How strange that this one key could change her life forever. That if she managed to find the vault first, she might not only elude Locke and Ellsworth, but poverty itself.

She could not let Locke’s words distract her now. She had to toss emotion aside and trust no one. His promise of protection had to be little more than a manipulation, just another tactic to keep her agreeable. She had to think. Where else might the vault be, if not the cellar? Where else might she find another clue?

A knock shook her door, shattering her thoughts. She tucked the key into her bodice and sat up. “Yes? ”

“It is your employer. Let me in.”

Mae unlatched the lock and stepped back. Before “Come in” could so much as leave her mouth, Mrs. Rosewood stormed forward her eyes surveying her room, undoubtedly for tidiness.

“It has come to my attention that there will be an uneven number of guests tonight,” Mrs. Rosewood began immediately, needing no preamble to speak with her inferiors. “Therefore, it is incumbent upon me to offer you an invitation.”

Mae stilled, the horror of such a request stealing her breath. “Mrs. Rosewood…I cannot.”

She might as well get on her knees and beg. It would be a far more bearable indignity than enduring all the people who had once dared to call her friend.

Already, she could hear the whispers. It was enough to send her stomach roiling with anxiety. Surely, this fact had not been lost upon her employer. Mrs. Rosewood knew as well as anyone that she would face these people no longer as an equal, but an inferior. For those considered high society, it was reason enough to attend.

Mae grit her teeth. More likely, it was the reason behind Mrs. Rosewood’s invitation. Perhaps her employer had been planning it all along.

“You know as well as I the importance of this ball,” Mrs. Rosewood said.

Yes, Mae had been acquainted with enough social climbing lackwits to know that tonight would set the stage for Miss Lenore’s debut in a couple of years. If the Rosewoods were to attract the highest-ranking members of society for her hand, they had to uphold every decorum and, more importantly, fulfill every expectation.

“I will not risk violating proper etiquette,” Mrs. Rosewood continued. “And I will take no refusal.”

Mae’s heart sank. Begging would prove useless to a mother with her sights on a title. To Mrs. Rosewood, Mae was just another rung on the social ladder. To fail now would be as good as death.

“I have nothing to wear.”

“Your usual gown will do. Goodness, I don’t wish you to attract attention.” She released a wave of ugly laughter.

Mae bit her lip, tasting blood. “Of course not.”

“And do be on your best behavior. In exchange, I will have Mr. Rosewood introduce you to a few of the gentlemen. Who knows. Perhaps a woman of your background might chance upon a desperate bachelor. Wouldn’t that be lucky?”

Lucky? Mae wanted to snarl. That was the last thing she considered herself. Still, accepting the introduction meant she might not have to be alone. She would need the distraction, so perhaps a companion would help stifle the humiliation.

“Please do,” Mae said weakly.

Mrs. Rosewood nodded and stalked out of the room, leaving Mae with a heavy sense of dread.

Damn Ellsworth and Locke, she should leave now. Run off to London like the scullery maid and, and…starve. Mae paced back to her bed, drumming her fingers. More than ever, she needed to escape this life of taking orders. She didn’t care what the cost. If it meant she would die in those efforts, so be it.