Chapter 5
The solution to Bonnie’s dilemma came to Tiffany in a dream, which was really quite strange. Strange in that she figured it out thanks to a dream, not the dream itself.
Although the dream itself was fairly strange now she thought about it.
In it, Tiffany was looking down at her hands, which carried stacks of old-fashioned scrolls.
When she looked up, the stranger from the garden was there, grinning mockingly.
His face was caked with dirt, making her recoil.
Before she could decide if she was recoiling from him or his filth—and which one made her a worse person—she’d glanced back down again, and this time, her hands were cradling a frog, who looked at her with the most knowing expression, before hopping up and trying to kiss her.
Thankfully, Tiffany’s brain decided that was a good time to wake her, and she opened her eyes in the pre-dawn glow, with only the mildest of shudders, and managed to clamp her lips down on the startled scream the whole frog-attack thing provoked.
She pulled a pillow over her face and tried to slow her heartbeat. Under the blankets, her fingers curled into fists, and she resisted the urge to brush her hands off, reminding herself they weren’t really covered in frog juices.
The dream had been just that: a nonsensical dream.
The frog she’d caught by the well hadn’t been slimy, hadn’t wanted to kiss her. The stranger had been dirty, yes, but polite. And the last time she’d seen old scrolls like that…
Actually….
Under the pillow, her eyes flashed open, and in a sudden frantic burst of energy, she pushed the thing off her and sat up.
The last time she’d seen old-fashioned scrolls and manuscripts like that had been when her Father, the Baron, was alive, and had taken her and Bonnie to visit his aunt Gertrude near York.
Although Bonnie had always been the academic, it had been Tiffany who discovered that box of relics from their clan at that old antiquities store.
Wide-eyed now, she switched her gaze to the way the curtains were valiantly fighting against the dawn light.
Tiffany remembered finding the large wooden box in one of the back aisles; she would have ignored it, except for the ornately carved “Oliphant” along the top.
She’d been young enough to have been fascinated to see her clan name with that many curlicues—really, how many squiggles did one “O” need? —so she’d dug inside.
Most of the relics had been uninteresting to her—old scrolls and tied-together books—but there had been a set of daggers and an interesting longsword.
She’d pulled it out and had been waving it about, imagining the battles it must have seen, when her mother had appeared in the shop, berating her father for dragging her princesses to such dusty environs.
Mother had yanked the sword from Tiffany’s hands, plunked it on the counter, and dragged her out, lecturing her on how a beautiful young lady should act.
It wasn’t the last time Tiffany had visited The Curios Cabinet with Papa, but it was the last time she’d gone poking about in interesting-looking bins.
Which was a shame, because yesterday’s conversation with Bonnie had reminded her how much she’d enjoyed those adventures. That had been before she realized her purpose in life was to be quiet, demure, and as beautiful as possible.
A face flashed before her: a beard under a thick layer of dirt, and one green eye laughing at her.
Frowning, Tiffany pushed it away as she nudged her braid over her shoulder.
She told herself she was only remembering the stranger because of the dream, not because his layers of grime reminded her of that antiquities shop.
Or because his mocking made her feel uncomfortable in her skin.
It was better to focus on the other thing her dream reminded her of: the treasures she’d found all those years ago. Those treasures…and Bonnie’s need for money.
“Bonnie?” she whispered, and a sort of snorting snuffle from the room’s other bed answered her.
She and her sister had always shared a room, but Tiffany had been quite young when she’d insisted on Mother finding another bed for Bonnie, after one of her sister’s flailing arms had given Tiffany a black eye.
Bonnie was not only the deepest sleeper she knew, but also the most athletic.
“Bonnie?” she called again, louder. Still no answer, not that it was a surprise.
With a sigh, Tiffany swung her legs over the edge of the bed and didn’t even bother looking for her slippers in her hurry to reach her sister. But the floor was cold, and Bonnie didn’t wake up with a gentle nudge, so Tiffany pulled back the covers and slid in beside her.
“Bonnie!” She nudged her.
With a mutter, her sister rolled over and flopped one arm around Tiffany, pinning her down. Tiffany rolled her eyes. “Bonnie, wake up! I must speak to you!”
“Ooh, you great beast!” murmured Bonnie, snuggling closer. “Yes!”
Tiffany narrowed her eyes. “Sister?” She poked Bonnie in the side. “Wake up!”
That was when her sister tried to kiss her.
So, Tiffany, out of sheer desperation, did what any good sister would do, and shoved her cold feet against Bonnie’s calves.
With a startled gasp, Bonnie jerked upright, and managed to snag her elbow in Tiffany’s night-rail on the way.
“Whazzit? Wha—” She shook her head once, then blinked hard at the bed’s new occupant. “Tiffany? Bloody hell, your feet are cold!”
“Out of self-defense, I assure you, sister dear.”
“What?” Bonnie yawned. “What time is it?”
“Stop asking irrelevant questions.” Tiffany grabbed her hand. “Bonnie, I figured out a solution to your money woes!”
“My what?”
Goodness, she really didn’t wake up quickly—or very alertly—did she?
“I”—Tiffany pointed to herself with her free hand—“have figured out a way to get you”—she squeezed Bonnie’s hand—“the money you need to buy Mr. Grimm’s publishing house!
Bonnie blinked at her. “You did?”
“I did. Do you want to hear it?”
“Can I lie back down and close my eyes?”
“Only if you promise not to fall asleep.”
Her sister snuggled down. “I would never. Alright, I am ready.”
Excitedly, Tiffany began. “Do you recall how, yesterday, you reminded me of our trips to The Curios Cabinet in York? Great-Aunt Gertrude used to enjoy spending time with the proprietor, Mr. Ferguson.”
“You used to read to him because his eyesight was going bad,” Bonnie murmured. “I cannot believe you remember his name.”
“I was older than you, my memory was better.”
“You were older than me, which means you were a better reader. That is the only reason he asked you.”
With a faint snort, Tiffany elbowed her sister. “Be nice. I am about to save your arse.”
“Such language.” Bonnie tsked, her smile flashing in the dim light. “Alright. Go on.”
“Do you recall last week, when we went to Dumpkins for tea, Lady Athena was telling us about her father’s drive to collect Oliphant relics?”
She could feel her sister’s sudden sharp interest. “Yes,” she said, slowly pushing herself up on her elbows. “Athena said she was particularly interested in Oliphant history related to women.”
“Yes, but they were willing to pay not just for the antiquities and manuscripts, but finder’s fees and bonuses. Athena said there was one that was worth almost two hundred pounds!”
Bonnie nodded solemnly in the pre-dawn light, eyes wide.
“Well…” Tiffany took a deep breath. “I remember where there is—or was—a large box of Oliphant relics at The Curios Cabinet.”
Bonnie sat straight up. “Tiffany Oliphant, are you serious?”
“As an attack of the vapors, dear sister.” Smiling, Tiffany sat up as well, tucking her feet under her.
“The box was tucked in a dark corner, and although I was far more interested in the relics, I remember there being plenty of documents, papers, scrolls, and manuscripts in there as well. It is possible some of the items are still there!”
Her sister grabbed her hand. “They would be worth much to Athena and her father!”
“I only wish I had had the chance to look though the scrolls.”
“You did not?” Her sister sounded concerned, and Tiffany found herself wincing as she explained.
“Mother discovered me gleefully digging through the antiquities, and dragged me away. She told me ladies—especially ones as beautiful as I am—do not play with dusty old swords.”
Deflated, Bonnie sagged back against the covers. “You know how I feel about Mother’s opinion of your beauty—”
“I am—”
“Yes, you are very beautiful, but you are more than that, Tiffany. Do not allow her to shape you into a vain, self-centered being.”
Too late.
Tiffany swallowed. “Yes, well, the point is, I did not have the chance to fully investigate that box. I could write a letter to Mr. Ferguson, assuming he is still alive, but that would clue him into the relics’ potential worth.”
“It would be better to visit,” Bonnie agreed, “And just pretend that we are browsing. We could haggle him down.”
“No, it has to be me. I am the one who remembers exactly where it was in the shop, and I am the one Mr. Ferguson used to love.” And although she didn’t want to admit it, Tiffany was suddenly desperate that she be the one to find those relics for her sister.
She wanted to prove that she was worth more than just her beauty.
Bonnie was watching her carefully. “You are serious, sister?” she whispered. “You are considering going all the way to York for this?”
Yes.
Yes she was.
Tiffany took a deep, shuddering breath, suddenly more certain of this than she’d been of anything in her life. “I am going to find those manuscripts and whatever else is available. I am going to give them to you to sell to Athena and the laird.”
“And receive more money than Mother could ever hope to provide for your dowry?” Bonnie asked wryly.
Her brows drawn in another frown, Tiffany shook her head. “I do not— I am not planning on marrying any time soon.”
“What about Lysander?”
What about him?