Chapter Eleven
Dearest reader, I have it on good authority that the utterly scandalous Mr. P (whose exploits have been detailed in this very brochure many times over) has arrived at Hollyhead to aid his dear friend, the Blacksmith Duke.
Now this is an exciting turn of events! Does the duke need help managing the peculiar Nichols girls?
Have the ladies, led by a Lady C.N. outsmarted him already?
There is word that the late duke himself left most unusual instructions as to what has been left behind for the taking.
No one expected the Rothesay coffers to be full, but did its former steward provide something else?
I am in the process of trying to confirm what this mystery may be.
In the meantime, we wish the Blacksmith Duke and the salacious Mr. P luck wrangling the four sisters.
This author would like to warn the men to take care! For while they may think they are beating the Nichols girls at their own game, they may find themselves the ones deceived…
“Remind me again why we are waiting in a rose garden,” Peverill said, unscrewing the top of a flask.
The two men were leaning up against one of the low walls of Hollyhead’s extensive gardens that proved to be a maze as they attempted to find an adequate hiding place.
Finally, they had ducked behind a marble balustrade, waiting patiently for the young Ladies Nichols to arrive.
The moon was obstructed by clouds this evening, and everything was gray and blurred under its snuffed light.
Yet, their instructions were clear. They needed to be near the statue of Venus.
“Because the youngest daughter has decided to act as my informant,” he said. “And she expressly told me that the two elder ones are planning on searching the sculpture garden later this evening in an attempt to beat us to the Rothesay treasure.”
“You know,” Peverill said in that laid-back way of his, “if you would have told me ten years ago that you would inherit a broke dukedom and four wards, two of whom were trying to cause you ruin, I would have found that very strange. But for some reason I have an unusual sense of calm about everything.”
“What’s your point?” Justin asked, growing impatient. He kept his eyes trained on the statue.
The spicy smell of rum filled his nostrils as Peverill took a sip of the liquor. He offered some to Justin, who waved it away.
“My point is,” Peverill began, “that life has a funny way of giving us exactly what we need at the time, even if we can’t see it immediately.”
“You’ve always said that,” Justin replied, “and yet I failed to see it come to fruition on many occasions. The last thing I needed was for this whole ordeal to happen.”
Peverill shrugged. “Well, I could have said the same thing about my time in India. But it gave me this friendship… though I may be regretting it heartily at the moment.”
Justin was in no mood for sentimentality. Luckily, footsteps made them go quiet.
“What makes you think it’s this one?” Justin immediately recognized Cordelia’s soft lilt.
“Surrounded by friends,” Portia replied, her voice thick as she recounted the words of the riddle. “Here she is, Apollo on one side and Mars on the other.”
“And how do you expect her to reveal the secret exactly?” Cordelia countered. Justin could picture her placing her delicate hands on the expanse of her hips.
“Why d’you think I’ve brought this?” Portia asked.
Peverill raised an eyebrow and Justin shrugged his shoulders.
“Portia!” Cordelia exclaimed and then their voices became frantic whispers.
“We should confront them now,” Peverill said, readying himself to stand.
Justin grabbed the jacket of his coat to pull him back to the ground, but it was too late. Peverill was up and adjusting his lapels. Ignoring Justin’s signals, he stepped over his friend’s boots and directly into the ladies’ path.
“Good evening,” he said, his deep voice carrying across the still night air.
Cursing, Justin followed him.
*
Cordelia’s face blanched as she saw the men approaching. The mallet that she had ripped from Portia’s hands was too heavy to toss. Instead, she held it behind her, hoping that they would not be able to see in the dark.
“What have you got there?” Peverill asked, nodding to the instrument.
“An old family tradition!” Portia cut in. Cordelia resisted the urge to groan.
“Tradition?” Mr. Wright echoed as he came to complete their small circle.
“Yes,” Portia continued. “A very old… ancient one. Something the Rothesay women do every spring, when there’s a full moon about.”
“Sounds awfully witch-like,” Peverill replied, his eyes boring holes into Portia’s. “Does it involve stripping naked and worshipping the moon?”
“I beg your pardon!” Cordelia said, guffawing.
“As much as a rake like you would have appreciated something that vulgar, this is quite different,” Portia said. “And it is to be done with absolutely no men about. So if you two would please excuse us…” She began walking ahead, waving her hand for Cordelia to follow, but Peverill stood in her way.
“Why the mallet then, my dear?” he asked.
Portia bristled at the endearment. Cordelia looked over to Mr. Wright, who had folded his arms and bore a rather skeptical look.
“It’s… it’s rather complicated, you see,” Portia began.
“I am now absolutely intrigued, Lady Portia,” Peverill said. “Isn’t that right, Wright?”
“Indeed,” he said. “No reason for you ladies to be out and about at this hour. Unless, of course, it is something rather important.”
“Oh, it is,” Portia said. “Isn’t that right, Cordelia?”
Cordelia nodded dumbly, bringing the mallet forward. “Quite,” she managed to choke out.
“Once per year,” Portia said. ‘We are required to destroy a statue in the garden. Something that represents what we would like to improve upon…. Erm… moving forward.”
“Really?” Peverill challenged, not bothering to disguise the laughter in his voice. “That sounds absolutely absurd.”
“Cordelia,” Portia said, turning to face her sister, her smile tight. “Perhaps you would like to explain?”
Botheration. “Yes,” Cordelia said, returning the smile. “And this year, it seems that our dear Venus will need to go.”
“Why is that?” Mr. Wright asked, rather suddenly. His blue eyes seemed almost black in the dark, and they narrowed as they examined Cordelia from head to toe.
“Venus is the symbol of lust, temptation, and licentiousness,” Portia replied, clasping her hands behind her back. “Based on present company, you can understand why we would be eager to ensure protection from those forces this year. Now, if you’ll excuse us—”
Before they could move on ahead, Peverill reached for the mallet. “Thank you, love,” he said, taking it easily out of Cordelia’s hands.
“Wait!” she shouted, but it was too late. Peverill took one full swing and knocked Venus to the ground. She cracked in half, her head rolling to a stop near Cordelia’s feet.
There were not many times in their life that Portia had been stunned to silence. She turned to face her sister, cheeks ruddy, her mouth opening and closing like a fish.
“There appears to be nothing here,” Peverill said, examining the statue like a carcass. Mr. Wright went to stand beside him, picking up one of the marble pieces and turning it about in his large hands.
“What made you ladies think to try this statue? Out of all the others?” Mr. Wright asked.
Portia hiked her nose in the air. “I have no idea of which you are referring to, Your Grace,” she hedged.
Peverill sighed heavily, “Come on now, girls. We know you’ve been searching for the treasure. Now that your efforts are very much in vain, perhaps we can put all of our heads together. The sooner we find it, the better.”
Cordelia knew that he was making sense. She knew that it would be better to have this wild treasure hunt resolved so they could all move on with their lives.
She’d known it deep down since Portia convinced her of the wild scheme.
But as she watched her younger sister roll her shoulders back and hold her head high, she also steeled herself.
“I assure you, gentlemen, we were simply doing our duty as the last living women of the Rothesay dynasty. Now that Mr. Peverill has taken it upon himself to steal that from us, I dearly hope you are adept at reversing curses,” Portia said.
Cordelia, trying to hide a snigger, took her sister’s arm in hers.
Peverill snorted.
“This curse is no more real than your ludicrous tale,” Mr. Wright said. Portia tensed at the harshness in his voice.
“I’m not sure curses care whether or not you believe in them,” Cordelia found herself piping up. “In any case, before the night becomes any worse and Mrs. Norris finds us here unchaperoned, we’d better leave.”
“Mrs. Norris finding us certainly would be ill luck,” Peverill replied, “but I have a hard time seeing how our own reputations would be damaged.”
Cordelia smiled graciously and curtsied to the men, preparing to steer her sister away before she could respond to Mr. Peverill’s barbs.
“I will see you tomorrow morning, Lady Cordelia. Does eight o’clock suffice?”
Cordelia, caught out, could barely contain her surprise. “Whatever for!” she exclaimed.
“We never finished our tour of Hollyhead. There are some tenants I wish to visit as well. I know that you and your sister are quite familiar with them,” Mr. Wright said, his gaze hard. It was difficult not to feel chastised by him when he spoke like that, his voice tinged with vinegar.
“Of course, Your Grace,” Cordelia replied through gritted teeth.
With a nod from Mr. Wright, the parties dispersed into the night. A thick fog was forming on Hollyhead’s grounds. Just gloomy enough to match the sudden shift in Cordelia’s mood.
“Here I was thinking Peverill was the one to watch for,” Portia murmured when they were at a safe distance. “But it seems like Mr. Wright might be the more cunning of the two. He’s certainly on to us. Next, he’s going to make you spend every waking minute by his side.”
Cordelia tried not to picture what spending every waking minute next to Mr. Wright’s side looked like. Because that would mean breakfasting, walking, reading, and spending the night together… alone. Cordelia dropped her sister’s hand, hiking her skirts up as she marched through the dewy grass.
“What a stupid story that was,” Cordelia hissed as they came to the glass door by the library. “I mean, really, Portia? A ritual under the full moon?”
Portia couldn’t help herself; she burst out laughing.
Cordelia’s annoyance melted away as she, too, collapsed into a fit of giggles.
It took them several minutes to compose themselves, worried about waking Mrs. Norris or one of their younger sisters with their tittering.
Taking in deep breaths of air, Cordelia and Portia slipped in through the door, making sure it clicked back into place silently before tiptoeing back to their respective bedrooms.
“It was a good guess though, don’t you think?” Portia mentioned as they did their best not to trip over themselves in the dark. “I can’t rightly think of anything else with a spine…”
Cordelia felt her breath catch as she considered her sister’s words.
Spine. Friends. Night.
Portia stopped in front of the door to her bedroom. She yawned, holding a sleeve to her mouth to muffle the sound. “Good night then,” she whispered.
“Good night,” Cordelia replied.
“We’ll find it, Lia. Don’t you worry. You won’t have to spend another minute with that man if I have any say in it,” Portia said, offering her a reassuring smile.
“I know,” Cordelia replied.
Portia shut the door. Cordelia held her breath as she listened for the creak of her sister’s bed. Sure enough, when there was no more movement coming from behind the other side of the door, she raced down the corridor and to the library.
The servants had put the fire out. The only light that was visible came from the great windows. But the moonlight was dim, hidden behind clouds. Without a lantern to guide her, she tripped over a footstool, yelping as she fell to the ground.
“Bother,” she swore to herself, tensing every muscle in her body while she waited for a footman to rush in.
But no one came.
Holding her breath, she stood, her gaze scanning the stacks of books. And then there it was. It was so subtle that it could have been a trick of the light. But the longer her gaze focused on it, the more the words jumped out at her: Look here.
Cordelia crept over to the shining yellowish scrawl.
She’d never seen anything like this in her life.
The text glowed in the darkness. She could make out some of the lettering on the spines of other books, when the light coming from the windows seemed to hit them just right.
But this was glowing. And it appeared it had been written by hand.
She hesitated a moment before plucking the book off of the shelf. Padding over to the window, she could finally make out the title. William Shakespeare: the Complete Works.
“My God,” she breathed, thumbing through the enormous volume. She had no idea what could possibly be contained in its hundreds of pages, so imaginative were these riddles becoming.
Just then, the creaking of the door made her slam the tome shut. She coughed as some dust was expelled.
“Lia?”
Cordelia allowed herself to exhale. Turning, she found her youngest sister, clad only in a nightgown, rubbing her eyes, tired from sleep.
“What are you doing up at this hour, dearest?” Cordelia whispered. She promptly walked over and gathered Bea in her arms, taking a moment to balance both the book and the girl.
“I heard you and Portia whispering about something or other and I came to see what it was all about. But then I saw the library door was open, so I came to find you.”
“You’re a brave girl for doing that. Shall we go and get some hot cocoa from the kitchens?”
Bea perked up at that. “Yes, please!” she said happily.
Placing Bea safely on the ground, she ventured back to the empty space where the Shakespeare volume had resided.
Now that the moon had come out and the light was clearer, she found that it had been placed, not amongst other poets, but between a rather small copy of Faustus by Christopher Marlow and a biography of Queen Elizabeth I.
Cordelia smiled to herself. Among friends.
“Lia!” Bea called, as quietly as she could manage, from the doorway.
Going to join Bea in the corridor, Cordelia decided that for now, she would keep this latest development to herself.
But hopefully not for long; the treasure would be in her hands and Hollyhead would be theirs.
Her heart fluttered in her chest as she followed Bea to the kitchens; she could barely tamp down her excitement.
Soon, she promised herself. Soon.