Nine
Thea
Thea carried the stack of design books into the makeshift schoolroom.
The Usually immaculate Lavender glanced up from the worktable, appearing a bit ragged around the edges, her wispy curls falling from their pins and her lace soiled with dust. She regarded the hefty tomes Thea carried with evident horror.
The boys, however, pounced upon the volumes enthusiastically.
“Meera is still with the patient?” Thea asked, distracting the modiste from imagined book monsters.
“Yes. I think Weston is awake. I didn’t know if we should send for Lord Fortescue or how. He seemed in need of rest.” She clasped her hands anxiously.
“He told me you needed your sewing basket, but I couldn’t carry it and the books too.
Arnaud should be along shortly, but I don’t know if he has hands for it either.
He’s fetching a mattress so he might sleep in here.
Not having servants is extremely awkward.
” Thea had grown up with an entire household of servants at her beck and call.
The limited staff in the manor had been an adjustment.
Protecting the earl by having no servants at all. . .
If she and Arnaud married now, they would never have servants.
Her trust allowance was small, and she’d sacrifice the whole that she stood to inherit in a few years.
His French home was a burned-out shell, his land producing nothing after years of war.
Art galleries did not pay for servants. Marriage shouldn’t be so complicated.
“I’ll talk to Meera,” Thea reassured her cousin. “Now that Davy and Oliver have books, you might run out on your errands.”
Once Lavender ran off, out of curiosity and because she had no interest in schoolrooms, Thea crossed the hall to see if their physician needed help. As she entered, the earl growled impatiently, then winced as Meera removed a bandage to check and clean his wound.
For a nearly forty-year-old man, Weston was in good physical shape, Thea noted with interest. He couldn’t compare with Arnaud, of course, who was a few years younger.
Having lived in London society for some years, she knew how a handsome, wealthy earl stayed unmarried.
Given her current situation, she couldn’t disapprove.
“We charge a shilling per curse, my lord. You’ll owe the village a small fortune shortly,” she admonished. “Rafe can use the coin, so feel free to continue.”
“His lordship has no coin,” Meera warned, applying salve, engendering another string of oaths. “Lord Fortescue emptied his purse last night in exchange for my services.”
“Eccentrics,” Weston muttered. “Lot of you. Where’s Birdy?”
“Are we speaking of Lord Fortescue, the gentleman who has disarranged an entire household to conceal your presence from. . . what, exactly?” Thea handed Meera the bandages she gestured for.
“You’ve become more contrary with age, Miss Talbot. Marry my indolent brother, make him wealthy, and you two birds of a feather may fly together.” Weston hid his grimace with his insults.
Marry Birdwhistle? That would solve a few problems—and create worse.
“Your humor has not improved, my lord.” She turned back to Meera. “I gather he will survive?”
“If we can keep the wounds clean and closed. Are you right-handed, my lord?”
“Of course. Birdy is the lefty. We tried to beat it out of him. Didn't work.” Grumpily, the earl glared over Thea’s shoulder to whoever had just arrived. “You gave my purse to witches?”
“I gave your purse to the best physician in all England so she might keep an entire village healthy. It’s not as if you’ll miss it.” Fort entered and bowed politely. “Dr. Walker, thank you for enduring the abuse. My brother makes a very poor patient.”
“No worse than most.” Meera finished tying off the bandages. “Give him gruel until he behaves. Don’t let him use his left arm or it will open the wound. He’s lost a great deal of blood. He needs rest and beef broth.”
“No gruel, no broth. A side of beef and potatoes,” his arrogant lordship commanded.
Walking the overworked physician to the door, Thea spoke loudly. “Dr. Walker, if you’ll tell the kitchen the boys are suffering from their measles and you recommend broth for a day or so, it will save me a trip, thank you.”
Meera laughed and left.
“Birdy. . .” the earl said threateningly.
The mild-mannered tutor grinned despite the weary, worried lines on his brow. “I’m in charge here, Mont. Keep calling me that and you’ll starve.”
The earl collapsed into his pillows. “Get the hell out, Miss Talbot. You do not wish to see murder committed.”
“Murder has already been committed,” she retorted. “And we are all very fond of Lord Fortescue. It would be most unfortunate for you if anything happens to him.”
Thea sailed out and practically into Arnaud’s arms, except they were full of bedding. She sighed in disappointment. There would be no trysts in his tower studio if he was settling here as guardian.
“Weston threw me out before I learned anything.” She forestalled his question. “Are you staying here? Shall I oversee the gallery?”
“I left our starving artists in charge. It’s not as if Humphries or his cohorts are interested in art.” He hauled the mattress to an empty chamber next to the sickroom.
They both studied the peeling ceiling. Some painter had presumably attempted to duplicate the Sistine Chapel, without a great deal of success or even a good copy to work from.
“Shall I bring in your paints?” Thea suggested, eyeing the ceiling dubiously. “Or would you rather go blind and cross-eyed staring up at that?”
“I’m not entirely certain I dare touch a painting anywhere in this accursed puzzle box until we find the remainder of the Wycliffe jewels,” he muttered in disgruntlement.
“You believe there really are more hidden gems?” Thea couldn’t help but be skeptical, despite having helped uncover a pirate trove the late earl had very evidently known about—and the clue had been in ancient paintings.
“The pendants have never been found. They’re worth at least as much as the trinkets we’ve uncovered thus far.” Arnaud flung the mattress across floor tiles decorated in fleur-de-lis.
“He assumed, rightfully, that his immediate heirs didn’t need the jewels and wouldn’t waste time hunting, and he is offering them as a reward to any of our generation desperate and diligent enough to work out his puzzles.” Thea began arranging the linens over the mattress.
“Insane enough to understand his puzzles, you mean. Those lads have worked hard to figure out his clues, without success. It took your ghost to help us find clues to the pirate trove. I’m not certain why he rewarded us with diamonds for opening up the pendulums. We must face the fact that the late earl went mad after his only male heir died.
” Arnaud shoved open a drapery and had it crumble off the rod.
“Fixing the case clock was a boon to the housekeeping staff and an act of respect to the artistry of the clockmaker, even if it wasn’t one of us who called for the repair.
I’m sure there is a lesson in that. But I fear that, even if the boys figure out the puzzle, it will only lead to one pendant and more puzzles.
” Thea examined the fallen drapery and leaned into Arnaud’s shoulder when he placed an arm around her.
She loved this man dearly, if only he’d accept that he was worth loving.
“They’re doing all that work to find just one pendant? They’ll never try again, if so.” Arnaud rested his chin on her hair while they studied the dreary morning outside the window.
“Given the size of the pendants in the gallery portraits, just one ruby is worth more than the diamonds and pirate gold. I have no clear idea of how many have disappeared. I believe Clare still has her mother’s, so some of the other ladies probably do too.”
He grunted, presumably in agreement. “Well, the lads will have gained quite an education in their search, so I suppose that might be another of Wycliffe’s lessons. But it seems to me the puzzles require as much creativity as knowledge, and our students seriously lack that.”
“But they’re learning the usefulness of creativity. . .” She stopped and leaned toward the window. “Is that someone climbing over the back wall?”
The howling hound verified her fear.