Chapter 5
Five
“You couldn’t sleep either, Finn?”
Finn looked up from the letter she’d been perusing at the kitchen table. In the candlelight, Nell seemed to float into the room. Her white flannel nightgown and spectacles made her look like a studious ghost.
Finn shook off the fanciful thought. “I’m too restless.”
“Because of Owen Harrington.”
Given how clever Nell was, Finn knew there was no point in lying.
She had already told the Hawks about her failed attempt to win him over last night.
Truth be told, she’d been brooding all day.
She did not like having the tables turned on her by some swell who had more brains than she gave him credit for and kissed like he was blooming Casanova himself.
Of course, she wasn’t going to tell Nell—or anyone—about the last part. Bad enough that Owen kept thwarting her plans. She would rather take on a pack of Peelers than admit that she had let lust get in the way—again. That she, Finn Kidd, had lost control of a situation because of a bleeding kiss.
Twice.
Argh. What is the matter with me?
“My bait was working,” Finn said tightly. “When I mentioned Rosalinda, a look came into his eyes—for an instant, he believed me. I know he did. He had half a mind to invite me to Bottoms House to talk Bloody Thom into breaking the curse.”
“Do you think he believes that Bloody Thom is real?”
“Bluebloods.” Finn curled her lip. “They’re so bored they’ll believe anything that promises excitement. Which is why my scheme will work. All I have to do is get past blooming Owen Harrington.”
“Is that why you’re studying the letter?”
Finn gave a resolute nod. “I might have missed a detail. Something I could use to convince him of my powers.”
“Two heads are better than one,” Nell offered.
“Three heads are even better!”
Tansy pranced into the kitchen. She’d convinced someone to put curling rags into her hair—Simon, most likely, since the knots were perfectly tied. Her nightgown was one that Nell had outgrown many seasons ago.
Finn sighed. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”
“I’m hungry,” Tansy said.
“Mrs. Thornton sent leftovers from Pie and Fool night,” Nell said. “I’ll get them.”
For some reason, the prickly cook had taken a liking to the Hawks, and Finn wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Soon the three of them were digging into tart-sweet gooseberry pie and washing it down with glasses of milk.
Finn laid the letter between them on the table.
Time had yellowed and wrinkled the parchment, and the ink had faded to a light violet.
Yet the words, written in a steady hand, remained clear:
Dear Rosalinda,
We have never formally met, and perhaps Fate has intended that we never will.
My frailty has prevented me from searching for you.
I had hoped you might someday return—but I also understand why you might never wish to see this cursed place again.
Now the end of my time is nearing, and I grow too weary to carry the burden of restitution.
It will fall upon destiny to decide how wrongs will be righted and how the scales will be balanced.
I know what happened. What was taken from you—who was taken from you.
Yet duty and cowardice kept me silent. I acted too late; in doing so, I failed to act at all. Complicity has been my gravest sin. My remaining hope is that my attempt at atonement will reach you after I am gone.
To that end, I have held for you a family heirloom: an emerald parure that will bring freedom to you and those of your blood for generations to come.
To safeguard the treasure from grasping hands—especially those of my kin—I must be cryptic in my instructions regarding its retrieval.
I must speak in words only you understand.
Begin the search where the blood of yours was shed. In this place that can sink no lower than its name, you will find what I have left in a place dedicated to you. May God keep you safe on your journey, and may He forgive my trespasses.
Your servant,
Felix Pearce
Finn recalled the first time she’d laid eyes on this letter: at the London flash house of Alexander Carver.
At the time, the slimy bastard had been “courting” Iris and had oozed charm, dazzling the Hawks with his warm hospitality.
A handsome devil with golden hair and blue eyes, Carver was a master of manipulation.
“My dear Iris mentioned you have a head for riddles,” Carver had drawled. “I happen to have one in need of solving. I obtained this perplexing letter from a fellow who belongs to the Corrigans.”
“Corrigans?” Finn had taken her first sip of champagne, wrinkling her nose when the bubbles tickled. “Never heard of them.”
“They’re of little import,” Carver replied smoothly.
“The Corrigans were ousted from a village called Chuddums, and this fellow came to me with a letter, claiming that he unearthed it from an old mill belonging to the prominent Pearce family. He believes that the author of the letter, Felix Pearce, was a relation of Langdon Pearce, a citizen of great wealth and standing. According to local lore, Langdon died some eighty-odd years ago after being cursed by a witch.”
“Superstitious bumpkins.”
Carver laughed appreciatively. “Indeed. But this is where it gets interesting. Soon after Langdon’s death, his widow accused the witch of stealing the family heirloom: her bridal jewels, commissioned by her wealthy papa from the jeweler to King George III, had disappeared.
Apparently, the parure of emeralds was priceless.
But this letter gives another explanation for the vanished treasure.
It was stolen—hidden somewhere by this Felix Pearce. And I would like your help finding it.”
“Why don’t you get it yourself?” Finn asked. “You’ve got the men and resources.”
“Ah, but I don’t have someone with your ability to solve puzzles, dear Finn.”
Carver’s seductive smile had made Finn uneasy. She’d looked at Iris, who was dreamy-eyed, sitting in the cutthroat’s lap while he stroked her coppery hair as if she were a pet.
“Also, I have, shall we say, a history in that county,” Carver said easily. “It’s best if I don’t remind the local authorities of my existence. But you and the Hawks are unknown in Berkshire, and I would consider your assistance a personal favor.”
Iris had spoken up, her green eyes beseeching. “Please say you’ll help Alex. For my sake.”
Finn had never been able to refuse her friend.
Now Finn said with feeling, “I wish I had never seen this blasted letter.”
“It is not your fault for figuring out that the treasure is in Bottoms House,” Nell said. “You were clever to piece together the murder of Thomas Mulligan with the ‘place that can sink no lower than its name.’”
“No, what I did was stupid. Like blooding a hound before the hunt,” Finn said darkly. “Now Carver is obsessed with getting those emeralds. If we don’t find them, he’ll hurt Iris—or worse.”
Agony constricted Finn’s chest. Although Iris was only three years older, she’d been a natural leader and nurturing friend. She’d brought the Hawks together, protected them, given them a place to belong. Without Iris, there would be no gang: she was their beating heart.
“Not if I hurt Carver first,” Tansy volunteered.
“No violence.” With the edge of her sleeve, Finn wiped the gooseberry filling from the girl’s cheek and looked into her wide blue eyes. “Despite your talents, you are no match for Alex Carver and his army of cutthroats.”
“How would you know?” Tansy pouted.
“Put the idea out of your head,” Finn said sharply, the way Iris would. “The last thing I need is to have both you and Iris at the mercy of Carver.”
“Finn is right,” Nell said. “We must focus on getting into Bottoms House.”
“I could—” Tansy began.
“No,” Finn and Nell said as one.
“Since the Corrigans used Bottoms House to stash stolen goods and infiltrated the household staff with members of their gang, the Harringtons have kept their guard up,” Finn explained.
“Ethan Harrington retains as many servants as a grand London lord. The family also has a reputation for sticking together.”
“All of Chuddums has an eye out for the Harringtons,” Nell added.
“I’ve heard the villagers credit the family for improving Chuddums’s fortunes; they think the Harringtons will break the so-called curse.
These clodhoppers might seem harmless, but they protect their own.
I went to scout Bottoms House and didn’t make it past the gate before I was approached by some old codger named Wally. ”
“You never mentioned this.” Finn frowned. “Did he seem suspicious?”
“More like nosy.” Nell shrugged. “When I pretended I was lost, he offered me a tour of the village. I made my excuses and got out of there. My point is that these folk look out for one another. Even if we managed to break into the manor undetected, we would have little time to search for the treasure. And if we failed, we would risk alerting the marks, making another search nigh impossible.”
“We must use our wiles, rather than force, to get in,” Finn agreed.
“Your wiles didn’t work on Owen Harrington,” Tansy said sulkily.
She was right, and the reminder of that failure curdled Finn’s belly.
“I should have gathered more information about him,” Finn muttered. “Before we came and put our stratagem into play.”
“How could you possibly guess that the random cove you targeted in London two months ago would turn out to be the youngest brother of the lord who owns Bottoms House and happens to live on his estate?” Nell said reasonably.
“None of us considered the possibility that this brother might be important.”
“He is not important.” Hearing her own defensiveness, Finn amended, “He’s just a…a problem.”
If you want to scratch a mutual itch, I am happy to oblige. But if you try to hurt my kin, you will have to go through me.
The memory of his glinting gaze—both sensual and threatening—sent a shiver through her. Owen was a problem, all right. But she suddenly realized he was also wrong.
“I have another idea,” she said.
“What is it?” Nell asked.
“Since the Harringtons are a close-knit bunch, we will use that against them.”
Tansy’s forehead creased. “How?”
“I just need to convince one Harrington that Madame Seraphina’s services are the answer to their Bloody Thom problem. If I find the loose thread, I will unravel the family’s resistance.”
Nell tilted her head. “Who is the loose thread?”
“I will soon find out.” Finn smiled slowly. “What do we know about the routines of the ladies?”
Block my path, will you, Owen Harrington? Well, I don’t have to go through you. I shall simply go around.