Chapter 25
Twenty-Five
Owen was right. Taking a break with the others did make Finn feel better.
Yet she knew he was the main cause of her improved spirits.
It was the way he’d made her feel…not alone.
As if her belonging didn’t hinge upon getting something right or meeting some expectation.
It was a novel feeling, and as she sat beside him in the pump room, nibbling on the plate of sandwiches and fruit he’d fetched for her, she wished it could last.
Despite the lack of progress, the mood at the table was optimistic. To her surprise, the Hawks and the Harringtons mingled comfortably at the long table. The food provided by the generous Miss Letty was accompanied by strong tea and, of course, the spa’s mineral water.
“Do try our water, Madame Seraphina,” Miss Letty said. “It is known for its healthful properties, and people come from near and far to partake of it.”
Finn politely took a sip—and wondered what the fuss was about. Other than a faint chalky texture, the water didn’t taste like much of anything. She far preferred a tankard of ale down at the Briarbush Inn.
Seeing Miss Letty’s expectant look, she said, “It is quite refreshing.”
“It is, isn’t it?” the lady replied. “We’ve bottled extra cases to sell at the fair. For some reason, we always end up in short supply.”
“That reason has to do with you and Gigi passing the water off as a love potion,” Grantley said.
“We don’t pass it off as anything,” Gigi retorted. “The water simply brings out what is already there. Take Finn, for example.”
Finn choked on her second sip of water. “What about me?”
“You are clearly a woman with a warm and generous nature,” Gigi said brightly.
“Um…I am?”
“Certainly. Look at all the villagers you’ve helped.” Gigi plucked a ripe grape from her plate. “For you, the water might help attract what a warm and generous lady most deserves.”
Finn was afraid to ask.
Owen did it for her. “What would that be, Gigi?”
“Love, of course.”
Finn blushed and didn’t dare look at Owen.
Smiling, Gigi popped the grape into her mouth while her husband let out a guffaw.
“In other words, the water brings about what was going to happen anyway?” He pinched her cheek. “You could sell hay to a farmer, duchess.”
Gigi beamed. “With the profits, Miss Letty can finally replace the statue of Mars.”
Looking at the ring of statues on the upper gallery, Finn saw the empty pedestal.
“What happened to the old statue?” she asked curiously.
“An accident,” Grantley said. “Of a premeditated nature.”
As Finn tried to puzzle out the cryptic reply, Owen spoke up.
“I think we have something to share with Finn and her assistants.”
His seriousness stirred Finn’s nape. Looking around the table, she saw the Hawks freeze. Only Tansy continued chewing on a watercress sandwich.
“We agreed on this, Owen,” Manderly said with obvious care. “On the timing of it.”
“I know, but Finn has proven her ability,” Owen said. “She and her assistants have worked diligently on our behalf. They have earned the right to be privy to our suspicions.”
At the word “suspicions,” the Hawks tensed further. Tansy swallowed, her hand creeping toward the butter knife. Finn caught the girl’s eyes, subtly shaking her head. Simultaneously, Nell—bless her—nabbed the knife and put it safely out of reach.
“What suspicions?” Finn asked as calmly as she could.
“We wanted to tell you our theory,” Gigi burst out. “But because we were unsure of its validity, we did not wish to undermine your objectivity as a seer.”
Theory? What is she talking about?
Yet Finn’s anxiety eased a little. They still believed she was a seer. They were not about to accuse her and the Hawks of being frauds out to steal hidden loot.
“I hope you can understand that it was not personal,” Evie said softly. “We trust you, Finn.”
“I am confused,” she said. “Will someone tell me what this theory is?”
“Owen might as well have the honors,” Manderly said with a sigh. “He’s been champing at the bit to do so.”
Finn turned to Owen, and he met her gaze squarely.
“We have an idea,” he said. “About the possible identity of F. P.”
F. P. is Felix Pearce.
But she wasn’t supposed to know that. The Harringtons were in the dark about the letter that Carver had given her. The one written by Felix Pearce and which supposedly led to a parure of jewels.
“Um, you do?” she managed.
“We haven’t been entirely honest with you.
We were hoping your visions would reveal the identity of Rose and Thomas’s nemesis, but we already had a theory in mind,” he said.
“We think Thomas was killed by Langdon Pearce, one of Chuddums’s founders and a man of wealth and influence.
We believe Pearce was obsessed with Rose and killed Thomas so he could have her to himself.
The clue you found might be further proof of this: we think F.
P. might be a relation of Langdon’s, who knew of his crimes and wanted justice to come to light.
The restitution and gift F. P. referred to could be testimony of some sort—proof that Rose was innocent and that Langdon was the true murderer. ”
“For years, the villagers believed the worst of Rose and maligned her,” Xenia said in a trembling voice.
“If we can find what F. P. left behind, we could restore her name and reputation. We could bring Rose and Thomas’s true story to light.
In doing so, we will break the real curse—the one cast by ignorance and prejudice. ”
“None of us have seen the murderer’s face,” Evie said. “Without tangible proof, we cannot accuse the town’s esteemed founder of being a rapist, abuser, and killer.”
“Nonetheless, we should have told you,” Owen said firmly.
“I understand why you did not,” Finn replied.
She did—and she wasn’t hurt by the Harringtons’ reasoning.
“You did not wish to bias my findings,” she went on. “You wanted proof of the killer’s identity untainted by prejudice. I would have done the same in your shoes.”
“That is what I said.” The Earl of Manderly gave her an approving look. “A true professional would not wish to have her objectivity compromised.”
“You can forgive our lack of full disclosure?”
The relief in Owen’s eyes wrenched her heart.
He’d felt guilty about this small lie of omission—while she’d lied to him about everything.
She took in the rest of the table, and her conscience absorbed another blow.
These were good people who treated her and the Hawks with kindness and hospitality.
They wanted justice for a couple who had died over eighty years ago, for God’s sake.
Their decency simultaneously made them easy marks—and the most difficult she’d ever had to con.
She cleared her throat. “There is naught to forgive. You did the right thing. Although now that I know about Langdon Pearce, how can you be certain that I will not be biased?”
“We can’t be,” Grantley said bluntly. “However, I think the real evidence will be revealed when we solve the clues.”
“If we solve them.” The grim reality of her failure confronted Finn. “I was certain a vision would come to me in the caldarium. Now we have searched the two places where the lovers met and the water runs pure and come up empty-handed.”
“This does not rest solely on your shoulders,” Owen reminded her. “Let us put our heads together and review the clue. Clearly, we are missing something.”
“Is there someplace else with running water?” Nell ventured. “Someplace other than the stream and the spa?”
“I cannot think of any.” Gigi turned to Miss Letty. “Are you aware of springs beyond the spa?”
“When my great-grandfather built this place, there were multiple local springs,” Miss Letty replied. “But they all dried up. In fact, the villagers claimed that was part of the curse…”
Finn’s attention was diverted by Owen, who’d gone stiff as a board.
“What is it?” she asked. “Did you think of something?”
His eyes were as bright as a rain-washed sky. “I think I know where to look.”
Owen took the group to a quiet corner of the property. The structure, or what remained of it, was hidden by bushes and covered by a thick blanket of ivy. It was possible to miss it entirely—if one didn’t know where to look.
“Here it is.” He cleared away a tangle of brush. “Miss Letty reminded me of it when she mentioned the springs drying up.”
“What are we looking at?” Finn asked.
“An old springhouse. I came across it during the renovation.” He tore away more ivy, revealing the top of a mossy stone. “I thought it was charming, a marker of time passed, so I left it as it was.”
“I’d forgotten about the springhouse,” Miss Letty exclaimed. “The water dried up long ago, before my papa’s time.”
“But perhaps the spring flowed for Rose and Thomas,” Finn said breathlessly.
She and the others joined him in clearing the overgrowth, and soon the shape of the old springhouse emerged.
The footprint of stone was no more than six feet square; the remaining walls were knee-high and furred with moss.
Near the back wall sat a cracked stone basin that had collected the water welling from the ground.
A runnel extended into the nettles, dry as bone.
“The clue must be here somewhere,” Finn said.
As the group swarmed the structure, Owen examined the wall behind the basin.
The springhouse had been built from local sarsen; the material, he knew from experience, was durable and difficult to work with.
Replacing a cracked stone required skill at masonry—which might explain the shoddy repair job he’d spotted.
Scrubbing away the moss, he took a closer look at a stone near the base.
Finn appeared at his side. “Did you find something?”
“Perhaps. See that stone?”
“Yes…it’s a lighter color than the surrounding ones.”
He ran his fingers over the stone’s surface. “That’s because it is not sarsen like the rest. This is ordinary field rubble. I should know, having cleared plenty of it during the restoration.”
“So you think the original stone was replaced?”
“I’m about to find out.”
Taking out his penknife, he inserted the blade into the mortar seam—and felt a surge of excitement when the stone moved.
“It’s only wedged in,” he said. “I’m pulling it out now.”
With a spray of gravel, the stone separated from the wall. Setting it aside, Owen reached into the space it left behind and pulled out a leather pouch the size of his hand.
“By Jove,” James said. “Everyone, over here. Owen’s found something.”
Seeing Finn’s giddy expression, Owen smiled and gave her the pouch. She snatched it, untied the fraying string, and upended it over her hand. An object fell out with a flash of brilliant green: a ring with a large emerald at its center, surrounded by a halo of diamonds.
“Blimey.” Caleb’s hushed voice emerged behind them. “There’s a sparkler.”
“There is more,” Finn said.
“More jewels?” Caleb asked eagerly.
Slipping the ring on her finger, she removed a piece of paper from the pouch and read it:
The last of my gift is not for finding but for knowing. I have hidden it beyond the grasp of greedy hands. You will not come to it by searching; only by looking beneath the lie will you expose the truth. My last confession rests with what I have left you—and when it is read, may you be free.
—F. P.