Hidden in the Heart (12 page)

‘That would cause the kind of talk which I’m sure neither
of us would wish,’ John said. Nevertheless, he did get up
and half-close the door, letting it stand perhaps six or eight
inches ajar.

‘I have been thinking,’ Lydia began earnestly.

‘I’m done for now,’ John muttered, with his sudden
impish smile.

‘Do be serious,’ she complained.

‘What is it, Lydia?’

She fidgeted a little, hoping that he would not laugh at
what she was about to suggest. Even to herself it seemed
unlikely. But one must proceed in some fashion, and this
was the only avenue which presented itself to her at the
moment.

‘What do you know of Sir Hector’s treasure?’

John scowled at her. ‘To whom have you been speaking?’

‘Mrs Wardle-Penfield told me about it.’ She added,
attempting to be just, ‘I must say that she placed no faith
in its existence.’

‘Neither does anyone else.’

‘Then where did the rumors originate?’ she asked.

‘Oh, they have been around since I can remember.’ He
leaned back in his chair and began to unfold the tale.
‘Apparently the story stems from the fact that Sir Hector
travelled extensively in his youth.’

‘The Grand Tour?’ She raised a brow knowingly.

‘Rather more than that,’ he said. ‘Alexandria, Baghdad, Jerusalem: places which most white men have only heard
of or read about in books.’

A year or two after Sir Hector’s return from his mythic
journey, there began to circulate a story that he had found
a great treasure which he had brought back with him from the East. The exact nature of the loot was never disclosed.
Some speculated that it was a fortune in jewels; others that
it was a single ancient artifact, likewise encrusted with special stones - or perhaps magical properties.

‘In the last years, when I have visited him,’ John
explained, ‘Sir Hector has indeed spoken of his “treasure”,
but I can never be sure if he is in earnest, or whether he
considers it a fine jest. He may even have been persuaded
in his own mind that it
is
true, merely by the constant repe
tition of it over the years.’

‘You say that he is very old, and something of a recluse?’
Lydia persisted.

‘Over ninety, I should say,’ John agreed, eyeing her with
a mixture of amusement and concern. ‘You do not mean
that you really do believe this old wives’ fable, do you?’

‘Why not?’ she cried defensively. ‘Stranger things have
been known to occur. Why should he
not
have discovered a
treasure in Timbuktu or some such place?’

‘In the first place,’ he pointed out, ‘Sir Hector is a very
wealthy man in his own right. What use is a treasure to
him?’

‘The rich,’ Lydia said grandly, ‘are never satisfied.
However extensive their estate, they are ever eager to
enlarge it.’

‘There is some truth in that,’ he acknowledged somewhat
reluctantly. ‘But what does this have to do with the murder
of Mr Cole?’

‘Ah!’ she cried dramatically. ‘That was what I am determined to discover, though I have my own ideas.’

‘Which are?’ He was irritated, she thought, tapping his
fingers restlessly upon the desk where his unfinished
accounts lay before him.

‘What if,’ she suggested, leaning forward and lowering
her voice, ‘Mr Cole had been Sir Hector’s companion on his
journey all those years ago?’

‘Impossible!’ John said scornfully. ‘He would have been
far too young at the time. Sir Hector could give him a good
forty years! Neither is it likely that someone of Mr Cole’s
class would have been travelling with a peer, except in the
capacity of a servant.’

This momentarily dashed Lydia’s enthusiasm, but it
quickly revived under the impetus of her imagination.

‘Let us suppose,’ she said after a moment’s hesitation,
‘that it was Mr Cole’s father, or someone else of his
acquaintance, who knew about the treasure. Perhaps this person and Sir Hector had stolen the treasure—’

‘I do not believe it!’ John protested. ‘Sir Hector is of a
pious - almost saintly - disposition. I find it hard to believe
that he would steal anything.’

‘However, you did not know him in his youth,’ Lydia
reminded him.

‘True.’

‘Will you at least consider the possibility of my conjec
tures?’ she pleaded.

‘And, supposing them to be valid,’ he said with a very direct look, ‘what do you intend to do about it?’

‘I have not yet determined what course of action to take.
But once I have ...’ she caught her lips between her teeth,
uncertain how to continue, ‘may I rely on your support?’

John rose from his seat and came around the desk. He
reached out his hand to her and she stood at once, looking
up into his eyes. If ever a man’s eyes could be described as
‘true’, they were John’s.

‘You may always depend upon me, Lydia,’ he said, gently
but firmly.

He then bent his head and pressed a kiss upon her lips
which was equally firm and gentle. However, this was not
enough for Lydia. She promptly flung her arms around his
neck and returned his kiss with such fervor that he had
no choice but to respond in kind. It was very pleasant, but
did not last for long; for, just as everything was progressing
in a most interesting manner, they were rudely interrupted by a startled cry.

‘Well!’ The scandalized syllable was uttered from a few
feet away.

Somewhat reluctantly, John released Lydia and they
both turned to look through the aperture of the door which
they had so conveniently left ajar. This opening was quite
enough both to give their audience an excellent view of the
scene they were witnessing, and to allow John and Lydia to
perceive the identity of the witness to their embrace. It was
none other than Mrs Wardle-Penfield herself.

‘Oh!’ was all that Lydia was capable of uttering.

‘Mrs P!’ John added, staring at the lady in horror.

‘If you will both excuse me,’ Mrs Wardle-Penfield intoned
with awful politeness, ‘I will be on my way. It is plain that you are both very busy.’

She would have turned and stalked off, had not John emerged from his temporary paralysis in time to forestall
her. He stepped forward and opened the door, calling out to
her in his usual tone of calm authority, ‘Pray do not be so
quick to leave us, ma’am. If you would but spare a minute,
I can explain all.’

She had but half turned, and was no doubt eager to
depart that she might waste no time in spreading the word
that Camilla Denton’s niece and the innkeeper’s son were
carrying on the most scandalous liaison right under the
very noses of Diddlington’s fine citizens. However, at these
words she hesitated. On the one hand, she wished to
display her distaste at such unseemly dissipation; on the
other, she was eaten up with curiosity as to what possible
story the lad could come up with. In the end, curiosity won
the day.

‘I am sure,’ she said, turning back to the office and
directing a piercing gaze at a red-faced Lydia, ‘that you owe
no explanation to me.’

Lydia was secretly inclined to agree with her, but real
ized that nothing less would serve to save them from public
humiliation and disgrace.

‘We are betrothed, ma’am,’ John said baldly. Lydia had
never been so near swooning in her life, but could not think
of any better ruse herself.

‘I have already sought my aunt’s approval,’ she rushed into speech, eager to support his statement.

‘I have written to Mr Bramwell,’ John added menda
ciously, ‘and only await his permission before the banns are
called.’

Mrs Wardle-Penfield looked from one to the other, eyes
narrowed, and Lydia was aware of feeling unusually
nervous. The old woman was no fool. But when she spoke,
her words startled them both.

‘You’re a deal too young to be contemplating marriage, in
my opinion,’ she said. ‘But you’ve both got heads on your
shoulders, which is more than I can say for most young
people nowadays, and I’ve seldom seen a couple better
suited. You’ll do.’

Having expressed her opinion on the matter, she obvi
ously felt that there was nothing further to add. She said
that the subject she had originally called to discuss was of
no importance, and could wait. In the meantime, she must just visit the Misses Digweed. She left the happy couple to
speculate on how soon the entire town would learn of their engagement.

‘I am so sorry, John,’ Lydia exclaimed as soon as they were alone again.

‘I should not have kissed you,’ he confessed grudgingly.

‘It seemed a perfectly reasonable thing to do.’

‘Did it?’

‘Did you not think so?’

‘It is certainly becoming a bad habit with me.’

‘Kissing young ladies?’

‘Kissing you.’

‘You do not kiss other young ladies, then?’ she asked,
secretly rather pleased.

‘I kissed Miss Carteret a few weeks ago.’

‘Did you?’ She was not so pleased at this news.

‘Yes.’

‘And did you enjoy it?’ She was somewhat curious on this
point.

‘It was very pleasant,’ he admitted.

‘Oh.’

‘But kissing you is more than pleasant.’

‘Is it?’

‘I should say so!’

‘Still, it must be horrid for you to be forced to offer for
me.’

‘No.’ He paused a moment before adding, ‘To tell the
truth, I had been considering offering for you for the past
week or more.’

She stared at him in surprise. ‘You said nothing of this to
me.’

‘Well, no,’ he muttered. ‘I mean, I wasn’t sure what to do,
so naturally I would not embarrass you so.’

‘I see.’ She did not, in fact. But what else could a young
lady say?

‘I suppose I must write to your papa,’ John said.

‘Perhaps it would be best if I wrote to him first.’

‘If you think it best.’

‘I do.’

‘You had better inform your aunt,’ he said with a wry
look, ‘before she hears it from one of her friends!’

* * * *

‘What!’ Camilla Denton sat bolt upright in bed. The
powders which Lydia had fetched from the apothecary
were forgotten.

‘I am betrothed to Mr Savidge,’ Lydia repeated, and
followed her news with a frank description of what had
transpired today at the inn.

‘Thank God John was willing to offer for you!’ Camilla
croaked, sinking back onto her pillows. ‘Have you any idea
how near you have been to total disgrace?’

‘I have.’ Lydia shrugged philosophically. ‘But John would
never allow my reputation to be ruined.’

‘What were you thinking of, kissing him in such a wild
fashion?’

‘I very much enjoy kissing John,’ Lydia replied. ‘Why should I not?’

‘Why not!’ Her aunt looked as if she were about to expire
in her bed. ‘Unnatural child! Kissing can lead to
...
well,
when you are married, you will find out what it leads to.’

‘I imagined that there must be more to it than that,’
Lydia confessed. ‘I quite look forward to finding out what it
might be. John says he likes kissing me much better than
kissing Miss Carteret.’

Camilla closed her eyes, apparently abandoning the
struggle to preach propriety to someone who was clearly
out of her senses.

‘John has made a noble sacrifice to save your virtue,’ she
said at last.

‘Nonsense!’ Lydia objected to this romantic excess. ‘He
would quite like to marry me, and I can think of nobody
else
I
would prefer to marry.’

‘You are in love with him?’ Camilla asked, her eyes
growing somewhat misty.