Rivals of Fortune / The Impetuous Heiress (15 page)

Jack looked up. “Can you walk?”

Constance tried, leaning on Joanna's arm. “Ow! No. Oh, I am sorry.”

“Nonsense,” put in Joanna. “It was not your fault at all. It might have happened to anyone.”

The other girl smiled wryly. “But it did not, did it? You three all ride better than I.”

Jack came to their side. “Well, you will have to ride my horse,” he said. “Yours has a badly strained shoulder; shouldn't be ridden.” He looked about for his gray, and at that moment, they all realized that Jack's horse was gone. He had not held it when he leaped off.

As they gazed helplessly up and down the road, trying to see it somewhere near, the storm broke violently over their heads, huge drops of rain pelting them backed by a stiff wind.

“Damn!” exclaimed Jack, not bothering to excuse himself.

As one, they turned their backs to the wind and rain, using the two horses as a shield. Already, they were soaked through. “Constance can ride with me,” gasped Joanna, the cold water making her breathless.

“It looks as if she will have to,” agreed Jack. “I can lead her horse home.”

“Oh, no,” cried Constance. “You mustn't.”

The young man shrugged. “Well, I must walk in any case, since I was so foolish as to let go of the reins. Thunderbolt is my newest horse; he won't know to come back. And if I am walking, I may as well lead yours.” A flash of lightning and clap of thunder followed one another very closely. The girls jumped.

“Sir Rollin will see that we are gone and come back,” said Joanna. “Then you can ride with him.”

They all looked down the road; they could see nothing but rain. Jack looked doubtful.

“Of course,” replied Constance, but she sounded unsure.

“Well, you must go along,” Jack said finally. He lifted Constance onto Joanna's horse, she helping all she could with her right foot. Then, he helped Joanna get up behind her and gave Joanna the reins. “You will have to go slowly,” he added. “The mud will be slippery, and your horse is overburdened. Take care.”

“We will,” answered Joanna. The two girls looked down at him.

“Go on.”

“Leaving you here…” began Constance.

But Jack made an impatient gesture. “It will do no good for all of us to stand about in the storm. Go on.”

Joanna tightened the reins. “We will send Sir Rollin to you when we come up with him,” she said. “He is probably searching for us now.”

“Do,” replied Jack. He picked up the trailing reins of Constance's horse and started forward. The animal limped slowly along.

“Well, good-bye,” said Joanna.

“Yes, yes. Go on.”

Joanna touched the mare's flanks, and they started off. Their pace was barely above a fast walk, but they left Jack behind even so. Both girls huddled against the storm, bending their heads and trusting the horse to keep on the road.

Though the remaining distance was not long, it seemed so. Constance said little, and Joanna was certain that her ankle pained her. The wind drove the rain into their backs, and it dripped down their collars clammily. Before long both were shivering. The air was much cooler than it had been earlier.

They reached the vicarage without seeing anyone on the road. Joanna wondered briefly what had become of Sir Rollin, but she was too grateful to see the house looming ahead to do more than that. She pulled up in front of it and carefully slid to the ground, turning to brace Constance as she did likewise. Then, with Constance leaning heavily on her arm, they walked slowly up the two steps and into the front hall. The door, thankfully, was not locked.

As soon as they were safely in, Constance sank onto a chair. “Oh, I am cold,” she said.

Joanna shut the door. “I will find your mother.” But she was not required to go looking, for at that moment, attracted by the noise of the door, the butler came into the hall. He exclaimed when he saw the dripping girls and began ringing bells and snapping orders at once.

Twenty minutes later, Constance and Joanna sat in the former's bedroom before a crackling fire. Their drenched habits had been taken away to be dried, and both wore dressing gowns, Joanna's borrowed. Mrs. Williston was examining her daughter's ankle, while Joanna stared out at the darkening day. “Oh, I hope they have found Jack,” she said, for the third time.

“I'm sure they must have,” replied Mrs. Williston soothingly. “Well, I do not think it is broken, Constance. But it is a nasty sprain, I believe. We will have the doctor.”

“Oh, I feel so foolish,” said Constance.

“There is one of the grooms with your mare,” cried Joanna from the window. “They must have found him. But where is he?”

“I daresay he went to his own house,” said the older woman. “It is hardly a step.”

“Yes, of course.” Joanna came and sat before the fire. “I am so glad he is not still out walking in this rain. I suppose the note I sent to my mother has arrived also.”

“Certainly.” Mrs. Williston got up. “And if the rain has not stopped after dinner, we will send you home in a closed carriage, just as we told her.” She glanced out the window. “I don't believe it will stop.” With this, she went out.

Constance leaned her head on the back of the chair she sat in and sighed. “Does your ankle hurt you?” asked Joanna sympathetically.

“Only a little. But I feel strangely tired.”

“Yes, I am tired, too. It was a long day.” She rose and went to the window again. “Whatever can have become of Sir Rollin? I hope he did not lose his way in the storm.”

Constance grimaced. “I imagine that he rather got home dry and safe. At the pace he was going, he should have.”

“Oh, no. He must have looked for us.”

Constance raised her eyebrows, then shrugged.

“Constance! He would have. No one could have left us in that storm.”

The other girl shrugged again.

“Well, I know he would have. I hope he did not blunder down some lane and lose his way. He does not know the neighborhood.” Joanna looked out at the driving rain once again. “I suppose it's no use sending someone to look for him.”

Constance frowned, started to speak, then changed her mind. “He must have found his way home by now,” she answered drily. “It is nearly six.”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

Constance looked at her for a moment, then with a tiny shake of her head, abandoned the subject.

The only member of Joanna's family who was excited by the story of her adventure was Frederick. Her mother, after ascertaining that Joanna had taken no hurt from the mishap, dismissed it, though her mouth tightened when she heard the part Denby had played. Mr. Rowntree scarcely seemed to listen when she recounted the events of the day, but Frederick was charmed and asked innumerable questions. The following morning he was up early and off to the Townsends to see his particular friend Johnny Townsend and to hear more about Jack's part in it.

Joanna spent a very quiet morning, rising late, doing a little sewing, and reading. Though she felt quite well, the exertions of the previous day urged quiet. The sky remained overcast, and it rained lightly from time to time, but the air was cooler than it had been for weeks. There was no digging because of the damp.

When Frederick returned about eleven, he came directly to the drawing room to find Joanna. She sat there alone, reading a novel. “Jack Townsend has taken a severe chill,” said Frederick as soon as he walked through the door. “He's in bed.” The boy seemed to relish the idea.

“Oh no,” exclaimed Joanna, putting her book aside. “I must go to see how he does.”

“Can't,” answered her brother smugly. “No one is to see him.”

Joanna frowned. “Well, I shall send a note then.” She rose and went to the writing desk in the corner.

“Johnny says he's coughing and wheezing like a buzzard,” added Frederick. Joanna ignored him and began to write. “He walked the whole way home leading that mare,” added the boy. His sister bent her head. Frederick shrugged and walked over to the window. It was raining harder now, and he watched the droplets run down the panes until Joanna finished her note and sealed it. When she had taken it out to a footman and returned, Frederick came to sit beside her on the sofa and lean forward confidentially. “You know what else I found out today?” he asked. “Something much more important.”

“Oh, Frederick, do leave me alone,” said Joanna crossly.

He sat back, offended. “Well, perhaps I shall. And perhaps I shan't tell you the news about the treasure.”

Joanna turned back to him. “What news?”

Her brother rose, jammed his hands in his pockets, and strolled to the window again. “Can't say. I'm to leave you alone.” He looked out once more and began to whistle an irritating high-pitched tune.

Joanna grimaced. “I'm sorry, Frederick. What is it?”

The boy turned eagerly, his blue eyes lighting. “I've found out that there were no ‘boys' nosing around the abbey ruins, that's what. I've asked everyone and their friends too. Not one of them went over there that night.”

Joanna looked disgusted. “Is that all? I daresay they are afraid to tell you they were there. That is not news, Frederick.”

“Is it not? Well, I am not such a gapeseed as you think me. I did not ask them outright. I was very careful. There were no boys.”

“What difference can it make?”

Frederick looked amazed. “What difference? Don't you see? If it wasn't the boys, it must have been someone else.”

“And so? I don't see…”

“Dunce!” exploded Frederick. He leaned toward her again. “There must be someone else searching for the treasure. Don't you see that? And we must find it first.”

“You are imagining things. You always do. Perhaps it was a tramp or a gypsy looking for shelter for the night.”

“Digging?” answered her brother incredulously.

“Oh…well…”

Frederick put his hands on his hips and looked down at her disgustedly. “You are the stupidest thing, Joanna. What if he finds the treasure first? He will go off with it, and we shall never see a penny.”

“There is no
he
. You have imagined the whole.”

Her brother turned away. “All right. We shall see. But I mean to keep a watch. And I am going to the Abbey this afternoon to tell Mr. Erland what I have found out.
He
will see how important it is.”

“Has he invited you?”

“I am always welcome. He said so.”

“That is a polite nothing, Frederick. You go over there too often. He must be heartily sick of it by now.”

“He is
not
! You think you know everything, Joanna, but you are quite out there.”

Joanna frowned. She could not believe that Mr. Erland welcomed the constant visits of a schoolboy. “I shall go with you,” she said. She would see for herself.

“You? Why?”

“Haven't I helped in the treasure hunt?”

“Not lately you haven't. You've been too busy digging with Father and riding all over the countryside with dandies.” Frederick took several mincing steps and made a mock bow.

Joanna laughed. “How horrid you are. But I mean to go with you just the same.”

Frederick laughed, too, his good spirits restored by this show of interest. “All right. But I shall leave at two sharp. Mind you are ready. You'll see, Joanna. We'll find the treasure all right and tight.”

Joanna wisely made no reply to this, and after warning her again not to be late, Frederick bounced out of the room.

They took the gig to Erland Abbey. The rain had nearly stopped, but both wore cloaks well pulled up around them to keep off stray droplets and mud. Joanna had insisted they send a note before them, so they found Jonathan Erland at home and waiting.

He seemed glad, even excited, to see them. “I believe I have found something,” he said as they walked down the hall to the library.

“Not the treasure?” cried Frederick, deeply chagrined.

“No, not that. But a clue perhaps.”

“Ah, I have found out something too.”

When they had sat down, Frederick poured out his story. “So you see,” he finished, “there must be someone else looking for the treasure. We must take care.”

Erland nodded a bit dubiously. “It is possible, though it might have been something else, or perhaps only some sensation seeker.”

Frederick started to protest, but Joanna was ahead of him. “That is what I said. It is ridiculous to imagine that someone else would come to dig at the Abbey. Who would it be? One of the neighbors? Nonsense.”

“Yes,” replied Erland slowly. He seemed as uncertain of her assertion as of Frederick's.

The boy snorted. “Well if that is not the stupidest thing. There are heaps of people who might have heard of it. In Oxford perhaps. One of Father's students. I wager that Sir Rollin Denby told everyone.”

“He did not,” retorted Joanna hotly before Erland could speak. “He would not do such a thing.”

Frederick snorted again.

Erland was looking at Joanna, an anxious expression in his gray eyes. There was a momentary pause. Frederick had turned away, and Joanna was frowning at him. Erland cleared his throat briefly, then said, “Well, well, it is all over, you know. And no one has trespassed again. Let me tell you what I have found. It may mean that anyone can dig as much as he wishes without disturbing us in the least.”

Frederick turned back immediately. “What is it?” Joanna, too, looked interested.

Erland opened a drawer of his desk and took out the charts they had found some days ago. “I have been going over these with your father,” he said. Frederick made an inarticulate noise. “Without, of course, telling him of our search. He has much more knowledge of historical documents than I, and he has been a great help.” Erland unfolded one of the sheets. “We have concluded, from some of the markings here and the probable dates of the notations that some of my ancestors may have been Jacobites.”

Joanna gazed at him blankly.

Her brother frowned, waited for something more and then said, “What has that to do with anything? I daresay they may have been, but what have Jacobites to do with the treasure?”

“You know who they were?” asked Erland.

Frederick looked superior. “Of course. They wanted the Pretenders for king, the Stuarts. It was all hundreds of years ago.” His smugness wavered a bit. “Or a long time ago at least.”

“It was,” agreed the man solemnly, only the twinkle in his eyes showing what he thought of the young Rowntrees' reception of his news. “But the important thing is that there were several plots and rebellions over the question. And many times, men had to be hidden from the authorities for long periods of time. The oldest of these charts suggests, very obliquely, that Erland Abbey was one such hiding place.”

Joanna was frowning. “You mean,” she said slowly, “that there is some sort of secret room?”

“I think so. It may be that this is the family tradition my uncle wished me to remember.”

“A secret chamber,” murmured Frederick, immense gratification evident in his voice. “First-rate. Where is it?”

Erland smiled. “That is the problem. If there is such a room, it is the obvious hiding place for the money. But the charts are by no means clear about the location. Come and look.”

Frederick and Joanna jumped up and came over to the desk.

“You see that here,” said Erland, pointing, “there are several unusual lines on the chart, on the side of the house nearest the ruins. Your father thinks these indicate some sort of built-in hiding place there, but we cannot make out exactly where. The instructions are purposely misleading. They were breaking the law, you understand, and had to be careful. The chamber might be anywhere in that wing.”

There was a short silence as the three of them thought of the huge old house and all the nooks and crannies it contained. Searching even one wing would be a monumental task.

“Well, we must simply look everywhere,” said Frederick. His expression was complacent. “I am ready.”

Erland laughed. “Indeed, I see you are. But it would be better to form some plan of action first.”

“Pooh. I say, start at once.” Frederick suited his actions to his words. “I shall get a lantern. I daresay some of the rooms are dark.” He ran out of the room.

Erland laughed again. “He is full of enthusiasm.”

But Joanna was frowning. “Too full. He is abominably rude, though he doesn't mean it.”

“I know it.”

“You must not let him plague you to death.”

“He does not. Quite the contrary. I enjoy having some lively company in this gloomy barrack.”

Joanna looked at him. “You don't like living here?”

“It isn't that.” Jonathan looked about the room. “I'm fond of the old place, right enough. But it needs so many repairs I cannot make. That galls me and depresses my spirits occasionally.”

“Well, but you will when you find your uncle's fortune.”

He smiled wryly. “Do you truly believe there is a fortune, Miss Joanna?”

Her eyes widened. “Don't you?”

“I don't know. I wish it, of course, for many reasons, but I cannot quite bring myself to believe it.”

“Frederick believes it,” offered Joanna, not knowing quite what to say. Erland looked tired and dispirited.

He smiled. “Indeed he does. If anyone can find a treasure, he can.”

“You will. I know you will,” said Joanna impulsively.

Erland looked directly into her eyes followed by a long moment of silence. For some reason, Joanna found she was holding her breath. “Do you think so?” he said finally, allowing her to breathe again. “It
is
important to me.”

“You could repair the Abbey,” she agreed.

“Yes—and I could think of marriage, a family, as I cannot now.” He watched her. “I never did think about such things until I came to this neighborhood. But now I do, often.”

A sudden thought came to Joanna, making her move involuntarily. Erland saw it and gave a bitter little laugh. “It is all ridiculous, of course. A treasure.” His tone was derisive. “I don't really suppose that there is such a thing. But I will grasp at any straw.”

The look in his eyes made Joanna get to her feet. She felt a little breathless again, and her emotions were uncertain. Though Erland had not said anything directly, the look in his eyes and the way he spoke suggested that he felt some special interest in her. She was startled, confused, and certain that she did not wish to continue this conversation.

“No,” said the man sharply as she turned away. Joanna looked at him nervously. “I mean, I did not intend to say anything. I know I cannot yet…that is, I have no right…oh gods, what a tangle.”

The moment was horridly embarrassing. Joanna found that she was incapable of movement, and she wondered wildly what she should do. She wanted to get away, but she couldn't seem to begin.

Erland recovered first. “Miss Rowntree, I must and do apologize,” he began. But he was interrupted by a sudden noisy clanging from the lower regions of the house, followed by the sound of voices raised in angry dispute.

“What is it?” exclaimed the girl automatically.

“Let us see.” They hurried out of the room together, both looking relieved.

Following their ears, they went down a corridor and descended a narrow set of stairs, the noises increasing in volume as they went. They came out in the kitchen, to be greeted by the sight of Frederick running past, head down, arms pumping. Hot on his heels was the housekeeper, Mrs. Smith; she was brandishing a broom and scolding continuously. “Lanterns, is it?” they heard her mutter. “Lanterns, and then oil, and then perhaps a bit of bread and butter or a slice of cake. Cake! As if I kept such nonsense in my kitchen. And the next thing you know, the minute I turn my back, the milk pail on the scullery floor and all the cream ruined. Trying to reach the shelf, is it? I'll show him shelf. Boys! Won't have 'em in here. Worse than rats.”

Throughout this monologue, Mrs. Smith chased Frederick with the broom, once managing to strike him glancingly. At last, the boy saw the two of them in the doorway and hastily ducked behind Erland. “She's mad,” he gasped, and without another look behind dashed up the stairs and disappeared.