For over four decades now, management of Baronsford had resided in Walter Truscott’s capable hands. A cousin to Hugh’s father, Truscott was widely respected as the reason the Penningtons’ estate served as a model of care and accomplishment in this corner of Scotland.

Hugh was kept abreast of everything, but his position in the judiciary kept him busy. So Truscott oversaw the work of the steward and the farm managers, and made all operational decisions, whether the issue pertained to the home farm or the tenantry. No cottage was built or mill repaired without his authorization. No livestock was bought or sold, and no field was plowed without his knowledge. No farmhand was hired or fired without his final approval.

It had been Truscott’s suggestion to offer a job to Darby after he wrongly spent time in the local jail. Having made arrangements with the Lennox steward, Walter had offered the blacksmith a position at Baronsford the morning after being released.

Upon returning to Baronsford after two days in Edinburgh, Hugh found Darby had taken them up on the offer. Standing by a stable door, Truscott gestured toward the nearby smithy.

“Hard worker, intelligent, and capable in his trade,” Truscott told him. “He’ll be an asset for us.”

“You never guess wrong, Walter.” Hugh handed his horse over to one of the grooms. “Living arrangements for him?”

“Taken care of.”

The French Wars and migration by many workers to cities like Edinburgh over the past two decades had diminished the numbers of cotters who worked and farmed around Baronsford, as well as the population of Melrose Village. More and more Irish vagrants were showing up in the area, but many cottages sat empty.

“He’s also requested a few moments of your time,” Truscott said. “Says it’s important that he speak with you. I thought it might be less intimidating for him if you heard what he had to say out here, rather than in your study.”

Hugh was impatient to talk to Jo about their mystery patient. He assumed she was still alive. He’d received no word to the contrary while he was in Edinburgh.

A few moments wouldn’t make a difference. Leaving Truscott behind, he strode to the open doors of the smithy. The tall man was working alongside a soot-covered helper.

“You wished to speak with me, Mr. Darby?”

Seeing him, the blacksmith hung up his leather apron and came out. Hugh motioned toward the kennels and they moved across to the low building. Whatever he had to say, the man might as well have some privacy doing it. A dozen small hounds came across the fenced-in enclosure, tails wagging.

“First off, I wanted to thank you, m’lord.” The blacksmith took off his cap, clutching it in two hands. “I know I’d still be rotting in that jail if not for you.”

“No need to thank me. I like to think we do a decent job of dispensing the law in this region. But what happened to you was wrong.”

“That’s my life, m’lord. I was born and raised in the East End of London. A tough place,” he added. “Coming north for this job, I was hoping for a change.”

“I can assure you that you’ll be treated fairly at Baronsford and paid according to your worth. Mr. Truscott is a fair man.”

“To be sure, I already see that.”

The cap continued to twist in his large fists. Hugh had spent enough years on the bench to know when a man was building his courage to say more. He leaned over the fence and petted the dogs.

“I’m grateful for your generosity, m’lord. I’ve met with only kindness from everyone since I arrived yesterday. But . . .” He paused, his gaze scouring the ground between them. “I wish to bring no trouble to your door. You been kind to me, so I’d like to be square with you. Your neighbor who was to employ me didn’t know everything about this. I’m no murderer or a thief, but there are folk who look down on—”

“I’m aware of your previous arrest in London, Mr. Darby,” Hugh said, facing him. “After the Spa Fields riots last December, you spent twenty-six days in jail before being released. No charge was brought against you.”

This past December’s riots had been the culmination of a decade of discontent over high prices and taxes after the French Wars. And London’s poorest were not the only ones who went out onto the streets demonstrating. To the surprise of many, a large number of aristocrats joined the so-called ‘rabble.’

“You know this and still you took me on?”

“Protesting against the government is a time-honored right.” He didn’t want to mention the laws Parliament had enacted since those riots.

The blacksmith stopped abusing his cap and let out a relieved breath.

“We have a need for tradesmen here,” Hugh said, changing the topic. “And Mr. Truscott tells me you’re an able blacksmith.”

“I work hard, m’lord.”

A different man stood before him now. One who was free of the shadows of the past.

“Excellent. In fact, I could use your help with a certain project of mine, if you’re willing.”

“I’d be happy to help, m’lord.”

“Good. I’ll arrange it with Mr. Truscott on when he can lend your services to me.”

Hugh needed a metalworker to assist him with his ballooning, and he had no doubt Truscott was thinking just that when he hired Darby.

A few moments later, when Hugh reached the house, Jo was waiting for him. Her brisk greeting and troubled expression indicated that she needed his attention right away.

“Library?” he asked.

“The downstairs library will be fine.” She turned to one of the footmen standing nearby. “Please ask Mrs. Henson to send in some tea for his lordship.”

Not waiting for him, she walked off in that direction. Hugh shed his hat and cloak and followed her.

She was pacing the floor when he entered. Jo was generally calm in temperament. She was a natural peacemaker, patient in dealing with the nuisance of mundane disagreements. The only time her emotions surfaced, it was because of the family. When the need arose, she became a lioness protecting the pride.

“You’re wearing a path in the carpet, Jo.” He closed the door behind him. “What is it?”

She stopped, facing him. “It’s about our guest.”

“What about her? Has she died?”

“No, she’s still alive, though she continues to float in and out of consciousness. Dr. Namby was here at noon. He still says there is little hope of her surviving. He’s also worried about contagion because she was subjected for so long to the noxious vapors of the ship’s hold.”

“Is this what has you worried?”

She shook her head. “I’ve been with her since we brought her to the house. Anna’s been the only servant helping me. We’ve seen to her care, and we’re both doing fine after three days of it.”

Knowing his sister wouldn’t stop pacing until she said what was on her mind, Hugh sat on a sofa.

“Were you able to find anything about her while you were in Edinburgh?”

“I went down to the shipping office at Leith and asked a few discreet questions about the handling of the crate,” he told her. “No one had an inkling there was any problem at all. So I sent my clerk, Aston MacKay, to Antwerp to find out what he can about any missing American woman. We should hear back from him within a fortnight. Until then, I’m still hopeful our guest will awaken and tell us herself how she ended up in that crate. In the meantime, I wish to bring no extra attention to her while she is recovering.”

As a judge familiar with the darker sides of human nature, Hugh was well aware of the ugly exaggerations and falsehoods that could spread if her situation were made public. She was ill and had no way of protecting herself.

“Did you ask Dr. Namby to keep her situation private?”

“I did. And he agrees. She should be spared unnecessary excitement.” Jo resumed her pacing. “She’s been talking in her sleep.”

Hugh smiled to himself at her poetic recital and her insistence that he understood it was a ballad. “Has she divulged anything useful?”

“Her manner of speech is quite refined. And I’ve heard her murmur or call out not just in English, but in German and Spanish and French. It appears she’s proficient in those languages. And she likes to recite poetry.”

He himself was a constant reader, not so much poems and novels, but the law journals and anything pertaining to history and science. He respected women who read, and it appeared this one did.

“So she’s well-educated,” Hugh commented.

“And wellborn, I think. The quality of her traveling dress says much about her station.” Jo faced him again. “But that isn’t all I’ve learned.”

The servant bringing in tea interrupted their conversation. After dismissing her, Jo poured a cup for Hugh and sat next to him.

“What else?” he asked.

She placed a velvet pouch between them on the sofa.

“What is this?”

“It might be the reason why someone was cross with her.”

“If someone nailed her into that crate, they were more than cross. They were trying to kill her. What’s in there and where did you find it?”

“The pouch was sewn into the padded waistline of her dress. We found it when Mrs. Henson took the garment down to be laundered.”

Jo shook a large opaque stone into her palm.

A diamond. Uncut. The largest he’d ever seen. Who carries something this valuable? Hugh thought.

He put the tea cup down. “Let me see.”

“Have you ever seen a gem this size?”

“Heavy,” he commented.

He stood and moved to the window, holding it up to the afternoon light.

“Do you think it’s a diamond?” she asked.

Hugh placed the stone against the window and scratched a small ‘X’ on the glass. The condition they found her in had to be directly tied to this. He’d ruled on crimes committed over minuscule amounts of wealth.

“Yes, it is a diamond. And I would guess it’s worth a fortune.”

“I thought as much,” she said. “It was sewn into this pouch and secreted within enough layers of the fabric that it was impossible for anyone looking at the dress to know it was hidden there.”

“You opened the pouch?” he asked, his tone sharper than he intended.

Jo blushed. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have. But I hoped it might tell us something about our guest.”

“I’d say it does.”

Their guest spoke a number of languages. The coins indicated a connection with America. Now this precious diamond. All pieces of a puzzle. She could be a victim or a thief, or an American heiress like those Caton sisters. He would withhold his judgment, however, and not jump to any conclusions until he had all the facts.

Hugh walked back to his sister and placed the diamond in her hand. “You should show it to her as soon she awakens. If it were mine, I’d be quite concerned about it.”

“And you think this could be the reason she was shut in the crate?” Jo asked. “Perhaps someone was after the jewel. But is it hers? Or does it belong to someone else?”

“We won’t know until she regains consciousness. For now, keep it safe.” Hugh had as many questions as his sister. “All we can do is wait. She’s the only one who can give us any answers.”