Chapter Twenty-Three
Does it have anything to do the scroll you brought with you today? What is it? Plans?
Even as the words were being spoken, Adam willed her to stop. He even gripped his jaw so tight his teeth twinged, and it was all he could do to get the words out.
“Never, ever ask, do you hear me?” he ground out.
Olivia’s hands went to her mouth. She tried to pull out of his arms, but he couldn’t let go. He wouldn’t let go.
“I…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. I…”
He crushed her to him once more to help stifle her sobbing he felt through her chest. “Oh, Olivia. One day, your curiosity may kill us both,” he said hoarsely. “It’s not safe to ask questions. Promise me you will never, ever speak to anyone about me or what I do.”
Adam held her while he battled a maelstrom of emotions that stirred through him also – anger, fear and regret were chief among them.
He wanted the woman in his arms with a desire that nearly made him abandon his duty to King and Country – to hell with Ridgeway and that weasel Major Wilkinson. To hell with the whole bloody lot of them!
By the time Olivia had composed herself, he, too, had calmed enough to hold her by the shoulders far enough away to see her large brown eyes in a deathly pale face. Adam allowed her to see the anguish in his.
He wished he knew what words to say that would reassure her.
“One day, I will tell you the truth. And one day, you may actually forgive me for hiding it from you. I want you more than I’ve wanted any woman in my life, but my life is not my own and I can’t explain to you why.
“Worse than that, I can’t even ask you to wait for me.”
Olivia lowered her chin and let out a shuddering breath. Adam wondered whether he’d forced her to tears once again. But when she lifted her head, her eyes were clear and the set of her jaw resolute.
“Then hold me for a while, Adam Hardacre,” she said. “If we are to part, then let us part with pleasure as our final memory and not sorrow.”
Midnight was supposed to be the witching hour, but it was the early hours of the morning which were the most dangerous. Men on watch grew drowsy. Accidents happened toward the end of the middle watch. On ship, it was least favored shift of all.
It was not much better on land either. The waning moon offered barely enough light to see more than three feet in front. Adam decided to let the horse pick its own path. He reckoned on taking an hour to traverse the three miles from Ponsnowyth up to the Four Cross, so named for the meeting of the crossroads leading to Falmouth, Truro, Redruth and Helston.
Tempted though he was to look back at the inn, he did not. There lay temptations of many different sorts.
One was the woman who invited him into her bed; second was the temptation of giving her his whole heart also. Then there was the third temptation – that of the life he could have as a former sailor with no commitments other than finding a wife and keeping a roof over their heads. And more and more, that temptation was taking the form of a pretty brown-haired governess whose doe eyes made him want to promise to give her everything.
Despite her offer of intimacy, Olivia had been more than content to lie with him on her bed in quiet communion until sleep claimed her. At least, he assumed she slept. Perhaps, she feigned sleep to avoid an awkward parting.
Adam forced himself to focus on the job ahead. He had debated the wisdom of leaving his dueling pistols in Plymouth. Instead, he carried knives. One strapped to his waist, another at his right ankle, and a third sheathed on his horse. Hung around the saddle horn was one of his looped rope wrist restraints. The other was in his pocket.
It wasn’t much but it would have to do.
He approached the road from the east, his way guided by a large stone obelisk on the ridge where the roads met. It was an ancient monument, said to date to the time of the earliest Christian saints of Cornwall. It stood nine feet tall and was made of grey granite but mottled black in places by centuries of weather.
The north and south faces had been carved with sinuous plaits, from the plinth up toward the top, where the carving spread out around a hole in the stone, making it resemble some kind of ancient needle as much as a cross.
Wilkinson had chosen the rendezvous location well. The windswept ridge provided no obvious ambush points and clear views for miles around.
Nowhere for any of Ridgeway’s men to cover him, either…
A black carriage waited beneath the cross. Adam reined in his horse to a stop a good ten yards away.
A figure emerged from the back of the carriage and approached until he was only five yards away. Adam wheeled his horse about to half-face the direction he’d come from. At the first sign of a threat, he would urge the horse back down toward the valley.
“Hardacre!”
Adam recognized Dunbar’s voice. He didn’t acknowledge the hail. After all, who else would it be at three o’clock in the bloody morning?
“Wilkinson wants to see ye.” The man nodded his head toward the carriage.
“Tell him to come out here.”
The man grunted and started to turn back when the carriage door opened. Major Wilkinson emerged from the coach.
“Do come along, Hardacre. We have business to transact. It’s too bloody cold and late to be arguing about it in the middle of the road.”
Adam ignored Dunbar and, instead, spoke over his head to Wilkinson.
“Nothing doing. The minute I get off my horse, your thug here kills me and steals the plans. I want my safety guaranteed.”
“You have my word as an officer and a gentleman.”
Adam waited a moment, then reluctantly dismounted.
“Tie your horse to the back; we’re going on a journey.”
Adam’s heart beat a little faster. It was risky. He would have no idea where he was going. Worse still, no one else would know either.
“Come now, The Collector is waiting.”
Adam unbuckled the satchel from his saddle and swung it over his shoulder. He led the horse to the back of the carriage and secured its reins to a rail.
“I’ll be takin’ that from ye.” Dunbar lunged toward the satchel. Adam blocked him with a forearm fend.
“The hell you are, you bracket-faced lobcock. This stays with me.”
Wilkinson stepped between them before extending his arm to invite Adam into the carriage. Wilkinson entered behind him and closed the door. They were the only two inside the small brougham. The windows were covered with black velvet curtains. A small carriage lamp was the only source of illumination.
“You showed such a reluctance to being blindfolded last time we met, I thought this would be more suitable,” said Wilkinson.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see when we get there.”
The major offered him a faintly amused smile before stretching out his legs. “You might as well make yourself comfortable. We’ll be traveling for a while.”
*
Olivia had woken from her half-doze as Adam gently removed himself from her bed. She’d kept her eyes closed while she listened to the sound of him slipping on his coat. She felt a gentle caress on her cheek before his lips touched where his fingers had been.
Even now, five days later, the tenderness of the act was enough to bring tears to her eyes.
And yet better their parting should be like this; more eloquent than an awkward goodbye.
She drew a deep breath and pulled her distracted attention away from the window that overlooked Lemon Street.
She sat in a small room at Peter Fitzgerald’s office. Before her were journals and bound ledgers, along with various plans. Fitzgerald had been as good as his word. Everything his office held on Kenstec House had been brought to her by his clerk Foskett, who told her with some enthusiasm that he had been instructed to be at her disposal.
She pulled up the short, lilac-colored floral sleeves of her day dress so they sat above her elbows and opened the first ledger. It dated from 1787 and contained a trove of information about the household expenses approved by Squire Denton. He’d been newly married to Mistress Caroline then.
Whatever his sins, it seemed Denton was prepared to spend lavish amounts of money on the comfort of his new bride – the cost was in the hundreds of pounds, and that was without factoring in the cost of building the tower.
To renovate the interior to suit the new mistress’ modern taste, traditional oak paneling which had been there since the time of Elizabeth the First had been taken out of the drawing rooms. The walls were to be refinished with paint or wallpaper. Tudor windows with their myriad diamond-shapes of glass held in place by lead cames were replaced by large-paned sash and case frames each containing a spring balance that made it easy for the slightest built parlor maid to open and close the windows.
The ledger made a reference to house plans. Olivia scanned across the desk at the stacks of paper and bundles of scrolled documents wondering how she could reunite the two.
After a full day scouring through dusty old tomes, she was exhausted. She gave in to the swaying motion of the Truro-to-Ponsnowyth coach and closed her tired eyes a moment.
When she reopened them, the stone entrance pillars of Kenstec House caught her attention ahead. Through the window of the coach, she watched them come closer into the view. She had not returned since that day there with Adam.
At this moment, she felt she was seeing the house now as a stranger to it.
Trees and hedges no long tended by gardeners were beginning to grow wild; vines rose, clinging to the stone pillars like a covetous lover. It wouldn’t be too long before the entrance was overgrown. Whoever bought Kenstec would also need to be prepared to pay even more to restore it back to its splendor.
If she was truly serious about recording the manor’s history, she would sketch some more aspects. But Olivia knew if she went back, it would remind her of Adam. She tried to convince herself this week was no different to other weeks when he was away in Plymouth; he would return soon.
Except it was different, and she knew it.
I was under strict instructions to bring some documents with me. It would be my hide if I lost them.
He’d made light of the scroll she had picked up off the floor, but the more she recalled his words the more ominous they became.
Under strict instructions? From whom? What were those documents? What had Adam gotten himself mixed up in?
Would Harold know?
She grimaced. Adam had told her to tell no one of his business and yet she had done so in the search for information about his son. And now, she entertained the thought of speaking to this friend about…what, exactly?
That she feared Adam had become involved in bad company? Ridiculous, to be sure. But something was wrong. She could feel it in her bones.
The coach to Ponsnowyth pulled up at the inn. It would be a few hours yet before meals were served. She would put away her notebooks before taking a stroll down to the river before supper.
She greeted Jory who was coming down the stairs. On reaching the landing, Olivia looked down the passageway. The door to Adam’s room was wide open.
Her spirits brightened.
He’s back!
She heard the sounds of him moving about and headed for the door.
The man who stood in the middle of the room with his back to her was not Adam.
“Who are you?” she said sharply. “What are you doing in here?”
The stocky man turned swiftly, a snarl on his face softening a little as he eyed her up and down. Clearly, he regarded her as no threat to him.
“This is Adam Hardacre’s room.”
“Not any more. He’s movin’ out.”
“Moving out where? Who are you?”
“An old friend what’s come to help him pack.”
“Then why isn’t Adam here?”
“He’s on business. Hardacre asked me to fetch his things and ship them along.”
“I don’t believe you.”
The man did not bother to introduce himself, nor did he take kindly to being questioned.
“Why didn’t Lieutenant Bickmore come?”
The man grunted and ignored her, instead rummaging through the wardrobe and dropping clothes into a small trunk. She looked on in increasing fury.
“I demand that you stop now and explain yourself. Right now! I’m calling for the innkeeper.”
She shouted Jory’s name. Heavily booted feet took the stairs two at a time. Jory came at a clip down the corridor toward her.
“I caught this thief in Adam’s room!”
The man inside the room slammed the lid of the trunk violently, his face dark.
“Tell yer guest here not to make unwarranted accusations.”
Jory laid a hand on her shoulder.
“He’s all right, Miss Olivia. He came with a letter from Adam this mornin’.”
Olivia was aware of her shocked expression and she forced herself to calm down.
“This here is Dunbar,” Jory continued. “He’s a servant of Adam’s new employer. He’s all right. I’ve seen him around here a few times. Hails from Falmouth, don’t ye.”
“There or thereabouts.” Dunbar grunted his agreement.
“I…suppose…I mean if you’re vouching for him, Jory.”
The innkeeper gave her a sympathetic smile. “Come on down to the parlor and have a cup of tea with me and Polly. Ye can read the letter for yerself.”
Dunbar barely concealed his look of triumph. He reached for Constance’s cube writing box.
No! He can’t take that!
At that moment, Olivia couldn’t say which “he” she meant – Dunbar or Adam.
Olivia surged forward. “Stop! That belongs to me.”
“Then what’s it doin’ in Hardacre’s room?” Dunbar’s disbelief dripped like acid. “Show us yer letters in it.” He arrogantly went to open it. It was locked.
She thought swiftly and lied. “I lost the key. Mr. Hardacre offered to try to open it for me.”
Dunbar glanced sideways to Jory who now stood at her shoulder.
“It does belong to Miss Collins. It be a gift from her late employer. My wife was there when it was given to her.”
Olivia took possession of the box, cradling it to her chest.
“Well then,” said Dunbar. “Since that appears to be all, I’ll be takin’ my leave.”
He bent down and snapped the catches on the trunk before hauling it up onto his shoulder.
“I’ll pass on yer regards, shall I?” he sneered before shouldering past between her and Jory.
Olivia swallowed, her chest felt tight. Her breath came in shallow pants.
“Oh Jory, I can’t believe Adam would just leave like that,” she said hoarsely. “He wouldn’t. Not without saying farewell in person.”
“He’s done it before,” said the innkeeper. He went to the door and looked down the hall, where he gave a sour look to Dunbar’s retreating back and then looked back to her. “When he were a lad, he disappeared for a few days. Then a letter arrived sayin’ he’d joined the Navy. Broke his father’s heart, it did.”
“But that was different. Adam was pressed against his will by Squire Denton. You know that. And he was a boy then.”
“And now he’s a man of the sea.” Jory replied. “Twenty years of his life and he didn’t come home but twice in all that time.”
Jory shook his head as though that were the end of the matter and left the room.
Olivia listened to his familiar footsteps return downstairs. She closed her eyes and rested a cheek on the cool wood. If Adam wanted his writing box, he’d have to come and get it himself.