Debt of Honor (20 page)

Chapter Twenty-Three

All relaxation fled Percy’s face in an instant. Apparently, an urgent message from Mr. Welch, whoever he was, was not good news.

“I think I better find out what prompted my solicitor to such haste,” Percy muttered. “I’ll join you as soon as I can.”

“Do not worry about the guests,” Letitia replied. “I can manage very well on my own.”

“I know.” He smiled.

While Percy went into the library, Letitia continued on to the drawing room where Slater had deposited the entire group beforehand. He shuffled ahead of her to open the door.

“…battle was over, the Black Knight rode off into the woods, and no one ever saw him again.” Mr. Wilkinson, sitting in one of the armchairs and leaning with both hands on his cane, had managed to charm William and Henry into temporary immobility, their eyes round with wonder.

“But…the treasure, sir,” Henry piped in anxiously. “Did he take it with him?”

“Ah, the treasure.” Mr. Wilkinson nodded. “The treasure disappeared too, the same day, and no one ever found out what happened to it.”

“Was it very big and heavy?” William wanted to know.

Mr. Wilkinson pursed his lips. “Who knows, my boy, who knows?”

“Could the treasure be in England?” The boy’s face shone with expectation.

Mr. Wilkinson nodded. “Perhaps.”

“Hurry, William.” Henry nudged his brother. “We must fight the battle first.”

“Not yet,” Mary interjected. “Where are your manners, my knights errant? You haven’t paid proper homage to the lady of this castle.”

Letitia swallowed a chuckle and sank into a curtsy when the boys executed a very proper leg.

“Avenge thy honor, noble sirs,” she said, “and chase away all enemies of this kingdom.”

“But no mistaking cats for dragons or gardeners for giants,” Mary warned them as they dashed for the door. “No amount of treasure will help you if you get in trouble.”

Mr. Wilkinson began to laugh once the door closed behind the boys.

“Spoken from experience, no doubt, my dear Mrs. Vernon,” he said, still chuckling. “Good afternoon, Lady Hanbury.”

“Good afternoon, sir, Ethel, Mary. What a great pleasure. Slater, will you please see to the tea?”

Slater bowed himself out.

“Your knights were very impatient to conquer this little realm,” Letitia remarked.

Mary waved her hand in resignation. “Last week they chased an innocent feline basking in the sun and locked the gardener in his shed.” She hugged Letitia. “I’m so glad to see you, my dear.”

“And I’m so glad you came. How wonderful you all came.”

Mr. Wilkinson bowed his head. “It has been a long-overdue pleasure for me, my dear Lady Hanbury. Luckily, the gout has given me some respite to enjoy my days before, no doubt, it sinks in its teeth again. Am I not correct, Ethel, my dear?”

“I hope not, Father.” Ethel stood a little to the side, her expression inscrutable.

Letitia had seen her only a couple of times since the incident with the ribbon. Each time Ethel apologized profusely, if not with genuine sincerity. There would never be close friendship between them, but for Percy’s and Mr. Wilkinson’s sakes, Letitia was determined to do her best.

“How are you, Ethel?” she asked.

“Pythe Park keeps me extremely busy.” Ethel sighed with a wan smile. “My brother is returning home, and I decided to move back to London. Naturally, it takes time to prepare the house for him and to make sure at the same time that my townhouse is habitable after several years of disuse.”

“What wonderful news,” Letitia exclaimed, despite a quick stab of regret bordering on envy. John would never come back. “Percy will, no doubt, share your joy. He’s mentioned his friend with warmth on several occasions. How soon do you expect him?”

“No sooner than in a fortnight,” Mr. Wilkinson replied. “His latest was sent from Gibraltar, from whence he planned to board a ship home. God willing, the weather will not turn violent with September upon us.”

“I certainly hope not,” Letitia said. “You must be very happy, sir, at the prospect of your son’s return.”

“Exceedingly so.” Mr. Wilkinson nodded. “I only wish he would finally settle down instead of dashing off here and there all the time. And I hope Ethel will not waste her time in London either.”

Ethel sat down at last.

“I have no notion of remarrying,” she said. “It is Thomas’s children you should be bouncing on your knee, Father, not mine.”

“Well”—he smiled at his daughter—“they could take turns. Perhaps, if you both hurry, I might see them grow into fine young lads like these two sons of yours, my dear Mrs. Vernon.”

Mary grinned. “I concur, sir,” she said. “Someone must, in the end, find that treasure you spoke of. And since I have a feeling that my boys may be unsuccessful, having grandchildren for that purpose is an excellent scheme indeed.”

Mr. Wilkinson grinned right back. “You read my thoughts, ma’am. Though, upon consideration, I fear they may have some fierce competition, as Percy would not want to be left out of such a promising quest. What do you say, Lady Hanbury?”

Mr. Wilkinson’s question caught her unprepared. Letitia felt the most annoying, horrible heat rise in her face.

“I…well…” she stammered. “Are you sure, sir, he knows your story about the Black Knight?”

Mr. Wilkinson chuckled. “Very clever, my dear Lady Hanbury. He might not be very interested in it. Something tells me he already found the treasure he was searching for.”

“Thank you, Mr. Wilkinson,” Letitia replied, glad to have averted the need for any explanations. “You are flattering me shamelessly, but I do not mind, as this make-believe world of yours is so pleasant to wander about in for an afternoon.”

The footman entered with the tea tray, putting a temporary end to their small talk.

“I must say,” Mr. Wilkinson spoke again, and this time his tone had none of the careless banter in it, “that I am exceedingly worried about my son’s safety. There is talk once more of the French invasion. A ship from Gibraltar might not get through a blockade. In fact, I came to see if Percy had heard anything on the subject. The newspapers are full of conflicting information, and one doesn’t know anymore whom to believe.”

“Let us hope it’s nothing but a rumor,” Mary replied. “Don’t we hear it every year? I think it must be concocted by all the militiamen who wish to gather for a libation in the nearest village inn. Every time Bonaparte sneezes on his throne, they use it as a pretense to make merry under the guise of war preparations.”

“Percy hasn’t mentioned anything,” Letitia said. “I am sure he would not withhold such important information had he believed any of these rumors.”

“And I’m sure Thomas will be fine,” Ethel added. “If there is any action, his ship may go to Bristol, or even circle Scotland and come to Norfolk directly, thus avoiding the potential contact with the French if they prove foolish enough to attack us.”

The door flew open.

“We found it! Mama! Sir, you were right. We found it!”

William’s reddened face glowed with excitement above what appeared to be a rhubarb leaf serving as a shield and a stick he swung like a saber.

“You found what?” Mr. Wilkinson asked. “Don’t tell me you have seen the Black Knight galloping through Uncle Percy’s gardens.”

William shook his head, sweat-dampened locks plastered to his forehead.

“No, sir. We thought we did, but he got away before we could question him.” He grinned. “But we found the treasure.”

“You did?” Mary asked, getting up from her chair. “Well, where is this treasure? You better show us.”

“In the hallway. Henry is guarding it,” William breathed excitedly, leading the way. “It was always in the hallway. That’s why no one knew where it was, sir, because Uncle Percy never told anyone.” He nodded and then glanced at Mr. Wilkinson. “Did you
know
, sir, that it was in Uncle Percy’s hallway?”

“I did not at all,” Mr. Wilkinson said with indignation, getting up with his daughter’s help and following the others. “Goodness gracious, if I did, I would have found it myself instead of telling you.”

“But it is ours now,” William announced triumphantly and capered ahead to where Henry sat below Sir Giles’s portrait, holding a tole box in both hands, another rhubarb leaf and stick by his side. “See? It has secret golden signs on top. And it’s black. So it had to belong to the Black Knight.”

Letitia examined the box. It was no bigger than an average-sized book. Or rather, big enough for an average-sized small book to fit inside it. The tole work, from what she could see between Henry’s smudgy fingers, was of high quality. What an odd find. Surely, the boys had not gone through the drawers. Mrs. Waters had accounted for their contents when they had been doing the inventory. She would have remembered if the box had been in one of them.

“Where did you find it?” Mary asked, reaching for the box.

“Oh…” Ethel’s feeble moan diverted all attention from the boys to her.

Pale as freshly washed linen, Ethel swayed.

Mr. Wilkinson’s step faltered. He tried to steady his stance. “Ethel, are you unwell, my dear child?” He sounded alarmed.

“Ethel, you must sit down.” Letitia hurried to put an arm around Ethel’s shoulders. It would not do to let the two of them tumble to the floor.

Ethel only shook her head and took in a harsh breath while Mary took her father’s arm and led him a few steps away. Letitia helped Ethel sit in a chair by the commode opposite to the one where Henry sat on the floor.

“Slater,” Letitia called anxiously, but the butler had already appeared. “Please call Miss Fourier. I think Lady Marsden is ill. Would you like to lie down, Ethel?”

“No, no.” Ethel shook her head again and even tried to smile. “Do not mind me. It must be the heat. Or maybe the pie we had for breakfast today. Nothing to worry about, I assure you.” She took another deep breath, and her smile broadened. Then she was back on her feet, smoothing her skirts. “See? I’m already better.”

“Oh no, don’t you dare,” Mary said suddenly, bringing everyone’s attention to the other side of the hallway again. William had joined his brother on the floor, and both boys were trying to pry open the lid of the box.

“But we want to see what’s inside,” Henry protested.

“Whatever is inside, it belongs to Uncle Percy,” Mary said in a tone not brooking opposition. “If Uncle Percy decides to give it to you, then you may have it. But for now, hand it over to Lady Letitia, please. Where exactly did you find it, Henry?”

“Behind the painting,” Henry said, getting up from the floor and giving the box to Letitia. It was relatively heavy for its size. How had it ended up behind a painting? Percy had said once he didn’t mind the warped frame encasing his forebear’s likeness, and she agreed with him. The imperfection was charming in its own way. But it never occurred to her that anyone might use it for storage.

Apparently, Mary found this surprising as well. “Can you show me?” she asked her son.

Henry walked to Sir Giles’s portrait, where the warped bottom corner of the frame hung only about two feet above the floor. He easily slid his hand between the back of the frame and the wall.

“It was here, Mama, like on a shelf.”

“Are we in trouble, Mama?” William asked.

Mary shook her head. “No, my darlings. But now run outside and play. Perhaps the Black Knight will come back.”

The boys scampered away.

Letitia looked at the box. Would Percy know what was inside?

As if conjured, Percy emerged from the side corridor. In one hand, he held an open letter, undoubtedly the missive from his solicitor. The folded one in his other hand had to be the reply he would give to Mr. Welch’s messenger. His grave expression deprived the box she held of its sudden importance.

Letitia put it in the top drawer of the commode. After all the time it had spent behind the painting, there was no rush to reveal its contents at this very moment.

Percy stopped when he noticed them, his face deadly serious. Her heart fluttered with premonition.

Mr. Wilkinson did not hesitate to ask what she was thinking, “What news, my boy?” Worry thickened his voice. “You look as if disaster looms on the horizon.”

“I fear it does, sir,” Percy replied. “And not even figuratively speaking. Our navy is preparing for war with Bonaparte. He’s apparently ready to invade the British Isles.”

As Percy had anticipated, the news struck hard. Mr. Wilkinson suddenly seemed much older. He bowed his head and murmured something while Mary patted his hand, the impish laughter gone from her eyes. In silence, they made their way back to the drawing room.

Welch had written from London that the invasion was just days away. Percy found no pleasure in announcing such news. And when he learned about Thomas’s expected return to England, his heart squeezed with uneasiness. According to Welch, preparations had been observed on the other side of the Channel. Reconnaissance boats had been coming closer toward the British shores for about a week. He urged Percy to come to London and personally oversee the completion of the contracts he had been negotiating with the navy as there surely would be no time to discuss details by post once the French attempted the landing.

“I shall inquire about
Indigo
upon my arrival there, sir.” He turned to Mr. Wilkinson, whose complexion was ashen with worry. “Perhaps she will change course and drop anchor in Bristol. I’ll send you word immediately.”

“Thank you, my dear boy. I cannot abide waiting when there is nothing I can do except hope for the best. Perhaps it will be a lesson for my son to stay where he ought to be, at Pythe Park, instead of seeking all sorts of danger all over the world. I’m afraid, Ethel, that your return to London will have to be postponed.”

“I have no notion of going anywhere until Thomas is back,” Ethel mumbled, nervously twisting the ribbon of her sash. Her cheeks were as pale as her father’s. Percy felt a twinge of sympathy.

No one, of course, said anything aloud about the possibility of
Indigo
falling into French hands, though all must have been thinking about it.

“I will be going early tomorrow morning,” Percy said.