Lord Perfect (39 page)

WHILE LORD NORTHWICK'S MEN WERE SEARCHing the
northeastern section of the estate, Peregrine and Olivia had been
making their way in the opposite direction.

A high wall surrounded Throgmorton's park, as Peregrine
had expected. Since Swain the pawnbroker had said the mausoleum was
in the southwestern corner of the park, this was the way Peregrine
led Olivia. Eventually they came to the stream Swain had mentioned.
Thanks to the recent rain, its waters were high and muddy, rushing
along a route it more usually meandered at a leisurely pace.

Peregrine was sure there would be a bridge, and near it
a gate, to accommodate carts and wagons. Not many yards farther on,
the bridge appeared, and the expected gate, which, though locked, was
not guarded.

Climbing over it was no problem.

Once inside the property, they kept to the cart track,
which followed the boundary wall. At first the thickly wooded
landscape hid the rest of the park from view. But after a few
minutes, the track began to climb, and Peregrine spotted the
lantern-topped dome of the mausoleum.

'There it is!" Olivia cried.

Birds flew up from the trees, squawking.

"Be quiet," Peregrine said. "I can see.
Do you want all the world to know we're here?"

But she was already hurrying up the hillside, along a
narrow path that did not seem to be used very much. Peregrine glanced
up once at the sky, then followed her. He did not like the looks of
the clouds. At this point, though, it made no sense to travel all the
long way back to the Bristol Road again because of bad weather.

They could take shelter from the rain at the mausoleum,
he thought, under its portico. If they had to spend the night—and
that seemed likely—they could do it in one of the numerous
other buildings adorning Throgmorton's park. Peregrine doubted they'd
all be locked—not that he supposed mere locks could stop
Olivia.

He saw her slip, and hurried to catch up with her.

"Do watch where you're going," he said. "Can't
you see the ground's still wet? Do you want to break an ankle?"

She didn't seem to be listening. Her eyes were on the
mausoleum.

"It's bigger than I pictured," she said.
"Fancier, too. They've put a dome on top of the roof, and a
rectangular box on top of the dome, and a little ball on top of the
rectangular box. And they've stuck all those urns or pots or whatever
they are on every roof corner."

The decoration didn't surprise Peregrine. What did
surprise him, when they reached the top of the hill, was how secluded
the place was. The mausoleums he'd seen had been built for show, and
dominated their immediate surroundings. Though this was typically
grand, it was very private, with only a small stretch of lawn about
it. A dense wall of tall shrubbery and trees almost completely
enclosed the space.

"This isn't the fanciest part," Peregrine
said. "It's obviously the back of the building. The entrance
will be under the portico." He led her round to the front. "Much
more elaborate, you see."

It had a wide stone staircase, with balustrades, upon
the ends of which stood two stone figures about eight feet tall. From
the staircase, a wide pathway wandered down the slope, then seemed to
continue up another hill nearby. Everywhere else, the trees blocked
his view of the parkland. Peregrine guessed that beyond those trees
would be more of the same: the usual rolling landscape. He couldn't
be sure, though, since the greenery shut out all but that bit of
pathway.

"I'll wager anything that Edmund DeLucey buried his
treasure at the foot of one of the statues," Olivia said,
calling his attention back to the mausoleum. "But which one?"

"Maybe if we knew who they were meant to represent,
we could guess," Peregrine said. "Gods or demigods,
probably. Funny, isn't it, how our lot carry out their strict
Christian burials under pagan symbols. I know that at least one
member of the peerage has a mausoleum in the shape of a pyramid."

Olivia, as one would expect, was not interested in the
burial rituals of the British aristocracy. "I suppose we'll have
to dig in both places," she said. She looked about her. "I
doubt anyone will notice."

Peregrine had to agree with at least the last statement.
If Edmund DeLucey had buried anything here, he wouldn't have had to
worry much about attracting attention.

Peregrine's family had a park like this, where features
of the landscape, interesting structures and such, were artfully
hidden along the pathways among trees and shrubbery, so that the
visitor arrived upon them unexpectedly, or saw them at a distance
only from the ideal vantage point.

Meanwhile, this building's foundation rose about six
feet off the ground. Anyone digging at its base would be very hard to
see, unless the observer stood in exactly the right spot.

Of course, one must remember that the surrounding trees
wouldn't have been so thick and tall a hundred years ago. The hill
might have been bare, for all one knew.

Not that Olivia would care what anything was like a
century ago. She'd only want to know where they might find spades and
shovels. And maybe pickaxes.

As Peregrine stooped to study the ground at the base of
the balustrade, he felt the first cold drops of rain.

He straightened. "We'd better get under—
What's that noise?"

Olivia turned her head at the same time he did.

A man was running down the pathway on the nearby hill,
waving at them and shouting. He was barely a hundred yards away.

Peregrine looked at Olivia. She looked back at him, her
blue doll eyes wide.

"No," she said. 'Wo."

And
NO
!
he wanted to shout.

He wasn't ready to be found.

Not yet. He wasn't done.

He needed only seconds to decide what to do.

His punishment would be horrendous.

He might as well deserve it.

He grabbed her arm and dragged her away from the stairs
and toward the nearest opening between the trees. "Run!" he
shouted. "Just run!"

THOMAS WAS RUNNING down the path. Benedict started after
him in time to see Peregrine grab Olivia and plunge into the woodland
to their right: the lake side of the hill. The steepest side.

Benedict could hardly believe his eyes. "Stop!"
he roared. "Are you mad?"

The children didn't stop.

He quickly calculated the best angle for intercepting
them, and charged into a narrow path nearby… With any luck,
he'd catch them before they got far.

He heard the hunting horn's blare.

The signal, summoning the other men from all parts of
the estate.

Benedict didn't pause.

"Olivia!" a voice cried.

Bathsheba, calling her daughter.

Benedict didn't look back or waste breath telling her to
stay where she was.

He pushed past branches and leapt over roots.

The ground was slick with fallen leaves and pine
needles. He ran, wishing she wouldn't run, too, yet knowing she
would.

Please, don't fall and break your neck.

As he raced down the slope toward the lake, the pathway
narrowed, the forest giving way to shrubbery nearly as tall and much
denser.

"Peregrine!" he shouted. "Olivia!"

No response.

Evil children. When he got his hands on them—

"Olivia!" came Bathsheba's voice again from
somewhere behind him.

He ran on. The rain beat down now and the curst path
twisted and turned, but in the wet it offered surer footing than the
children would have among the trees and undergrowth, where wet leaves
and pine needles carpeted the sloping ground.

Curse the brats! When I catch them, I'll throttle
them.

That was his last coherent thought. His toe caught on a
gnarled root, and Benedict pitched forward.

PEREGRINE HEARD THE shouts behind him.

He heard Olivia, too, panting behind him, so close she
was.

A part of him wanted to stop, but another part wouldn't,
couldn't. He kept on, though he was wet through, and he'd lost the
path. It was harder here, because there were fewer trees and more
shrubs. The low branches grabbed his clothes and slapped his face. He
kept running.

Then he saw it: an opening, at last.

He burst through it—and saw, too late, the short,
steep embankment and the swirling water below. He grabbed for a
branch, but his feet slid out from under him, and he tumbled headlong
down the slope.

"Olivia!" he shouted. "Look out!"

His hands and feet skidded over the slick mud of the
embankment, and he plunged into the rushing water.

RUNNING ONLY A few steps behind Peregrine, Olivia heard
his cry an instant too late. She was already stumbling after him,
arms flailing. As she slid over the edge of the embankment into the
water, her hand struck something rough and thick, and she caught hold
and held on tightly with both hands.

"Help!" she screamed. Icy water swirled around
her, tugging at her, while the rain beat on her head and her hands,
which were turning numb. She saw Peregrine thrashing in the water
while the current carried him away.

"Lisle!" she cried. "Peregrine!"

His head went under the water.

THOMAS ARRIVED A moment after Benedict fell. The footman
hauled him to his feet.

"Mrs. Wingate?" Benedict gasped, brushing
muddy leaves from his face. "Where?"

"Caught her dress on a bush," Thomas said. "I
begged her to stay there and show the way to the others. Then I run
off before she could say no."

That was when they heard Peregrine's shout. Olivia cried
out an instant later.

The two men hurried downward, toward the sounds.

Benedict stumbled through the bushes and out onto the
path along the embankment.

No Peregrine.

An instant later, the pale head popped up, and
Benedict's heart began to beat again.

"Help him!" came a cry from his right.

He turned that way, and saw the girl, clinging to the
branch of a fallen tree.

The rotten tree had caught on something. That was why
she wasn't yet drifting down the waterway after Peregrine. The boy,
meanwhile, was struggling against the current.

"He's tiring, sir," Thomas said.

Another fifty or more yards and he'd be tumbling over
the cascade… and breaking his neck, if he didn't drown first.

Benedict's gaze shot to the girl. Any minute now, the
swollen river could carry away Olivia's tree.

"I can swim it, sir," said Thomas.

"No, keep to the lake path and go to the cascade,"
Benedict said. He pointed. "Try to stop him going over. I'll
come as soon as I can."

Even while he spoke, he was climbing down the slippery
embankment and making his way along the water's edge toward Olivia.

Thomas set off at a run toward the cascade.

"Not me!" Olivia screamed. "He's going to
drown!"

Benedict stepped down into the water and continued
toward her. Though bitter cold and thick with mud and debris, this
part of the stream was not as deep as he'd feared. It rose no higher
than his waist.

Still, the current was surprisingly strong, forcing him
to move more cautiously than he wanted. It seemed to take hours to
cover the few yards to the girl.

"Not me!" she screamed. "Not me! I told
you!"

"Hush," Benedict said. He prised her stiff
fingers from the tree branch, dragged her up into his arms, and
staggered back to the embankment. He hoisted her up and set her down
on the wet ground.

"Are you hurt?" he said, trying not to gasp.

"N-n-no," she said through
chattering teeth. "I't-told you. Get
him
."

She was soaked through. Rivulets of water poured down
her face. She was shaking in every limb. And furious.

She was so like her mother.

"Stay," Benedict said. "Stay right here."

"Yes, yes, only
go,
please
."

Benedict went.

BY THE TIME Benedict caught up with his footman,
Peregrine had drifted dangerously near the cascade. The water here
was over his head. He was trying to swim, but he was too tired—or
hurt or both—and the current carried him on toward the cascade,
not a dozen yards away.

Thomas was already starting into the water. Benedict
went in after him. "M'lord," Thomas protested.

"We need to make a chain," Benedict said.

He didn't have to explain.

Thomas moved deeper into the water. Grabbing his hand,
Benedict pushed on toward his nephew. Each step took him deeper, the
water rising to his shoulders. The current tried to pull him off his
feet, but Thomas kept him steady.