The Sinner (26 page)

“I doubt he approves of educating boys of lower con-dition.”

“That is not enough reason to try and kill you.”

“We do not know Gregory was behind this, Dante.”

“I can think of no one else. He wants to stop you from building it, Fleur. Very much. I think that everything he has done, all of it, was to prevent that. He came and offered to pay me to stop you.”

“He tried to bribe you? That is very insulting.”

His expression showed he had not missed the insult that Gregory assumed he would choose money over loyalty to his own wife. “I think it is not a coincidence that this happened to you right after I refused.”

“There is nothing special about that piece of land, Dante. It is just a cottage and a garden and some fields. It isn’t even the best land there. The soil has too much clay, which is one reason I was going to use it for the school to begin with.”

“Could there be something underground? Coal or minerals? Something that he hopes to own someday?”

“If there had been, he could have profited while he was married to my mother. He controlled the farms then. He could not sell them, but he could exploit them.”

Dante thought it all over. “His tenacity regarding you has been odd, Fleur. There is a reason for it. A good reason. This attack on you speaks of a man getting desperate.”

“I cannot imagine what the reason is. If you had agreed to accept his payment, the property would not become his. It would have stayed as it is now and as it has been for years.”

“Then he must want it to stay as it is. We need to know why, and the answer is in Durham.”

chapter
24

F
leur rarely visited her Durham property. Her arrival with Dante, so soon after her last visit, sent the couple who cared for it into high agitation. Mr. Hill set off at once to the village, to hire women to bring back before it got dark. Mrs. Hill bustled around the house, lighting fires and removing covers from furniture.

She interrupted her work to help Fleur settle into her chamber. As she shook out dresses, she gossiped about the tenants and local happenings.

“The Johnson family has left their place, of course,” she concluded. “But they are happy with their new cottage, and grateful that the fields are still theirs to work.”

The Johnson family had been living in Aunt Peg’s cottage while the plans for the school unfolded.

“They were unhappy at first, even with the offer of the other cottage, since it is not so convenient to the fields, but now that they have made the change they are content.”

“There was no need for them to be inconvenienced. I do not need that property yet.”

“There must have been some confusion, then. Your stepfather wrote on your behalf and said that you did. The Johnsons knew how he still watches matters here for you.”

Of course they assumed so. They thought of the land as his to control because for years they had paid the rents to him while her mother owned the property.

“Has he moved any other families?”

“Not that I can think of. He has always kept an eye on things for you, however. The tenants understand how it is.”

“Where did the Johnson family move?”

“A new cottage, right on the edge of Mr. Farthingstone’s land. Not too far from the fields.”

Not so far to cause Mr. Johnson to complain to her because he lost a season’s plantings or had to walk miles to reach the fields.

She left Mrs. Hill to complete the unpacking and went outside. Standing in front of the house, she looked west. One could see the old cottage from here. It was a gray speck against the overcast sky, sitting atop a low rise in the land, close enough that Peg could see her sister’s home.

She went back upstairs in search of Dante. He was in his chamber, washing. He had taken the ribbons most of the way from London because his skill with four-in-hand far surpassed Luke’s and he had no interest in a leisurely journey.

“I believe you were correct, Dante. The answer may be here in Durham. Or at least, the answer to something may be here.”

She told him what had transpired with the cottage.

“Since that is where you intend to build the school, it may be connected to our mystery in some way.” He had removed his coats and now put them back on. “It will be a while before dusk. Let us visit this cottage. I have grown very curious about that property.”

He took her hand as they walked. The day was not breezy and bright as it had been the last time they strolled together along this lane. Gray clouds threatened rain and blocked the setting sun, and the air held the pending dampness. Fleur felt as lighthearted as she had that day, however. Even her brush with death had not dimmed the glow that her love gave the world.

The cottage slowly grew in size with each step.

“How long was this cottage vacant?” Dante asked, looking toward it.

“While Aunt Ophelia was alive. She hoped that her sister would be found at first, but even after the body was discovered, she did not put a tenant there.”

Dante paced on another few yards. “When did your aunt Peg disappear?”

“Years ago, Dante. I was just a girl. Aunt Peg and I used to play together back then. I would visit her and we would play with our dolls.”

“How old were you when she went missing?”

She had to calculate that by working back through the milestones of her life. “I think that I was eight or nine. My mother and I had come to visit as we did most summers. I remember going to play with Aunt Peg, and then the great confusion when she went missing. It was a very sad time, and I do not remember those days much. However, Aunt Ophelia died eleven years ago, and that was soon after Aunt Peg’s body was found and she had been missing at least ten years then.”

It made her uncomfortable to speak of this. The damp penetrated her more, and the heavy clouds appeared darker.

So did Dante’s expression. A frown marked his brow and he observed the cottage they approached with thoughtful speculation.

“The woman who cared for your aunt. What became of her?”

“She left. She took a position elsewhere. Hill probably knows where. I wish that you would not dwell on this, Dante. It is as unpleasant as our conversation by the lake at Laclere Park.”

In some ways it was more unpleasant. His questions evoked memories of those days after Aunt Peg disappeared. Sensations crept into her of loss and shock and walking through a house heavy with dread. Another reaction nibbled at her as well. Guilt. If she had been playing with Aunt Peg that day, she could not have wandered off and gotten lost.

The cottage was close enough now to see its shutters and stones and the little garden that the Johnsons had planted. She remembered running along this lane, carrying her doll, to go play with Aunt Peg in the sitting room while the caretaker read a book in the corner.

She had not realized at the time how odd it was to have such a playmate. Aunt Peg had been gone for years before she understood why this grown woman enjoyed a child’s games. At the time she had simply thought that Aunt Peg was kinder than most adults, and much more fun too.

They approached the cottage from the side. Dante went up and peered in the window. “It is too dark inside to see, and this window too dirty in any case.”

She held back. That window . . .

“Has the walk been too much for you, Fleur? You are looking pale.”

“I am fine.” Only she really wasn’t. A very unpleasant sensation churned in her stomach. She kept looking at the window. She knew the chamber inside very well. She could see Aunt Peg sitting on the floor, dancing her doll across the rug toward her.

It was a happy memory, but she was not feeling happy at all. She was feeling very sick. The notion of looking in that window with Dante made her cringe.

She searched her memory, trying to make things fit right.

Dante came back to her. “What is it, Fleur? You do not look fine at all.”

“I am thinking that perhaps Aunt Ophelia had tenants here after all. I must have forgotten that. We came less often once Aunt Peg was gone. Yes, that would explain it.”

“Explain what?”

“The window, Dante. Do you remember how I said that I thought I once saw a woman in agony while giving birth? I see her face and body through a window. That window.”

“Then I am sorry that I brought you here.”

“Do not be. It explains part of the fear.” She shrugged. The uneasy sensation had retreated. “I think that I would like to go in. I loved Aunt Peg in ways I could never love most adults then. She was a playmate every summer. I feel bad that I do not think of her much anymore, and have not for years.”

They walked around the house. Dante opened the door and she stepped over the threshold.

And froze.

“Dante, look.”

He stepped in behind her.

Little light entered except from the door, but it was obvious that the cottage had no floor. All of the boards had been removed and neatly stacked along one wall. The packed earth underneath had been completely exposed.

Dante kicked the ground with his heel. “Dry, and hard as rock. Difficult to dig with a shovel.”

“Do you think that is the intention?”

“I can think of no other reason for removing the floor.”

“Dig for what?”

He did not answer at first. He paced around the walls, studying the ground. “Something valuable enough to not want others to find it when they began digging to build a school.”

His expression appeared very hard in the dim light. He crossed his arms and stared at the dirt. She sensed anger in him, but not directed at her.

“Then Gregory has arranged for this,” she said.

The low rumble of distant thunder rolled in the door. “A storm is coming. I will come back tomorrow and see if I am right.”

“Right? What do you think is here, Dante?”

He shrugged. “Who knows. Perhaps Farthingstone learned there is a great treasure hiding.” The thunder rumbled again. “Come along. We need to get back before the rain comes.”

The storm was moving fast. Lightning sliced the distant sky. It was not the rain that Dante wanted to beat, however. It was the dusk.

In a corner of the cottage, almost hidden by the floorboards and the shadows, he had seen two oil lamps.

He helped Fleur down the threshold to the cottage. As they walked back to the lane, he heard a sound besides thunder float on the heavy air.

He turned. Two horses rode cross country, barely visible in the graying world. At the same time that he saw the riders, they noticed him. One gestured and the horses broke into a gallop.

Fleur’s eyes widened when she saw the horses.

He began pulling her back to the cottage. “No doubt they are only travelers aiming for the mail road, trying to outrun the storm,” he said. “All the same, let us go back in here and see if they pass.”

He did not believe they would. They had actually been aiming toward this cottage. But he and Fleur could not outrun them and he would have a better chance of protecting Fleur if she was not out in the open.

Not much of one, if that shorter rider was who he thought. Very little chance at all if what he suspected about this cottage was correct.

Cursing himself for not anticipating this, blood already coursing with the sickening excitement of the hunted, he threw the bolt over the door as soon as he had Fleur inside. He checked to see that the kitchen was secure as well. He went to all the windows on the first level and closed their shutters, shrouding the cottage in darkness.

Returning to Fleur, he examined their sanctuary. The stone walls and thick door would make it hard to get in, but this was hardly an impregnable fort.

“The rider on the left . . . I could barely see him, but I thought it was Gregory,” Fleur said. “I thought he was in Essex.”

He heard the tremor in her voice. He pulled her into his arms. “So his servant said. Even if it is Farthingstone, there is no reason to be afraid.”

“Do you think he is coming to do the digging?”

“He may have only been riding and not recognized us. He may be coming to see who is trespassing. He still watches these farms for you.”

She felt in the dark for his face. “You do not believe that. You would not have bolted the doors if you did.”

“I am only being cautious in the way of husbands, Fleur.” He kissed her. “Do not worry. I think that I can thrash him if I have to.”

She laughed. He held her closer while he listened hard for the sounds of approaching horses.

They arrived with the storm. Fat droplets began pounding the windows as hooves pounded up the lane. The heavens broke as a hand worked the latch and met the resistance of the bolt.

A man cursed. Dante recognized the voice.

So did Fleur. “It appears he did not go to Essex,” she whispered.

“See here, open this door and show yourself,” Farthingstone ordered. “We know you are in there, by Zeus, since the damn door is bolted.”

“There seems little point in pretending we are not here,” Fleur said quietly.

Dante did not agree. Farthingstone knew a couple had entered this cottage, but he had not recognized who they were. There was a chance that the rain would discourage him and his companion and they would leave and come back later.

In any event, he was not going to make this easy for them.

Mumbles sounded on the other side of the door, then silence fell. Dante felt Fleur’s heart racing and the tension tightening her body. He held her and listened for the sounds of horses leaving.

A crack blasted the silence as a huge weight fell against the door. A metal point poked through a plank, then disappeared.

They had come tonight to dig after all. The had a pickax with them.

The pick fell again. The plank splintered.

Fleur cringed closer. “Dante . . .”

“He will be chagrined when he goes through such trouble only to learn it is the owner of this land inside this cottage.”

She tucked her head against his neck. “You do not have to pretend for me. I know that we may be in a very dangerous spot.”

The pick landed again. A hole appeared in the door. The shadow of a face peered in. “Cannot see a thing with it all closed up,” Farthingstone said.

“Stand aside,” another voice replied. A voice that Dante did not recognize.

The pick made short work of the door, enlarging the hole. An arm reached through and lifted the bolt. The door swung in.

Two men ducked in from the pouring rain. “Who is there? Who are you?” Farthingstone demanded, peering into the corner where Dante held Fleur.

“Just me, Farthingstone,” Dante said. “What are you doing, destroying property like this? I got caught by the storm and took refuge here to wait it out. I did not expect a trespasser to come by and break down the door.”