Wild Bells to the Wild Sky (67 page)

"Yes, don't you remember that journal you spoke of when we returned from the island? You told me that Basil had written everything down in it, and that it had been burned in the hut. Basil would have written his suspicions down in that journal, Lily. He was always recording his thoughts and impressions of people and places. I am certain that it must be filled with everything he did and saw in Santo Domingo. He most likely would have reported the information to Walsingham on his return to England. Basil was very thorough and an untiring diarist. There is a whole room full of his journals at Whiteswood. If only it had not been destroyed. That, I am positive, would be our proof. Unless we have something more than your childhood fable and an attempt on your life, we have nothing to arrest Sir Raymond on. I will, of course, inform Cecil, but all I can do is warn him on the weight of my suspicions, which isn't much, I'm afraid."

"The journal," Lily repeated, a look of horrified amazement on her face "I had forgotten it over the years. Basil always said it was important. He would never allow any of us to look inside it. He always read to us from it," Lily remembered.

Valentine couldn't hid
e
his disappointment. "So you never saw inside it, then? You never read what was written there? You have no idea?"

Lily shook her head, staring down at her hands nervously, her face paling.

"Don't worry, Lily. I won't let Sir Raymond anywhere near you. We may not have the proof to arrest him, but now that I know the truth, he will have no reason to harm you. In fact, I will see that he is constantly watched. A man's reputation has been ruined by suspicion alone, and after I finish with Sir
Raymond
, he will find it healthier to leave England," Valentine vowed. "You need not fear him again. I only wish I had that proof, for who can say who else might be involved that we have no suspicions of now? I would prefer not to alert Sir Raymond. I would like to catch him and his coconspirators before they have a chance to flee."

Lily glanced up, then away, unable to meet his gaze when she admitted in a low voice, "There still might be the proof you want. The journal did not burn in the hut. It is still on the island," she said, her head downbent.

Valentine Whitelaw stared at Lily as if he hadn't heard. When he said nothing, Lily glanced up, and taking a deep breath, she repeated her words more loudly this time.

"I said the journal is still there. I lied when I told you it had burned up. Basil made me promise to tell no one about the journal. He said what was inside it was for the queen's eyes alone. He said it was special. He always kept it hidden, with our treasure," Lily confessed.

"Basil's
journal
is still on the island?"

"Yes, buried with our treasure."

"What treasure is that?" Valentine asked, wondering what other secrets the island held that Lily had never shared with him.

"The rest of the treasure from that sunken galleon. We found quite a lot washed up on shore. It took us days to
gather
it all. Basil said we should hide it to keep it safe from the pirates that occasionally came ashore. He said it was rightfully ours and that we might need it someday. When you came that day I never had a chance to tell you about it. We had already sailed when I regained consciousness, and by then it was too late. Since the journal was safely hidden, and we were returning to Highcross, I didn't think it was important anymore," Lily said, flushing now as she remembered her naïveté and the contempt Valentine Whitelaw must feel for her when she found the courage to confess another guilt she'd been hiding for so long. "I did not trust you when you first came to the island and tricked me aboard the
Madrigal
. When you first asked about the journal, I lied, partly because of the promise I'd made to Basil to keep it a secret, but mostly because I was still angry at you for having tricked me. You'd lied to me. I understand now why you did, but then I did not. Then, later, when I came to
—
to
-
-" Lily paused, then continued, an embarrassed blush spreading across her cheeks, "to like you, I was afraid you would hate me if I told you I had lied. I did not want to know your displeasure, to lose your
friendship
," she said, looking up into his face, expecting to see his disgust.

But Valentine Whitelaw didn't react the way she'd suspected, instead he sat down beside her on the bed. Taking her face between his hands, he stared deeply into her pale green eyes, shadowed now by her guilt that she had somehow betrayed him. "I do not blame you, Lily. You mustn't hold yourself responsible for something you did not understand. You have been an innocent victim. You have suffered enough already because of
Valchamps's
treachery. You were but a child. Now
.
.
." he said, and before he could resist the temptation, he lowered his mouth to hers, touching her slightly parted lips in a gentle kiss, his hand straying to rest on the bareness of her shoulder, his fingers curving around it before sliding into the thickness of her unbound hair. Before he lifted his mouth from hers, his kiss deepened for a brief instant when he felt her response, the way her lips clung to his when he would have parted from her.

Her breath was warm against his face when his lips left hers. He stared down at her closed eyes, the lashes fluttering against the softness of her skin, and he
kissed
each of her lids, startling them into opening so he could stare into her eyes. "Nothing is settled between us. We still have much to discus, Lily Francisca Christian," he warned before abruptly releasing her, his eyes holding the promise of that reckoning as they roved over her.

Standing up, he laughed, his sun-bronzed face full of triumph. "By God, I'm going to get that journal. The
Madrigal
is already prepared to sail. If you are up to it, we will return to London immediately. I'll have to confer with Burghley before we sail, then make port at Falmouth to send Sir Rodger and Quinta ashore. I trust she has returned to London by now. You and Tristram and Dulcie will stay at Ravindzara while I'm in the Indies. You will be safe there. You might even stay at Penmorley Hall, for Quinta will wish to stay with Artemis. That might be better. Sir Rodger will not mind, and he will be able to keep a closer eye on you. Of course, now I know the truth, I really do not think Sir Raymond need concern us. I shouldn't be gone longer than a couple of months," Valentine Whitelaw said confidently, his hands moving to bring the puppet within his grasp while he planned his next move against Sir Raymond Valchamps, and forgetting that he had yet to learn the exact location of the journal from Lily Christian, who was lying quietly in the bed making plans of her own. He was not going to leave her at Penmorley Hall with Honoria Penmorley to keep her company while he returned to the island-the island she had longed to return to for so many years. If anyone had the right to return to that island, then she did.

Glancing up at his tall figure standing before the window, Lily vowed that she would be aboard the
Madrigal
when Valentine Whitelaw set sail for the Indies.

"Well, you have certainly taken your time in returning to London. Have a good journey?" the man sitting quietly in an armchair in the corner of the great
chamber
inquired of Sir Raymond Valchamps.

"What the devil are you doing here at this hour of the morning?" Sir Raymond greeted his visitor with an obvious lack of pleasure. "I hope you've a good reason for getting me out of bed so early," he demanded, clad in a dressing gown, his silvery hair uncombed.

"I hear you've been seeing some of the countryside."

Sir Raymond glanced up curiously from the goblet of wine he'd just poured, and, taking a sip, nodded. "Yes, you might say that," he said with a smile as he took his seat opposite, hiding a yawn behind a casually raised hand.

The man watching him longed to strike that smug expression from Raymond Valchamps's face. "Warwickshire, perhaps?"

Sir Raymond Valchamps's smile widened. "Yes, I believe so. I had intended to mention to my travels to you this evening. I do have considerable holdings, given to me by Elizabeth, which border Warwickshire and Oxfordshire. And have you forgotten my own family home is in Buckinghamshire? Not far away. I have been in the area for the last couple of days. Have an interest, do you, in what I've been up to?"

"Oh, I know precisely what you've been doing."

"Indeed? News does travel fast nowadays. When is the funeral? I suppose I shall have to attend. Rather enjoyable one, I should think," he said, laughing softly.

"What funeral?"

Sir Raymond's eyes blinked slightly. "I thought you knew. What is all of this conversation about, otherwise? The girl's, of course. I have dealt with her," Sir Raymond informed him, taking a long, satisfying swallow of wine. "Damned thirsty. Lot of dust on the roads."

"Have you indeed?" his friend inquired icily.

"Ah, of course, that conscience of yours. You really must do
something
about it. You are becoming a bore, so please, spare me your usual
remorse
. I am fatigued from my journey
.
.
.
and Cordelia was waiting for me upon my return. She will make a
splendid
wife. Have some wine. We will toast our success. It had to be done," he reminded his serious-faced friend.

But the man surprised Sir Raymond by laughing harshly. "
If
done properly. All you have managed to do is draw attention to yourself. You and your damned obsession with Lily Christian have put us in more danger than we have ever been in-if indeed we haven't always. Fools, Raymond. We've been fools these many years. The executioner's ax has been hovering over our heads all along, my friend."

"What on earth are you talking about now?" Sir Raymond asked rather offhandedly though he was beginning to become concerned. "You've no guts, that's your worst enemy," he said with a
contemptuous
look at the richly dressed man. "Wouldn't want to ruin our fine silk hose, now would we? What did you mean when you said
if
done properly?" he added, seemingly more interested in examining the fine leather of his slipper than hearing the explanation. "The girl is dead. I stood there and watched her drown. But
just
to make certain, I hit her over the head first," he added, his fingers tapping nervously against the arm of his chair.

"Oh? You actually watched her drown?"

"She went under. There was blood on her head. Good as dead. I heard someone coming. A dog started barking nearby, and I hardly wished to be seen standing on the edge of the pool with that stick in my hand while I watched the girl drown," he retorted with a defensive glance at his friend. "At least I had the courage to act."

She did not drown."

Sir Raymond Valchamps remained unmoving. "Not dead? Surely you jest, dear friend?"

"No."

"Damn!" Sir Raymond said beneath his breath, his hands clenched around the arms of the chair.

"You were not very careful, were you? Nor were you the last time. You have made two very serious mistakes, Raymond, and you have
endangered
us all."

"Endangered you? I doubt that. I'm the one who struck her down. Well, 'tisn't of concern. She did not see me."

"Oh, but she did. She saw your reflection in the pool. Like a mirror held before her eyes, with your face revealed to her."

Sir Raymond wiped the wine from his lips with the back of his hand. "No one will believe her. 'Sdeath, but she's been living with gypsies. Little better than a whore. That gypsy who attacked me was probably her lover. You should have seen the way she brazenly bared herself in the woods. If I'd had more time
.
.
.
well," Sir Raymond speculated aloud, remembering the seductive beauty of her body. "My word against hers. I'm the queen's favorite," he chuckled.

"Valentine
Whitelaw
believes her, Raymond."

"Oh?" Sir Raymond responded easily, but he couldn't hide his momentary start of surprise.

"Yes. You were very sloppy when you tried to murder her at the fair. My God, Raymond, you started a riot, and then you stabbed the wrong girl. You were seen paying off those two henchmen of yours."

Sir Raymond's smug expression disappeared. "Who saw me?"

"Valentine Whitelaw's servant. He thought it strange you should be involved in the burning of the gypsy camp and told his captain as much."

"Damn! I didn't see him. There were so many people about, and I was more concerned with the girl."

"As usual, you were to busy enjoying yourself to
worry
about the consequences."

"But who will accept the word of a
Turk?"
Sir Raymond asked with a laugh. "People will merely believe that Valentine Whitelaw is trying to implicate me in this affair out of spite because I stole his mistress from him. I will make certain people hear of his insults and harassment of me. They will believe he is trying to get even. Nothing more. One day I will have my revenge against him. And no one will blame me."