Zeb turned his head. Gideon kissed him, hard and desperate, and Zeb grabbed his shoulders and clung on, kissing him wildly with hungry, frightened, open-mouthed gulps that were close to sobs.
They held on to each other a moment longer in silence, shoulders heaving, until Gideon said, “We should go.”
“Yes.”
Gideon squeezed his hand. “Wewillget out of here. Together.”
“What about Dash? And Bram?”
“There’s damn all we can do about Dash now. If we come back with a pack of policemen, maybe they can search the place. Bram…ugh. Is there any chance at all of persuading him to scale a wall and walk twelve miles across a moor?”
“None. But if I leave him behind, what might happen to him?”
“I don’t know. But I don’t see what we can do to help him oranyone at all except get ourselves out and come back with the police.”
“No. No, I suppose you’re right.”
Gideon squeezed his hand again. They rose and shuffled their stooped way out of the folly.
***
Gideon headed off alone to look for a ladder. That made sense, since Zeb didn’t know the servants’ areas, the outbuildings and places where the work happened, and had no reason to be there with him. But he couldn’t help thinking of the chauffeur’s contemptuous face, and the nasty expression in the footman’s eyes, and wondering what would happen if they caught Gideon poking around.
Hopefully, nobody would be there to catch him. Gideon was sensible, so if he felt splitting up was the right way to proceed, it probably was, even if Zeb felt raw and exposed.
He strode into the house repeatingMap and compassto himself, and hurried up the stairs. Voices rose from the drawing room as he passed, including Bram’s, which was a relief. If they’d trapped anyone in the crypt, it would be Hawley, who could probably do with a few hours locked away from whatever he was drinking.
Or maybe they had never intended to trap anyone in there at all, and Zeb had made an almighty, unforgivable fuss at what should have been a solemn moment.
He put that thought away with all the rest of the ones thatsaidYou’re making a fool of yourselfandImagination. He’d let those thoughts persuade him to do as Wynn asked too often. From now on, he was going to listen to his fears.
Map and compass. He made it to Dash’s room without seeing anyone. It was very cold and felt dead in the way of unused rooms, a film of dust settled on the mantel and the floor. The staff weren’t even troubling to clean. It was very much as though they didn’t expect him to come back.
Zeb went to the dressing table and stopped.
The compass was still there, a compact thing the size of a fob watch. So was a pocketknife, pearl-handled with Dash’s initials embossed in silver. There was also a gun.
Zeb was positive that hadn’t been there before. He’d have noticed. But there it was, an actual gun.
He didn’t know anything at all about guns beyond that you pointed them and pulled the little stubby thing. He thought this was probably a revolver, mainly because it wasn’t a rifle, but it might be a pistol, or an arquebus for all he knew. It was agun.
Why the devil had Dash brought a gun to a house party? How had Zeb missed it? Should he take it? Was it loaded? He had no idea how one would check, and he wasn’t about to start playing with it in case he set it off. He didn’t want to carry a loaded gun; he’d probably shoot himself in the foot. Anunloadedgun, on the other hand, which people didn’t know was unloaded and thus would be frightened of anyway, and which one might use to wave at the gatekeeper and threaten him into unlocking the gate…
Zeb stood for a moment, thoughts flickering. Then he tookwhat he needed of Colonel Dash’s possessions, made himself pause to stow them carefully about his person, and hurried downstairs, his coat pockets heavy with stolen goods.
Map and compass, he reminded himself, and he had the compass, so now for the map. He headed to the library, hoping for an Ordnance Survey map or suchlike. Assuming Wynn had any such thing, and that he kept it in here rather than to hand in his study. But Wynn had grown up here, not to mention he looked like he’d barely left the house in years: he wouldn’t need a map in his study. Zeb would search the library, and hewouldfind what he needed because Gideon had given him this task and he couldn’t fail.
He found atlases, but no local maps stuffed next to them or folded inside them, and no bound books with maps that could be torn out if one were a barbarian. He checked the desk next, going through the drawers. They held old account books and notebooks and bundles of paper that might have been Walter Wyckham’s original manuscripts or laundry bills, he didn’t care. No maps.
He had the sweaty feeling again, the one he got at work when there was a task with a deadline and it had started well but he’d gone wrong and lost time, and now everything was falling apart. He imagined Gideon outside, with an efficiently stolen ladder, waiting, waiting.Breathe.
There were plenty more drawers to check. The bookshelves started a bit below hip height; below them were long rows of cupboards, each topped with a wide drawer. The drawers looked like the kind of thing you pulled out in a museum to reveal pinned,dead insects. Maybe Walter Wyckham had collected butterflies, or beetles, or spiders.
Zeb pulled out the first drawer. It was full of paper, and he ruffled through it with fingers that were quivery, if not quite shaky yet. It was deeds, legal things, all unreadable writing, no damned maps. He moved to the next drawer and pulled it open. That took a bit more force because it contained a Bible.
The sheer magnificence of the book stopped him in his tracks. It was a huge thing, fifteen inches by twenty at least, leather bound, very old, and its beauty put everything else out of his mind. He opened it carefully, marvelling at the feel of the ancient paper, and noting the impenetrable blackletter type. He wondered when it dated from. Was it Stuart? Might there be a date on the flyleaf?
He turned back to the beginning, feeling the soft weight of the oversized pages, and a piece of notepaper fluttered out. Zeb caught it and saw it was in Wynn’s hand.
