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Courtney rolled her eyes. “In any case, I was hoping you and Elinore hadn’t decided to make a day of it.”
“Hardly.” With a tolerant sigh, Aurora shut the door against Oridge’s firmly planted back. “Much as I adore Elinore, this is one time I couldn’t wait for her to go. Did you conjure up something without me?”
A faint smile touched Courtney’s lips. “Would you be devastated if I said yes?”
“Probably.”
“Then rest easy. I’ve been staring out the window, worrying about Slayde. I’ve scarcely even glanced at the note and drawing, much less divined who penned them.” She indicated the page they’d wrested away from Oridge following a ten-minute heated debate—the result of which was Oridge’s grudging agreement to permit them two hours alone with the sketch, after which he intended to reclaim it.
“Well, we’d best start glancing,” Aurora muttered. “Because the precise instant our time elapses, Mr. Oridge will be flinging open that door to snatch the sketch away. As you heard, he’s already mumbling under his breath.” She dropped onto the bed, her expression solemn. “I, too, am worried about Slayde. He’s walking into the lion’s den. Although Elinore seems to think he can manage Morland.” A pause. “At least I think she believes that.”
A pucker formed between Courtney’s brows. “What is it? What else is upsetting you?”
“Nothing. Everything. To begin with, I’m not accustomed to lying. And I’m not very good at it.”
“Nor am I,” Courtney sympathized. “Did you say something to Elinore you wish you hadn’t?”
“No. Other than the fact that I divulged your wedding plans. I’m sorry, Courtney. ’Twas the only way I could explain my odd impatience and your equally inexplicable distraction.”
At the last, Courtney sighed. “I’m as poor an actress as you are.”
“Do you mind that I blurted out your news?”
“Of course not. Elinore is like family. Slayde and I would have told her next anyway.” Courtney leaned forward. “Aurora, what happened to unnerve you?”
Pain flashed across Aurora’s face. “ ’Twas listening to Elinore extol the virtues of Slayde’s penning his letter to the Times. Courtney, I can’t explain it, but I feel as if I’ve betrayed Mama and Papa. Elinore kept saying how fortuitous all this is, that the Huntleys will finally be free of the curse and that my parents will, at last, rest in peace.” Aurora’s tormented gaze met Courtney’s. “But they can’t rest in peace, can they? Because the diamond hasn’t left my family’s possession. My great-grandfather remains the last known person to have handled the stone, stealing it for himself. ‘He with a black heart who touches the jewel will reap eternal wealth, while becoming the carrion upon whom, for all eternity, others will feed,’ ” she recited aloud. “Oh, God, Courtney. The whole idea terrifies me. And now—I feel so horribly guilty for pretending we’ve set it all right, granted my parents some semblance of peace, when in fact, we have not.”
Courtney rose and went to the bed, sitting down beside her friend and hugging her tightly. “Now you listen to me, Aurora Huntley,” she commanded fiercely. “There is no curse. ’Tis as fabricated as every other dark tale or legend that spans generations, propagated by thieves whose best interests it serves to do so. Your parents were killed by greedy, monstrous criminals, not by some imaginary curse. That diamond is worth a fortune. Those who traverse the globe in search of it crave that fortune. None of them seems to be deterred by the black legacy attached to it, do they? And wouldn’t they be, if they truly believed they’d become the carrion upon whom all others will feed eternally? I should think the answer to that—great wealth or not—would be yes.”
Drawing back, Courtney caught Aurora’s hands in hers. “Aurora,” she continued, her voice quavering as she spoke, “when I needed the strength to resolve Papa’s death, you gave it to me. You offered me friendship, support, and a tangible method to achieve my end. Let me do the same for you.” She rose, crossing over to pick up the sketch. “If you want to grant your parents peace, this is the way to do it. Let’s find and punish the scoundrels who killed them. That will avenge their deaths and ease your heart of its excruciating burden.”
Aurora’s haunted look vanished, supplanted by her characteristic—and welcome—determination. “You’re right.” Purposefully, she dashed the moisture from her eyes. “How did I ever survive before you came to Pembourne?” A hint of a smile. “More importantly, how did Slayde survive? Never mind. I know the answer to that: he didn’t. The change in him these past weeks…I still can’t believe he’s my brother. He jokes, laughs—Lord, he even winked at me. And the way he looks at you—” She stopped, studying Courtney’s face. “Is it wonderful?”
“More than wonderful,” Courtney replied softly. “More than heaven. More than anything I’ve ever imagined.” She arched a knowing brow. “You’ll see for yourself when it happens to you.”
“I?” Aurora laughed aloud. “Now that’s an unlikely notion. First of all, Slayde never lets me out of the house to meet anyone. And second—well, I just can’t imagine any man who’d be interesting enough to spend the rest of my life with. If the day ever comes that I’m allowed beyond Pembourne’s walls, I want to go everywhere, see everything. I’ve had more than enough complacency to last a lifetime. And I highly doubt there exists a man who’d tolerate—no, welcome—such a restless bride.”
“If you say so.”
“I say so.” With a definitive nod, Aurora reached for the sketch. “Let’s get back to work before Oridge comes in to reclaim this.”
For the next hour, they studied the drawing, trying to deduce who could have—would have—penned it.
“If only whoever drew this had signed the note, or at the very least, initialed it,” Courtney finally muttered. “There’s nothing in the wording that’s distinctive enough to attribute to any one person.”
“It has to be someone who can read and write proper English,” Aurora noted. “Surely that must eliminate a portion of the staff.”
“Yes, but do we know for a fact who can or cannot do that?” Courtney countered.
“Not without asking them.”
“Or testing them.” Courtney chewed her lip. “What if we were to invent a plausible reason for instructing each servant to pen his name, or some specific words, or…” She shot up like a bullet. “That’s it!”
“What’s it?” Aurora sat bolt upright.
“The last ransom note—not the one found in Armon’s pocket, but the one Slayde received.”
“The one that disreputable fellow Grimes copied.”
