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“Nor are they now. But Slayde intends to meet with Lawrence Bencroft.”
Aurora frowned. “He thinks the duke is involved with my feigned kidnapping.”
“Yes, he does.”
“Do you?”
“Aurora, I’ve never even met Lawrence Bencroft. I’m certainly not qualified to judge his guilt or his innocence. But I do trust Slayde’s opinion, which is obviously based on years of firsthand experience. So given what he’s told me, yes, I believe it’s possible that the duke is involved.” Courtney drew a slow, inward breath. “To be frank, I’m clinging to the hope that he is—for Slayde’s sake and for mine. I intend to unearth the filthy pirate who captured the Isobel. And if Lawrence Bencroft isn’t the man to lead me to him, I’ll find the one who is.”
The bedchamber door opened, admitting Matilda and an aromatic tray of food. “Lady Aurora—I didn’t know you were here.” A twinkle. “Although I should have guessed.”
“You know me well.” Aurora smiled. “Matilda, would it be too much trouble for you if I breakfasted here with Courtney?”
An approving glint lit Matilda’s eye. “Not at all. I’ll just have a quick look at those bandages. Then I’ll leave this tray and arrange for another to be brought up.” She bent over Courtney, lips pursed as she scrutinized the young woman’s forehead. “How are you feeling this morning, Miss Courtney?”
“Much better” was the grateful reply. “Thanks to your ministrations, the pain is nearly gone. Now, if only I could overcome this weakness.”
Matilda straightened. “Eat every morsel on this plate and you will.” With that sage advice, she hurried off to order Aurora’s breakfast.
“Well?” Aurora teased. “What are you waiting for? You’d best have eaten at least half your food by the time Matilda returns, else you’ll get quite a scolding.” Sobering, she glanced at the timepiece still clutched in Courtney’s hand. “That’s lovely. Would you like me to hold it so you can eat?”
Courtney blinked, having momentarily forgotten her beloved treasure. “ ’Twas Papa’s,” she murmured, turning the watch over in her palm. “My mother gifted him with it on their wedding day. He gave it to me—rather like a legacy—right before he…” She swallowed. “It hasn’t moved since then. But I’m sure you’d enjoy looking at it. There’s an image of a lighthouse that probably resembles your Windmouth Lighthouse.” She snapped it open. “You’re welcome to—” Abruptly, she sat up, staring at the watch’s face.
“Courtney? What is it?”
“The timepiece. It jumped ahead.”
“I thought you said it had stopped.”
“It had. At half after six, the precise time Papa went overboard. But just now, as I was looking at it, the time—and the scene—moved. Only once. Then it froze again. But it definitely moved.” She looked up, a dazed expression in her eyes. “Maybe Papa really is alive.”
Aurora stared. “Courtney, what are you talking about?”
“I had a dream. Papa was calling out to me, telling me he was alive. I know it sounds insane, but do you think what just happened with the timepiece was some kind of sign to that effect?”
Rather than dubious, Aurora looked intrigued. “You didn’t actually see your father go down?”
“No.” Courtney shuddered. “I heard his scream. That sound will haunt me forever. But when he was being thrown overboard, I was in the midst of being dragged below and locked in my cabin.”
“And obviously his body was never discovered.” Aurora was becoming more fascinated with each passing moment.
“But he was bound,” Cour
tney felt compelled to reason aloud. “Weighed down by the huge sack of grain Lexley was forced to tie to his leg. To survive such an ordeal would be virtually impossible. Still—”
“Mr. Scollard.” Aurora came to her feet. “We must bring you—and your timepiece—to Mr. Scollard. If anyone is able to discern the unknown, ’tis he. The instant you’re well, we’ll head for the lighthouse and discover if the watch’s motion and your dream really are signs.”
“You don’t think I’m mad?”
“Of course not. Mr. Scollard has taught me that every belief, every legend—no matter how farfetched—has shards of truth to it. ’Tis up to us to unearth those truths, to discern fact from fiction.”
“That’s not always easy,” Courtney mused, half to herself. “Nor, in all cases, is it practical. There’s merit to Slayde’s contention that my dream was merely a reaction to Papa’s death, or rather to my inability to accept it.”
“You told all this to Slayde? Why? And when?”
Hearing the stunned bafflement in Aurora’s tone, Courtney desperately wished she could call back her words. Despite Slayde’s justifiable, utterly proper reason for visiting her bedchamber last night, the outcome had been anything but proper. And to discuss even the innocent prelude to that outcome, especially with Slayde’s sister, was going to be exceedingly difficult.
Courtney’s voice quavered as she grappled with her self-consciousness, opted for brevity. “Slayde heard me crying and came to check on me. I blurted out my dream.”
