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“It is indeed,” Slayde concurred, reaching Courtney’s side. “The crest is faded, but nonetheless distinguishable.” His brow furrowed. “Who wrote the letter? What does it say?”
“ ’Tis a diagram, sir. And a note.” Oridge turned his attention to scanning the contents.
Abruptly, Slayde went rigid. “My God,” he breathed, snatching the paper from Oridge’s hands. “A sketch of Pembourne Manor. Or at least a portion of it, from the entranceway to the library. I don’t understand.” He squinted. “The bloody note at the top is faded.”
“Bring it closer to the light,” Courtney urged, rushing to the porthole. She waited until Slayde had complied, then peered over his shoulder and read the message aloud:
A: I was instructed to prepare this sketch for you. Use the passage to the library for both coming and going. You’ll find it unbolted when you arrive. I’ll secure it once you’ve gone. The strongbox is concealed in the top drawer of the library desk. The jewels are in it. Take it. Just before you leave, unlock the entranceway door and leave it ajar. Don’t fail.
The library. The strongbox. The jewels. The faded letters. Dear Lord, it couldn’t be.
Courtney’s gaze darted to the upper corner of the page, finding and confirming her worst suspicions. The date on the note read 27 March 1807.
Beside her, Slayde made a strangled sound, and she turned, searching his agonized face, finding her answer even before he spoke.
“My parents died four days after this note was penned.”
“Oh, Slayde.” Instinctively, Courtney reached for him, clasping his taut forearms.
“Armon killed them.” Slayde’s throat was working convulsively, his stare now fixed on the sketch. “No wonder Bow Street couldn’t find any clues on or near the manor—Armon didn’t break in, nor did he exit through the front door. That also explains why my parents never suspected there was an intruder inside when they returned home that night. If he came and went through t
he library, the entranceway door was still properly locked upon their arrival. He didn’t open it until after…after…” A hard swallow. “Bow Street checked the passage—a mere formality, given the front door was ajar—but it was secured at both ends.”
“Who knew of its existence?” Oridge asked quietly.
Slowly, Slayde turned toward the investigator, his eyes bleak with realization. “Only those at Pembourne: my family, the servants. We never used the bloody thing. My great-grandfather was the last Huntley to have need of a passage for secret comings and goings.”
“Perhaps the last Huntley. Evidently not the last person.”
Again, Slayde’s stare returned to the sketch, as if needing further confirmation that the atrocity he was beholding was indeed real. “Someone living at Pembourne drew this sketch,” he said, giving voice to the unfathomable truth. “Someone I trust, someone my father trusted. Whoever that someone is helped Armon break in and kill my parents.”
“I doubt murder was part of their original intention, sir,” Oridge interceded gently. “More likely, they meant to snatch that strongbox and bolt. Unfortunately, your parents surprised them by returning.”
“What the hell’s the difference?” Slayde shot back, his fist striking the wall of Armon’s cabin so hard it shook. “The end result is the same. Armon murdered my parents, aided either firsthand or indirectly by a trusted resident of Pembourne.”
“Both of whom were receiving orders from whoever ordered this sketch to be drawn,” Courtney murmured, once again studying the note. “Do you think he was seeking the black diamond?”
“It would stand to reason that he was.” Oridge rubbed his chin. “Given that Armon blatantly extorted the diamond from Lord Pembourne scant weeks ago, my suspicions are that his motivation and his employer have remained the same. So, I would think, has his coconspirator.”
Silence, as the implications of Oridge’s conjecture sank in.
“You’re saying there’s a traitorous bastard living at Pembourne,” Slayde bit out. “Not only then, but now.” He sucked in his breath. “It makes a world of sense, now that I think of it. That’s how Armon could so cleverly plan Aurora’s alleged kidnapping and coincide it with his ransom notes. He had a wealth of information close at hand: his Pembourne accomplice. He had only to confer with that faithless bastard to know my sister’s intentions—and to act on them.”
“Close at hand,” Courtney murmured. “Of course—that’s what Mr. Scollard meant.” Intently, she searched her memory. “ ‘Danger,’ he said. ‘ ’Tis only now emerging to take form. Terrible danger. Look deep within. It’s festering close at hand.’ ”
“Scollard said that?” Slayde demanded.
Courtney’s grip tightened. “Yes, the morning I left for Morland. At the time, I thought he was warning me to be careful during my upcoming confrontation. But he wasn’t. He was talking about the traitor at Pembourne. Now that I reflect on it, he became terribly agitated as he spoke the words aloud, almost as if he were sensing something for the first time, as if the danger were just now becoming powerful enough for him to perceive.”
“And the next day, someone tried to kill you.”
“Who, may I ask, is Mr. Scollard?” Oridge interrupted to ask.
“Just a very wise friend.” Courtney didn’t mean to be curt, but she had neither the time nor the patience to deal with Oridge’s anticipated skepticism of Mr. Scollard’s gift. “Slayde,” she continued, her mind racing. “As unnerved as we are to learn there’s a criminal living at Pembourne, we cannot overlook the opportunity this affords us. Until now, we knew of only one accomplice to whoever orchestrated the blackmail scheme: Armon. And Armon is dead, leaving us with no one who can lead us to his employer. Well, if Morland is that employer, we now have another means through which to incriminate him.” She nodded at her own half-formed notion. “I don’t know how yet, but we must ferret out his other cohort—the one living at Pembourne—who can, in turn, lead us to Morland.”
By dusk, Courtney, Slayde and Oridge were ensconced in the Pembourne carriage, beginning their return journey to Devonshire. After a brief reunion with her father’s crew, bittersweet with the joy of survival and the remorse over those still missing or forever gone, Courtney was more eager than ever to return home to the ever-deepening mystery.
Home.
