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They stood and watched as Mandy glided out of the room and Skip only waited a moment after she was gone before he turned and put a finger in the duke’s chest and said, “You dog!”
“What? What the devil do you mean?” the duke returned his brows up with surprise.
“Egad, man! You are done up…demme, Brock, there is no denying it, you have been drinking deep and any fool can see you are in love with her.”
“What are you talking about? She is my ward,” the duke looked away from his friend.
Skip snorted, “What has that to say to anything? It is all over your face. You can’t hide it. Lord, I don’t think you are even trying to hide it. You are in love with her!”
The duke sighed and put a hand on his friend’s shoulder, “Aye then, deeply, madly, wildly…and I don’t know how it happened.”
Skip burst out laughing once more.
* * *
At that moment, some ten miles northwest of the viscount’s residence, in the heart of the Dales lay a tavern well hidden from the road and not frequented by those high in the instep.
Its location was such that travelers never came its way, or when they did, one glance at the shabbiness of the establishment quickly set them back on the road again.
It happened that Chauncey remembered a friend who enjoyed the privacy this particular inn afforded, and it was there Chauncey led young Sherborne.
The tavern’s large public galley was low ceilinged, its oak rafters and wall beams lined dirty, yellow-painted walls, covered with nondescript paintings, many of them tilted one way or another. Its oak floors sloped with age and its tables and chairs were crude with wear. However, the inhabitants didn’t seem to mind any of these failings.
They swayed, boomed, and made merry with raucous good mirth and in spite of the tavern’s seclusion, its rooms were full. The reason for this was the fact that many of these individuals, whose occupations put them outside the law, enjoyed a retreat where they felt secure and paid well for their lodgings.
One room in particular, which was called the “Boiler” was connected to a legend. Chauncey murmured into Ned’s ears as they approached the tavern, “The innkeeper’s wife would put up lonely travelers in the room ye see. The bed had a trick spring and when pulled a trap door opened and it would lower its occupant into a cast iron container filled with boiling water. Murder and theft. Went on for many a year until a vigilant woman in search of her husband, discovered it all. The innkeeper’s wife escaped, but her mate was hung for his crimes he was and the room sealed.”
As they entered the lively inn, Ned said, “I don’t know if sleeping here will be much more comfortable than sleeping by the river, Chaunce. We’ll have to sleep with an eye open.”
Chauncey laughed, “Aye, that be certain.” He turned then and purposely regaled any who would listen with a tale of their harrowing escape that day. This immediately won them their place within the inn, and two tavern wenches winked at them slyly as they brought them some food and ale.
At the very moment, Mandy felt a twinge of guilt eating her brother’s favorite cake. Ned was swinging one of the barmaids onto his knee and waving his free hand with his tankard to the beat of the song.
Chauncey did the same, but kept an ear out for anything that might help them find Elly Bonner or more likely, Jack Hawkins.
* * *
Elly Bonner had no such solace in the damp chamber of their quarry cave. She stared at the walls of the chamber and wrung her hands fretfully. She paced the room as though she were some caged animal looking for a way out. Never before had Jack left her alone all night. He wouldn’t.
She began worrying about all sorts of things. Had he found another woman? No…Jack would not, he was not that sort and he would never leave her alone like this.
Morning progressed and when he still had not returned, she thought her heart would break. Something had happened to him. She knew it. She simply knew it. She could no longer feel him, because he was gone.
No. He couldn’t be. Not Jack. He was so big and full of life and plans. He couldn’t be gone, but he could be hurt? She sprang into action. He had told her he was going to stop at the waterfall at Pitman Pool. He said he wouldn’t lie to her and that he needed just a bit more of the gold…just a bit, he had told her.
Perhaps he was hurt?
She washed quickly with the tub of fresh water from the river Jack always kept full for her and fixed a mopcap on her hair. Taking up a dark wool shawl she draped it around herself and began the four mile walk to Pitman Pool. It would take her a little bit over an hour if she kept up a pace and Elly was used to walking.
She took the diary out of its hidey hole, dropped it into a satchel, slung it over herself diagonally and stuffed some of the cash she still had into her dab grey gown’s pocket, and began her hike.
As she crossed the pike on her way to a shortcut Jack had told her about, a farmer stopped and offered her a ride. She accepted this and it saved her two miles. She jumped down and within a short span of time, found the deer path that would take her to the river’s edge and allow her to go unseen toward the waterfall.
She sighed with relief as she heard the rumbling splashing of the falls and hurried, just as Jack had the day before, scrambling over the boulders and rocks, as she climbed. She tore her gown in her haste and found the opening, just as Jack had described. No one knew of this place he had told her. He had come across it as a young boy when he ran away from one of his father’s beatings.
What appeared to be solid rock under the avalanche of white foam was an opening that led to a cave. She slipped inside and stood. Something was wrong—terribly wrong. She felt it.
Elly saw the three chests of gold lined up against the wall and then, almost immediately, she saw Jack’s slumped body.
