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‘In a little while. I will ring. Mr Lansing is in the archives room, I assume?’
‘Yes, my lady. I will alert the kitchen. Will Mr Turner be staying?’ he asked as he followed them up the stairs. ‘The Tapestry bedchamber has been recently aired.’
‘That will do admirably, thank you, Carlton. I have no idea of how long we will be here.’
‘Let us hope the food supplies will last the siege,’ Richard said, following Madelyn across the Great Hall.
She nodded, too tense to find that amusing.
Lansing was at work as usual, surrounded by his ledgers, an abacus at his side. He looked up, startled, when Madelyn entered, then frowned at the sight of her companion as he got to his feet. ‘My lady?’
‘Good morning. This is Mr Turner, my auditor.’ She saw no reason to soothe the flustered accountant.
‘But...’
‘I believe I am entitled to have access to my own financial records, am I not? Have you had breakfast, Mr Lansing?’
‘Yes, my lady, but...’
‘Come downstairs with me and have a cup of coffee while Mr Turner and I eat. I am sure you’ll need the extra sustenance for explaining everything to him.’ She waved him out in front of her, locked the door behind them and handed the key to Richard.
Lansing had gone quite pale.
It seems I was correct. There is something amiss here.
* * *
It was a long day. Richard spent the morning with Lansing, then turned the accountant out of the room and worked alone, taking his luncheon on a tray.
Carlton reported that Lansing had been considerably agitated when he found he could not leave the castle. ‘I offered him the Red Suite, my lady, I thought he would be better there. Unfortunately, once he was inside the door locked itself. I find I have misplaced the key, but I am sure I will locate it by dinnertime.’
* * *
Richard sent a note mid-afternoon. ‘What do you know about the estate at Abberley?’
Madelyn frowned at the note. ‘Tell Mr Turner that there is no such estate.’ She went back to pacing the battlements, the pennants flapping and cracking above her. She was watching the road for a carriage, wondering whether Jack would hire a chaise or drive himself in a curricle. Or would he come at all?
* * *
Then, just as the sun was beginning to dip low over the hills and she was thinking of going for a wrap against the cool breeze, a rider on a black horse breasted the crest and reined in, looking towards the castle.
‘Jack.’ She would know him anywhere, even at this distance, even though the horse was not Altair. He had come, but there was no word yet from Richard that he had solved the puzzle. She knew she needed to be able to offer her husband facts, an explanation, not wild suspicions, or he was quite likely to dismiss this as simply an excuse to run away from his anger.
‘I love you,’ she murmured. ‘Please forgive me for this.’
As he had months ago when she had first watched from this eyrie, Jack rode down the slope at a walk and reined in a few yards back from the edge of the moat, waiting. That first time she had raised the drawbridge to emphasise who she was, to see his reaction to provocation. Now she chewed at a fingernail as she watched him, relaxed in the saddle, apparently patient.
Then he looked up, as though he could feel her looking down at him. He took off his hat and leaned back, the breeze ruffling his dark hair.
Should she call down? But there was nothing to say yet. Madelyn lifted one hand, then made herself turn and walk away. She would go to the archives room and see how Richard was progressing, because it was breaking her heart to stand there, the deep, cold moat between them.
* * *
Diabolo, the stallion that his friend Sir James Clarke who lived just outside Rochester had lent him, fidgeted, apparently determined to live up to his name. He had given Jack a tough ride, but a fast one, and the big horse still had plenty of energy to work off.
‘I do not suppose you can fly, you awkward creature.’ Jack turned the horse to the left and began to circle the castle. He was feeling grim, but with as tricky a mount as this he could not afford to let his emotions show. That little wave—was it dismissal, farewell—apology? Why would she not let him in?
He could not believe Madelyn had fled with her lover—even at that distance he could tell she was unhappy. I know her so well now...and yet not at all. But he was not prepared to wait however long it took for her to lower that drawbridge. The castle surely had some weak point. Aylmer might have been obsessed with accuracy, but he could hardly have been expecting to be besieged. A moat and high walls would be enough to deter any normal housebreaker, but not, he thought, a man in pursuit of his lost love.
