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Sir John realized with gratitude that his fresh mount had a great deal more spirit and energy than the horse he had ridden from London. He was able to throw himself into the speed of his journey and clear his mind of all other thoughts for some time. He knew he could not feel any sort of comfort until he had retrieved the gemstone and was back to keeping watch over his mother personally, but the pounding rhythm of the galloping horse and the satisfaction of knowing that he was taking action towards that goal was soothing nevertheless. Eventually, he slowed his mount to a brisk walk. It was already late and the sun was low in the sky, but there was no point in spending the horse so recklessly.
It crossed his mind that it would have been nice to know about the diamond before today. It would have solved a great deal of financial trouble. But if he had sold it then he would now be in even a more dire situation. Not to mention the fact that if he had another source of funds, he would have never considered marriage to Lady Charlotte. Although foreknowledge of the gem might have helped him to retrieve it, Sir John would not change his days spent with Lady Charlotte; not for any sum.
When he arrived at the old rectory it was nearly nightfall, and the gathering gloom of the evening lent an eerie appearance to the crumbling old building. It was certainly the perfect place for hiding something. It was obscure and remote enough to satisfy the most secretive of requirements. The elderly caretaker put up a protest once John had made his errand clear, saying that the rector was really the only one who could give someone permission to enter the archives, and he was unfortunately dining out that evening.
“I cannot afford to wait even an hour,” Sir John insisted, doing his best to summon some patience with the frail-looking old man. He had no time to waste. “I am here on a terribly urgent matter, I am afraid. Perhaps if I made a donation to the rectory, I might, as a patron, be granted access?”
The caretaker was clearly torn, but at last he nodded. “Do not be making a mess down there,” the old man grumbled reluctantly, but pocketed the coin that Ashbrooke offered with some alacrity. “Those archives go back four hundred years and they’ve been well cared for. Your lady mother has seen to it. Blessed woman, that.”
Sir John nodded. He was amazed at the discovery about his mother, and the goings on that had happened in her day. He had always thought of her as a frail thing. Now, he was not so sure. She had more fortitude than he had given her credit for, at least she had once, as a young woman.
Taking up a lantern, the caretaker led Sir John to a set of subterranean steps that ended at a thick wooden door, then gestured him inside. Holding the lantern aloft and looking around the dark and dusty space, John was forced to wonder if he were the first person to enter the archives since the old priest had hidden the book. Certainly no one had disturbed the place in years, considering the state of the books and papers that were stored haphazardly on the ancient wooden shelves.
It took more time than he would have liked to locate the volume. Sir John opened every farming tome he could find. Eventually his eyes fell upon a dusty red book bearing the faded title, ‘Traite sur la bonne plantation et l’entretein des panais.’
“Parsnips,” Sir John muttered, translating the title with a rueful smile. Certainly, such a subject would keep all but the most bored reader from casually flipping through the pages. Inside the book he found nothing whatsoever about planting or caring for the humble vegetable. Instead, the pages were hollowed out to allow space for a small velvet bag. He opened the bag. Inside, set on a simple gold chain, was the Sancy Diamond. The pale-yellow gemstone was exquisite. About the size of a walnut, the pear-shaped stone was a fortune held in the palm of his hand. It seemed to glow by the light of the lantern. It was not hard to imagine it worn by a king or queen. John rewrapped the diamond and reverently put it back inside the small book.
Tucking the book into the pocket of his greatcoat, Sir John hastily made his way out of the archives and into the fresh night air, which he inhaled greedily as he attempted to shake himself free of the dust that clung to him. He returned the lantern to the suspicious-eyed caretaker and mounted his horse once more. John worried that in the dark he might be suspect. No one traveled at night if they could help it and he would draw attention to himself by doing so, but it could not be helped. He was anxious to return to his mother as quickly as possible.
The return journey was slow going. He was fairly certain no one followed him to his mother’s cottage previously, but a careless trip now might be easily tracked. Besides, in the dark, it was too easy for a horse to step into a rut in the road and be lamed. It would be near dawn before he returned to his mother’s cottage. Tonight, Carlton would guard her, John thought. He attempted to comfort himself with that knowledge, but he could not shake his unease.
Sir John was extremely nervous to be carrying something as valuable as the Sancy Diamond on his person. It made him think of his mother’s unknown fortitude. She had carried it from a war-torn France without even his father as a defender. He had always thought of her as someone who needed his protection, but now he was not so certain. She was a force to be reckoned with all on her own. She was a remarkable woman and he had all these years misjudged her, much as he misjudged Lady Charlotte. He hoped he would have a chance to make amends, on both counts.
* * *
30
The carriage slowed, and Charlotte tried desperately to think of options for escape. She had already tried the door of the carriage, but if she stayed in her present situation, she was sure to be found in worse predicament. As much as she tried to strategize, Charlotte was still startled when the door of the carriage was suddenly thrust open. Someone held a lantern and the light blinded her. One of the men, grabbed her around the middle and pulled her roughly from the carriage.
She immediately began to struggle. She kicked at the man’s shins and attempted to bite him. He cuffed her on the ear. With stars in her eyes she stilled, wondering if she pretended that she had swooned would it help or hinder her escape?
Charlotte was still, as she was carried slung over the man’s shoulder like a sack of grain toward a small cottage. It seemed a strange place for villains to conspire.
A French woman opened the door with a pleasant greeting to Charlotte’s captor, which made her want to scratch the woman’s eyes out. Charlotte could not see over the shoulder of the man who held her, anyway she was pretending to have swooned, but she heard the unmistakable sound of another French woman speaking angrily from further inside the cottage, along with a furious pounding.“Madeline, tu iras en enfer pour une telle trahison!”she shouted.
The Frenchwoman who had opened the outside door laughed as Charlotte was carried inside, and a second door was opened. Charlotte was dumped unceremoniously on the floor.
Without further conversation, the door was slammed shut and Charlotte was left in the darkness of a small storeroom.
“Mon Dieu,” said a soft feminine voice from further inside. So, there was another woman who shared her fate, Charlotte thought as she brushed her tumbling hair from her eyes. The movement hurt her wrist, which was bruised and terribly sore, but she did not think it was broken. All of her fingers seemed to work, but rotating the joint hurt.
As Charlotte’s eyes adjusted to the darkened room, she saw the woman interred with her was older, perhaps her mother’s age. Had the ruffians sunk so low as to kidnap someone’s mother? Charlotte was incensed by the fact. And the lady was obviously of French descent. How the love of money did indeed corrupt men, she thought. To hurt an old woman was the height of cowardice, and a Frenchwoman, when they counted themselves heroes to the French. For shame, she thought.
“Are you alright?” Charlotte asked the older woman.
“Are you?” the lady asked in her gentile accent.
“Yes,” Charlotte said, rubbing her wrist. “I am fine.”
“You are injured,” the older woman observed.
Charlotte shook her head and then uncertain the woman could see her in the near darkness of the room, she said, “No. I am not hurt. It is nothing.” She sought to reassure the other woman. “I do not think they will kill us,” Charlotte said. “I believe they are men who kidnap women for ransom money.”
“Non,” said the French woman sadly. “They do this to hurt my son. Because he would not join them, unlike my own traitorous companion.” The elder woman pursed her lips and spat symbolically in their direction. She raised her voice again, and spoke in French. “Madeline, I tell you, you will burn for your betrayal. No amount of money is worth your soul. Let me out.”
“I shall take my chances,” called the other woman from the opposite side of the door. “After all, it is a lot of money,” she said.
“You know her?” Charlotte asked, surprised.
