Temptation and Surrender (28 page)

T
he next day being Sunday, Em attended church with Issy, Henry, and the twins. Jonas didn’t appear; she suspected that might have something to do with the relatively late hour, sometime after dawn, when he’d finally left her bed. Regardless, he’d said he would see her later, and with that she was content.

Indeed, she was content through and through, a state that had never before been hers, at least not that she could remember. Jonas wanted to marry her, and she felt increasingly sure that she wanted to marry him, increasingly certain that the reasons behind his proposal were the right ones, the sort of unwavering reasons it would be safe to put her faith in, to trust in and build a future upon.

There was the treasure yet to find, but it was Sunday and after the trials of yesterday, she was willing to set aside her quest and savor the beauties of the day, the inexpressible comfort of being able to follow the twins—dancing and skipping and laughing—back down the common to the inn, with Issy beside her, a delicate smile that spoke of happiness curving her lips, and Henry, hands in his pockets, striding along on her other side, absorbed with practicing his declensions.

Lifting her head, she felt the light breeze flirt with the ribbons of her bonnet, and the faint warmth of the sun on her cheeks. And smiled.

Today was a good day.

She was looking forward to many more, but she still had an inn to run.

More guests had arrived. Edgar, not a churchgoer, had dealt with them. She approved his dispositions, then looked in on Hilda and her girls. Everything was in readiness for serving lunch; Hilda shooed her away and with a laugh, she left.

Issy would oversee the serving of the family’s lunch—they’d invited Jonas and Joshua in light of their sterling efforts of the day before—but there was still half an hour before Em would be summoned upstairs. Glancing into the common room, she saw the usual small crowd of familiar faces. Smiling, she went out to chat.

She circulated freely among the men in the tap and the ladies on the other side of the room. Mr. Hadley was seated in what was fast becoming his corner of the tap. It was a shadowed nook, but the position allowed him to glance out of the window across the inn’s front yard to the common and the church.

Halting beside his table, she smiled. “How is your sketching progressing?”

Lips curving, Hadley met her eyes. “Very well, thank you.” He swung around the large sketch pad his hand had been resting on, flicked it open. “See for yourself.”

She looked down at an excellent likeness of the carving that stood to one side of the altar. The detail was quite extraordinary. She raised her gaze to Hadley’s face. “You’re very talented.”

He inclined his head, obviously pleased. “Thank you.” He waved her to join him. “Please—look at the rest. I’d value your opinion.”

She sank onto the stool opposite him and turned to the next page. An accurate rendering of one of the other carved monuments filled it. Advancing through the well-used pad, she found countless studies as well as complete sketches. The precision with which Hadley had captured the monuments was striking, so much so she could almost imagine she was looking at the real thing, except for the lighting. There wasn’t a great deal of light or shade, or even texture in the majority of sketches; it was only in those where the monuments stood in shadow that Hadley had thought to capture something of the atmosphere—and some of those were quite eerie.

She smiled and said as much, closing the pad.

He shrugged. “I just draw what I see.”

“You see with a very fine eye, then. But you were a sailor, were you not? I’ve heard that sailors’ eyes are very keen.”

He laughed. “Aye—there’s many who would say that. They also say that sailors have roving eyes, yet in my case, I’d say I’ve roved the world and seen many sights—not quite the same thing.”

She propped her chin on the palm of her hand, elbow on the table. “Tell me of some of the sights you’ve seen.”

He obliged.

It wasn’t hard to appear fascinated as he outlined some of his travels, yet it occurred to her that Hadley was exerting himself to charm her. The notion didn’t bother her; men occasionally charmed simply because they could.

While she listened, smiled, and nodded, it came to her that while Hadley appeared to be an open book—a creature who lived fully in the light—his affinity in his drawings seemed conversely for the dark. The point struck her as curious, made her a touch more curious about him.

High-pitched voices drew her—and Hadley’s—gaze to the window, to the scene beyond it; Filing, approaching the inn, had been waylaid by the twins. Chattering nineteen to the dozen, each grabbed a hand and towed the curate into the inn.

Good-naturedly laughing, Filing acquiesced, allowing himself to be paraded through the common room like a conquering hero. Everyone smiled. Too intent on their procession, the twins didn’t see Em sitting in the corner. Filing did; he smiled and nodded her way, but then the twins reclaimed his attention. They towed him through the dining tables and on into the kitchen.

Chuckling, Em turned back to Hadley. He’d leaned back, deeper into the corner of the bench seat; his affinity for shadows struck her anew.

Hadley smiled his easy smile. “Your sisters seem fond of the curate.”

“Indeed. He’s an estimable man.”

“It must have been a huge relief to have the girls back.”

“It was.” She felt a familiar weighty gaze and glanced around to see Jonas emerge from the hall by her office. “I’m very grateful to everyone who helped search.” Jonas waited. She turned back to Hadley with a polite smile. “If you’ll excuse me?”

His smile was a trifle perfunctory as he reached for his sketch pad. She left him with a nod, her thoughts and senses instantly focusing on Jonas.

She joined him with a smile, one infused with a warmth that came from deep inside her. She laid a hand on his arm; he covered it with his. “They’ll be waiting upstairs. We should go up.”

His dark eyes roamed her face; the hard lines of his features softened. “Yes—let’s.”

He stepped back into the hall, drawing her with him. As the shadows swallowed her, she cast a last glance over the common room’s customers—and noticed Hadley’s gaze locked on her and Jonas.

Despite the distance, his expression seemed harsh.

Could the artist be jealous?

She smiled to herself, dismissing the notion as fanciful; Hadley was doubtless just broody, as artists were. She turned to follow Jonas—just as he halted, drew her to him, and kissed her. Thoroughly.

How could a kiss with no heat be all-consuming?

This one was—a kiss between lovers who knew where they stood, it still left her wits reeling, her senses purring, her mind…

He’d ended the kiss, lifted his head. She opened her eyes, glanced at his face, took in his smug, satisfied expression, and cleared her throat. “Lunch,” she declared.

He chuckled and closed his hand around hers. “Lunch, then—if that’s what you want.”

She told herself it was. Of course it was.

A trifle flustered, she led him through the kitchen to the stairs beyond.

T
he next morning, as they had on previous Mondays, Jonas and Em met as innkeeper and inn owner, and with all due attention worked through the inn’s accounts.

“You were right.” Jonas turned pages in the ledger, comparing earlier weeks’ takings with the most recent. “The profit—which you’d already improved greatly based purely on local patronage—leaps dramatically when we have paying guests.”

“So you agree I can hire Riggs to paint the front shutters, and take on more girls to help with opening, and then servicing, more guest rooms?” Across her desk, Em cocked a brow at him.

He sat back. “I would think you must have already hired all the available girls round about.”

“Almost. But Mrs. Hillard at the farm by the crossroads has two daughters she was going to have to send into service, but she’d much rather send both girls to work here, at least while they’re so young. She or Hillard could fetch them home every night, so everyone would be happy.”

He considered her for a long moment, then said, “I agree with you about the Hillard girls, but we have to be careful not to overreach ourselves.”

She knew precisely what he was really saying; she smiled and looked down, scribbling a note. “You’re perfectly right—we can only hire people we need. I talked with Phyllida about the Colyton Import Company and how it started. I agree with her philosophy that it’s important for their own self-worth for people to know they’re valued for what they contribute, and that they’re not just being kept busy for charity’s sake.” She completed her note with a flourish. “We’re a sound business operation, not a charity.”

She looked up—just as a flurry of pattery footsteps sounded out in the common room.

“Miss Colyton! Oh, Miss Colyton!”

“That’s Sweetie.” Pushing back his chair, Jonas got to his feet as, rising, Em came around the desk. He followed her through the hall and into the common room, where Sweetie was indeed jigging and fluttering with impatience.

Eyes bird-bright, she pounced on Em, grasping her wrist. “There you are, dear.” She beamed at Jonas. “And so fortunate that you’re here, too, dear boy.” Conspiratorially Sweetie glanced around, then edged closer and lowered her voice. “The thing is, Harriet—Miss Hellebore—thinks she may have solved your riddle. The one about the highest house. Mind you, she’s not sure.” Suppressed excitement all but rolled off Sweetie’s diminutive figure, but she made an effort and managed to compose her features into a semblance of seriousness. “She asked me to come and fetch you so you can decide if what she’s thought of makes any sense.”

Em glanced at Jonas, hope lighting her eyes.

He nodded, glanced around as he put his hand to her back. “We can go now. The accounts will keep.”

He ushered them through the common room to the open inn door. Four new visitors, two ancient farmers and a handful of regulars, and—back in the shadows of the tap’s far corner—Hadley, head down, busily sketching, were the only ones about to witness Sweetie’s excited fluttering and the glow of rising hope in Em’s face.

Jonas held few illusions about his fellow man; while he had no idea if the Colyton treasure would prove to exist, let alone be of significant value, he saw no point in taking chances and broadcasting the possibility of hidden treasure to all and sundry.

Being circumspect about the object of their hunt had from the first struck him as wise, and while Sweetie’s excitement would raise little more than a smile, Em, normally far more prosaic, would raise eyebrows and awaken curiosity if she appeared too openly thrilled.

Miss Hellebore’s cottage lay just along the road, standing alongside the manor’s fabulous front garden.

Jonas held the little gate in the low stone wall open for Sweetie and Em to pass through, then followed them up the short path to the door.

It opened just before they reached it, and Harold Potheridge stepped out. He looked as taken aback to see them as they were to see him.

Her face expressionless, Em edged aside. Sweetie did the same.

Potheridge hesitated, then stepped past them with a distant nod.

Letting him pass, Jonas watched until, with only one glance back as he shut the gate, Potheridge departed down the road.

Sweetie shivered histrionically. “Such an
uninspiring
man.”

Jonas glanced at Em and saw her lips twitch.

“It’s a good thing he left,” she said. “We don’t want him eavesdropping.”

“No, indeed.” Sweetie led the way into the house, waited for them to join her in the hall, then shut and locked the door behind them. “Now we can’t be interrupted or overheard.” She waved them to the front room. “Harriet’s waiting in the parlor.”

They found Miss Hellebore in her favorite chair between the hearth and the window; she was as excited and bright-eyed as Sweetie.

“This place you’ve been searching for. It suddenly came to me.” Miss Hellebore waited, while they subsided onto the small sofa, and Sweetie slipped into the other armchair, before continuing, “I was sitting here, just glancing out at the common, as I so often do…and there it was.”

With a wave, she directed their gazes to the window and the wide view beyond. They saw the far edge of the road, the common with its duck pond, and beyond that the slope of the ridge rising to where the church sat on the crest.

She waited while they looked, took the sight in, then quietly intoned, “‘The highest house—the house of the highest.’ I think you need to take those phrases as two
separate
parts of one description. As two clues, not the repetition of one. You also need to know that this village has always been devoted to its church—that’s why the monuments in it are so old and so grand. And lastly you need to remember that in olden times, the Lord’s house was often referred to as—”

“‘The house of the highest,’” Em breathed. Eyes locked on the church, silhouetted against the blue of the morning sky, she slowly shook her head. “It was there, in front of us, all along.”

“If you think of it as the Lord’s
house,
then the church is the highest house—physically the highest in the district. And the lowest level…” Rising, Jonas dragged his gaze from the church and glanced at Em. “That must mean the crypt.”

She met his eyes. “‘A box only a Colyton would open.’ A Colyton tomb?”

“Very likely. We’ll have to go and look.”

She bounced to her feet, eagerness lighting her face as she turned to Miss Hellebore. “Thank you so much, ma’am.”

“No need to thank me, dear.” Miss Hellebore waved them to the door. “Just come and tell us what you find, and, come to think of it, what this is all about, when you’ve found it.”

Em grinned. “We will.” She hurried to join Jonas at the door.

They let themselves out, then strode across the road and up the common. Lifting her skirts, she hurried as fast as she could; he paced alongside her.

“I can barely believe it,” she puffed, “yet I’m sure she’s right. It was there all along—we just didn’t see it.”

“The rhyme was well written—it would have been obvious to anyone living in the village back then, but obscure, in fact ambiguous, to anyone who didn’t know the place.” He looked up at the church. “Or, as has been the case, anyone who lived so far in the future that ‘house of the highest’ was no longer a common phrase for a church.”

Reaching the church, they walked around to the side door facing the graveyard; it was always left open, day and night.

Jonas pushed the door wide; Em went in and he followed. “We’ll need the crypt key.” Opening the vestry door, he unhooked the key—large as a man’s palm, attached to a ring big enough to fit a fist through—from the nail just inside, then waved Em to the steps to one side of the nave that led down to the crypt.

“I’ve been meaning to come down here and look for the graves of my ancestors ever since we arrived.” Em stood back and let Jonas go down the stone steps ahead of her, then holding her skirts carefully, followed. “Other things always…happened.”

“Never mind.” Halting before the door at the bottom of the steps, he fitted the key in the lock and turned it. “We’re here now, and with a purpose.”

He pushed the door open; it swung easily and noiselessly on well-oiled hinges. “The crypt is still occasionally used as a store for the Colyton Import Company, so it’s in reasonable state—not too much dust.”

Em was glad to hear it, also to note, as she hung back in the doorway waiting for him to light the lantern left ready on the nearest tomb, that there was no evidence of clinging cobwebs festooning the crypt’s arches.

Tinder sparked, light flared, then settled to a steady glow. Jonas blew out the taper, closed the lantern, then picked it up and held it high. She stepped into the crypt barely able to contain the excitement bubbling and welling inside her. “I hadn’t expected to find the treasure today.”

Jonas glanced back at her, then went forward to hang the lantern on a hook embedded in the ceiling, from where it spread a soft glow throughout the cavernous crypt.

She spun around, peering through the thinning shadows. “Yet here I am.” She threw Jonas a smile. “Here we are, just one step away from unearthing it. Seeing it, touching it. Something left me by my ancestors all those centuries ago.” She all but shivered in anticipation.

Smiling, too, he looked around. “We need to find the Colyton tombs. I can’t recall seeing them, but I’ve never paid much attention to the names down here.”

“We’d better be organized then.” She considered the long, roughly rectangular room. Quite aside from the tombs and memorials lining the walls, large tombs filled much of the floor space, leaving little walkways between, some barely wide enough for her to squeeze along. Some of the floor tombs were doubles, and some had canopies that merged into the crypt’s ceiling. If she hadn’t been so buoyed by excitement and hope, she might have balked. “Where should we start?”

They quartered the room and methodically set about their search. They clambered over tombs, poked along the wall niches, brushed dust from the lettering on long-forgotten memorials.

Em lost count of the tombs she checked. Her excitement gradually waned, replaced by a sense that there was something wrong—something not quite right with their deductions. Still, she forged on, slipping between tightly spaced tombs to peer at their inscriptions.

They were thorough and systematic—and entirely unsuccessful.

Returning to the center of the room, she frowned. “This is nonsensical. The Colyton tombs
have
to be here.” She looked around, then looked at Jonas. “Where else could they be?”

His expression said he was as mystified as she. “Let’s go and talk to Joshua. He must know—or at least have records—of where the Colytons of Colyton are buried.”

He returned the lantern to its resting place, then waved her ahead of him out of the door.

Skirts held high, she reluctantly trudged up the steps. “They were the premier family in the village—the founding family. They must be here somewhere.”

Frustrated disappointment rang in her tone.

Jonas locked the crypt door and followed her up the steps. “They aren’t buried in the graveyard, are they?”

“No.” Reaching the top of the steps, she released her skirts, shook them, then smoothed them down. “I checked. There are no Colyton graves out there. I assumed most would be in the crypt, but thought there might be a few buried outside—but there aren’t.”

Waiting while he replaced the crypt key on its hook in the vestry, she shook her head again, utterly at a loss. “They have to be buried
somewhere
.”

“Filing must know.” Returning, Jonas took her hand. His gaze went past her, and he paused.

Turning her head, she followed his gaze to the far corner of the church. Within a grid of shafts of morning light and lingering shadow, Hadley was sketching a statue of an angel set on an ornate plinth. Half turned away, he was so absorbed he hadn’t noticed them.

So fixated had she been on searching the crypt, she hadn’t noticed if he’d been there when they arrived.

Being inside a church, she and Jonas had been speaking in hushed tones. While their voices must have carried to Hadley, they clearly hadn’t been loud enough to break his concentration.

Jonas tugged at her hand; when she looked up, he tilted his head toward the door. She nodded, and they quietly walked out and headed for the rectory.