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“You might also go to London,” Trim said as his wife entered the room with a tray filled with tea and refreshments. “His two sisters live there, and so does his brother, or so I have heard.”
* * *
EVELYN STARED AT the letter she was trying to write.
Dear Lady Paget,
I hope I am not offending you by writing to you now. We have never met, and you may find my request presumptuous, but it has come to my attention that you are Jack Greystone’s sister. I was briefly acquainted with him several years ago, and am currently trying to contact him. If you could help me do so, I would be greatly in your debt.
Sincerely,
Lady Evelyn D’Orsay
It did not seem right—it seemed terribly forward and bold. Evelyn laid her quill down and tore the parchment into shreds.
Any woman receiving such a missive would instantly dismiss it. If she received such a letter, she would assume that some lovesick woman was pursuing her brother! Yet Evelyn could not state why she wished to locate Greystone, and therein lay the problem.
She might have to go to London, and boldly call on either the Countess of Bedford or the Countess of St Just, Evelyn thought grimly. As she did not know either woman, the notion was daunting. However, she had learned that Lady Paget was married to a man with French relations, so she might be able to use that as some kind of entrée. But before she took such a trip, which would require some expenses and take several days, she would leave no stone unturned in Cornwall.
She felt some despair. Having already spent the past week unearthing a great many Cornish stones she did not have very many left to turn over.
Greystone had a bounty on his head. If caught, there would be no pleading down the charges of smuggling, no simple transportation. If caught, he could be imprisoned indefinitely—habeas corpus had been suspended last May—or he could hang, as John Trim had said. And that meant…Jack Greystone was in hiding.
Of course he was. She happened to know firsthand how clever, resourceful and adept he was. She had no doubt that he was also an extremely wary man. A few days ago, she had been so hopeful, and so certain, that she would be able to find him and convince him to aid her in recovering the gold in France. Now she was filled with doubt. It almost felt as though she was looking for a needle in a haystack. If he did not wish to be found, would she ever be able to locate him?
She had spent the past week asking everyone she thought could be even remotely helpful about him. She had gone to the various shopkeepers in the local village, one by one, but while everyone knew of him, no one knew him personally. He was most definitely notorious, and held in the highest esteem by the local Cornish people.
Then she had turned her attention to Fowey. She had spoken to the owner of the White Hart Inn, as John Trim had suggested, but he had been purposefully unhelpful.
She had spent two days in town, speaking with the shopkeepers and merchants there, but to no avail. She was beginning to think that there were very few stones left to turn. Of course, there did remain one—and it was a rock.
She was going to have to call on her uncle.
* * *
EVELYN STARED AT the imposing front entrance of her aunt and uncle’s home. A tall square stone house, the front entrance was in the style of a temple, with large columns supporting a pediment. She inhaled. She had not been back to Faraday Hall since her marriage, almost nine years ago.
As she slowly got out of the gig, she thought about her childhood: her aunt’s constant harping, Lucille’s cruelty, and spending most of her time by herself, doing various chores. A wave of loneliness swept over her. It was accompanied by a wave of grief. How had she survived such a lonely childhood? Her husband had changed all of that, by taking her away from this place, by giving her Aimee. But in that moment, as she stood there looking at the entrance of the house, she felt just as lonely as she had as a child. In that moment, she missed Henri, and realized how alone she was, even though she was a mother, and Laurent, Adelaide and Bette were as loyal and beloved as family.
It was foolish nonsense, she decided, shaking herself free of such despondency.
Evelyn rapped on the front door, using the brass-ring knocker. A moment passed before Thomas answered. The butler, whom she had known for years, took one look at her and gasped. “Miss Evelyn?” he asked.
She smiled at the short, bald manservant. “Yes, Thomas, it is I—Evelyn.”
He flushed and bowed. “I beg your pardon, Countess!”
She smiled, and in doing so, shook off the last vestiges of her past. “You must not bow to me,” she said.
She meant it. The staff had always been kind to her—far kinder than her own family.
A few moments later, she was escorted in to see her uncle, and she was relieved that her aunt was not at home. Robert greeted her warmly, surprising her. “I am so glad you have called. I have been meaning to send Enid to do so, to see how you are faring,” he said. “But you look well, Evelyn, considering what you are going through.”
She wondered if she had misjudged her uncle, if his indifference had been nothing more than that. “We are managing, and do not put Aunt Enid out, please, not on my account. I have decided to ask you for help, if your offer stands.”
He gestured for her to sit in one of the two chairs before his desk. A tall window was behind it, and through it, she could see the gardens behind the house, and the sea, just above the treetops. He turned to the butler, asking for tea and cakes. Then he sat down behind his desk. “I would love to help you if I can.”
“Will you keep what I am about to tell you in confidence?” she asked. “I am in an unusual position, and I hardly wish to have anyone know—not even my aunt.”
His smile was amused. “I keep a great many confidences from my wife, Evelyn, and I hardly failed to notice that she did not care for you greatly when you were a child.” He sighed. “I have never understood the ladies.”
She had no comment to make on that sore subject. “I am sure you have noticed that I am currently somewhat short on funds. However, Henri left a fortune for me and Aimee—at our home in France. The time has come for me to find a way to retrieve the family heirlooms he has left us, and I have decided to hire someone to do so.” She had decided not to tell her uncle that she meant to go with Greystone to France to retrieve the fortune there.
“I am relieved to hear that D’Orsay left something for you, but by God, how will you ever convince anyone to go to France now to retrieve the valuables? And are you sure that whatever Henri left for you, it is worth the risk?”
“It is quieter in France now than when we left, isn’t it?”
“It is hardly quiet! The countryside remains up in arms over the secularization of the clergy. Mobs continually attack the priests who have taken the new oaths required of them while opposing mobs attack the priests who have refused to do so. Vigilantes hunt down the terrorists, or what remains of them. The need for revenge remains as strong as ever—it is just directed at different groups. How will you find someone capable of getting to France—and then getting to your country home there? And again, what if nothing remains of the heirlooms? There has been a great deal of looting and theft in the great châteaus.”
He made her plan sound daunting and difficult, indeed. God, what if the gold was gone? “I have to attempt to retrieve it, Uncle. Henri said he left us a chest of gold,” she finally confessed.
His eyes widened. “That would be a good fortune, indeed! But then you have the problem of finding someone you can trust!”
How perfect his cue. “Have you ever heard of Jack Greystone? He smuggled us from France, and I was impressed with his courage and his skill. I have been trying to locate him since the funeral.”
Robert stared, flushing a little. “Of course I have heard of him, Evelyn. He is rather famous. Or should I say infamous? I didn’t know Greystone got you out of the country. Well, I am not surprised you think he is the man for the mission. I suppose, if anyone could retrieve that gold, it is he. And I would even trust him to do so, in this case—he is rather fond of beautiful women. Or so they say!”
Was he suggesting that Jack Greystone would help her because she was beautiful? “I am prepared to pay him well,” she added. “Once he retrieves the fortune.”
“I do not know if I can ferret him out,” he quickly said with another flush.
Evelyn was dismayed, but trying to decipher Robert’s somewhat odd behavior. She sensed he was withholding something. “Is there something I should know?” she asked.
“Of course not. I will begin making a few inquiries for you, immediately,” he said. “How is your daughter managing, Evelyn?”
She tried to hide her disappointment, wondering if she was engaging in more futile action. Briefly, they discussed Aimee, and Evelyn assured him that Aimee was doing well.
She was about to leave when she heard the front door open. Evelyn grimaced as she thanked her uncle and left the study, leaving him immersed in his papers.
But her aunt was not in the front hall; Annabelle was there, and so was Trevelyan. She was handing off her cloak, as he was his coat, and when she saw Evelyn, Annabelle faltered. Trev instantly came forward, smiling. “This is a delightful surprise,” he said with a brief bow.
The gesture was not affected—it was casual and elegant. Evelyn was as surprised to see them—and especially to see them together, but of course, they had all been friends since childhood. She smiled and came forward. “Hello, Trev. Have you been escorting my cousin about?”
“Actually, I was calling on Robert, and I bumped into her in the drive. How are you, Evelyn? You are looking very well today.”
“I am doing better, thank you,” she said, having briefly wondered if a romance might be brewing between Trev and her cousin. She turned to Annabelle. “We did not have a chance to speak the other day. You have become a beautiful young woman, Annabelle.”
Annabelle blushed. “Hello, Evelyn, I mean, Countess. Thank you. I am sorry I could not greet you properly the other day.” She stopped. She glanced at Trev. “I am also sorry it became a bit awkward. Lucille still has her temper.”
Evelyn thanked Thomas as he handed her cloak to her. “It is difficult, I suppose, after so many years have passed, to be reunited as we have. But we all have different lives now and a great deal has changed.”
“You are being patient and kind,” Annabelle said.
“Is there a point in being impatient and cruel?” Evelyn smiled.
Trev looked at them both. “Lucille has more than a temper, and she has always been jealous of Evelyn, for obvious reasons. She is now a married woman, so one would think bygones were just that. But there is no reason that the two of you cannot patch things up and become friends.”
While Evelyn looked at him in some surprise, Annabelle looked at him with obvious admiration. Evelyn said, “You are right, I think. When you feel like it, Annabelle, please call. You are Aimee’s cousin and she would love to meet you.”
Annabelle nodded. “I will try to come by next week.”
Trev took Evelyn’s cloak from her and draped it over her shoulders. “And may I come by, as well? Strictly as a family friend, of course?”
She started, wondering at his choice of words—wondering if he had a romantic inclination toward her. Surely, she was mistaken. “Of course you can call.” She stared closely at him. Trev’s father had always been as actively involved in the free trade as her uncle had been. She happened to have heard, in the past weeks, that he remained in good health, being about seventy years of age now, but that he had given Trev control of the estate and its affairs. Perhaps he had the information Evelyn sought. “Can I speak with you for a moment?”
Annabelle flushed again. “I must go anyway. It was nice seeing you, Evelyn. Good day, Trev.” She quickly left.
He smiled at her. “Hmm, should I be flattered?”
“Surely you are not flirting with me?”
“Of course I am flirting. You are impossibly attractive.” A dimple joined his smile.
She couldn’t help it—she smiled back. “I had forgotten how charming you are.”
“I do not believe it. I think you have been pining away for me for years.”
She laughed for the first time since Henri had died. It felt rather good. Then she became serious. “Can you help me locate Jack Greystone?”
His smile vanished. “Why?” His tone was sharp.
She was not about to tell Trevelyan her reasons. “He helped us flee France, Trev, but other than that, I cannot tell you why I am looking for him. It is a business matter.”
“Are you thinking of getting into the trade?” He was incredulous.
She did not want to lie, but misleading him was not lying, so she said, “Maybe.”
“You are a woman—a lady!”
She laid her hand on his arm, surprising them both. “I am sure you have noticed that I am in very strained circumstances. I need to speak with Greystone, Trev, and frankly, I am rather desperate.”
He was grim. “You could lose everything, Evelyn.”
“I know the risks.”
She stared back at him, releasing his arm. He looked about to curse. “I will think about what you have asked.”
“Does that mean you know how to reach him?”
“It means, I will think about what you have asked.”
* * *
IT HAD BEGUN TO DRIZZLE, and as Evelyn looked up at the dark, cloudy sky, she knew it would soon rain. She shivered as the wind picked up, but she had just reached the iron front gates at the head of Roselynd’s drive.
Ahead, Roselynd was a three-story square house, statuesque in impression, and very current in design. Cast of pale, nearly white stone, it stood out eerily in the darkness. All the windows were dark except for one on an upper floor, which she happened to know was Laurent and Adelaide’s room.
It was later than she had thought, and her poor mare was tired—it had been a long difficult week for her, with all the traipsing about that Evelyn had done. The mare had hardly been used in the months prior.
She felt a pang, thinking of Henri, and a stirring of anger as she thought about the predicament she was in. Very firmly, she told herself that he had not left her destitute by choice; the revolution had done that.
She halted the mare before the barn, and as she did so, she heard Laurent calling to her. She smiled as she slipped from the gig, and Laurent approached from the house. “I was becoming very worried about you, madame.”
“I am fine. I had a very good conversation with my uncle, Laurent, and if I am fortunate, he will locate Greystone for me.” She was too tired to tell him about Trevelyan, and decided she would do so tomorrow. “It is later than I thought. Is Aimee awake?”
“She is asleep, and Adelaide has left a covered tray in your rooms. I will put the mare away.”
She thanked him, as the drizzle turned abruptly into a pounding rain. They both cried out, Laurent hurrying the mare into the stables, as Evelyn pulled up her skirts and ran for the house.
Inside, she slammed the front door closed, breathing hard. The front hall was in darkness, which pleased her—why waste candles to light the entry when she was the only one expected? Evelyn removed her soaking cloak. The rest of her clothes remained dry, but her shoes and stockings were wet.
Her cloak over her arm, Evelyn went upstairs in the darkness, going directly to Aimee’s room. As Laurent had said, she was soundly asleep. Evelyn pulled the covers up, kissing her forehead, the rain now pounding on the windows and the roof above their heads.
In her own bedroom she lit a single taper, hung up her cloak and removed her wet shoes and stockings. Thunder boomed. Just after it did, she heard Laurent entering the house, the front door closing. She felt a moment of relief, for, like a child, she disliked fierce storms. But now, the mare was settled and fed for the night, Laurent was on his way upstairs and the house was securely locked.
She removed the pins from her hair, which always made her head ache at this time of the day, letting it down. As she shook her hair out, she realized that she was exhausted. Undressing would be a chore, but she somehow removed her gown and underclothes, donning her white cotton nightgown. In France, the loose but luxurious garment with its puffed sleeves and lace trim was called a robe innocente.
She was just about to uncover the tray Adelaide had left for her and try to eat a morsel or two when she heard a movement downstairs. She stiffened, alarmed, until she realized that it was the sound of a shutter banging against the side of the house.
She was going to have to close those shutters—she would never sleep with all of that banging. Evelyn took the taper she had lit and hurried down the hall. Then she hesitated, and as the wind ceased, the rain became a quiet steady pitter-patter and the shutter was silent.
Thunder boomed.
She jumped, her heart skipping, and scolded herself for being a fool. Now she heard nothing but the gentle steady rhythmic rain.
She was about to turn and go back to her room when a light went on below her.
She froze, incredulous.
And then, as she inched closer to the top of the stairs, she realized that a taper had been lit in the salon.
Her heart thundered with alarm.
She stared down the stairs, across the entry hall and into the salon, which was in shadow, but clearly, a single light shone within.
Someone was in her salon.
She almost called out, hoping it was Laurent, but he had gone up to the room he shared with Adelaide—she was certain.
