The Vanishing Thief(77)
“That would be very kind, Your Grace,” Emma said before I could open my mouth.
“I need to stop at Sir Broderick’s house for a moment tonight, so—”
The duke gave me a gracious smile. “We will make a small detour.”
Thanking Lady Westover, we went out and climbed into his tall carriage. Emma scrambled in with grace. With my muscles screaming from the earlier attack, I needed a hand to make my way up the folding steps and felt awkward.
Within a few minutes, we were at Sir Broderick’s stoop. When the carriage door was opened, I looked at the pavement far below my feet and shuddered.
I was helped from the carriage by a footman while another of the duke’s liveried servants rang the bell. Jacob opened the door in time to see me land heavily on both feet on the pavement. Fighting a grin, he said, “Georgia, do you need to see Sir Broderick?”
“No. Just a message for him.” Sliding a quick glance toward the duke watching me from the carriage, I leaned toward Jacob and whispered in his ear. “Send word to Frances Atterby that she needs to come to the bookshop tomorrow to help Emma for the next four days. I’m going north to talk to the duke’s sister. I need to know what’s going on before this masked ball.”
“What’s wrong?” he whispered back.
“I don’t know. None of this makes sense.” Then, raising my voice, I wished him a good night and climbed into the carriage with as much dignity as I could muster, since I couldn’t manage any agility.
*
I LEFT FROM King’s Cross Station the next morning wearing my traveling clothes and carrying a few good novels in my holdall. I broke my journey in Durham at the end of the first day, staying in a small guesthouse and touring the cathedral. The next morning I started out again early by rail for the village of Blackford on the River Black.
For the last few miles I transferred from a slow-moving local train to an open cart, bouncing painfully on a wooden plank under the weak midafternoon sunshine. The water rushing in the river alongside the road raised my spirits and I hoped for a quick end to my journey.
I could smell the sea before we arrived. Then Castle Blackford’s turrets appeared above the treetops, and soon I had my first view of the village.
The village, when we came to it, rose up the hillsides, probably looking much as it had when the Vikings arrived. The sea pounded against the river at the mouth of the rocky harbor. One bridge at the inland end of the village connected the stone and slate buildings on each side of the river above the docks.
Walking into the only inn, I found the grim-faced manageress in the reception room. She showed me to a tiny room on the first floor with an iron bedstead and a view of a single horse cart in the street. I reserved dinner and set out on the climb to the castle.
The lane constantly rose until I thought I’d reach the clouds, but I didn’t mind. I was curious to see the home of the Duke of Blackford. The tang of salt filled my head and the call of seabirds rang in the breezy air. As the path curved back and forth, a stone fortress came in and out of view behind pine trees and the boulders that lined the road. It looked medieval and decidedly uncomfortable.
When I reached it, I was glad to see the drawbridge was down, because the tall, unbroken walls were unbreachable. I walked through the empty gateway and into the cobblestoned courtyard. On either side were stables and other outbuildings against the protecting walls. In front of me, set in the center of the fortress, was a modern stone manor house with large windows. The edge of a flower garden peeked out from behind the house but in front of the surrounding wall. I headed toward a door facing me on the ground floor, hoping I’d find a bell to ring.
Before I reached the house, someone found me. A middle-aged woman in a faded dress and apron, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows and a kerchief around her hair, came out of a low door in a building to my left and crossed over to me. “Hello,” she said, suspicion in her voice.
“Hello. I’ve come to speak to Lady Margaret.”
She stared at me, her eyes widening.
“May I speak to her, please?”
“Oh, you can speak to her. I don’t know whether she’ll speak to you, though. Ask at the church in the village.” At that, the woman turned on her heel and walked away.
Had Lady Margaret become a nun, or did she spend every day in prayer here in the middle of this wild landscape? I glanced back when I reached the gateway and saw the woman watching me through narrowed eyes.
As I walked downhill to the village, I caught the sparkle of the sea through the trees and boulders. All the buildings, from castle to shed, were built of stone. Wood seemed reserved for the boats I spotted in the small harbor.