Cassandra thought of the secret drawer and its contents. "And Edmund Beales? You all think he will be content with this, seeing Papa humiliated, put on trial? Hanged?"
"No, we don't. We've also sent a good dozen men following after the coach, with orders to surround the gaol at all times. Rian's already gone to join them, taking Jasper with him. None of us believes we'll be the only ones who will attempt to free him. It's genius, actually. Why attack us here, when moving Ainsley to a place where he's more vulnerable makes everything easier? Especially when you control the magistrate, and probably the judges."
"I don't understand most of this. Deviousness, I suppose. I just want Papa to be safe."
"And that's all you need to worry about, Callie," he told her.
She climbed up on her tester bed, tucking her legs beneath her. She'd been thinking about something for most of the day and night, and had come to the conclusion she was sure her father wanted. "I don't think so. We have to protect Becket Hall, be just as vigilant as we've been this past month or more. If Beales can't get to Papa, and even if he does, he will still have to come here."
"
Have
to come here?" Courtland joined her, leaning against the side of the bed. "And why do you think that, Callie?"
"Because he wants the Empress," Cassandra said quietly. "Beales has always wanted it."
She saw the confusion in Courtland's eyes and knew that her father hadn't confided in him about the emerald. Jacko and Billy knew, Odette, but he'd never told anyone else but her, never shown anyone else the secret drawer. She felt rather special, knowing that her father had so trusted her. But it was time everyone else knew what she knew.
She slid down off the bed, held out her hand to him. "Come downstairs with me. I have something to show you."
They passed by the drawing room on their way and Cassandra turned into the room, Courtland still holding her hand as they walked to the fireplace, to the portrait hanging above it.
"I hate Edmund Beales, with everything that's in me. I didn't know I could hate like this," she said, looking up at the portrait, at her mother's young, beautiful, smiling face. "He took my mother from me, Court," she said fiercely, "but I'll be
damned
if he'll have my father, as well. Whatever I have to do, I swear this right now, he won't have him!"
She used her free hand to wipe at the tears stinging her eyes, and squared her shoulders as she looked at Courtland. "I'm a part of this, Court. I know what I said earlier, that we'd all take care of Elly, and you men would find a way to rescue Papa. But we've all talked about this— Morgan, Mariah, Lisette and I— and we can't just sit here, waiting, not knowing. Whatever you do, whatever you decide, we're going to be a part of that plan. And I'm sure Fanny and Julia will feel the same."
"We can't have you involved," Courtland told her, shaking his head, "not with the rescue. Breaking into a gaol, possibly shooting some of the King's own men, if it comes to that? It's too dangerous. We need you women here, protected behind these walls. If we can deal with Beales away from Becket Hall, fine, but if he has gathered enough men to make an assault here, we have to know you're all safe."
"I'm going to see Papa tomorrow in Dymchurch," Cassandra told him doggedly, pulling her hand free of his. "Either I go with you, or I follow you, but I will see him."
"No, absolutely not. You look too much like Isabella. If Beales sees you, he'll come after you directly. He'll use you against Ainsley," Courtland told her as she turned on her heel and headed back to the foyer, turned in the direction of Ainsley's study. "I won't put you in harm's way like that."
"Morgan says we're just as able to aim a pistol as— "
"I don't care what Morgan says, she's not donning breeches and racing off like some wild-eyed Boadicea, much as I'm sure she sees herself in that role. Right now, Ethan's probably informing Morgan that the two of them are leaving for Brede Manor at first light to tell Fanny and Valentine what's happened. The plan is to have them all then travel to London as quickly as possible, to argue your father's case on its merits, to petition for a pardon before there's time for a trial. Both men have friends in positions of power— Valentine's friends with Wellington himself, and Ethan feels there's a fair chance a pardon could be possible. For Ainsley, for Jacko, for the entire crew, with the provision that they all leave England. What we've got to do is keep your father alive long enough to get that pardon."
Cassandra crossed her arms, gripped her elbows tight in her frustration. "That's…that's probably a wonderful idea. But…but I have to do more. I can't just stay here, Court."
"You told me Ainsley asked you to take care of Elly and Odette."
"I
know
what he told me," she said as they entered the study. "But that…that doesn't count, now that he's been arrested. Mariah and Lisette will still be here for Elly. I'm going to stay in Dymchurch, or Folkestone, or wherever Papa is. You men probably shouldn't be too obvious in any case, visiting Papa, not with Beales or his cohorts watching the gaol, correct?"
Courtland shoved his fingers through his hair, leaned against the desk. "Correct. We thought we'd use Sheila Whiting to take him food and fresh clothing, pass him messages."
"But Sheila has to stay here," Cassandra said quickly, feeling she was now employing her trump card. "With Odette so unwell, Sheila will be the one to deliver Elly's baby when the time comes. Which, since you've sent all the other women away, means that I'm still the logical choice. I'll wear my cape, keep the hood over my hair, careful to keep my head lowered as I go in and out of the gaol straight from a coach pulled up just outside the doorway, so no one can see my face. Jacob Whiting can escort me, and the rest of you can watch from hiding to make sure no one approaches us. I'll be safe as houses. Please, Court?
Please?
"
"I'll speak to the others about it, give you our decision in the morning," he said after a few moments, exasperation, as well as fatigue evident in his voice. "If you're going to go with us, we'll be leaving at dawn, along with Morgan and Ethan. But I'm not promising you anything, do you understand? Now show me whatever it is you think I need to see, and then get to bed."
Cassandra decided not to push him. She'd simply be dressed and ready to go, before dawn.
She went over to the map table and bent down, for she had only opened the drawer twice while her Papa was in the room with her, and neither time had been without having to first fumble her fingers along the wood to find the small latch. It took a full minute, during which Courtland kept attempting different arguments as to why she should remain at Becket Hall before the latch depressed and the small drawer slid open on its own.
"What in bloody hell— ?" Courtland said, pushing away from the desk.
"Hold out your hand," she said, much as Ainsley had said to her. "And it's small, I agree, and fragile, but heavier than you might think, so be careful."
She opened the strings of the pouch and poured the Empress into Courtland's hand, then held her breath as she waited for his reaction.
It wasn't long in coming. "Sweet Christ Almighty," he said, picking up the large stone, holding it to the candlelight, so that the majority of the emerald, emerging from the surrounding stone, glowed a bright, grass-green. "
This
is the Empress? All these years and he's never…this is what Beales wanted? No mercy, no quarter, until it was his? That's why he tortured everyone, to find out where this damned piece of stone was? He killed babies for
this?
"
Cassandra grabbed Courtland's wrist as he pulled back his arm, as if to throw the priceless stone against the nearest wall. "No! We need this, Court! It's what Beales wants. We can— "
He lowered his arm, sagged back against a corner of the desktop. "We can use it as a bargaining chip. Yes, I understand. But a rock, Callie. A damned piece of pretty stone. How many people died for it? Your mother, more than one hundred more. I— is the man insane?"
Jacko spoke from the doorway. "That stone's got powers, that's what Edmund said. A man filled to the brim with superstition, that's Edmund. Free her from her moorin's, polish her up all pretty like, and release the power. To live beyond your time. For wealth beyond your imaginin'. Good luck not just followin' you all the days of your life, but chasin' after you, to shower all your dreams over your head. Own a stone like that and rule the world. Should have seen it when the Cap'n showed the thing to him. Never looked at a woman with that much passion, Edmund didn't, not even your mother, Callie."
Courtland turned to watch Jacko lumber into the room, collapse his bulk onto the couch that seemed like the man's second home for these past nearly twenty years. "So it was Ainsley who found it?"
Jacko nodded, let his chin remain lowered on his broad chest. "Luck of the draw. Two Spanish ships. Edmund took the one, we took the other. Ainsley got the Empress."
"We can give it to him, can't we, Uncle Jacko?" Cassandra asked, having come to that decision on her own, hours earlier. "We'll give it to him, and he'll go away. And it will all be over. No reason to want Papa dead, no reason to come here to Becket Hall. It's as Papa told me, the stone's never done him any good. Why not just give it to Beales, if he wants it so badly?"
Jacko chuckled, looking at Courtland. "Women, eh? And shall we invite him for tea while we're about it? All nice and civilized? Are you daft, girl?"
Cassandra looked to Courtland.
"We want to be free of the past, Callie," he told her, "and so does Beales. It's clear he wants to move in London society, but how can he do that when we're still alive? Any one of us could come forward, brand him a pirate, just as he has already done to us. We're…we're each other's dirty linen, I'm afraid."
"Not to mention that he hates your papa with the hate of ten thousand men," Jacko told her, pushing his hands down on his knees as he levered himself to his feet. "I wouldn't trust Edmund Beales as far as I could toss Becket Hall itself. He measures the world by his own yardstick, so he won't rest until we're all dead and buried, and his past along with us. Because, even if our word is good, he won't believe it, as his own word never has been good for anythin' save foulin' the air as he gives it. I'm for bed. Put that trinket away— it offends my eyes."
Cassandra waited until Jacko had left the room before opening the pouch so that Courtland could slip the Empress back into it, and then returned it to the secret drawer. "I had hoped…"
"I know. I was already thinking of a few different ways we could use the Empress before Jacko came into the room," Courtland told her pulling her into his arms. "But I think we have to defer to Jacko on this, Callie. All seeing that stone tells me is that Beales will definitely come here."
She slid her arms around his waist, closed her eyes as he held her, gently stroked her hair.
He kissed her temple, put her from him as he walked to the drinks table, poured himself a glass of wine. "What did your father say about the stone?"
"Only that it never brought him good luck. But I don't think he wants Beales to have it, not now." She summoned a small smile. "While he was teaching me how to work the secret drawer he said that bad luck has to wear off at some point. I think he wants the Empress to remain with the family. He said we'd certainly paid a high enough price for it. I don't think he wants to turn it over to the Crown, in any case, or he would have done so long ago."
"At the moment, I'm for shattering it to bits with a hammer, and then sprinkling those pieces so the sands can swallow them. When you see Ainsley tomorrow, you can ask him what he wants us to do with it."
"Then you've decided I can go?" She ran into his arms, nearly knocking the wineglass out of his hand. "Oh, thank you!"
This time when his arms went around her she lifted her face to his, waited for his kiss. Longed for his kiss.
Waited in vain.
"Good night, Callie," he said quietly, releasing her.
Another time, she would have argued with him. Teased him. But not now, not tonight. Whatever was growing between them, whether it was a new and different bond or an unanticipated division they might never be able to breach, wasn't important right now.
Frustrating. Maddening. But not important.
She could only hope that they'd be given the gift of time to sort out their feelings, and the chance for a future, here, or in America.
"Good night, Court," she said, and left the room.
She was almost at the front stairs when she heard the sound of a glass shattering against a wall, the sound definitely coming from the study, and for the first time since riding back to Becket hall that morning, Cassandra smiled.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE PRACTICAL ONE. The steady, dependable one, counted on to keep a clear head no matter what the crisis. He prided himself on that, believed himself to be a sober, reasonable man. Had made it his mission in life to be the one everyone else turned to, the one who protected them all.
So what in hell was he doing, sitting beside Cassandra in the coach on their way to Dymchurch, wanting nothing more than to hold her, kiss her, take them both away from all this madness? To go someplace where the past meant nothing, where they could build a future for the two of them.
