The Bone House (12 page)

“We should get back to camp,” Dex said. “Tav will return soon. We’ll have to give him the bad news.”

“Burleigh ain’t going to be happy,” Con observed.

“No. He won’t be happy.”

“It ain’t our fault.”

Dex shrugged.

“It ain’t,” Con insisted.

“You tell him that. You get on so well with him. He listens to you, right? You can tell him how it wasn’t our fault the prisoners let themselves out while we were asleep.”

Con muttered an oath under his breath.

“Let’s get back.” Dex started for the rock-cut staircase leading down to the wadi floor.

“What’s so almighty important about those two anyway?” Con asked, growing sullen. “They didn’t look like no threat to me. Pretty near hopeless, in fact.”

Dex shrugged again. “I guess that’s another thing you can discuss with the boss. Me? I keep my mouth shut and do as I’m told. The boss has his ways. I stopped trying to figure it all out years ago.”

By the time they reached the camp, Mal was waiting for them. His search had been no more successful, and he had nothing to report. “Looks like they got clean away,” Dex concluded.

“Looks like,” agreed Mal. “I’m starving. I’m going to get something to eat.”

“Good idea,” agreed Con.

The two started for the mess tent. Dex, with nothing better to do, followed.

The sun had long since passed midday by the time Tav returned. The men heard the rattling sputter of the truck echoing down the canyon long before it came into view. They instinctively assembled themselves before their tent, weapons at their sides, to await his arrival. The claptrap vehicle came to a dry, scrunching halt in a cloud of dust. The door swung open, and Burleigh’s right-hand man stepped out. One glance at the others standing at loose attention roused his suspicions. “What is it?” he asked. “What have you done?”

“It’s the captives,” replied Dex.

“Are they dead, then?”

“They’re gone.”

“Gone . . .” His glance took in the others who hung back, waiting to see how he would greet this news. Tav frowned.

“Escaped.”

“I see.” Tav’s eyes narrowed; his frown grew fierce.

“We searched both ways up and down the wadi,” volunteered Con. “We even went up top. We searched half the morning, but we couldn’t raise so much as a footprint.”

“You looked everywhere? You’re sure?”

“Everywhere,” confirmed Dex. “I swear it.”

“Then there’s nothing to be done about it now,” concluded Tav. “Strike the camp. Load it up—everything. Boss wants it all cleared out. We’re done here. We’ve got until sunset, so jump to it.”

“What do we tell the boss?” asked Con.

“The truth,” replied Tav.

“He won’t like it.” Con had an uncanny ability to grasp the obvious. And of all the implications of the situation, this was the one that had taken firm root in his mind. “He won’t like it at all.”

“I don’t expect he will,” confirmed Tav.

“Then I say we don’t tell him.”

“We
have
to tell him,” countered Mal.

“Why?” demanded Con.

“He’ll find out eventually,” suggested Dex.

“So? If he ever does find out, we just say they were still alive when we left here. They must have got out somehow after we packed up.”

“That might work,” agreed Dex. “I’m with Con. Telling Burleigh they escaped will only get us in trouble, and it won’t make a bean’s worth of difference anyway.”

“What about you, Mal? Are you with the other two?”

Mal shrugged. “I guess.”

Tav was quiet for a long moment. He raised his eyes to the sky and seemed to contemplate the faint horsetail wisp of high cloud he saw drifting there. The silence became an oppressive force, and the Burley Men were already wincing with anticipated pain when Tav drew a deep breath, as if preparing himself to deal out desolation in heavy doses, and said, “That’s it, then: don’t breathe a word of this to the boss. If he finds out, we know nothing about it. Which isn’t far from the truth anyway.”

Just then a roar that resounded down the wadi walls announced that a very hungry cave cat had not yet been fed and was growing exceedingly peeved at the situation. “Con, see to Baby. It won’t do to have that creature scrapping at everyone along the way.”

“What about the generator?” wondered Mal. “What are we supposed to do with that?”

“I don’t care what you do with it. Just get rid of it. Wipe out any trace that we were ever here. Got it?”

When no one moved, Tav added, “What are you waiting for? Move!”

As if startled into life, the Burley Men jolted away, each hurrying off on his own separate errand. It was not the first time they had decamped at a moment’s notice, and it would not be the last.

“Where are we going?” called Dex, backing off a step at a time.

“Never you mind,” Tav answered. “We’re done here—that’s all you need to know.”

CHAPTER 10
In Which an Identity Is Mistaken

A
fortnight of rain and indecent weather had left the horses lethargic and indifferent to the commands of the rider. What they wanted was a good fast chase across the downs to get their pure blood racing again and remind them what sort of creatures nature intended them to be. At least, that was Lady Fayth’s assessment—a view upheld by her father.

“Capital!” cried Lord Fayth when informed of his daughter’s wish to ride across the estate to the next village. “Tell her that I will accompany her. We will take tea on our return.”

“Of course, my lord,” replied Chalmers, Sir Edward’s butler. “Shall I notify the stables of His Lordship’s intentions?”

“No need. I shall do it myself. I will be going out as soon as I finish reviewing the accounts.”

“As you will, sir.”

After a light lunch of kippers and toast, Sir Edward went to the stables where Lady Fayth was checking the straps and harness on her mount. “Hello, my darling.” He bussed her cheek, then noticed the saddle. “I hope you are not thinking to ride with . . .
that
,” he said, distaste tugging down the edges of his mouth.

“Hello, Father,” she replied sweetly. “Why? Whatever do you mean?” She glanced around at the saddle. “Is there something wrong with the tack I have chosen?”

“In all honesty, Haven, if you insist on riding like a man, I do believe you deserve whatever fate befalls you.”

“The only thing likely to befall me today is a splash of mud on my new boots.” She lifted the hem of her dress and extended one shapely, booted foot for his inspection. “Do you like them?”

“Yes, very nice. But see here—”

“No, you see here. Do you really expect me to ride sidesaddle in a samite gown and wimple?”

“You think this a cause for levity, do you?”

“Perish the thought, my lord. I assure you, I give this matter all the seriousness it deserves.”

Seeing there was no arguing with her—there was never any way to gain the upper hand with the headstrong girl—Lord Fayth relented. “Have it your way, my dear,” he said. “But do not come crying to me when you find yourself a wizened spinster of twenty-five because all the eligible young men have shunned you as a pariah.”

“Is that likely to happen?” She seemed to consider this, and then smiled. “No.” She laughed. “I cannot foresee that at all. In any event, it is years away, and by then the shocking indiscretion of this day will be long forgotten—if not overshadowed by some other, ever greater transgression. So, come, Father dearest.” She looped her arm through his. “Let us ride while the sun is shining and we still have our good name. I will race you to the village green.”

The ride over the open hills and uplands of the western portion of Clarivaux’s vast acreage was an exercise in exhilaration. Lady Fayth, whose regard for her mount was suspect at the best of times, gave herself to the race and easily outdistanced her father—which was not entirely surprising for a man with both weight and age against him. She was strolling on the village green when he joined her.

“You ride like a hellion,” he told her bluntly. “It will be a miracle if you do not break your pretty neck one day.”

“Thank you, Father,” she replied. “But I thought you were constitutionally unable to believe in miracles. Your brother Henry believes enough for both of you—is that not what you always say?”

“Hmph!”

Lord Fayth patted the neck of his mount and looked around. “I fancy a tot of ale. Let us have a drink.”

“None of that,” his daughter chided. “It is much too early in the day, and besides, we will have tea waiting for us at home, remember.”

He gave another snort and dismounted. Lady Fayth strolled to her father and took his hand. “Someone has to keep an eye on your well-being, my lord. What will you do without me?”

“Do without you?” he wondered. “It is what to do
with
you that keeps me awake nights.”

“I am in earnest, sir.” She pressed her father’s hand for emphasis. “You know I only have your best interest at heart. Who will look after you while I am away?”

“I daresay I shall survive the ordeal, my dear, onerous as it may be. I only hope Henry can say the same when the year is out. All being well, I shall come up to London for Christmas.” Across the green, His Lordship’s eye caught the sign of the village bakery. “If we are not to imbibe a stirrup cup, let us at least bring home something tasty to have with our tea.”

They tethered their horses on the green and strolled to the bakery, where Lord Fayth selected an assortment of sweetmeats and fruited breads to be boxed and taken back to the manor as an accompaniment to afternoon tea. Owing to his seat on the board of the East India Trading Company, Lord Fayth, like his father before him, enjoyed a ready supply of the new commodity and saw it as his sworn duty to propagate the use of the substance in every way possible.

Upon their return, they saw that another horse had joined theirs on the green. The rider was nowhere to be seen. “There is a splendid animal,” Sir Edward said approvingly. “The man who owns that knows something of horses, I daresay.”

Lady Fayth regarded the creature with its shiny black coat, white fetlocks, and white blaze star in the middle of its broad forehead. She did not share her father’s passion for all things four-legged, but knew a good nag when she saw one. “It is a fine specimen,” she agreed. “I wonder whom it belongs to.”

As if in answer to her question, they heard a voice calling to them and turned to see a man just then emerging from the inn. “I say, hello there!” he called again.

They stopped and waited for him to approach. “Is this your horse, sir?” asked Lord Fayth.

“Indeed it is, sir,” replied the stranger. Lady Fayth cast an appraising glance over the tall man striding quickly across the green towards them. He carried himself with a bold confidence that seemed well-suited to his dark good looks. “This is Aquilo,” he said, indicating the horse.

Lady Fayth regarded the man instead: with his long black hair, proud moustaches, and flamboyant sideburns, the stranger gave every appearance of one who was part horse himself.

“I hope you do not mind sharing a bit of the green?” Before either of them could answer, the fellow bent his long torso in a crisp bow. “Archelaeus Burleigh, Earl of Sutherland, at your service. Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”

“I am Sir Edward Fayth, and this is my daughter, Haven,” answered her father.

Lady Fayth smiled and offered her hand, which the man who called himself Burleigh accepted and, after the briefest hesitation, raised to his lips. His eyes, however, never left her face. “Charmed,” he said, as she pulled her hand from his grasp.

“You are a long way from home, Sutherland,” observed Lord Fayth mildly. “What brings you to our patch—if I may be so bold?”

“Not at all, sir. It is a long story—which I shall not presume to inflict on you—but suffice to say that I am thinking of buying a property hereabouts. It is so very cold and dreary in the north. I have reached the time in life where I believe one must have a southern redoubt if one is to survive from one winter to the next.”

“Indeed, sir,” barked Sir Edward, all amiability and smiles. “I could not agree more.”

“If not for the tenants, I would consider a more permanent southern sojourn,” Burleigh explained, almost apologetically. “But with such a great many of them, what with seven towns and villages within the Glen Ardvreck boundaries . . .” He paused. “Forgive me, I am woolgathering. Northern habit, I fear. I am sorry.”

“Think nothing of it, sir,” offered Lord Fayth grandly. “I quite understand. This is a beautiful corner of the world, I say.” He brightened with a sudden thought. “If you are at a loose end this evening, would you like to come to dinner? Nothing fancy, mind, just an informal private supper. Bring Lady Burleigh, of course, and anyone else in your party.”

Lord Burleigh glanced at Lady Fayth and hesitated. “Well, I—”

“Ah, I have sprung it on you. Thoughtless of me. I suspect you have another engagement.”

“No, no, nothing like that,” Burleigh countered hastily. “I am so newly arrived I have no other engagements at present. And as for ‘Lady Burleigh,’ well—I am entirely on my own. My dear wife died several years ago, and I have never remarried.” He offered a wistful smile. “I am entirely without encumbrance at present, and I would be delighted to accept your kind offer.”