The Curiosity Keeper (35 page)

Already familiar with the maze of streets and alleys protruding from Blinkett Street, Jonathan ducked down a side street, taking the back way to James Iverness’s shop. The rain mingled with smoke and soot clung to him. The moisture intensified the musky stench of manure and wet animals. Jonathan crept along the jagged wall, blending in with the constant motion of carts and people. He was reminded of a similar venture several weeks ago, when he had first laid eyes on the little shop. But his motives then had been far different.

After a quick glance from the right to the left, Jonathan pulled his hat low over his eyes and stepped from the side street onto Blinkett Street. He walked slowly, waiting for a cart to pass, before he stepped to the front of the shop.

The shattered shop window had been boarded up, but the other window was intact. He looked inside and his breath caught in his throat. For through the dirty glass he could barely see Miss Iverness seated on the floor. She was propped against the wall, her head leaning back. Her eyes were closed.

Jonathan took a step back, his fist balled at his side. Every instinct within him screamed to force open the door and go to her rescue. But he had done that once and had ended up causing her harm. He needed a better sense of the situation before he attempted such action.

Forcing his breath through gritted teeth, he took a cautious step closer and peered deeper into the room.

She appeared to be alone.

It seemed far too simple that all he had to do was open the door, grab Miss Iverness, and run, but at the moment that seemed the best solution. His heart raced as he inched closer to the door,
careful not to attract attention to himself. The shabby crowd shuffled past him, seemingly oblivious. Despite the coolness of the damp air, perspiration gathered under the brim of his hat.

He licked his lips and focused his gaze on the brass handle just an arm’s length away. He needed to act quickly, before his window of opportunity shattered. She might be alone now, but who knew how much longer?

He reached out his hand, the brass cold beneath his fingertips. The broken door swung open easily, but it scraped against the floor.

Miss Iverness jerked her head up. Black wisps of hair framed her narrow face, and her complexion glowed pale. Her eyes widened in surprise, but then she jerked her head toward the curtain that led to the back of the store.

He nodded. Eyes scanning the space for signs of trouble, he stepped over the boxes until he was quite close to her. He took careful note of his surroundings. Debris throughout the store. A curtained doorway behind the counter. A hall or stairwell opening off the adjacent wall. Laughter coming from somewhere—perhaps from behind the curtain. And as he drew near he realized with a gulp that Miss Iverness’s hands were bound behind her back. Her feet were tied together as well.

He immediately knelt and pulled the knife from his waist to untether her legs.

“That can wait,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Quickly—reach into the pocket of my apron.”

“What?” Jonathan struggled with the second bit of rope. “I cannot. I—”

“Do it,” she hissed. “Quickly. Please. There is a box in there. You must take it.”

The rope around her ankles gave way. He reached to help her lean forward so he could reach her hands, but she pivoted to give him better access to the pocket.

“Take it. Now.”

He reached into the pocket, and his fingers brushed against something wooden. Some kind of carved box. He pulled it out and stared at it.

“It’s a puzzle box,” she whispered urgently, “and the Bevoy is inside. Push the elephant heads simultaneously to open it. Press as hard as you can. But I need you to take it now and go. As quickly as you can.”

The sudden onslaught of information hit him, each bit of it battling for dominance. He looked down at the small box with its carvings of elephants and trees.

“Please go,” she urged, her voice thin with desperation. “Please, please go.”

“I am not leaving without you.” Jonathan reached for the ropes binding her wrists.

“There is no time,” she protested. “They are in the other room. And they are dangerous people. I have no doubt they will harm you or even us both if they find you here. Please, please take the stone and leave now.”

“I didn’t come here for the Bevoy, Camille.” Jonathan paused in his task long enough to lock gazes with her. “I came here for you.”

At this she finally stopped resisting and pivoted to give him a better angle. Tears filled her eyes, and she shook her head slowly. “You do not understand. I am not what you think I am.”

“You are exactly what I think you are.” The rope gave way, and she rubbed her wrists. Still kneeling, he leaned closer to her.
“You are strong and kind and compassionate. And you are the woman I love. And I refuse to leave here without you.”

She said nothing, but a tear slipped down her cheek. He had never seen her cry. He touched it and brushed it away.

Her words came in a rush, with renewed fervor. “But, you must know—”

“You can tell me later.”

She nodded and looked toward the door. “Then we must hurry.”

He stood and helped her to her feet. She seemed unsteady, no doubt as a result of sitting for so long. Laughter intensified in the back room. She rose to her feet and headed toward the half-open front door. He started to follow her, but as he took a step two men came bursting through the curtained opening.

Jonathan pulled one of his father’s pistols from his waistband. He was already aiming the barrel before he saw their faces clearly.

James Iverness.

And Henry Darbin.

Nothing could have shocked him more than to see Darbin here. And yet on some level he was not surprised.

“Darbin,” Jonathan breathed.

Darbin’s dark eyes widened, then a smile stretched his thin lips. “Jonathan Gilchrist. You are the last person I expected to see here. I wish I could say it was a pleasure.”

Jonathan scrambled, trying to line up the pieces of the puzzle before him. What was Darbin doing here?

It was then that Jonathan noticed that Darbin had a pistol as well. It was pointed straight at his chest. And there they stood, their pistols pointed at one another.

A standoff.

At that moment, James Iverness propped his hands on his hips, his demeanor calm as if he were out for a Sunday stroll. A giant brown dog circled round his master’s feet, his yellow eyes locked on Jonathan. “Jonathan Gilchrist, eh? So this is the pup that has caused me all this trouble.”

“Aye, ’tis.” Darbin’s voice was as smooth as ever, and his pistol remained locked on Jonathan, his demeanor steady and cool. “I had an inkling—a small one, mind you—that you had affections for the lovely Miss Iverness here. Can’t say that I blame you, pretty lass that she is. But I must say I am surprised you would go to all this trouble for her. After all, you are a Gilchrist. I would think that fact alone would render you above such weak emotion.”

Jonathan drew a sharp breath. His gaze flicked toward Camille. Her dark eyes flashed with fear. He steadied his focus—and his pistol—on Darbin. “I suppose I misunderstood your intentions, Darbin. I had thought you to be a friend of the family. Clearly I was mistaken.”

Darbin’s voice rang with confidence. “You trust far too easily, Gilchrist—a trait you did not learn from your brother, I might add, but one you might be wise to develop.”

“We had an agreement.”

“Exactly. But need I remind you that you contacted me, not the other way around? You brought me into this on a completely different level. And I was happy to comply.”

Another bit of the puzzle clicked into place. Darbin had been involved with the robbery from the beginning. Who else would have such intimate knowledge of the Gilchrist home? Darbin had been one of Thomas’s best friends and a frequent guest at
Kettering Hall. Of course he had knowledge of the home’s layout, of the location of his father’s study. And if he had taken up with Iverness, he no doubt knew that the ruby was at Kettering, most likely in the study.

With each passing moment, more questions catapulted through Jonathan’s mind. “And that business with McCready?”

“Aha. A scene, my friend. A ruse. Quite the actor, that one. He could have a career on the stage, could he not? That was to throw you off our trail. Worked like a charm too. But who would have thought you would believe I could find a thief so quickly? Although I appreciate your confidence in my abilities, you do overestimate my skills.”

“Miss Iverness could have been killed,” challenged Jonathan. “Never pegged you to be a murderer.”

Darbin shrugged as if bored with the conversation. “She needed to believe it too. Come on, my friend. Do not be so gullible. Too many people knowing the truth about such transactions can be far too complicated. Mr. Iverness taught me that. It was his idea.”

The idea that any man would knowingly put his daughter in harm’s way turned Jonathan’s stomach. But now it all made sense. Darbin’s disappearance the night the store was robbed. His ongoing interest in Camille’s whereabouts. Iverness’s harshness toward his—

At that moment a tall, slender woman stepped through the curtained doorway. There was no denying who she was, for she and Camille shared a remarkable likeness. Surely this was her mother. But there seemed to be nothing motherly about this woman. The lines of her face were hard, her expression scornful.

Jonathan wanted clarification, but he knew he would not get
it. Not here, and possibly not ever. All that mattered was getting Miss Iverness—his Camille—away from this shop. Somehow she was connected with everyone here. But he didn’t care. Any relationship that tied her up with them was one that had to be severed. He began to circle toward Camille, who stood close to the shop’s front door.

But then Darbin did the unexpected. In a very small movement, he pointed his pistol away from Jonathan and directly at Camille.

Jonathan’s blood ran cold, and his stomach turned within him. He adjusted his aim. “Let her go, Darbin. She is not what you want.”

“And how can you be so sure? Did I not tell you there is more to Miss Iverness than what meets the eye? I did try to warn you, you know. For Thomas’s sake.”

Sweat gathered on Jonathon’s brow. The air seemed too thick to breathe. But for the first time that day all was clear to him.

He had the one thing that they wanted.

And they were threatening the only person who mattered to him.

Darbin’s voice rang out far too confidently. “And this is an interesting position we find ourselves in, you with a pistol pointed at my chest, and I with a pistol pointed at Miss Iverness. What are we to do?” His words issued a challenge.

Jonathan knew he had the advantage. The Bevoy was in his possession. But still he asked the question: “What is it you want, Darbin?”

“You know what I want,” the man hissed. “And I know full well that Miss Iverness has more information about it than what she is sharing with me.”

Jonathan shifted his weight carefully as he listened. “Now, I have a bit of information to share with you. Miss Iverness does not have the ruby, so you might as well take your pistol off her.”

“You are bluffing,” snorted Darbin, casting a glance toward James Iverness before latching his gaze back on Jonathan.

Jonathan pressed his lips together. This was the moment.

He had a choice, and the choice he made at this moment would define his life from this moment forward.

He could back out of this dusty, cluttered little shop with the ruby securely in his pocket. He could give it to his father and win his praise. He could save the estate.

Or, he could turn the ruby over and free Camille.

She had never declared love for him. He did not even know if she would leave the shop and return to Fellsworth with him. But in his mind, there was no question.

The box was in his hand.

It was worth the risk.

Jonathan held the puzzle box up. “Release her, and the ruby is yours.”

At last the older woman spoke. “That’s it.” Her words rushed forth hungrily. “The Bevoy is in that box.”

Jonathan heard Camille gasp, but he did not look her way. Instead he steadied his eyes on Darbin. He repeated himself. “Let Miss Iverness go, and this is yours. You have my word as a gentleman.”

Iverness and Darbin exchanged glances again. Jonathan could read their thoughts, interpret the look that bounced between them. Once in their possession, the gem would be sold, and if
they were working together, it would be gone in the blink of an eye. If he had learned anything, it was that Iverness likely had a buyer lined up before Camille ever left with the ruby.

Pistol still aimed, Jonathan set the box on the counter to his left. The clatter of wood against wood echoed through the shop.

“This is my proposal.” Jonathan’s voice was steady. “Miss Iverness and I will leave. The ruby will stay.”

An incredulous look crossed Darbin’s narrow face. “You would hand it over? For the likes of her?”

Jonathan did not answer the question—not directly. He just repeated his terms. “I will give you the ruby. You will make no effort to detain us further, and you will never contact Miss Iverness again.”

“He’s bluffing,” breathed Iverness, kicking the dog away from his feet and taking a step forward. His green eyes bored into Jonathan, unblinking.

“I swear it on my brother’s grave,” Jonathan countered. “I will give up all rights to the ruby. And you never contact her or my family again.”

James Iverness looked at his daughter, and for a f leeting moment, a spark of emotion glimmered. His eyebrows drew together, and his lips seemed to fall into a frown. But just as quickly as it appeared, the expression disappeared.

“And if we don’t agree?” asked Darbin.

Jonathan straightened his aim. “I will pull the trigger.”

“You may kill me, but my colleague has a knife. And you will have nothing, no time to reload.”

“What do you care?” Jonathan shot back. “Because when I pull this trigger, I will not miss. If you think my brother was
a good shot, think it through. For we were taught by the same master, and I was a far better pupil than he. Now, I think Miss Iverness needs to leave this discussion, don’t you?”