The Guardian Duke: A Forgotten Castles Novel (21 page)

"My good man." He looked back at the postmaster, leaned toward him, and infused his gaze with a penetrating onslaught of belief. "Please tell us what you know. I will, I swear to you, protect her with my life."

They held there. The gaze of the old postmaster's brown eyes and Gabriel's green. Like two swords meeting and testing, they held for a long, silent moment.

"She went to Killyleagh." The postmaster breathed deep as if coming from a battle. "Killyleagh Castle."

Gabriel blinked once, took a deep inhale, and stood back. He'd read his lips. And he knew of the place; he had heard of it from some distant place and time. "Thank you." He touched his forehead with a nod of respect.

Turning to Meade, he quirked a brow. "Come, Meade, the pieces of the puzzle are beginning to make a picture."

Meade looked at him with eyes full of admiration.

Gabriel led them back to the street, both excited and terrified that they would soon be looking into the face of his ward.

S
o, did you find what you were looking for?" Baylor asked as they walked from Killyleagh Castle back to the inn.

Alex sighed. "Even with the good fortune of Sir Archibald's help, I only learned that yes, my parents had been there and they were looking for something that was missing from Hans Sloane's collection, something to do with a sculptor from the fifteenth century named Augusto de Carrara. I couldn't find anything in the books that mentioned his name. I am sorry to say I'm at something of a dead end."

"If only we knew what was stolen, that would help." Montague's blue eyes scanned the horizon in thought as they walked.

"Yes, I agree. But what could it be?"

"It must have been something of great value making it tempting to a thief."

"Yes, but how would one sell a stolen work of art without being caught? Unless the person who stole it didn't want to sell it. Perhaps he just wanted it for himself."

"Pirates have been selling stolen treasure for centuries. There are ways in which it can be done—middlemen and underground methods and such. I would not count that out of your theorems."

Alex nodded, her mind whirling with possibilities. "Sir Archibald said that Sloane was born here. I wonder if we could find more about him from his descendants, if any of them are still here. He might have told stories about the antiquities he'd found, particularly something of such fame that would have to do with de Carrara."

"That is an excellent idea," Baylor chimed in. "You've the mind of a great sleuth."

Alex grinned over at the big man. "Another thing. We should find out everything we can about this Augusto de Carrara. There may be records of missing art. A newspaper or antiquities society might know of any disappearances. There might be important rumors we can pursue."

"I have some old friends who belong to the London Antiquities Society. I could write to them, if you'd like," Montague suggested.

"Oh yes, would you? That would be wonderful!" She looked back and forth at the men on either side of her. "If I haven't said it recently, I do thank you both. I don't know what I would do without you."

"Ach, this is the most exciting thing I've done in a long time, lass. I wouldn't miss it for the world." Baylor put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed, causing the breath and a gasping laugh to whoosh out of her.

"I'll bet your wife is missing you though."

"Good for her, I say. She'll appreciate her man all the more when I return." Baylor's bushy eyebrows shot up with glee.

Released from Baylor's hold and able to walk again, Alex cast a shy glance toward Montague. "Many thanks, Montague. I'll not forget your kindness."

"Ah, well, it's as the giant says. It has done me good to get out of the pitiful hole I was digging for myself." He cleared his throat and glanced away, his voice so low she could hardly hear him. "It was hard to know how to go on after my wife passed. You've given me back some purpose, Lady Alex."

Alex laid a gentle hand on his arm. They didn't say anything but there was a deeper companionship amongst the three as they walked down the windswept hill toward the inn and dinner.

There was no sign of the Spaniards when they returned to the inn and sat in the dining room where dinner and a musical performance were promised. Alex thought that must mean they'd been seen. It was rather hard to hide a giant, so not surprising, but still, there was something to the saying of keeping your friends close and your enemies closer. What if they were hiding and watching her again? Her flesh prickled at the thought. If she could just turn the tables again and spy on them, she might learn something more. They certainly knew more than she did about whatever it was her parents had been hired to find. She pushed her plate back and rose from the table.

"Gentlemen, I believe I will find Mistress Tinsdale and ask her some questions about our dear friends, the Spaniards." Baylor started to rise, so she hurried out, "Please, don't bestir yourselves. I will only be a little while. Stay and finish your meal."

Montague narrowed his eyes at her as if judging the truth in her words. "I do have some letters to write." He rubbed his whiskered chin. "You'll not leave the inn?"

Alex bristled. "I'm not a child."

"Not far from one."

"Montague. I will be careful." She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him.

"I'll keep an eye out." Baylor nudged Montague with his elbow and winked at Alex. "I'll be right here with my tankard and listening to the whistle that lad is about to play. You give a holler if you need me, promise?"

"I won't need you. It's just Mistress Tinsdale," Alex assured them both.

"Very well." Montague rose and adjusted his sword belt. "Give Mistress Tinsdale my regards, will you?"

Alex shook her head at him in exasperation and hurried away before they could think of more ways to waylay her.

Mistress Tinsdale was just where Alex thought she would be, in the kitchen. She was stirring something in a big pot, her back to the door. Alex lingered just inside and cleared her throat. "That smells wonderful. What is it?"

The lady started, spinning around with a wooden spoon clasped in her hand. She brought it to her chest with a gasp. "Goodness gracious, child, you gave me a start."

"I'm sorry. I was just . . . looking for some female company. The inn seems full of men."

"Poor lamb. Take a seat there and I'll dish you out some fine Irish stew. Best stew in the world, it is."

"Thank you." Alex sat at the long wooden table and clasped her hands together over the top. "How long have you been at the inn, Mistress Tinsdale?"

"Oh, call me Helga, dear. My husband and I took jobs here when we first married. We saved our coins, we did, and bought it outright not two years later." She brought over a steaming bowl and a spoon, placed them in front of Alex, and sat across from her, a broad smile on her face. "How excited we were! Still young, with a passel of babes that were always underfoot and in the way, but didn't we love them? A true family business we had."

Her eyes turned sad and misty as she stared across the room, a gentle smile on her lips. She turned and looked at Alex, who was taking her first bite of stew. "I can still feel him near sometimes, you know. The dead, they linger sometimes after they've gone, especially here in Ireland, what with all our leprechauns and fairies and such. It's a magical land, Lady Alex. Where magical things happen."

Alex nodded, caught in the woman's tone and the faith she had in it. "I believe you are right."

Helga gave her a broad grin, her cheeks rosy, her eyes alight with laughter. "Aren't you a fine thing. So tell me your story, my dear. What's made you come to Ireland?"

Alex wondered how much to tell her and decided it couldn't hurt to tell the truth. Helga might know some-thing useful to help her. "Well." She took another bite and swallowed, thinking it
was
the best stew she'd ever had. "I live on Holy Island, in Northumberland."

"I've heard of Holy Island. Our Irish monks were there once upon a time, were they not?"

"Oh yes. Lindisfarne Castle is just up the road from the old monastery. The barony went to the Featherstone family about a century and a half ago. My parents are the current Lord and Lady Featherstone."

"So you've lived in a castle all your life, have you?" Helga's face beamed with fascination, making the telling of the story a pleasure.

"Yes, but I must say after seeing Killyleagh, my home is not so modern nor so comfortable. It still reminds me of the medieval castles of the past." She didn't mention that her parents didn't seem at all bothered by that fact and were rarely home to endure the discomforts of it. Brushing that thought aside, she hurried on. "My parents are something like treasure hunters; they are famous for it, actually."

"Treasure hunters! Upon my word, that is exciting. What have they found?"

"Oh, all sorts of missing or stolen items—family jewelry, valuable coins, journals full of secrets. Once they were hired to find the tomb of a mummy in the pyramids of Egypt!"

Helga pressed her hand against her ample bosom. "Good heavens, did they find it?"

"Yes." Alex grinned and took another bite. "They never failed in finding what they were looking for."

Helga took a deep breath with a slow shake of her head. "I've never heard of such a thing."

Alex looked down at the delicious stew. "They never failed until now, that is. This is why I'm in Ireland. My parents disappeared some months ago and the prince regent thinks they're dead. I don't believe it, of course. They're too smart for that." She looked up at Helga, stared into her kind brown eyes. "Something has happened to them and they need my help. I have to find them."

"Well, of course you do."

Alex breathed a sigh of relief at her reaction.

"Did they come to Ireland, then? Is that why you're here looking for them?"

"Yes. They came to Killyleagh several months ago. They visited the castle and possibly some other places. They might have even stayed here."

"You don't say?" Helga leaned back and pressed her hand against her plump cheek. "About a year ago? I think I might know of them. A very elegant couple from England? They didn't say much, kept quietly to themselves, and she often wore a veil, but I saw her once . . .

"And?" Alex prodded.

"She was lovely, with eyes much like yours. We don't get many guests from England. Wait. I'll run and fetch the guest book. They would have signed in, don't you know." She hurried from the room before Alex could respond.

When she came back, she sank onto the bench and opened the book. Back and back she went through the pages. Suddenly her finger stopped. "There it is, just as I thought. Ian Featherstone." She turned the book around and pushed it in front of Alex.

Her heart sped up as she leaned over the lines of names. She saw it instantly, her father's elegant scrawl. Tears leapt to her eyes. It was him. They'd stayed here. She looked up at the top of the page and saw the date: 7 November 1817. Just a few weeks less than a year ago.

"Did they say where they were going next? Can you remember anything about them?"

Helga leaned back on the bench with a frown of concentration on her wide brow. "Give me a moment, dear. Finish your stew now, you look white as a ghost."

Alex obeyed, shoveling in the delicious lamb, potatoes, and carrots and washing it down with a cup of tea while she waited.

When she finished she pushed aside the bowl. "Wonderful stew, Helga. Thank you."

Helga nodded at her. "Best stew in the world, it is. I'll write out my secret recipe for you. Now then, I do remember a thing or two about them. Firstly, they did visit the castle a time or two and seemed pleased by something that happened on those visits. I recollect that they asked my son, who works here, where they could find the house where Hans Sloane was raised. The family has all gone to England now, but they visited someone there."

Alex was pleased beyond measure that her hunch to go to Sloane's childhood home was so perfectly matched to what her parents had done. "Anything else?"

"Just one more thing." Helga's brow wrinkled. "I don't know what it means, but I heard your father tease your mother about getting her some warmer clothing. Something about traveling somewhere cold, I think he meant."

"A cold place? No idea as to where?"

Helga shook her head. "Sorry, dear. You might ask the coachman where they went when they left here. They were traveling by rented coach."

"An excellent idea. Thank you so much, Helga. You have helped a great deal."

"I have? Well, isn't that something! Me helping on an investigation." She paused and leaned in. "It's dangerous though, isn't it? Is that why you have those two fierce men traveling with you?"

Alex nodded. "God has blessed me greatly to find champions for my cause in my travels."

"Yes, indeed. That Montague! Oh, bless me, he's a fine man."

"He said to give you his regards," Alex teased with a grin.

"He didn't!"

"Oh yes, he did. I think he's quite taken with you. His wife died not too long ago and he has been rather lost since."

"The dear man . . . he's in need of comfort then? I remember that, when my poor Cormac passed. I'll have to bake him a pie and see that he gets it before this night is out."

"What an excellent idea." Alex stood to go. "Oh, can I ask you one more question?"

"Of course, dear."

"I have a feeling that the two Spanish men who were here yesterday are looking for this object that my parents were hired to find too. They've been following me and one of them grabbed me in Belfast and demanded to know what I was doing in Ireland. He was quite frightening. Do you know anything about them?"

Helga slowly shook her head back and forth. "They settled their account and left right after you arrived. I haven't seen them since."

"They saw us then. Just as I thought. Well, if you see them, could you please alert me? I'm keeping my eye out for them in case they mean us harm."

"Oh yes, dear. I'll be keeping my eye out too." She came around the table and enveloped Alex in a big, motherly hug. One of her hands patted Alex's back. "You're a right brave thing, Lady Featherstone. I pray God's grace upon you."