Through the Smoke

“Anywhere.” Truman recalled his conversation with Linley. “Even at the mine.”

“It would be too dangerous to leave something of such value there.”

Truman had been of the same opinion, but Linley had made a good argument. “Not if they were well protected—and well hidden.”

“But even if I happen to find them—say, in some tunnel that’s no longer used—that won’t necessarily tell us who put them there.”

Exactly the point Truman had hoped Wythe would grasp. He wanted his cousin to feel safe returning the paintings, even if he was the one who’d taken them. “But it would prove my innocence. I was in London that whole week and returned just before the fire broke out. I would not have had the opportunity to secret them away between the time my driver saw me go in and you carried me out.”

“That’s true.” Wythe nibbled on his lip as he considered Truman’s words. “And they had to have gone missing sometime that day, otherwise the servants would’ve noticed them gone.”

If his memory served correctly and Landscape with the Fall of Icarus was really missing when he argued with Katherine. He couldn’t help but acknowledge, at least to himself, that he could be leading Wythe on a wild goose chase.

“Yes, which means, if we find the paintings, the Abbotts will have to back off.” Maybe then they’d launch their own investigation instead of trying to persuade the authorities to press charges against him.

“Even if they refuse, no one of any import will listen to them at that point.”

“It’s the shred of proof I need.”

“Then I’ll head to the mine right now.”

The bridle jingled as Truman’s horse threw its head, but Truman easily reined in. “Get all those at the mine to aid in the search—and offer a significant reward.”

Wythe adjusted his hat to cut the sun’s glare. “How much of a reward?”

“A thousand pounds, no questions asked.”

“Any miner I know would betray his own mother for that much money.” Wythe brought his horse around so he could lower his voice. “This might solve that other problem too—the one I came to speak to you about earlier. You realize that.”

“The miners’ thirst for vengeance against me?”

“Yes. If they could be convinced that you aren’t the murderer the worst agitators claim you to be, it might assuage their anger over Jack and Rachel. Especially Jack, since they would have to admit that he might have been the one who fired the manse instead of you.”

Truman nodded to acknowledge the truth of that statement. “See that they are made aware of the possibilities.”

Wythe gave him a mock salute. Then he kicked his horse’s flanks and veered left, leaving Truman sitting in his saddle, watching. He wanted to believe the excitement he’d seen in Wythe’s face was genuine. But he couldn’t help thinking that his cousin might merely be using this as the opportunity Truman had intended it to be.

“Godspeed, cousin,” he murmured, and then, without Wythe to give him pause, he turned around and headed to Mrs. Tate’s.

Chapter 19

“Rachel?”

Rachel was lying down with a wet rag on her forehead when she heard Mrs. Tate call for her. She’d awakened with the worst headache she’d ever known. “Yes?”

“Someone’s here to see you.”

A tremor of foreboding caused her head to pound even more. Was Cutberth paying her another visit? Or was it Greenley again? “Who is it?”

“Lord Druridge.”

The earl. Just his name made Rachel’s heart yearn. She didn’t want to let him see her like this, while she wasn’t feeling well. But she figured this might be her only opportunity to tell him it was Cutberth who’d been searching for the ledgers. “I’m coming.”

After tossing the rag into the bowl on the table beside her, she got up and did what she could to tidy her appearance. But there was no way to cover the blood vessel Cutberth’s ring had broken when he struck her. The swelling near her eye wasn’t so bad anymore but the area had turned bright purple.

She let her hair down in hopes that might cover it. What she had to tell Lord Druridge would be incendiary enough. She didn’t want to start an allout war between him and the miners.

“My Lord?” Her breath caught as she came around the corner and saw him standing at the door so tall and erect.

“There you are.” He smiled as though he was relieved to see her, but his eyes honed in on her injury almost immediately and that smile disappeared. “What happened to you?”

“It’s nothing. I’ll grab my cloak so we can take a walk. I… I need to tell you something.”

Mrs. Tate offered to go down to the church, where several of the older ladies were sewing a quilt for an upcoming wedding, but Rachel wouldn’t hear of it. “No, you already decided it was too cold for you today. I wouldn’t think of putting you out of your own house. We’re fine.”

The earl watched her step outside, his expression grim; her injury had upset him. “Have you had something to eat? There’s a tavern halfway to Newcastle. I could take you there.”

“Have your visitors arrived?”

“Not yet.”

“There’s no need to go to so much time and trouble. We can talk here, at my cottage. Then you can go back, just in case they arrive.”

He said nothing as she led him next door—not until she let him in and he saw the destruction. Then he cursed. She’d cleaned the shop yesterday but hadn’t yet made it to the house. Cutberth’s visit had set her back, made her afraid to be alone, even when she was so close to Mrs. Tate. Her proximity to her neighbor hadn’t helped yesterday.

“I wish I knew who did this,” he ground out.

She shot him a glance. “I can tell you.”

He stripped off his gloves. “Who?”

The scars on his hand didn’t bother her. They never really had. She wanted to slip into his arms. It’d only been a day and a night since they’d been together but she had missed him terribly. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like in London, knowing she’d probably never see him again. “Jonas Cutberth.”

His eyes narrowed. “That name seems to be coming up a great deal.”

“He was looking for the ledgers, which means he must know something about that mysterious monthly payment I discovered.”