Fair Weather Enemies Read online

  “True,” said Adam. “You wouldn’t happen to recall the name of the king?”

  “How should I know. I am only…”

  The flash of another coin in his hand stilled her excuse. Jane could not help but grin. His playful patience with the child filled her with warm surprise. She had never considered the Ashfords capable of kindness to small children. In her fantasy, she had envisioned them as more likely to use small children as footstools, or perhaps as chimney sweeps.

  “What would your mum say,” said Adam.

  Margaret screwed her mouth to one side and stared upward with intense concentration. “Robert? Or Rupert. Or…”

  “Richard?” The suggestion from behind her caused Jane to turn. She found Barlow with Aunt Hester on his arm. On his arm? Aunt Hester!

  “Yes!” said the girl. “Richard. The third Richard.”

  When Adam pressed the coin into Margaret’s eager palm, she rubbed it against the other two, ecstatic. She looked up with expectation of another question. However, Adam turned away, clearly wishing to converse. The adults formed a tight circle.

  “What do you think, Mr. Barlow?”

  “Richard the Third was the last king of the House of York. He met his demise during the final battle of the War of the Roses against the House of Lancaster. He died a famous death at the Battle of Bosworth Field, memorialized by Shakespeare in the play named for the king.”

  “Of course!” Hester blurted. “Richard lost his horse during the battle, whereupon his opponents killed him! He lost his kingdom because he was bereft of a horse.”

  Barlow beamed and tapped his nose. “Right on the…well, nose, Hester. The clue comes from the Bard himself.” He stood ramrod straight and lifted a hand to orate. “A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse!”

  Aunt Hester smiled broadly. “You certainly know your Shakespeare, sir.”

  “That I do.” He gripped his lapel and donned a pained expression. “Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer by this sun of York!”

  “Wonderful, sir.” She lifted a hand to the sky. “True hope is swift, and flies with swallow’s wings; kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings!”

  “Ah! You quote Shakespeare with the best, Hester.”

  Not to be outdone, Jane cleared her throat and clasped her hands at her waist. She peered skyward wistfully. “So wise so young, they say, do never live long.”

  “Very good, Miss Hancock,” said Barlow. She curtsied and spun toward Adam to hear his contribution to the quoting of lines from the play. However, he simply stared at her with a creased brow and no apparent intention of quoting anything. She cocked her head.

  “Do you not know Shakespeare?”

  “No.”

  “You do not know of the most famous playwright ever produced by this island?”

  He shook his head vigorously. “Of course, I know of William Shakespeare. However, I have not committed his complete works to memory as have all of you. My recollection of his lines begins and ends with ‘to be or not to be.’”

  Jane frowned, briefly concerned about Adam’s lack of literacy. He seemed to guess the source of her mild consternation and smiled. “Fear not, sweet Jane. Although I have not memorized Shakespeare, I am immensely fond of literature of all kinds. Regarding the Bard’s bygone era, I am more of a Marlowe man. In fact, my favorite play is Doctor Faustus, as evidenced by my penchant for deals with the devil.”

  His expression betrayed mild alarm when her frown deepened. She peered at him intently for four and a half agonizing heartbeats. “Do you consider me the devil?”

  His alarm fled, giving way to apparent relief. “Oh, no. I was referring to Mr. Rutley, not to you.” He paused and sighed. “Although I must confess that I have long thought of you as the devil. But no longer.”

  Her frown melted. “So, I am no longer the devil?”

  “Simply a minor demon these days. I might suggest Beelzebub, if not for the fact that he has already taken the form of a troublesome horse.” He yanked a thumb over his shoulder to where Beelzebub nibbled grass, uncaring of the unfolding drama.

  She laughed, despite her best intention to simply roll her eyes. “A minor demon, you say? Well, I suppose it is only fitting. Beelzebub and his ilk were fallen angels, after all.”

  Even as she made the joke, she regretted saying the words, certain that Adam would respond with some jest calling into question her heavenly claim. A fallen angel, indeed! However, he merely regarded her in silence for a moment before nodding.

  “Of course. Only fitting. I don’t know why I never realized it before.”

  Again, she waited for the joke that would undo the compliment. However, he simply smiled mysteriously and strolled away into the ruins proper.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Adam fled into the ruins while attempting to mask the impression he was fleeing. He was certain Jane would see through his languid gait to the panic beneath. Why had he neglected a perfect opportunity to chide a Hancock? Instead, he had practically fawned over her suggestion that she might be an angel. He considered that notion while wandering along one of the ruined castle walls and concluded that she might have fallen from heaven after all. When not ferociously debating him, she certainly appeared angelic. She seemed to possess the wisdom of one fallen from paradise while retaining clear eyes concerning her badly altered reality.

  He ventured a glance over one shoulder to find her some distance away. She ran inquisitive fingers over the remains of a forgotten partition, stooping now and then to study the details. Wonder painted her lovely features. She seemed almost ethereal, as if a ghost haunting what was lost and forgotten. He failed to realize his glance had become an extended observation until he slammed a knee against a stub of stone.

  “Oomph!” He reached down to massage his newly battered knee. When he looked up again, he found her covering her mouth, apparently amused by his awkward misfortune. She dropped her hand.

  “Are you injured? Should we fetch a surgeon?”

  He grimaced, still cursing his stumble. “No, not necessary. My pride is the worst casualty.”

  Her smile seemed suddenly blinding. “Very good. I never mourn the passing of pride. Particularly yours.”

  With that, she resumed her survey of the scattered stones. He shook his head with consternation. Too bad she was a Hancock. Otherwise, he might have found her irresistible.

  “What now, Mr. Ashford?” The question came from Barlow as he approached with Hester still on his arm. When had those two become inseparable? How had he missed it? Then he remembered. It must have happened right beneath his nose while he was thoroughly preoccupied with getting to know his lifelong enemy. And just how had that occurred? Why could he not just walk along the road and ignore…

  “Mr. Ashford?”

  He glanced up to find Barlow and Hester standing just before him.

  “Yes, Mrs. Byrd?”

  “You seemed quite distant just now. Are you, in fact, injured?”

  “No.” He shook his head for the sake of conviction. “I am fine. I shall be fine.”

  “Very well,” said Barlow. “Then perhaps you might address my initial question.”

  “Which was?”

  “What happens next, Adam? Midafternoon is upon us. Now that it seems we have found the next piece of the puzzle, should we consider the subsequent lines?”

  Jane strolled up then. She cocked an eyebrow to lend support to Barlow’s question. Adam lurched into motion while trying to avoid her intense gaze.

  “It is late,” he said while pacing in a tight six-foot line and studying the ground beneath his feet. “Three o’clock by my reckoning. We have made good progress since this time yesterday. Two towns, two puzzles deciphered.”

  “So, you wish to press onward?”

  Jane’s question stopped his pacing and drew his eyes. Her c
ontemplative expression gave evidence to the sincerity of her question. He harbored no doubt she would soldier on past nightfall. She apparently shared his newfound hope that the hunt might actually lead to a reward. He pondered the prospect of pushing ahead on the journey. However, her eyes undid him. Beneath the resolve he glimpsed a hint of weariness. Only then did he acknowledge his own fatigue. After days of sleeping on ship decks and floors and walking mile upon mile, his body was beginning to revolt. He shook his head.

  “No, I believe we should find a place to stay for the night. An inn with comfortable beds, facilities for washing, and decent fare.”

  He could not help but notice the surprised relief that swept across her face.

  “A good suggestion. Are you certain we can afford such?”

  “We can splurge a little. I believe we have earned it.”

  “We have,” said Barlow. “And in recognition of our success thus far, I will cover the cost of the lodging.”

  Adam’s brow creased. “But sir. You are under no obligation to aid us financially. In fact, Mr. Rutley might consider such an action a conflict of interest.”

  “Nonsense, Ashford. Mr. Rutley cares only about acquiring wealth and prestige. The finding of the gold, regardless of who keeps it, will bring him both. As his solicitor, my primary duty is to ensure the success of this venture. In my judgment, success is more likely if we all eat, bathe, and get a restful night’s sleep.”

  Adam’s frown relaxed. He extended a hand to shake Barlow’s. “Thank you, sir. We appreciate your service to Mr. Rutley, then.”

  Barlow leaned toward Adam with a sly smile. “Poppycock. Rutley is a villain. I am paying for your rooms because I grow fond of you all. If Rutley disapproved of my financial help, I would do so just to spite the man.”

  Everyone laughed. Having a common adversary in Mr. Rutley drew the band tighter, it seemed. As they abandoned the ruin to search for an inn, young Margaret sadly waved farewell. Adam collected the horse, waved back, and began returning toward the main part of town. Jane chose to walk alongside him.

  “Do you think we will find an inn with a bathtub?” she asked.

  “We will. You will enjoy the bath you so desire.”

  She wrinkled her nose and sniffed. “I did not ask on my behalf, but yours. The aroma of the road begins to seep into your bones, I’m afraid. A warm bath for you will help us all.”

  He smirked and shook his head. “Thank you for the kind consideration, Miss Hancock. Your benevolence overwhelms me.”

  “You are quite welcome, sir.”

  He grinned slyly. “May I return the favor by expressing how fervently I hope to find you a comfortable bed? A good night’s sleep will certainly relieve your crankiness.”

  She glared with apparent mock affront. “I am not the least bit cranky. I am merely spirited.”

  He laughed and faced the road. “Perhaps a good night’s sleep will rectify that as well.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The next morning, Adam massaged the left side of his neck while leading Beelzebub from the inn back toward the ruins. The bed had been comfortable, if a bit narrow, but Mr. Barlow had proven a restless sleeper. His sporadic flailing had driven Adam to seek refuge on the floor in the dead of night. A stiff neck was the inevitable result. However, the attentions to his neck allowed him a moment to consider Jane without interruption. She seemed different this morning. The combative edge he had grown to expect seemed dulled, replaced by what he could identify only as warmth. Her altered demeanor puzzled him. The ever-present clouds had cleared to reveal a clear autumn sky, and the chill air wilted in the face of the formerly bashful sun. Perhaps that was the cause of her change.

  As if sensing his turmoil, Jane slowed to allow him to draw alongside her. She smiled at him, immediately raising his suspicions. “Mr. Ashford. I take it the floor was not to your liking?”

  “How did you know I slept on the floor?”

  “An assumption. I cannot imagine two lanky bachelors sharing such a narrow bed. As you are rubbing your neck while Mr. Barlow seems perfectly refreshed, I assumed you were the one banished to the floor.”

  “A good guess.” He massaged his neck a moment longer before dropping his hand. “I see that you, on the other hand, slept rather well.”

  “How could you know?”

  “An assumption. You have not said a cross word to me yet this morning.”

  “Cross, you say?” Her lips formed the beginning of a pout. Then she laughed softly. “I suppose I deserve that. Point taken, sir.”

  There it was again—Jane disregarding a perfect opportunity to engage him in verbal combat. He found it unnerving. His eyes widened as he thought of an explanation. Perhaps she had determined a way to turn everything to her advantage. What if the subtle change was part of a nefarious plan to ensure a favorable outcome for the Hancock family? He peeked at Jane to find her peering at him with question. He looked away quickly before her captivating expression could overcome his better judgment. After drawing a deep breath to clear his head, he arrived at a conclusion. He hoped the change was genuine but would watch his step, nonetheless.

  As the ruins came into view, so did a small figure. Margaret met them on the crossroad intersecting the thoroughfare running alongside the ruins.

  “You came back!” she said excitedly. “Do you have more questions?”

  Adam tipped his hat to the girl. “Miss Margaret. Well met. And yes, we may have another question.” He turned to address Jane. “Shall we?”

  “Of course.”

  They retrieved their respective letters and unfolded them. Jane waited until Hester and Barlow joined the circle before reading. “Strike toward the land where the day comes undone.”

  “A rise, a circumference, an army of stone.” He folded his letter and returned it to his coat pocket. “A land where the day comes undone. Another reference to Shakespeare, perhaps? Or Richard the Third? His day certainly came undone at Bosworth Field after he lost his horse.”

  “Possibly so,” said Jane. She swiveled her head. “Which way does the old battlefield lie from here?”

  Barlow pointed through the ruins. “More or less that way. It is a fair distance, though. Two hundred miles, I’d wager.”

  Hester shook her head in contemplation. “Surely the writer of the letter did not bring us so carefully from Carlisle to Penrith only to launch us such a distance southward. I cannot believe Bosworth Field is our destination. The riddle must indicate something other than that.”

  “Sound logic,” said Adam. “I imagine the next destination lies nearer at hand.”

  He glanced aside to find young Margaret still waiting patiently for a question and the promise of a coin. She gazed intently at him, squinting from the rising sun. He inhaled a sharp breath as intuition seized him. He faced the sun and extended his left hand toward it. Then he lifted his right hand to point in the opposite direction. The sightline beyond his outstretched fingers revealed the crossroad that led away from the ruins.

  “Jane.”

  “Yes, Adam?”

  “In your estimation, in which cardinal direction am I pointing with my right hand?”

  Her eyes swept toward the direction indicated by his arm. “Given the position of the sun, I would say…” She stopped abruptly. Her eyes lit. “West! West! Where the sun sets in the evening! Where the day comes undone!”

  Hester clapped with delight. “Of course! That makes much more sense. It aligns with the letter writer’s other clues. Subtle, but nearby.”

  Adam let his arms fall. “My thoughts exactly.” He looked down again at the waiting girl. “Miss Margaret.”

  “Sir?” Her eyes shone with anticipation.

  He lifted his finger to point to the west. “What lies down that road?”

  She pivoted to peer in the direction he indicated. Then she faced him, her sharp mind clear
ly at work. “How should I know? I am only seven. Perhaps my mother…”

  With an anticipatory grin, Adam produced a coin. She giggled with delight.

  “Care to guess?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Down that road lies Keswick.”

  “How far.”

  “Oh, hours and hours. My papa’s mum lives there. We traveled to Keswick only two months ago. Our cart became stuck in the mud, and we were made to walk much of the way. Hours and hours.”

  Adam nodded and pressed the coin into her hand. “One more thing, Miss Margaret.”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Do you recall seeing anything that might resemble, say, an army of stone?”

  The girl’s face constricted as she pondered deeply. “No, sir. And I don’t think my mum would know that, either.”

  “Very well, Miss Margaret. We thank you for allowing us inside the castle walls and for so diligently answering our difficult questions.”

  “Hear, hear,” said Jane. “We will always consider you the Princess of Penrith Castle.”

  Margaret frowned. “I am not the princess. I am captain of the guard.”

  Jane laughed. “Indeed! My mistake.” She saluted the girl. “Carry on, then, Captain. You never know what invaders lurk about.”

  The girl smiled, tossed her head, and danced away toward the ruins. Jane laughed again and cut her eyes to Adam to catch him staring at her like a fool. He blinked and yanked his gaze toward the west.

  “Let’s be off, then. Apparently, we must walk for hours and hours. However, we should purchase food for the journey first.”

  “Already packed onto the horse,” said Jane. He could not help but note the mirth in her reply.

  “Water, then. Despite the chill air, we will certainly become thirsty.”

  “Done, Adam.”

  He tugged the reluctant horse into motion on a line for the western road. “Just when did you arrange that?”

  “Aunt Hester and I rose before the sun to haggle with farmers just coming to market. We traded our labor of unloading their carts for vegetables and salted meat.”