Duty and Desire

at school or University. How came that to be, do you suppose?”

“Been wondering about that myself,” Monmouth broke in on his way back from the plates of cake. “The lady is a beauty, Sayre, nothing to be ashamed of, surely! Beauty is an asset to any man, sister or wife, is what I always say. Unless you’ve been hiding her on purpose, Sayre!” He looked at him curiously. “Big trout on the line, old man? Don’t want any little ’uns snatching the bait, is that it?” Lady Felicia laughed nervously at Monmouth’s witticism, her eyes examining Darcy with trepidation.

“Monmouth!” Sayre growled, his face growing red, “I’d forgotten how vulgar you can be! Really, my Lord!”

Monmouth took no offense but merely grinned at Darcy. “I am right, you see, Darcy. Wouldn’t be at all surprised that the big trout is you! Although,” he tossed back to Sayre, “I might do in a pinch. Title, you see. But the ready is better, and Darcy is a surer card than yours truly.” Monmouth sketched them a bow. “My Lady, Sayre.” He then winked at Darcy. “Beware, Darcy, unless you have determined to have the lady. And if you have not, send her my way, there’s a good fellow.” Stuffing another piece of cake into his grinning mouth, the Viscount moved on.

Darcy smiled thoughtfully at Sayre before excusing himself to the table of biscuits. After securing a nice selection of the confections, he ignored Lady Felicia’s look of invitation and took instead a seat beside the lately recovered Miss Avery. Here, at least, was safety, for the shy girl offered him no more conversation than a grateful smile and a soft greeting. Unfortunately, they were not to be left alone. He had barely consumed one biscuit and enjoyed one sip of tea when Miss Farnsworth and Mr. Poole approached them.

“Darcy, Miss Avery.” Poole bowed. “So glad to see you recovered, Miss Avery. It must have been a terrible fright….” He let the sentence dangle, a hopeful gleam in his eye.

Miss Avery drew back and looked in confusion to Darcy who, with a severe look answered on her behalf. “Yes, it was, Poole; and very ungentlemanly of you to bring it up.”

“But, Darcy,” Poole protested, his voice rising, “no one will tell what happened! I call it a damned scurvy affair when a man’s friends won’t tell him what caused a lady in their company to fall into blind hysterics and three of them to look like they’d seen the Devil!”

Hearing Poole’s outburst, Manning came swiftly to his sister’s side and, taking her hand, turned to Poole. “It is not a fit subject for the ladies, Poole.” He glared at him.

“How can that be, as it all began with a lady?” interposed Miss Farnsworth. Her chin came up with unbecoming stubbornness, her eyes glittering with an eager curiosity. “Miss Avery survived the sight; may not we survive the hearing?”

“Miss Farnsworth, I hardly think —”

“That may be so, Baron,” she interrupted haughtily, “but I am not alone among the ladies in desiring an explanation of what happened at the Stones. Come, we are sensible women all,” she cajoled, “and have heard any number of ghost stories since childhood. We are not so easily frightened.” She looked about the room and focused on the house’s younger son. “Mr. Trenholme!” Trenholme returned her regard cautiously. “You began the excursion with the story of the Whispering Knights. Will you end your tale with the truth of what occurred at the King’s Stone?”

Trenholme cleared his throat. “I would prefer not, Miss Farnsworth. A tale is one thing; what was out there was quite another.”

Lady Felicia, shivering delicately at his words, linked arms with her cousin. “My dear Judith, I find I am all the greater intrigued! Mr. Trenholme refuses to give satisfaction. That leaves only Manning and Darcy to relieve our curiosity.” They turned together toward the two men. “How shall we persuade them?” Lady Chelmsford and Lady Beatrice then added their requests to those of the younger women, but Darcy noticed that Lady Sayre did not join them. Instead, she, Trenholme, and Sayre exchanged furtive glances.

“No!” The word rang out in the drawing room and the insistence of the two men ceased. In amazement the room turned to the speaker and waited. “I-I will t-tell what hap-happened.” Miss Avery was pale, but a tenacity akin to her brother’s seemed to animate her before their eyes.

“Bella, it is not wise,” Manning declared.

“I l-left my brother’s side in some distress,” Miss Avery began, placing her hand on Manning’s arm for support, “and ran to the b-big stone so that no one could observe my discomposure. I ran…p-past the stone but stumbled a few feet away. As I recovered my b-balance, I turned and saw it.” Miss Avery stopped and closed her eyes. A great, tremulous sigh escaped her. “On the g-ground…at the foot of the stone lay a b-bloody bundle of swaddling that looked, for all the world, like an in-infant…a babe!” She looked up at her listeners. “It had been offered up, like in the Bible, like those horrible Philistines! Oh, George!” She turned then, shaking violently, into her brother’s embrace.

Horrified cries from the ladies rent the air as Miss Avery’s allusion was finally understood. Darcy leaned forward, alert to the various reactions to the young woman’s tale, as even the confident Miss Farnsworth turned pale and, abandoning her cousin, leaned on Poole, who himself was visibly shaken. “Good God,” he swore in a strangled voice, “you don’t mean a human sacrifice!” The room was quickly in an uproar at his voicing of what was in all their minds. Monmouth no longer grinned but wore instead a very solemn, shocked expression. Poole set Miss Farnsworth in a chair and rounded on his object. “Trenholme,” he demanded, his voice rising, “what is the meaning of this! You knew the danger and yet would not say!”

“Get ahold of yourself, Poole,” Trenholme hissed. “You always were a hen-hearted little cawker! What good would telling you have done? D’you think someone’s going to creep into the castle and gut you in your bed, man?” When Poole burbled his attempt to respond, Trenholme shook him off. “Besides, as Darcy will testify, it weren’t a babe. It was a piglet from the farms. It only looked like an infant.”

“A piglet?” Monmouth entered the fray. “A piglet in swaddling, Trenholme? A rather gruesome trick.”

Trenholme’s face darkened. “Trick! How dare you, sir!”

“Bev!” Lord Sayre addressed his brother with a firm and, Darcy suspected, restraining hold upon his shoulder.

“Damn me, Sayre, if I’ll take the blame for this!” Trenholme twisted from his grasp and stalked to the fire.

“I’ve begun inquiries in the villages surrounding Chipping Norton.” Sayre looked first at Poole and Monmouth before turning to address the entire company. “But unfortunately, the weather has impeded those efforts, and I expect that nothing will be known for several days. So distressing were the details of this horrific discovery that I determined nothing should be said about it. Beverly was merely obeying my wishes in the matter. It is my doing entirely that you were not apprised of the particulars.”

Mollified by Sayre’s apology, Monmouth inclined his head and lifted his tea to his lips, but Poole was not appeased. “My lord, your inquiries aside, what does it mean? It was not done for nothing!”

“How should I know, Poole?” Sayre answered, more than a hint of affront in his voice. “I know nothing of the Old Ways, so my opinion would be no more than a guess. In all probability, it is the work of some poor, desperate creature and for a reason to be found only in a deranged mind. But I can assure you, sir, you are safe at Norwycke Castle.” Sayre’s assurances, though thin, were eagerly seized upon by the majority for the sake of the evening if not for their own merits, and the company broke once more into conversational groups. Trenholme, though, remained at the fire and nursed his tea, a grim expression upon his face.

They know! Darcy was certain of it. Sayre, Trenholme, perhaps even Lady Sayre. They know who did it and probably why. The story about making inquiries was a tale, invented to fob off just such objections as were raised while protecting their interests. Which were what, exactly? As he worked on his tea and cake, Darcy sifted through the pieces of information he’d acquired and came up with only one answer, the perpetual one — money! But the answer did nothing to paste the pieces together into a recognizable image.

Miss Avery sat down once again beside him, shunning the false sympathy of the ladies for a quiet corner and another cup of tea. Manning stood by her like a guard dog, daring anyone to press his sister further on the matter. “I am indebted to you, again, Darcy,” he offered quietly. Their eyes met in silent understanding over the top of Miss Avery’s braided hair. “Since you’ve had the tour,” Manning continued disinterestedly, “perhaps you would fancy another round of billiards. Allow me the opportunity to even the score, so to speak.” Manning’s choice of words and the lift of brow at the last clearly signaled his desire for private conversation.

“I am most obliged, Manning,” Darcy replied to his curious offer.

“As soon as my sister joins Sayre’s tour tomorrow, then?”

Darcy nodded. “I shall meet you in the billiard room.”