Rakes Vow

Vane sighed, and stepped out, around the other screen. Whitticombe's eyes, which Vane would have sworn could not get any wider, did.

'Evening, Colby.' Vane waved Minnie forward; the others followed.

As the company assembled in full sight, Alice chortled. 'So much for your secrets, dear brother.' She sank back in her chair, grinning maliciously, clearly unconcerned by her own misdemeanors.

Whitticombe threw her a swift glance and drew himself up. 'I don't know how much you heard-'

'All of it,' Vane replied.

Whitticombe blanched-and glanced at Minnie.

Who stared at him, disgust and disaffection clear in her face. 'Why?' she demanded. 'You had a roof over your head and a comfortable living. Was fame so important you would commit crimes-and for what? A foolish dream?'

Whitticombe stiffened. 'It's not a foolish dream. The church plate and the abbey's treasure were buried before the Dissolution. There's clear reference made in the abbey records-but after the Dissolution there's no mention of it at all. It took me forever to track down where they'd hidden it-the crypt was the obvious place, but there's nothing but rubble there. And the records clearly state a cellar, but the old cellars were excavated long ago-and nothing was found.' He drew himself up, inflated with self-importance. 'Only I traced the abbot's cellar. It's there-I found the trapdoor.' He looked at Minnie, avaricious hope lighting his eyes. 'You'll see-tomorrow. Then you'll understand.' Confidence renewed, he nodded.

Bleakly, Minnie shook her head. 'I'll never understand, Whitticombe.'

Edgar cleared his throat. 'And I'm afraid you won't find anything, either. There's nothing to be found.'

Whitticombe's lip curled. 'Dilettante,' he scoffed. 'What would you know of research?'

Edgar shrugged. 'I don't know about research, but I do know about the Bellamys. The last abbot was one- not in name-but he became the grandfather of the next generation. And he told his grandsons of the buried treasure-the tale was passed on until, at the Restoration, a Bellamy asked for and was granted the old abbey's lands.'

Edgar smiled vaguely at Minnie. 'The treasure is all around us.' He gestured to the walls, the ceiling. 'That first Bellamy of Bellamy Hall dug up the plate and treasure as soon as he set foot on his new lands-he sold them, and used the proceeds to build the Hall, and to provide the foundation for the future wealth of the family.'

Meeting Whitticombe's stunned stare, Edgar smiled. 'The treasure's been here, in plain sight, all along.'

'No,' Whitticombe said, but there was no strength in his denial.

'Oh, yes,' Vane replied, his gaze hard. 'If you'd asked, I-or Grisham-could have told you the abbot's cellar was filled in more than a hundred years ago. All you'll find under that trapdoor is solid earth.'

Whitticombe continued to stare, then his eyes glazed.

'I rather think, Colby, that it's time for some apologies, what?' The General glared at Whitticombe.

Whitticombe blinked, then stiffened, and lifted his head arrogantly. 'I don't see that I've done anything particularly reprehensible-not by the standards of this company.' Features contorting, he scanned the others. And gestured disdainfully. 'There's Mrs. Agatha Chadwick, struggling to bury a nincompoop of a husband and settle a daughter with not two wits to her name and a son not much better. And Edmond Montrose-a poet and dramatist with so much flair he never accomplishes anything. And we mustn't forget you, must we?' Whitticombe glared vituperatively at the General. 'A General with no troops, who was nothing but a sergeant major in a dusty barracks, if truth be known. And we shouldn't forget Miss Edith Swithins, so sweet, so mild-oh, no. Don't forget her, and the fact she's consorting with Edgar, the rambling historian, and thinking no one knows. At her age!'

Whitticombe poured out his scorn. 'And last but not least,' he pronounced with relish, 'we have Miss Patience Debbington, our esteemed hostess's niece-'

Crunnnch! Whitticombe sailed backward and landed on the floor, some yards away.

Patience, who'd been standing beside Vane, quickly stepped forward-to come up with Vane, who'd stepped forward as he delivered the blow that had lifted Whitticombe from his feet.

Clutching Vane's arm, Patience looked down-and prayed Whitticombe had the sense to stay down. She could feel the steel in the muscles beneath her fingers. If Whitticombe was foolish enough to fight back, Vane would demolish him.

Stunned, Whitticombe blinked back to full consciousness. As the others gathered about, he raised one hand to his jaw. And winced. 'Assault!' he croaked.

'The battery might yet follow.' The warning-entirely unneccessary from Patience's perspective-came from Vane. One look at his face, as hard as granite and equally unyielding, would have informed any sane person of that fact.

Whitticombe stared-then he scanned the circle about him. 'He hit me!'

'Did he?' Edmond opened his eyes wide. 'Didn't see it myself.' He looked at Vane. 'Would you care to do it again?'

'No!' Whitticombe looked shocked.

'Why not?' the General inquired. 'A sound thrashing-do you good. Might even knock some sense into you. Here-we'll all come and watch. Ensure fair play and all that. No blows below the belt, what?'

The horrified look on Whitticombe's face as he gazed around the circle of faces-and found not one showing the slightest glimmer of sympathy-would have been comic if any had been in the mood to be amused. When his gaze returned to Vane, he sucked in a breath, and sniveled: 'Don't hit me.'

Narrow-eyed, Vane looked down at him, and shook his head. His battle-ready tension eased; he stepped back. 'A coward-through and through.'

The verdict was greeted with nods and humphs of agreement. Duggan pushed forward and grasped Whitticombe by the collar. He hauled the miserable figure upright. Duggan looked at Vane. 'I'll lock him in the cellar, shall I?'

Vane looked at Minnie. Tight-lipped, she nodded.

Alice, who had watched it all, face alight with vindictive glee, laughed and waved at Whitticombe. 'Off you go, brother! You wanted to look at a cellar all these months-enjoy it while you can.' Cackling, she slumped back in her chair.

Agatha Chadwick laid a hand on Minnie's arm. 'Allow me.' With considerable dignity, she descended on Alice. 'Angela.'

For once, Angela did not drag her heels. Joining her mother, her face a mask of determination, she grasped Alice's other arm; together, they hoisted Alice to her feet.

'Come along, now.' Mrs. Chadwick turned to the door.

Alice glanced from one to the other. 'Did you bring my elephant? It is mine, you know.'

'It's on its way from London.' Agatha Chadwick glanced at Minnie. 'We'll lock her in her room.'

Minnie nodded.

All watched the trio pass through the door. The instant it closed behind them, the iron that had kept Minnie's spine straight for the past hours dissolved. She slumped against Timms. Vane softly cursed-without requesting permission, he scooped Minnie up in his arms and gently eased her into the chair Alice had vacated.

Minnie smiled tremulously up at him. 'I'm all right-just a bit rattled.' She grinned. 'But I enjoyed seeing Whitticombe fly through the air.'

Relieved to see that grin, Vane stepped back, letting Patience get closer. Edith Swithins, likewise at the end of her resources, was being solicitously helped into the second armchair by Edgar.

As she sank down, she, too, smiled at Vane. 'I've never seen any fisticuffs before-it was quite exciting.' Rummaging in her bag, she retrieved two bottles of smelling salts. She handed Minnie one. 'I thought I'd lost this one years ago, but lo and behold, it turned up at the top of my bag last week.'

Edith sniffed from her bottle, eyes twinkling at Vane.

Who discovered he could still blush. He glanced around; the General and Gerrard had been conferring-the General looked up. 'Just discussing the dispositions, what? No staff here-and we haven't dined yet.'