He watched Bradshaw scramble over the trenches until he reached Lavinia Odell and the maid at her side and saw Kitty’s face tilt up towards Bradshaw with a luscious smile. Cory sighed and turned away, his gaze searching out Rachel’s figure on the footpath that skirted the site. She had passed by without a word and now she had reached the stile that led on to the drive. He saw her hesitate before taking the longer route round through the wicket gate. Cory smiled to himself. Of course. Climbing over a stile was not very ladylike and not even the neat Miss Odell could scale it with decorum. No doubt she thought it far better to preserve her dignity by walking round.
His smile became a frown as he realised that Rachel had passed him by without a backward glance. Not long ago she would have made a point of stopping at the dig and speaking to him, even detesting excavation work as she did. This new distance in her behaviour was puzzling and uncomfortable. He had felt it when they had greeted each other earlier that morning. There had been a prickle of tension between them that previously had not existed. And now Rachel had deliberately passed him by. Perhaps she had been more embarrassed by their encounter by the river than he had imagined. Whatever the reason, it seemed that she intended to keep her distance. He did not like the thought.
It was late that same evening, and the heat of the day had faded from the air, when Rachel came looking for Cory down on the excavation. It was not difficult to find him, for a small campfire burned in the southern corner of the field, sheltered by the stone wall that separated the burial site from the meadow beyond. The evening was still light, for it was almost midsummer, but the sun was down and the sky paling. Against its washed blue light the warmth of the fire looked bright and welcoming.
Cory was sitting on the edge of a trench, his long legs dangling over into the ditch beneath. Beside him, away from the fire, a cloth was spread out, and on it were the parts of a dismantled rifle set out ready for cleaning. As Rachel approached, Cory looked up from the piece that he was polishing and gave her his slow, heart-shaking smile.
‘Good evening, Rae. What do you have there?’
‘I have brought you something to eat and drink,’ Rachel said. She put a packet of food beside him. ‘It is nothing much, merely some bread and cheese and an apple. Oh, and some of Mrs Goodfellow’s cider. I should warn you that it is strong stuff. I was drinking it this morning when I saw you come out of the river, and I thought I was having delusions.’
Cory flashed her a smile. ‘How flattering that you thought me a figure of fantasy,’ he said gravely.
‘A delusion is generally a sign of madness rather than anything else,’ Rachel pointed out crushingly, ‘so I do not feel you should take it as a compliment.’ She looked around. ‘There is nowhere to sit here. How very uncomfortable!’
Cory sighed, slipped his jacket off and spread it on the ground with exaggerated care. ‘There you are, Rae. I would not do that for everyone.’
‘I imagine most people would not want you to,’ Rachel said. ‘It is scarce cleaner than the earth.’
Nevertheless she sat down on it, curling her legs neatly beneath her skirts, and for a few moments there was a silence between them. It felt warm and comfortable and familiar. A sliver of moon was rising in the eastern sky and the air was still faintly warm and scented with summer. The fire hissed and crackled and Rachel watched Cory’s deft fingers as he thrust the bristle brush through the barrel of the gun.
She put a hand out and touched the shining rifle butt.
‘Is this new?’
‘Yes,’ Cory said. ‘A Baker rifle with a short barrel so that it can be fired whilst you are lying down. It is a new design-’ He stopped and looked at her. ‘You are not really interested, are you?’
‘Not really,’ Rachel said. ‘I was only being polite. But it does look very clean.’ She pulled a face. ‘I hope that there will be no call to use it around here.’
Cory sighed. ‘And I hope that your father still has his blunderbuss, Rae,’ he said, by way of reply. ‘At the very least, we know that there are smugglers operating in the area. There is digging around one of the tombs that suggests that they have been using it to store their booty, but I think the ground became too unstable for them.’
Rachel craned her neck and stared across the excavation. Away from the circle of firelight the fields looked dark, with the burial mounds standing like shadowy hillocks, black against the deeper darkness.
‘It would make a splendid hiding place,’ she said. ‘Most people wouldn’t dare set foot here with all those legends of treasure guarded by a curse.’
‘Exactly,’ Cory said. ‘And whilst I am here I intend to make sure that the smugglers do not return and ruin all our work by digging out the trenches.’
He picked up a wad of cloth and started to polish the rifle hammer.
‘What have you been doing this afternoon?’ he asked. ‘Your mother mentioned something about you tidying the books that used to belong to Jeffrey Maskelyne.’
Rachel nodded. The Maskelynes were the true owners of Midwinter Royal House and it was they who had let it to the Odells for the summer in order to conduct the excavation. Events that had fallen out so happily for Sir Arthur and Lady Odell had come about as a result of the Maskelynes’ misfortune-their eldest son, Jeffrey, who had been in residence at Midwinter until some three months previously, had drowned in the Winter Race back in March.
‘I am trying to solve the mystery of the Midwinter Treasure using books and maps instead of excavation work,’ Rachel said.
She saw Cory smile. ‘You want to beat us to the treasure?’
‘Exactly,’ Rachel said.
Cory laughed. ‘I had no notion that you were moved by so competitive a spirit, Rae. How far have you got?’
‘Not very far, I am afraid,’ Rachel said. ‘All the books and maps and plans seem to contradict each other. However, if I get stuck, Cory, you will be the last person I ask. I could not bear for you to solve the mystery and prove yourself cleverer than me!’
‘You never could accept it,’ Cory said.
‘Just because you have the advantage of six years on me, and were therefore ahead in your lessons. And you went to university whilst I was obliged to study at home, like a girl!’
‘You
‘I do not see why girls cannot study at university,’ Rachel grumbled. ‘I should have been happy to do that whilst you and Mama and Papa travelled the world.’
‘I dare say. It is not the done thing, however.’
‘Which does not make it
‘You are so smug, Cory! You have no notion how fortunate you are. You can choose whether you study, or travel, or debauch yourself-’
Cory pointed the ramrod at her. ‘Careful, Rae!’
‘Well…’ Rachel subsided, still feeling aggrieved but aware that they sounded like the squabbling youngsters they had once been.
‘You have had the opportunity to travel,’ Cory pointed out.
‘Yes, but I did not choose it. That is the difference. More to the point, I did not want it.’
‘And you are a bluestocking,’ Cory continued. ‘You did not suffer from being educated at home.’
His assumptions irritated Rachel.
‘Thank you,’ she said drily. ‘You have no idea how it warms me to have your admiration.’
Cory grinned. ‘Oh, you have that, Rae. More than you think.’
‘Now you are funning me,’ Rachel said.
‘Not at all. You know I admire your fine mind.’ Cory looked at her appraisingly. ‘And more besides.’
Their eyes met. There was a moment when Rachel thought about taking him up on his comment, but decided it would be safer not to do so. She had no wish to act as a practice target for Cory’s seduction until a more likely candidate came along, as they surely would.
She turned the subject. ‘Speaking of fine minds, did you know Mr Maskelyne, Cory?’
‘I knew him slightly,’ Cory said, buffing the rifle butt until it gleamed in the firelight. ‘What are you afraid of,
