But then he held out his arms. “I am so very glad to see you.”
Beryl flew into them with a cry of relief and pressed her face into his chest.
“I may take a strap to you later,” he amended, “but I am truly glad.”
“Oh, Lucan, I had no idea you would be here so soon.” She pulled away. “Why are you here, and with that Scottish man?”
“Why am I here?” he queried with a stern look. “Iris Montague, you know bloody well why I’m here. Why are you bloody here? And as Lady Hargrave’s bloody maid, no less! Are you mad? Why are you called Beryl? When did you arrive? Rolf implied—”
Iris held up a palm. “Come, sit down,” she said. “I don’t have long, but I can tell you the very first of it. Or show you, rather.” She gathered the pages and her leather portfolio together and held them out to him.
He took them. “What is all this?”
“What I’m bloody doing at Darlyrede House, dear brother.”
Lucan sifted through the pages as she spoke, quickly at first, and then his movements slowed, his eyes widening.
“After you last visited, we had a girl come to the abbey; a lady’s maid from an English household traveling in France had gotten herself with child and been left behind to bear the baby. Her name was Beryl and she was under my care.”
Lucan tore his eyes away from the pages to look at her. “That doesn’t explain how you came to be here.”
“The lady Beryl served sent messages occasionally, to ask after her welfare. She was quite awful from the sounds of them, and I knew that her home in England was not far from Darlyrede. I read them all, and replied for Beryl. But then Beryl died in childbirth,” Iris explained. “As did her baby. And that very day another message came from Beryl’s lady. So I again responded, telling Lady Paget that the child had died, and that I—as Beryl—was too heartbroken and ashamed to return to her employ. I begged her mercy to recommend me to another house.”
Lucan’s expression seemed to freeze. She had managed to surprise her stiff-lipped brother. “Lady Paget got you the position here?”
Iris’s eyes widened and she clasped her hands together at her chest. “Yes,” she hissed. “Caris Hargrave sent funds and an escort for my travel. Isn’t it amazing?”
“No, it’s not amazing,” Lucan insisted. “It’s mad! The maid came from the Pagets? And the Hargraves didn’t recognize you?”
“Of course not; the last time they saw me, I was a child, Lucan. It was clearly God’s will.”
“Speaking of God, how did you escape the abbey? Surely when the escort arrived for Beryl, the abbess told him she was dead.”
“He didn’t come as far as the abbess,” Iris said with a grin. “When I heard he’d come I packed all Beryl’s things, which I had hidden after her death, into the market basket, and left the abbey as usual for the village. Once at the willow grove near the river, I changed into Beryl’s clothes and met my escort at the inn.”
Lucan appeared stunned into speechlessness. “But…but I’ve received no word from the abbess that you were missing.”
She smiled sweetly. “I flung my habit into the river. They likely think I drowned but still wish for my stipend to continue. Since you never sent any letters inquiring as to my welfare,” she pointed out.
“Sly,” her brother mused. Then his face dropped back to the sheaves of papers scattered over his lap. “Iris, this is…”
“Helpful? Remarkable? Vital to our investigation?”
“My investigation,” Lucan corrected distractedly and then looked up to meet her eyes again. “But, yes, all of that. It’s also incredibly dangerous.”
“I know,” she agreed. She grew solemn and then turned to sit on the cot next to her brother. “But I couldn’t just stay there in France, waiting for you. You never wrote. I never knew where you were, if you were safe, if you had learned anything new. I was desperate.”
“I couldn’t send the kind of information you wanted,” he protested. “It would have been too hazardous if it fell into the wrong hands.”
“I understood—I understand,” she rushed to assure him. “But they were my parents; Castle Dare my home too. I may not remember them as you do, but I remember how I felt after they died. I remember the fire, the smell of the smoke, the blackened walls of our home. I remember the ship, and arriving at the abbey. I remember those years we were scared and alone in a foreign land.” Her brows drew down. “And I remember when the rumors reached all the way to France. I couldn’t stay there any longer. Lucan, I wanted to come home.”
Lucan looked at the pages for a moment longer, nodding his head distractedly, and then sighed. “I cannot say you’ve not done well. But now that I’ve arrived at Darlyrede, there is absolutely no need for you to stay on. I have the papers.”
Iris’s eyes widened. “I’m not leaving,” she insisted. “Not now. I can’t. I promised Lady Hargrave I’d—”
“Iris, listen to yourself; you just cited a vow to a Hargrave as the reason you cannot leave a highly perilous situation. If Vaughn Hargrave finds out you’ve been spying on the household, making these notes—maps, for God’s sake!” He gestured toward her with the pages.
“That’s another thing,” Iris said quickly. “Lucan, there’s no cellar in all of Darlyrede. The house is ancient, and yet—”
“Yes, it’s ancient,” her brother interjected. “And so, like many others, the cellar likely collapsed or was so unstable that it was filled as new additions to the hold were made. It won’t matter if Lord Hargrave—”
“He won’t find the pages.”
“Well, he won’t now,” Lucan allowed, “for I’ll have them.”
“Oh, no,” Iris warned, and then pulled at the stack. Only half of them came away before Lucan tightened
