Page 48 of An Earl’s Sacrifice (The Clandestine Sapphire Society #3)
M eredith peeled back the burlap coverings, revealing a bundle of letters, yellowed with age, held together with a piece of twine. She tugged at the twine even as fear prickled her skin. Taking the top missive, her fingers shaking, she carefully unfolded it from a seal that had long since cracked.
To Lord Aylesbury
My Esteemed Lord Aylesbury,
Matters proceed as anticipated, though our recent discovery in the lower mine shaft presents a complication.
The laborers’ superstitions are easily stoked, and the sight of so many remains has created an uneasiness even of the most hearty overseers.
This grave, though unexpected, may serve as an opportunity if managed correctly.
I propose the following: the bodies shall remain undisturbed. Any attempts to relocate them risk exposure. ’Tis imperative the miners believe nothing more than an unfortunate relic of our forebears’ folly was the unfortunate outcome.
Perhaps the spreading of a rumor of an ancient collapse—a cautionary tale for the weak-minded is in order. If we encourage the notion the Keep’s foundations are cursed, it will go far in quelling curiosity.
I’ve enclosed a diagram carefully marked with points of concern. These locations are where the operations must remain shrouded. Should we be forced to expand further, ensure that no laborer is allowed near the marked shafts without proper supervision.
I implore you to burn this diagram once you’ve memorized its contents. Should this information fall into the wrong hands, the consequences would be… catastrophic.
As for the safety measures, Parliament prattles on about your man in the Commons.
He must move swiftly. The prospect of enforced standards would bankrupt all six of us needlessly.
Personally I will not see my investment squandered by fools and bleeding hearts.
We must ensure that key votes are swayed.
My contributions to the cause will follow upon confirmation of success.
Thornfield has proven himself a capable fixer, though I remind you, his loyalty hinges on continued payments. The man knows enough to be a threat should he turn on The Order. Watch him closely, Aylesbury. Ensure he feels indispensable but never untouchable.
Our collaborators grow restless, and I note hesitation among some of our circle. Weakness in any form should not be tolerated. Should dissent arise, you know what must be done. The future of our endeavors depends on unity, and I will not see us undone by sentiment or cowardice.
My son’s inheritance depends upon the secrecy of these arrangements, as does the prosperity of your own line. Should this knowledge surface, it would end us both.
Yrs. R
Meredith refolded the missive with violently trembling fingers, swallowing back bile.
Her head spun at the implications. R. Rathbourne ?
Surely not. But who else could it be? A letter of this significance would explain her father’s appearance at Perlsea Keep, his nosing about in chambers that should not concern him, and worst of all, the attempt on Lucius’s life.
To the depths of her soul, she felt the letter had been authored by her grandfather.
And somehow Grandpapa had coerced her father into cooperating.
“Lucius needs to know about these,” she said, urgency surging through her.
“Dear heavens, you are white as chalk.” Docia took the letter from her tenuous hold and set it atop the others, then retied the twine. “What do you wish to do?”
Meredith gathered up the key, the signet ring, took the bundle of letters from Docia, and the other pages she was suddenly too frightened to look at.
“Speak to Lucius. Right away.” With difficulty, she grappled with her composure but managed to lead Docia back through the sitting room, to the bathing chamber that led to Lucius’s chamber.
“My heavens,” Docia breathed from behind, her voice filled with unexpected awe. Meredith turned to see her spin in a slow circle. “Why, this isn’t a sitting room at all.”
“It was at one time,” Meredith murmured relieved to find her voice more steady. “It’s a bath—”
“A bathing chamber. In the wilds of Cornwall.” Docia turned, her eyes wide with incredulous delight. “More like your own bathing palace! How perfectly decadent.”
Docia picked up a neatly folded towel and pressed it to her nose, inhaling deeply. “Meredith, this must have cost a fortune. Lucius outdid him—”
Meredith snorted. “Stop right there, Miss Hale. I hadn’t seen him in three years as you are well aware,” she muttered, surveying the luxury about her.
Her gaze landed on the small collection of grooming tools set precisely on the vanity amid bottles of scented oils and a bowl filled with salt crystals. When had he done that?
Docia’s gleeful exploration was interrupted by a soft click of the adjourning door of Lucius’s bedchamber.
Mr. Ashcroft stepped through.
“God’s teeth,” Mr. Ashcroft huffed out. “I thought half of today’s students had somehow found their way to the Keep without my knowing.
” He paused, taking in the room with a shock similar to that of Docia’s.
His gaze flickered from Docia whose expression hovered between shock and indignation, clutching the violet-scented towel like a prize to her chest.
“Mr. Ashcroft,” Meredith said, her voice clipped. “Where is Lucius?”
“Retrieving something from his greatcoat. The work here is impressive,” he said with mild surprise. He’d been aware of the work of course, since he’d dealt with the bills: handling the correspondence and sending the requests for payments to Mr. Oshea in Northumberland.
“It’s not every day one finds a bathing chamber in such a gloomy castle—” Docia shook her head. “And, in Cornwall of all places.” She spun to Meredith. “You must allow me to try it out.”
Meredith doubted Docia was one for begging, but…
“Indeed,” Mr. Ashcroft said, his tone maddeningly neutral. “Though I must warn you, Miss Hale, Lord Pender values his privacy.”
Docia’s eyes widened then narrowed. “How dare you, sir!” She looked to Meredith for rescue, but Meredith merely pinched the bridge of her nose.
“Come along, Docia. Mr. Ashcroft, it is imperative I speak with Lucius as soon—”
The door widened behind him and her husband filled the doorway. Fury mottled his expression then landed on Ashcroft. His expression cleared though his brows met in a puzzled frown.
“Are we holding a meeting in the bathing chamber for any particular reason? Has Rathbourne uncovered all our sanctuaries?”
Meredith clutched the items she held to her breast, unsure of divulging their contents in present company.
“Meredith read a letter that nearly had her swooning,” Docia informed him.
She bit back a groan, darting a glare at Docia—her back rather since she stood in front of Meredith. Truly ? Spinning on her slippered heel, Meredith strode into her sitting room, to the table near the windows, and set down the articles. The noise behind indicated the others had followed.
Again, with fingers less than steady, she drew in a deep breath. She grasped the twine on the bundled letters and tugged. She took the top one and held it out to her husband much preferring to warn him of the contents, but Docia had stolen that opportunity.
Lucius’s gaze swept the page, his demeanor darkening incrementally, his silent fury expanding like a mist until it consumed her sitting room—tangible and throbbing—with each passing moment. He lifted his eyes, meeting hers. “You believe Rathbourne penned this?”
“My grandfather,” she whispered. “I cannot fathom Papa…” Her vision blurred with welled tears.
Her husband clasped her hand and squeezed, then let go and set the letter aside, going through the rest of the bundle. A task that didn’t appear to satisfy him. Seconds later, his fingers rested on the other stack of pages. The air grew palpable until Meredith could hardly breathe.
It seemed as if he gathered a cloak of inner force before picking up and glancing over the aged papers with their frayed edges, perusing each one quickly, then again, setting them aside.
The fourth or fifth one down, she’d lost count, he lifted his eyes to hers again.
What she saw in their stormy gray depths chilled her blood to black ice.
Slowly, she lifted her hand. It felt as if she were reaching for a viper, its venom promising an agony and an end she could not escape. She lowered her eyes to the parchment.
At the top, a heading in bold, formal script read:
Registry of Interest: Aylesbury Compact, 1758
Hereby referred to as The Order
Just below, several names appeared with brief, vague titles and an identifier spelling out their supposed roles. The audacity was astonishing.
The Most Honourable Marquess of Aylesbury
Custodian of Holdings and Keeper of Records
The Right Honourable Earl of Pender
Chief Overseer of Operations, Western Veins
His Grace The Duke of Rathbourne
Patron of Governance and Protector of Secrets
Baronet Greaves, Baronet of Windbrook Abbey
The Most Honourable Marquess Blackstone
Heir Apparent to Rathbourne
Arbiter of Continuity and Logistics Overseer.
Sir Edgar Hollingbrook, MP
Advocate of Parliamentary Interests
Mr. Oswald Vayne
Custodian of Funds and Facilitator of Transfers
She read through the list to the bottom of the page to the most sinister line of all:
“ Bound by blood and silence. Betrayal warrants swift reprisal .”
The handwriting was neat but varied, suggesting parts may have been amended, even added later.
The small wax seal in the lower right corner gave the menacing document a sense of authenticity. All sealed, rather, stamped with a crest that matched that of the signet ring. Not Aylesbury’s—she’d seen his enough to realize that—perhaps one had been created to represent the compact.
Swallowing hard, Meredith found she couldn’t speak, the words stuck in her throat. She opened her palm, now indented from clutching the ring and key so tightly.