Libby frowned. “What happened to the ship?”
“Eventually the Parliamentarians commissioned others to stop him. There was a battle just off the islands here, and the John was crippled. No one’s certain anymore if it sank at sea, its plunder in its holds, or if it was beached somewhere and unloaded. Either way, everyone knows Mucknell always kept a bit for himself from all his hauls. And they speculate that it’s still buried somewhere on the islands.”
Libby stared at her for a long moment, mouth agape. “Pirate treasure? Really?”
“So it would seem.” Mabena had always just thought them stories. Fables. Fairy tales.
But apparently Beth had a different theory.
The pounding on the door was loud enough and insistent enough that Oliver was on his feet and running for it long before either of the Dawes even rose from their chairs. That kind of knock on a vicar’s door could only mean one thing—there was an emergency, and someone needed him.
He was already reaching for his hat as he yanked open the door, the question of “Who? Where?” already perched on his lips, ready to fly at whoever had come with the twilight.
His hand froze when he saw Casek Wearne standing there before him, looking for all the world like an angry, glowering granite statue. Unyielding. Unmoving. Unfeeling.
But as this granite statue did have family that was part of St. Nicholas’s congregation, Oliver didn’t snap at him. Much. “What is it?”
Casek’s gaze burned over him, the sort of burning that could have meant either ice or fire, and it annoyed Oliver to no end that he couldn’t tell which it was.
“Another package came for Beth.”
It was fire, sure and hot, that swept through him. “What? Are you involved in this? What do you know of my—”
“Ask Benna.” Casek took a step away, looking as though he meant to stride off without another word. But he paused, spun, and dug a piece of paper from his pocket. “She said to give you this, too, and see if you recognize it. And while you’re at it, tell her I delivered her message word for word. You owe me that much.”
“I owe you?” Laughable. But at least mention of Mabena had put the fire out. He didn’t know why she’d chosen this particular messenger, but she made sense as the sender. He took the paper, though he didn’t look down at it.
“It’s your fault she ever chose Cador, and don’t try to tell me it isn’t. You told your sister to convince her I only meant to hurt her.”
Oliver’s fingers tightened around the doorknob. “You’re not going to lay all this at my feet. As if Mabena ever listened to a thing I said.”
“Which is no doubt why you recruited Beth to help. Like a coward.”
If he dug his fingers in any harder, he’d leave dents in the wood. “I did nothing of the sort. But if Beth told her that, then it was because she had eyes to see. Why else would you ever want anything to do with—”
“Because it was Benna.”
Anguish. Anguish and . . . something else, something even deeper seeped through the granite. Were it anyone else, Oliver would have called it a glimpse of his soul. Of his heart.
But it was Casek Wearne. The one man who would surely never show him such a thing. “What was the package?”
“What?” The abrupt shift dropped confusion over Casek’s face, before he wiped it clean and put his usual expression of contempt back on. “You’ll have to ask Benna that too. I told you what she told me—not that you’ve grace enough to thank me for it. But not that I expect anything more of a Tremayne. Too good even to acknowledge us common folk, I know.”
If Mother had seen the smile Oliver let tilt his lips, she’d have boxed his ears, and rightly so. “Not all common folk. Just Wearnes.”
Casek looked poised to snarl something, but Oliver shut the door before he could hear it. And then squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t need Mother there to box his ears. His own conscience did a fine enough job. “Forgive me, Lord.” If only regret was all one needed for repentance. If only one didn’t also have to go and sin no more—something he’d yet to master when it came to Casek Wearne.
He turned, jumping when he saw Mamm-wynn two steps away, peering up at him with those blue eyes of hers that he knew so well. “Going to St. Mary’s tomorrow, then?”
Exhaling, he steadied himself again. “I suppose I’d better.” First, to make sure Mabena had really sent him the message. And second, assuming she had, to see what package had come.
His grandmother nodded. “You might as well stay until Sunday. Mr. Gale would be pleased.”
No doubt. The man had been terribly lonely since his own four children had trickled over to the mainland over the last decade. He always said how he enjoyed it when Oliver occupied one of the empty rooms of the vicarage for a night or three. “Did you want to come with me?” He didn’t like the thought of leaving her alone, even if she wasn’t alone.
She chuckled and stepped closer, her small hand slipping into her pocket. “Sunday will be enough of a trip for me, dearovim. But here. Give this to our young lady.”
He frowned when he caught the glint of lamplight on the metal she’d pulled free of her pocket. “Mabena? What is it?”
“Not Benna.” She laughed again, as if it were a great joke on his part, and opened her palm to reveal a necklace of pearls and gold. “Libby.”
Would there ever again be a day when his stomach didn’t sink, didn’t twist? Though he tried to smile, he also closed his hand over hers. “We’re not giving Lady Elizabeth your jewelry, Mamm-wynn.”
“She needs it.” She turned their hands over and let the gold and pearls trickle into his palm. “Tell her it’s a loan if she’s not comfortable taking the family jewels yet.”
“Mamm-wynn . . .” He needed to tell her Lady Elizabeth wasn’t his wife, wasn’t his sweetheart, wasn’t his anything. But if he tried, would she even remember the conversation come tomorrow? Was there any point in insisting upon the truth when her eyes seemed only to see into a reality of her own making? He sighed. He’d just take the necklace for now and slip it back into her things tomorrow, when she wasn’t in her room.
She smiled up at him, reached to pat his cheek, and turned. “I think it’s time I retire for the night. It’s been a long day.”
He watched her go, pressing his lips against the quivering in them. Beth should be here, helping him determine what to do. And Morgan—he missed his brother’s counsel, that somber wisdom always to be found in his eyes. But he hadn’t his brother. Hadn’t his sister. Hadn’t his parents. His eyes slid shut. Help me, Father God. You’re the only one I have to turn to.
When he opened his eyes again, he finally thought to look at the paper Casek had thrust at him. A coat of arms, a family crest. Not one that he saw regularly, but . . . but it looked familiar. He stared at it for a long moment before spinning for the stairs and taking them two by two, then running down the hallway until he was at Beth’s closed bedroom door.
He had been in here not long ago to put away the items she’d left in the cottage. But he hadn’t paid much attention to anything else. Now, though, he aimed straight for the shelves in the corner, full of trinkets she’d collected over the years as she explored the islands or received as gifts from their parents or other family and friends.