The man couldn’t honestly expect Oliver to stay still at that. He surged over the ledge and landed quietly on the rocks, though he was careful to keep his arms out once he landed, proving he had no weapon. “That’ll be enough of the threats. She said she’d find what you want if you gave her the time, so give her the time. Artifacts don’t exactly wash ashore at the behest of men.”
“I don’t recall inviting you into the negotiations, brother dearest. And now that you’ve got me irritated again, I’d also like to point out that I don’t much appreciate the obvious trap you two were trying to set. I’m thinking a nice bullet to the leg might teach you a lesson.”
“Do it,” Libby interjected at once, “and you’ll be arrested in a heartbeat. We know these caves far better than you, sir. And we have people stationed at the only exit—they may not have been here when you came in, but they’re there now, I promise you. Hurt us, and this whole game is over.”
Silence echoed. But the man edged backward again. “Do that and you can kiss your commission good-bye.”
This was about money? But why? Perhaps Truro wasn’t bringing in enough to pay for a house in London for a Season and perhaps they’d been a bit strapped when they were paying for Morgan’s treatments, but it provided all their needs, didn’t it? And now that they were able to save again, even some of their wants.
“Then it seems we had better strike a quick bargain, sir.” Libby edged back a step too. “You give me more time to find the silver you actually want. No one gets hurt. We leave, you leave. Have we an agreement?”
It wasn’t what they’d been angling for tonight. They’d wanted to arrest this fellow—but then, he wasn’t the fellow they’d expected. And Oliver had a feeling that someone who spoke of the “entertainment” of murder wasn’t the sort to spill to an island constable the details about who he was working for or with.
It would do. He would deem tonight a success if no one else got hurt.
The man apparently agreed. “The original date, then. Or I’ll be back, and I’ll take it out of whoever I must. Your brother. Your grandmother. Your spitfire cousin. Understand?”
“I understand.” She bent low and scooped up the coins again. “I’m going now. We’ll have everyone cleared from the entrance within a few minutes.”
“That’s good. Because if I don’t report in by twelve thirty, the rifleman aiming through dear Grandmama’s window will pull the trigger.”
Libby spun at that, flying over the slippery rocks now at a pace that proved her earlier one had been deliberate. She clasped the hand Oliver held out to her the moment she was near enough, accepted the boost up to the ledge above, and they ran together from the mouth of the cave. “Are they here yet?” she whispered to him. “The constable’s men?”
“They were just approaching. We’d better hurry.”
They ran, hand in hand, up the beach path, and Oliver was a bit surprised to see the entire group still gathered in a knot together. But then, Casek and Mabena had been moving slowly, and the exchange in the cave probably hadn’t taken half as long as it felt like it had. They joined the group within a few minutes, breathlessly sharing what had just happened.
Constable Wendle’s frown was back in place. “I don’t like this. Men like that on Tresco . . . we won’t intercept him, but you can bet we’re going to see if we can spot him. And ask around to see what incomers are here who match the description. First, though, we’ll be visiting any house with a view of yours, Mr. Tremayne. You can rest assured of that. Nothing will happen to your grandmother.”
Their tasks set, the five men hurried off, leaving only the four of them. He and Libby, Mabena. And for a reason yet to be determined, Casek Wearne.
Oliver turned to him, all the adrenaline from the preceding minutes surging again. “Now. You. What were you doing there? Are you involved in all this too?”
Casek’s arm dropped from Mabena’s waist. “I’ve about had enough of you and your accusations, Tremayne. Last I checked, you didn’t own this island, nor the caves.”
“So you just happened to be there. Pure coincidence.” Oliver took a step closer, even though he knew he was asking for trouble.
Maybe he needed a bit, a bit that he could control. A bit of the familiar sort that didn’t involve guns and threats of death.
And Casek was never one to disappoint on that score. He met him, shoved a hand into his shoulder. “I just happened to be where my student died over a month ago, yes. Because, apparently, of something your sister had cooked up! And you want to turn it on me?”
“Johnnie wasn’t Beth’s fault.” He didn’t know if it was true. Only that he needed it to be. He shoved back. “She never would have wished him harm.”
Casek knocked his hand away, reached into the bag slung over his shoulder, and pulled out something white. Tossed it at him. “It’s Beth behind all this, and you won’t convince me otherwise. Unless you’re going to try and tell me it’s your grandmother stalking the shores of the uninhabited islands, getting everyone worked up.”
“What?” Oliver caught the white thing, frowning at the feel of silk in his fingers. A shawl, he saw when he let the length unravel. His heart sank like a stone into his stomach as his fingers found the corner. The embroidery. The familiar Tremayne crest there, with its fancy T monogram. Mamm-wynn had given this shawl to Beth on her eighteenth birthday.
“Where did you . . . ?”
But Oliver knew even as he asked it.
“On Samson, right after my students were talking about the White Lady being spotted.” Looking thoroughly disgusted, Casek shook his head. “I don’t know what she’s about, but she’s deliberately trying to stir people up. And it started after Johnnie. She’s behind all this—she caused it—and now we’re all left rocking, because a Tremayne never cares for anything but a Tremayne!”
“Casek.” The croak from Mabena was more effective than a shout would have been in wheeling Casek around like a stallion brought up short. She had a hand pressed to her head and was swaying on her feet. Libby had reached out to steady her, worry on her face.
Casek knocked her hand aside too and swept Mabena up into his arms. “To the doctor with you, dearover.”
“I don’t need a doctor.” Always stubborn, even when she had agony scrawled across her face. “Just take me home. Mam can tend me.”
“You want to worry your parents? Tell them all this? At this time of night?”
Her face screwed up even more. “All right. The doctor then.”
“And afterward, bring her to my house.” Oliver couldn’t argue with the logic of not setting the Moons to worrying, especially since the plan had been for Mabena and Libby to stay at his house tonight anyway, given the evening’s outing. Though they’d told her parents they were merely going to enjoy a night of games and stargazing. Something they’d done countless times over the years.
Casek, of course, snorted. “Right. Can’t trust me with her.”
“Well, you’re certainly not taking her to your flat.”
Wearne rolled his eyes. Probably. Though he’d turned away, so Oliver couldn’t see him. “I don’t recall saying I meant to.”