Beth breathed a laugh and frowned when her shovel hit something harder than dirt, but not as hard as granite. Could just be a buried bit of driftwood—they’d found some of those already—or a harder than usual clump of soil. “Well, that might throw them all off their guards, if you rushed up to him when he arrives and thanked him.”
“Sails!” Libby’s shout shattered the lovely feel of the morning. “I see sails, coming from the east. They’re still a long ways off, but . . . but it looks like three different boats.”
And if it was the Scofields, then they were likely on a yacht, which meant they’d be coming fast. They may even be running on engines, not just wind power. She scraped away a bit of dirt from around whatever it was.
Something straight. Something even. “Theo. I may have found something. Wood . . .” She dragged her shovel over as much of it as she could, breath catching. “And a bit of metal, here.”
He leaned over the spit of land they’d both been working to see, and then attacked his own side with renewed vigor. “It must stretch this way. Let me—yes! I think this is another corner of it.”
She measured the distance between his shovel and her own with her eyes. “Looks the right size for a sea chest.”
Their gazes met, held. They both smiled.
And got to work. Beth didn’t need Sheridan’s mutters to tell her that they had to proceed carefully. As the sun rose another degree higher, its light showed her that the wood was far from sound. Rot had crept in with time and rain, and the lid they’d soon uncovered looked as though it might collapse with a single tap.
The sides weren’t much better. It was likely only the metal finishings holding the thing together at this point, and while they could certainly just pry the thing open and gather the contents separately, that would mean destroying the chest itself, and she wasn’t willing to do that. What if it had some further clue on it? Something to prove it was Mucknell’s?
“Hurry.” Libby darted over to them, handing off the spyglass to Oliver, who hastened to take her place with it. “Perhaps we can get it on the Adelle before they arrive.”
Emily joined them, too, her blanket in her arms. “Here. It looks like it might fall to pieces with a sturdy breeze. We may need to wrap it to carry it out.”
“Good idea.” Sheridan inserted his shovel carefully along one of the edges and scraped away from the chest.
“Lady Emily,” Oliver said, “would you come and take a look? I can see a few figures on the decks of the yachts, but I don’t know what your father looks like. I don’t believe I see your brother.”
Beth felt as though her brows would have to remain drawn together like this until they were safely home again. “Why three boats? If they’re yachts, especially. They could easily fit on one.”
Sheridan looked past her, to where Ainsley had taken up guard. “Well.”
Ainsley sighed. “What his lordship doesn’t want to say is that Mr. Vandermeer always travels with a considerable entourage. To aid in his excavation.”
Good heavens. What, did they mean to crawl over every inch of Gugh? She couldn’t fathom that the Lord Proprietor would even allow it. He’d been quite strict with Bonsor when he was excavating around the Old Man and . . . “Oh no. Or, perhaps, oh yes.” She scraped soil from the side opposite Sheridan’s. “The Lord Proprietor. We haven’t thought to ask him for permission for this—but perhaps they didn’t either. If we can get in touch with him, he’s always been fond of our family. Perhaps he’ll grant us leave to excavate instead of them.”
Sheridan frowned now too. “Permission. Right. That’s always Abbie’s domain.”
Oliver trotted over to them, Emily a step behind. “Lady Emily says the two yachts are most assuredly her father’s party. She could make him out on one deck.”
“Two?” They nearly had enough dirt removed to allow them to wriggle the chest. Perhaps they could free it from the rest of the dirt with a bit of muscle. “I thought Libby said three.”
“Three vessels, but only two yachts. The third is a local sloop—and it must have been ahead of the yachts, though they’ve overtaken it. The Peppers’, if I’m not mistaken. With your sisters aboard, Sheridan.”
Sheridan must have had the same idea she had. He set his shovel aside and gripped the trunk corners on his side. “Oh good. Well, not that the yachts have overtaken them. That’ll set Millicent off without question. Ready, darling? Let’s wiggle it toward you first. If we can.”
She nodded and set her own shovel down, gripping it as he was doing. “Go ahead.”
The first push moved it an inch into her hole, which earned a cry of delight. The second push sent a creak into her ears, which turned her squeal into one of despair. “It’s breaking.”
“It’s too heavy for its own bottom, I think. Telly, one of those boards, will you? Wedge it, maybe. Underneath, I mean.”
Her hole got rather crowded over the next few minutes as they pushed and pulled and lifted and shoved a plank under the chest that they’d brought along in case they needed a ramp. But they hadn’t quite finished when the sounds of far too many voices from the shore drifted up the hill.
One of them far too familiar. And decidedly furious. “Lord Sheridan, desist at once! I’ll not have you interfering with my excavation!”
Nigel Scofield. Her own fury bubbling up with enough force to all but lift her from the hole, Beth turned her position over to Telford and jumped up to solid ground. Sheridan was only a step behind her.
But he’d be a few more behind her in a moment. “You!” The word was an accusation that tore from her throat and hopefully pierced the cad like an arrow. “You left me for dead, you arrogant prig!”
An arm caught her around the waist before she could fly at him. “Easy, darling. Don’t give them anything to use against us.”
Scofield stood there halfway between their site and his, all roguish confidence and hateful eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Miss Tremayne. I went as quickly as I could for help. And look! You’re clearly fine.”
Surely everyone else heard the disappointment in his tone as clearly as she did. Didn’t they?
Sheridan certainly did, given the way his arm tightened around her. “No thanks to you.” His voice wasn’t calm so much as tight. A coil ready to snap. “You sent them to Annet. She could have been dead by the time they thought to check Gugh.”
Scofield sneered. “And yet she isn’t. No harm done. Father, up here! Mr. Vandermeer, I’m afraid it’s as I feared. The local vermin have infested the place.”
Vermin? Had he really just called them vermin? It was a good thing Sheridan was holding her back, or she would have flown at him again over that one.
Only, no one was holding Sheridan back. He swung her behind him and did a bit of flying himself.
29
One thought ricocheted through Sheridan’s mind as he swung Beth safely behind him and moved toward Scofield: He had no desire at all to take another foot to the nose. But really, what choice did he have? For one thing, the prig had insulted Beth and her family. And for another, Sheridan had to do something to keep this swarm of interlopers from taking over absolutely everything before his sisters had a chance to catch them up.