To be perfectly honest, she had her doubts they would. Though even so, she’d lain awake half the night regretting her decision to stay on Tresco rather than go with them to dig. At the time it had seemed wise—they didn’t need one more set of hands, after all, but they would need food taken to them, given their unwillingness to wait yesterday for Mam to pack them enough, and she could easily help with that. But she rather regretted giving up the chance to see Ainsley with a shovel in his hands. Perhaps when she took them breakfast on the Naiad, she’d get a glimpse.
Or so had been her thought before Mamm-wynn apprehended her.
“They will. And I’m quite satisfied with the depth of this cupboard. We should be able to stack some records in front of it, even.” Mrs. Tremayne held out a hand to Senara.
Senara assisted her to her feet. “But—”
“We’d better rouse Mark and Prue to help us cart the record books back up here. We’re running a bit short on time. These old legs don’t move quite as quickly as they once did.”
Senara opened her mouth, ready to object to the idea of rousing Oliver’s uncle, now retired, from the vicarage next door. But there was no point. Despite her claims of feebleness, Mrs. Tremayne was already striding out of the room and toward the back door again, and it was only a few steps after that to Mark and Prue’s door. Senara had little choice but to keep up.
Mrs. Tremayne didn’t bother herself with long explanations. She merely greeted Prue with “Come, then, both of you. Chop-chop.”
Though Prue sent Senara a mystified look, she didn’t argue. Just called out over her shoulder, “Mark! Mamm-wynn needs us.”
And so, the four of them hurried back down the hill and into the Tremaynes’ garden. Tas was tending the roses but looked up when he heard them.
Mrs. Tremayne smiled at him. “The cart please, dear. For the record books. Time to return them.”
Senara’s father nodded and set down his pruning shears.
Nobody, it seemed, questioned Adelle Tremayne when she began giving orders, which made Senara feel a bit less silly for not doing so herself. And Ollie and Beth wouldn’t dare to sputter and spout any objections to them moving all their research materials back to the church, given that it was on the matriarch’s command.
By the time they’d finished loading Tas’s handcart with all the record books, Senara was perspiring from the constant hefting, hurrying, and stacking under the August sun. Then there was the hike back to the church, and the second round of hefting, hurrying, and stacking—though Mrs. Tremayne insisted on being the sole one to organize the books as she put them back in the cupboard.
Not like Ollie and Mark before him had kept them, no doubt. She started by instructing Tas to move the center shelf up a few inches, which required a few tools and a lovely fifteen-minute reprieve. Then she filled the space only around the edges and on the upper shelf, leaving a gaping hole in the middle.
“There,” she pronounced at last, dusting her arthritic hands off on her dress. “That should fit it, I’d think. And just in the nick of time too.”
Senara couldn’t say what was so timely about it, but her stomach was reminding her that she hadn’t taken time to eat any breakfast after helping Mam cook it. She was happy to follow Mrs. Tremayne back out of the room and into the sunshine.
“Mamm-wynn? Mrs. Dawe met us at the door of the house and said you told us to come here.”
Senara was still blinking her vision back into focus in the bright sunlight when Beth’s voice drew her face to the right.
Her friend stood there with the complete collection of people who had been with them on Gugh, and another handcart besides, this one laden with a blanket-wrapped something.
How in the world . . . ? Senara shot a questioning look at Ainsley, who had a look on his face that seemed an odd match to the uncharacteristic smudges of dirt—pride and satisfaction. He smiled at her, a slow-blooming smile that made her newly aware of the pearl in her pocket.
Mrs. Tremayne was chuckling. “Right on time, darlings. I have its hiding place ready for you. Have you opened it yet?”
Oliver stared at his grandmother for a moment but then shook himself, and his head too. “We didn’t want to take the time. We spotted sails behind us, and I wouldn’t put it past Nigel Scofield to tear through the whole island chain looking for the chest.”
“Luckily, Beth can sail the straits with her eyes closed.” Lord Sheridan picked up one corner of the blanket.
“And Mamm-wynn apparently has a hiding place ready for us.” Oliver took another corner. “Which would be?”
“The record cupboard, dear. Where else? We’ll have it hidden in minutes if you lads hurry.”
The lads hurried. Senara trailed them by a few steps as Tas and Mark disappeared with the now-empty carts. In short order, the wrapped bundle, blanket and all, was slid carefully into the space left for it, and the record books still on the desk were piled in front of it.
Beth grabbed Senara’s hand. “Come on. We’d better get back to the house before he shows up there. Think you can keep up?”
Senara laughed—and leaped into a run even before Beth did. She’d been chasing after little ones for the last decade, after all. She had no trouble flying through Old Grimsby. Though she would have liked to hear the story of how they ended up here with a mysterious chest in their church and an adversary on their heels.
“Through the back!” Beth darted to the back of their home even as she gave the advice, and Senara followed suit. They dashed through the door, shouted a quick greeting to Mam as they sped by the kitchen, and went straight to the front door.
A fist was pounding on it even now. Senara sucked in a long breath, willed her chest to quiet its heaving, and pulled Beth up short. “I’ll answer.” To prove it, she called out, “Just a moment,” and then stepped toward the door.
One more deep breath. A polite smile affixed to her lips like she’d always put on whenever Lady Clifford came to the nursery for one of her obligatory visits with her children. And then she tugged open the door to an absolutely furious-looking young man who bore a marked resemblance to Lady Emily.
“Good day,” she said, voice flat. “May I help you?”
He looked right through her, both figuratively and as literally as he could manage, craning to see around her. “Where are they? Where is it?”
She’d only opened the door about a foot, enough to fill the space herself. “I beg your pardon, sir? If you mean the Tremaynes, they’re not at home.”
It was society code for “they don’t want to see you,” but the man spun on his heel and snarled out, “Then I’ll go and find them!”
The rest of the group might be back at the house by now . . . but they might also be on the road between here and there, which was a bit more likely. And since that was the last thing she wanted him to discover, she called out in her governess voice, “Sir.”
It worked on him just as it had always done on the Clifford girls. He paused, turned back to face her.
He would have been handsome, had he bothered to control the cruel glint in his eyes and the sneer curling his lip. Senara narrowed her gaze in the way she imagined his own governess had, back in the day. The look that said, “Don’t slouch, chin up, where are your manners?”