Miss Sutcliffe burst into fresh tears, and fearing the emotions could get out of hand, Anthony interrupted her. “Did he tell you anything else? Any clues to his future plans? Anything of the sort?”
She inhaled sharply and shook her head. “He only said that as soon as he was done with this assignment, we would leave and begin a life together. But you are right, Mrs. Prior. He was using me. I see that now.”
Anthony softened his tone toward Miss Sutcliffe. “If it is true that Mr. Timmons lied to get information from you, then it is he who is to blame. Not you. You may go now.”
Neither Anthony nor Charlotte moved until the kitchen door latched shut behind Miss Sutcliffe. Charlotte let her breath out in a huff. “Unbelievable.”
“Let’s not place blame on the wrong person.” Anthony joined her at the window. “Timmons knows how to solicit information.”
She folded her arms over her waist and stared into the morning stillness. “I thought you said Mr. Timmons was trustworthy.”
He couldn’t miss the accusation in Charlotte’s words. “I did say that. And I meant it. I’m as taken aback by this turn of events as Miss Sutcliffe.”
Nothing about what had transpired made sense. Anthony had learned about the King’s Prize only the day before, and yet Timmons had been playing a part with Miss Sutcliffe almost since their arrival. Perhaps his initial interest in the maid had been sincere. Or perhaps he had started this scheme much earlier. But why? And how did he know about the emeralds when Anthony had never heard of them?
Charlotte tightened the shawl around her shoulders. “We must go to the cottage by Thoms Tor. I see no reason to delay, do you? I have the jewels, and now, because of Timmons, anyone may know that we have them. We will just go—”
Alarm assailed him. “We cannot just go there, Charlotte, King’s Prize in hand. ’Tis far too dangerous. We must inform Mr. Walstead. He’ll provide the reinforcements and the legal permission for such a mission. There’s no telling how many others are involved in this. It is far too dangerous at this point.”
She scoffed. “What does my safety mean to me? I am nothing without Henry.”
She was speaking from her pain, but he also knew he was challenging her stubborn streak. He’d not be the first to look away. “Charlotte, I—”
“Besides, how could I possibly trust Mr. Walstead or his watchmen now? When one woos my maid, kidnaps my son, and beats his partner? And you? Can you even be trusted?” she hurled as the pitch of her tone rose. “I’m going to the magistrate. I will find him first, and he can accompany me . . .”
He reached out to touch her, and she reeled back. “Do not touch me.”
He pulled back, lifted his hands as if declaring innocence, and kept his voice low. “I’m on your side. Yes, we should go to the local magistrate. But I should also send word to Walstead immediately. He will have men out here in a few hours. This operation will have the numbers and manpower to—”
“Absolutely not. The letter says to come alone, and I refuse to take any chances.”
“But, Charlotte, consider this: If Timmons or Broadstreet wrote that letter, or even if they were complicit in any capacity, they’ll be prepared for a team of watchmen to come to the rescue. If you go alone, it could put you in even more danger. We must think with our heads, not our hearts.”
“My heart?” She winced as if he’d struck her. “You don’t know my heart. What do you know of who I am or who I have become? I’ve told you before, I’m not the same person you remember. Do not speak as if you know me or as if you understand me.”
If the words were spoken in any other context, they might have stung. But she was scared and going on the offensive. He recognized the wildness in her eyes—she was frightened, with nothing to lose. How could he protect her if she was unwilling to protect herself? If she was willing to be impulsive and impatient?
“Charlotte, I’m fighting with you for Henry. I want him back here too. I swear to you I will get Henry back in your arms.”
Chapter 37
After leaving Anthony in the kitchen, Charlotte hurried up the parlor stairs to her chamber.
How could he not see what needed to be done? Why was he being so passive?
That frustration, combined with the pain from Sutcliffe’s betrayal, cut her deeply. Sutcliffe’s remorse did seem genuine, but it would not bring Henry home.
Once in her chamber Charlotte quickly changed to a heavy wool petticoat and gown of charcoal wool. She secured her hair at the nape of her neck and grabbed her heaviest cloak.
She paused at the sight of the empty cradle and, for but a moment, permitted tears to fill her eyes. How had her life come to this? At each turn she believed that nothing worse could happen—that she had experienced all the pain one person could withstand.
She retrieved the King’s Prize from the pocket of her apron and dumped them on the bed.
Seven stones of varying refinement. Size. Shades. Shape. Something about these gems made them so valuable that men were willing to steal, lie, and perhaps even kill for. Like it or not, she’d been unwittingly ensnared in this corrupt plot, and yet she could not overlook her own missteps. She had trusted the wrong people. Made the wrong decisions. And while she would be able to forgive the others for their shortcomings, she could not forgive herself.
She gazed at the empty bed where Henry had been sleeping. She would not fail him. Anthony might be content to wait. She was not.
She quickly donned her sturdiest pair of boots, then tied the pouch of emeralds to a pocket in a slit in her gown.
She would not wait for Anthony. She would not wait for anyone.
* * *
Anthony’s fingers flew as he penned a letter to Mr. Walstead, refusing to give voice to the doubts running rampant in his mind.
How did this happen right underneath him? He had to have missed a sign somehow. Somewhere. He’d failed Charlotte, plain and simple, and for that he would never forgive himself. He would also never forgive Timmons for the betrayal.
But he could not linger on the emotion incited by either fact. After all, he’d been trained to deal with such illicit events. He’d carefully assessed the facts at hand, and his intended plan of action was prudent. Writing this letter was one of the first steps, and with every word he wrote he checked it, making sure he was acting professionally and not as a man in love. He was, after all, still tasked with keeping them safe.
Mr. Walstead,
The Prior baby was abducted during the night, and a ransom note has been discovered. Timmons, Broadstreet, and Rebecca have abandoned their posts, and I suspect their involvement. They are demanding the King’s Prize in exchange for the boy. We have discovered the emeralds, but we need more men before approaching the exchange site. Send at least five men and horses. I will contact the local magistrate. This situation is dire. We must act without delay.
He finished the letter, sealed it, and left his chamber to find Ames in the front courtyard. The watchman was ready with his horse and was clad in his high-collared coat, with tall top boots and a leather satchel hanging from the saddle.
“I’ve just finished the perimeter check,” Ames shared, his tone somber. “Fresh hoofprints, from three horses, lead out the garden gate to the moor, due west.”