But then she remembered she was on the honorable side of the law and hoped the constable would believe the same thing. Perhaps there was not anything to find, his lordship being far too clever.
Three drawers opened to a slight tug but revealed nothing. The other three remained tightly locked, with no sign of a key. Nothing to condemn the man, except his disturbing kisses and passion-filled bright blue eyes. Frustrating, yes, but perhaps not disappointing.
Who was he, truly? She herself had heard the earl proposing to sell England’s secrets. But suppose, imagine, he might not be the guilty party, at fault only for his purposeful seduction that she seemed to fall for time and again. While she might be slightly relieved, it still left two questions: Who had murdered her cousin? And who was the Englishman guilty of treason?
As she gazed at the huge bookcase behind the massive mahogany desk, she remembered Lem telling her a tale about secret passages that led to the shore. Hmmm.
Fifteen minutes later, she had still not found an opening but knew it had to be there somewhere. The mantel clock measured time lost, ticking noisily in her ears. She rubbed her palms against her skirts and tried again, her luck sure to change. Her fingers finally felt a small latch underneath the fourth shelf. She pulled it, and the bookcase opened smoothly, revealing a threshold beckoning the unknown.
Only one way to discover more of the earl’s secrets. A little harmless trip down the passageway to see where it led. Before taking a step over the entryway, she remembered to take a weapon, hoping it would not be necessary to use it. She reached over and grabbed a letter opener and candle off the earl’s desk. The letter opener fit snugly in her deep pocket. She swiftly lit the wick, hitched her skirts higher, took a deep breath, and stepped into the darkness.
Water drip-dropped and echoed throughout the black corridor. The candle wick in her hand flickered from a faint draft. She placed her right hand on the nearby wall to steady herself down the uneven stones, slick under her feet from condensation. One step, then two. A shiver ran through her from the damp air. In the distance, she could discern running water.
She stopped. Was that a voice she heard? Patience hoped it was not the earl and his friends returning. In an echoing chamber, it was difficult to tell whether sounds were coming from in front of her or behind her. She held her breath for what seemed like hours before proceeding. The voices faded away, and her heart returned almost to its normal beating.
She nearly lost her footing when a small animal ran across her shoe. A shriek escaped her lips. I don’t think I can do this. I don’t like the dark, nor the cold, nor an unknown destination, nor mostly anything I can’t see. With a battle of wills arguing in her head, she stubbornly continued her journey farther down into the cave.
Quickly learning to walk on the difficult path, with the candlelight providing only glimpses of what was in front of her, after several slight missteps, she could hear the Channel water slurping the beach. She drew closer to a larger pool of light as she approached the cave’s opening. When a mischievous breeze extinguished her candle, she hugged the side of the cave as she made her way to the entrance.
So this passageway did lead to the beach. Easy enough for a French spy like the earl to have a ship waiting to take him back to France. It must not be more than half a mile from Paddock Green.
Patience stopped directly outside the cave and looked down the quiet shoreline marred by a maze of huge rocks and boulders. A glance to the sky above assured her darkness would cover her progress, the full moon stayed hidden behind clouds. While the night might shield her presence, it was also effective in hiding the path the earl might have taken. She closed her eyes and listened to the wind and the water lapping against the smooth sands.
Then she heard them. Voices.
Her mobcap and spectacles stuffed in a pocket, a cool breeze blew a loose strand of hair across her face from her improvised bun.
The sand fell away beneath her sturdy shoes as she made her way slowly across the beach. After about three hundred yards, she stopped and listened again. Only the wind seemed to tease her ear. Without the voices, she lost her compass.
Patience stood with arms akimbo, trying to determine a course of action. Her bottom lip took a savage beating as her teeth chewed a decision.
Forbidding cliffs rose up to the night sky on her left. The ocean hissed its arrival and retreat from land on her other side. Where had they gone? Were they down the shore or had they perhaps climbed the cliffs? And where was the footpath Lem had described?
What was that? There it was again. The faintest light. Something flickered way down along the water surge. It glimmered briefly on the rocks. Then everything went dark.
She concentrated on the spot again to see if her eyes played tricks on her. A few minutes and then a much bolder light swept around an alcove of rocks.
Yes, that was it! She clapped her hands together excitedly and moved swiftly toward the direction of the light.
Confident of her course, and sure to find the French spies and perhaps the earl, Patience continued more slowly toward the spot where she had first noticed the light. Whatever she could learn this night, she would take directly to the constable. Although the brightness did not reappear, she heard the voices again, slight murmurings in time with the constant waves hitting the sands.
As she hugged the rocky embankment, she spied a large, oddly shaped boulder jutting out from the cliffs. A perfect place to hide and listen to spies planning their dark deeds. She crouched down and peered beyond the rock. Two dark figures stood near the shore looking out to sea. I wonder what they are looking at. Her brow furrowed, one hand braced in the sand for support, she studied the men. Neither looked like the proud, imposing figure of the earl or his brawny friend, the captain.
She tried to see beyond the rocks out to where the men’s gaze held them captive, but frustratingly found her sight hindered by the adjoining rocks. She sank back down on her knees to consider how to get closer to the men. Who were they? And where was the earl?
Patience studied the massive boulder providing her shelter and wondered if it could be ascended. Her hands skimmed the surface and felt small indentations that could allow for toeholds. Carefully, relying more on touch than on sight, she grasped the rough surface for purchase. The first few times proved wearisome, always slipping backward, but finally she pursued another recess with success and pulled herself up slowly by degrees, hampered by her wounded arm. She tried to keep her heaving breaths quiet as she climbed to the top.
I can do this. Do not look down, she encouraged herself. The edge at the top was almost within her grasp. Feeling exultant, she grabbed the slippery sides of the rock and hiked her head up to clear the top.
A weasely, hairy, dirty face stared back at her. And then Patience did a very womanly thing. She screamed as she lost her balance and pitched backward.
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