“Not to worry,” said Barlow. “I have arranged for the innkeeper to guard our bags. I was sure to inform him that I could bring suit should he fail in his duty.”
Adam clapped a hand on the table. “Very well. Let us begin the search.”
Jane smiled. “Perhaps you should don your boots first. We would not wish anyone to think you a savage.”
“Oh, but I am a savage. I thought you knew.”
“I do. However, I prefer the look of you in boots.”
She immediately regretted the words. Since when did she concern herself with his appearance? Adam cocked his head slightly to the left and studied her for a moment. However, he said nothing and instead leaned over to pull on his boots. After finishing, he stood and met her eyes.
“Better?”
She stood as well. “Yes. Not that I care.”
The corner of his mouth turned up in a half smile. “Right. Let’s be off, then.”
Ten minutes later, Jane and her traveling companions stood in a grassy expanse beside Carlisle Castle appraising the relic. It proved not nearly as imposing as she had expected. A cube of stone three stories tall surrounded by a stone wall, the castle seemed more akin to Egyptian architecture than to English. She faced Adam.
“If this is the starting place, then the next lines of the letters should enlighten us.”
“Agreed. Shall we?”
Jane retrieved her letter and held it before her. She read the next line.
“The way of the journey the ancient keep knows.” She glanced up at Adam.
“The prints of retreating invaders it shows,” he read.
She repeated the lines in mumbled consideration. “The mention of an ancient keep seems to indicate the tower portion of the castle. Mr. Barlow said the rebels of ’45 invaded here. Did they also leave by this way?”
“Indeed,” said Barlow. “The castle experienced a rare double siege. The Jacobite rebels from Scotland took the castle from the city regiment with hardly a fight. A month later, they left behind several hundred men when retreating across the border. The castle was taken back by Royalists during a subsequent siege, after which many defenders were executed.”
Adam nodded. “The ‘prints of retreating invaders’ surely refers to the Jacobites. The castle must indeed be the correct starting point.”
“But where to begin?” asked Hester. “The castle grounds cover many acres, and we are quite outside the walls.”
Jane eyed the castle again and the ranks of the royal garrison roaming the battlements. Her focus soon fell on the cubical central structure looming over the rest of the fortress. She glanced at her letter to peruse the subsequent lines of the riddle, all equally murky without Adam’s counterpart. However, certain obscure references led her to a conclusion.
“We must enter the keep.”
Adam cocked his head. “How can you be certain?”
“I cannot. However, there appear to be six roads leading from Carlisle, and only one can be the correct path. I also do not believe the mention of the keep was happenstance. The prints of retreating invaders must somehow be seen from inside. The keep must show us which road to take. I believe we must enter for the promised revelation to occur.”
Adam peered at her so intently that she feared he would ridicule the suggestion. However, he dipped his forehead instead. “Very well. But how? I doubt the guards will simply allow us to stroll into a fortress. This is the reason they call them guards.”
She frowned at him. “Perhaps we should ask nicely. Their manners may exceed yours.”
Barlow smiled wickedly. “Or perhaps we should ask them not so nicely. As a solicitor, I have a certain expertise in such matters.”
Hester touched his arm, causing Barlow to flinch. She smiled at him. “I do not doubt your legal proficiency. However, the British army typically answers insults with artillery. I cannot imagine anyone cowing them with mere words.”
Barlow gripped a lapel with one hand. “My dear Mrs. Byrd. I have learned that sufficient confidence and a steady nerve may overcome even the staunchest of barriers. Follow me and either nod agreeably or appear peeved at the appropriate times.”
Curious, Jane trailed Barlow and Hester to the front gate with Adam in tow. Two guards regarded their approach with seeming boredom. As Barlow drew near, one languidly unshouldered his weapon.
“State your business,” he droned.
