“I am a lucky man indeed.” Rhys’s bland tones drifted back to her.
He sounds calm. He’s just playing along. He doesn’t know.
“Mama?” Glory whispered. “Why does the vicar think Mr. Jones is my papa?”
“It’s just a misunderstanding.” Maggie tamped down her panic. “Just, um, play along for now, will you, dearest? It will take too long to explain. If you wish to leave, we must get this tour over as quickly as we can.”
Glory shrugged. “All right.”
Breathing in deeply, Maggie led her daughter into the shrine’s chamber where Rhys and the vicar were waiting. To her relief, Rhys appeared intent upon the vicar’s lecture; he certainly didn’t look shocked or outraged or angry.
He doesn’t suspect.Yet her relief was mingled with prickling guilt.
“The shrine itself is believed to predate the thirteenth century.” The vicar was pointing to a grey stone altar tomb which stood some five feet tall against one wall. Flanked by narrow columns, the shrine was set below a trio of lancet windows, a flickering candelabrum resting atop its surface. “The lid of the tomb is composed of Purbeck marble, the rest of limestone. The platform upon which it rests is built from stone blocks of later origin.”
“What are those holes for?” Glory pointed at three oval openings carved into the base of the tomb.
“Their purpose is for healing.” The vicar turned to her. “Pilgrims believe in the relic’s ability to mend whatever is placed inside those openings.”
Glory’s eyes widened. She held up her bandaged digit. “You’re saying that if I put my finger inside the hole, the cut will heal?”
“You could try.” The clergyman winked at her. “While you’re at it, you might say a prayer.”
Glory scampered over. Plopping onto the ground, she stuck her hand in the first opening, her eyes closing as she muttered a prayer.
“Would you mind if we spent some time here in my uncle’s favorite spot?” Rhys asked.
“Take as long as you want, sir.” Mr. Peters discreetly departed.
Rhys looked at Maggie. Her lungs squeezed, emptying of air as his eyes smoldered into hers.
“Horatio made a point of telling Peters to show me this place,” he said in a low, pressured voice. “There’s a good chance he left what we’re looking for in here.”
Right—the treasure. He’s stirred up over that…not suspicions about Glory’s parentage.
“What are you looking for?” This came from Glory. She was unwinding the linen dressing from her finger, her lips pursing as she examined the still-visible cut. “The relic didn’t work.”
“Maybe you didn’t leave it in long enough.” Rhys’s voice had an undercurrent of humor.
“Or maybe the relic’s healing powers are taradiddle.” Glory snorted. “Anyway, can I help find whatever you’re looking for?”
Maggie raised her brows at Rhys. This was his commission. It was up to him to decide what, if anything, to say.
“Can you keep a secret?” he said after a moment.
“Yes.” Glory promptly held out her hand, with her smallest finger crooked. “I’ll pinkie swear not to tell another soul.”
Rhys’s lips quirked. “Your word is good enough. The truth is your mama isn’t helping me look for fossils; she’s helping me look for a treasure.”
“A treasure? Like pirate’s gold?” the girl breathed.
“Something like that. My Uncle Horatio was rather fond of games, and he left me a set of clues to find my inheritance. The latest clue leads to this tomb.”
“Can I help? What are we looking for?” Glory fired words like bullets.
He ran a gloved hand over the marble lid. “Anything that looks out of the ordinary.”
The three of them set to work. Rhys examined the top of the shrine, Maggie the sides, and Glory the base. Maggie ran her fingertips over the time-worn stone, looking for cracks or crevices that might act as a hiding place. The task helped distract her from her roiling thoughts.
