“I expect they are still in the possession of the agent who will facilitate the sale. Mr. Gareth Fitzallen.”
Crawley’s colorless eyes reflected astonishment, then humor. “Fitzallen! Aylesbury’s mongrel? Now that is delicious. I expect it is back to town for me to speak with him. I regret your sister must accompany me until the share you keep is indeed fair.”
He gestured to the large, rustic man who had stood silently through the entire exchange, and at Erasmus.
“Best if you come, Miss Rebecca,” Erasmus said.
“I do not think so. I will stay here.”
Crawley sighed with exasperation, and gestured toward her while glancing to the big man. Those heavy boots took two steps.
Eva dug into the bundled shawl and brought out the pistol. “Neither my sister nor I will be kept as a hostage in this misunderstanding. Go and speak with Mr. Fitzallen if you must. You do not need to travel to London since he lives right up the road. The rest of my brother’s share is there, awaiting transport to the coast.”
The pistol stopped the big man, who appeared confused at seeing the weapon. He scowled at Crawley, as if the rules in some game had unexpectedly changed without warning. Crawley eyedEva then the pistol. “I’ve yet to see a woman hit her aim with one of those. Hell, women don’t even know how to load them.”
“I practiced until I could, after your men tore my property to pieces. I can overlook that if our business is completed with fair dealing, sir, but I will not allow my sister to be at a stranger’s mercy, especially if I have concluded that stranger’s honor is dubious.”
An ugly aura poured off Crawley. One malevolent and dangerous. Eva pushed Rebecca behind herself and held the pistol as steady as she could.
“Fitzallen has a buyer on the Continent?” Crawley asked.
“He does. It took some time to arrange, but all is settled, he told me.”
He appeared to think that over. It was hard to tell. His slack face and vacant eyes made his thoughts and considerations impossible to know.
“Just up the road, you said he was.”
“Barely a half mile. You cannot miss it. Erasmus will take you there. He knows the house well.”
“You had better not be lying to me. I find that house empty or those pictures gone, I’ll not be worrying about anyone’s honor then, least of all mine.”
“You disappoint me, Mr. Crawley,” Rebecca said. “After all our conversations about moral philosophy, for you to make such a crude threat is most disheartening.”
Crawley rolled his eyes, then pointed at Eva. “You come with me, and leave her and her reforming notions here. I’ll be needing you to tell Fitzallen that you agree to what I want.” He turned to the big man. “You stay here with her, Wiggins.”
“Hell, I don’t want to listen to her either!”
“Then don’t listen. Just don’t let her or these pictures leave.”
Eva handed Rebecca the pistol. Rebecca smiled at the big man, and sat down. He sat down also, overwhelming the chair. He did not look happy.
As Eva left, she heard Rebecca speak. “Good and bad all come down to whether we have souls, Mr. Wiggins. Unless we do, the question of our goodness has no meaning. When I asked your opinion of that yesterday, you never answered. Allow me to elucidate what various philosophers have argued on that point.”
***
“She changed the damned plan,” Ives said as he and Gareth mounted their horses.
They had heard her conversation with Crawley while pressed against the house below a window. “Hers is better,” Gareth said. “Brilliant. He will come right to us now. If I play the cards well, we will learn where the other pictures are. He is sure to want me to include them in this foreign sale if I can.”
Ives reached over and grabbed the bridle so he could not ride. “Let us have a right understanding. Neither Crawley nor that scrawny one leaves. Lance will take that big one as soon as the way is clear, but I don’t trust the big fellow to know what we need. Whatever game you play, it does not include any of them walking away tonight.”
Gareth agreed, although it would limit his options. Left to his own choice, he would dangle a quick foreign sale of the entire cache of pictures in order to get hold of the rest. Ives, however, feared Crawley bolting. He assumed Ives believed that, if necessary, Crawley could be made to talk.
He was sure Erasmus could be.
He thanked the sound instincts that had kept Erasmus ignorant of this business and away from Albany Lodge most of the last fortnight.
They tore up the road at a gallop, knowing a carriage would follow soon. Crawley had left it at the end of the lane and walked up to the house. As he rode, Gareth paced out Eva’s way back to that carriage. He and Ives turned the bend just around the time he expected the equipage to roll.
