He cursed under his breath. Cursed long and hard. This was all evidence in a serious crime. He was supposed to give it to the authorities. To ignore this, to turn a blind eye—that was not who he was. It violated all that he believed and would leave him without honor or integrity, even if it never came to light. And if it did...
He closed the trunk. He blew out the candle. Steeling his strength, he lifted the box with the plates and carried it over to the hole. He lifted it over his head and slid it onto the floorboards, then jumped, grabbed the sides of the opening, and leveraged his weight up.
Gasping for breath, he rose and carried the box to the next chamber, and out the door.
“What have you there?” Lance’s whisper carried through the silent night as he and Gareth approached on the path.
“Do not ask.”
“Let me help you.” Gareth moved to take one side.
“No. Go and wait for me near the door. I will join you in a minute.”
They moved away. He lugged his burden to the back of the garden, and dropped it with relief on the ground.He looked for a place to stash it near the portal. A bench backed by low, thick boxwood seemed the best place. Lifting the box again, he carried it there, and shoved it under the bench, then back until the boxwood swallowed it.
Spent from the effort, he stretched his arms, then found his way back into the garden and along the wall. Up ahead, near the door into the carriage house, he saw Gareth and Lance. And someone else.
“But you know me, Hector,” Lance was saying. “I am a duke now. A peer. You really should not threaten one of us. It isn’t done.”
“It really isn’t,” Gareth said.
“I know you be a thief, not a duke,” Hector said.
Ives walked up and joined them. He saw the problem. Hector had not merely confronted his brothers. Hector had brought a very, very big knife with him, that he brandished in the moonlight.
“I told you we should bring pistols,” Lance muttered when he noticed Ives by his side.
“You come with me now,” Hector said. “I bring you to Mrs. Lavender. You rob her, so she can decide what to do.”
He gestured for them to go in front of him. They walked to the house.
“Did he see you leaving with the press?” Ives asked.
“I don’t think so,” Gareth said. “He appeared to have arrived just as we did.”
When they got near the house, Ives looked up the long fire stairs. At the top, on the little terrace beneaththe eaves, he saw a figure move. He hoped Padua had enough sense to stay up there.
Into the house they marched. Into the dining room. Hector went to the doorway, and called a servant girl. He spoke lowly, then took position, arms crossed and monstrosity of a knife at the ready.
The door opened and Mrs. Lavender hurried in, fussing. “I do not know what could be so important that you pulled me out of my—” She froze, and took in the three guests.
The knife pointed at them. “I found them in the garden, up to no good. Near the carriage house. I think they were going to steal the horses.”
She peered at the three of them. In particular she narrowed her eyes on Lance. He opened his arms and smiled.
“Mrs. Lavender, it is such a joy to see you again. It has been too long. Surely you have not forgotten me?”
Her eyes widened. “Oh!Ohhh.” She collected herself and executed an impressive curtsy. “Your Grace, we are honored.”
Poor Hector looked confused. Mrs. Lavender glared over at him. “This gentleman is an old friend of ours from years back. Surely you remember Lord Lancelot. Only he is a duke now. You have threatened a duke, Hector. Aduke.”
Hector lowered the knife, and his head. Mrs. Lavender shooed him away. He left, much subdued.
She returned her attention to her guests. “Gentlemen, why were you in my garden?”
An awkward moment. Silence quaking.
Lance stepped forward, all smiles. “I thought to revisit the site of my fondest hours of my misspent youth. I could hardly walk in the front door, however.”
