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  Ian removed the borrowed book from his knapsack and held it up for Peter to see. “This is the book I was telling you about—the one that contains the meaning of words.” He laid the book on the table in front of him. Then he reached inside again and pulled out another book. “This is my Bible. We might need it as well. Our pastor gave it to me as soon as I expressed an interest in becoming a man of the cloth.”

  Ian placed the Bible beside the other book on the table, and the two young men talked about the meaning of Divination and the other words he and Shannon had discussed. At last he picked up the book on the meaning of words and opened it.

  “There were a few words that Shannon and I never discussed. I would like to read their meanings now, if it pleases you to listen.”

  Peter swallowed a mouthful of stew. “It pleases me.”

  “Numbers with strange meanings.” Ian ran his finger down the page. “Oh, here we are. The day of one’s birth is said to influence his or her future.” Ian gazed at Peter over the top of the book. “This might be considered part of the abominations mentioned in Deuteronomy chapter eighteen.” He put his finger on the page again. “It says here in the Frenchman’s book that we can depend on numbers or the stars to direct our way in life, and we know that is wrong. Our pastor would say all such talk is an abomination—that we must depend on God alone.”

  “Yes, he would.” Peter put down his knife and fork. “Perhaps we should put away the Frenchman’s book for a while lest it spoil my digestion.”

  Ian smiled. “I agree.” He closed the Frenchman’s book and let it drop to the table. “Still, there is more I must say.”

  “More?” Peter shrugged. “What you have already told me this day is beyond comprehension.”

  “Aye.”

  “Tell it then while I am still able to hear.”

  “The earl and his family are away from Gatehaven at the moment.”

  “Away? Where did they go?” Peter asked.

  “London. But they must have known about the meeting and what went on there before they left. Certainly Miss Foster is not bold enough to take on a project like that without getting permission from the earl. Shannon said her chaperone was taking over for the earl after he was forced to leave Gatehaven unexpectedly.”

  “All this is outrageous,” Peter said.

  Ian nodded in agreement. “Shannon is reluctant to return to Gatehaven.

  I think it is because of Miss Foster’s strange behavior. And did I mention that the Frenchman is part of the group attending the spiritual conference at Gatehaven at this very hour? Who knows what other strange events took place after Shannon left the mansion?”

  “We must insist that Shannon return to Scotland at once,” Peter insisted.

  “I agree,” Ian replied. “But as you know, it is not easy to make those kinds of suggestions to Shannon. She will not want to leave because she thinks she is in love with the earl.”

  The door opened.

  An elderly little man in a dark suit and hat stepped inside and headed for the innkeeper’s desk near the stairway.

  The innkeeper reached across his desk in order to shake the stranger’s hand. “Well, if it is not Vicar Steen, walking in me door you are. How be your long journey?”

  “It went as expected, Hadley. Thank you for asking.”

  “Is that the vicar you were telling me about?” Peter whispered.

  “I think perhaps it is.”

  “I am tired.” The vicar glanced at a vacant table near Ian’s chair. “Please have Hitty prepare something for me to eat. She knows what I like. I wish to stay the night here before driving back to the vicarage.”

  “So that is the vicar,” Ian whispered to Peter. “I wondered when he would finally return.”

  “Then you have yet to meet him.”

  “Aye. When he sits down, I will go over and introduce myself.”

  The vicar put a small valise on the floor, and his shoulders drooped as he sat down in a chair near Ian’s.

  “He looks tired all right,” Ian said barely above a whisper. “Perhaps I will wait a bit before going over to speak with him—give the vicar a moment to collect his thoughts.”

  Leon felt a sense of power as he sat at the head of the table where the earl normally sat, presiding over the meeting of fellow spiritualists. As they gorged themselves on huge servings of rich food, he considered what they might be thinking.

  They think I have no right to be sitting here. But one day soon the earl will have nothing left to bargain with, and I will own Gatehaven.

  He thought of the letter he’d just received and the one he had yet to send. An inn in nearby Fairs called The Boar and Tongue was for sale, and he’d been in recent contact with an underling he knew in France twenty years ago, a former monk by the name of Brother Julian. He hoped to partner with the monk in the purchase of the inn. Brother Julian was an excellent cook and should make the new venture a huge success.

  Earlier, he’d sent his driver, McGregor, to fetch the two spies he sent to Scotland before the earl traveled there. Now he would be using their services again.

  Leon glanced at the huge clock above the fireplace. His jaw tightened. What was keeping them? They should be here by now.

  The butler came in and stood by Leon’s chair. “Excuse me, sir. But there are two men waiting outside with your driver. And if I might say, sir, they do not appear to be gentlemen—not at all. Should I tell them to wait or send them on their way?”

  “Direct them to the earl’s private library. I will join them there.”

  The butler’s jaw dropped. Clearly, Leon’s request surprised him. The butler recovered quickly and said, “Very good, sir.”

  “Very good indeed,” Leon said under his breath. Then he excused himself from the table and went out into the hall.

  What a joke. The earl would be furious if he knew Leon allowed his driver and two grubby commoners into his precious library.

  The earl would be angrier still if he knew Leon used his signet ring to certify a post destined for Scotland—or that Leon also knew where the ring was kept. Money persuades easily.

  The butler was an easy man to entice. A few more gold coins and he would probably have kept his mouth closed forever.

  Leon thought of the letter he planned to send to Rachel Aimee and her husband in Scotland. And how could he forget what he said in the letter to her?

  Dear Mr. and Mrs. Aimee, he’d written.

  Your daughter, Shannon, is gravelly ill. You must come to Gatehaven in the north of England at once if you ever hope to see her again. Alive.

  Regards,

  The Earl of Northon.

  Leon smiled. He would mail the letter, and then he would see Rachel again—whether she liked it or not.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  THE EARL’S BUTLER stood at attention at the library door, waiting to introduce Leon’s three guests. Leon found it amusing that though the butler was probably a poor man’s son, he wore the clothes of a gentleman—a fine black suit and tie and a neatly trimmed white wig brimming with powder.

  “May I present Mr. Devlin McGregor,” the butler said. “Mr. Weedly Jones and Mr. Finn Jones.”

  The two spies, Weedly and his brother Finn, wore ragged clothes—and dirty ones at that. His driver must have felt superior to them by comparison. And if McGregor felt superior, the butler must have felt like a king. According to his driver, the two young men liked to be called Gabeau’s Spies. Perhaps it made them feel important.

  Leon noticed when the two ruffians glanced longingly at one of the settees as if they hoped to sit down. He enjoyed upsetting the earl but resolved not to give in to vengeance. He might soon own that good piece of furniture. He had no respect for the earl’s belongings but hated to spoil expensive-looking white silk cushions merely to get even. Spite and revenge should only be used when something important was at stake.

  Leon stared at Weedly and Finn for a long moment, hoping to frighten them a little—perhaps a lot. From past experi
ence, he knew he was an expert at deflating egos, frightening young women and making them cry. Rachel was the only woman he ever met who refused to be intimidated by his usual tactics.

  But she would cry, one day.

  “I have an important letter from the earl that I need to have sent to the village of Luss in Scotland,” Leon explained to the two brothers. “I want the letter hand-delivered to the person whose name is printed on it, and you both know the location of the farm since you spied for me previously.” He glared at Weedly, the older of the two young men. “Is that clear?”

  “Yes, governor. But—but—”

  “But what?” Leon demanded. “Speak up, boy.”

  “It took us many days to ride all the way to Scotland and back the first time, sir. And the innkeeper at The Boar and Tongue sends out letters. We know because the innkeeper be our uncle, he is. Why not send your letters by him?”

  “Do you think I am so foolish that I do not know that? But the letters the innkeeper sends out go first to London. And from there they would go to Scotland. Letters could be lost in the process, and that would waste time I do not have. You must agree to leave for Scotland tonight—or I will find someone else to do the job.” He glared at both of them. “So, what will it be? Will you go to Scotland or must I find someone else?”

  Weedly nodded and then Finn did. “We will go.”

  “Good,” Leon said. “I will give my man McGregor the money you will need for your journey, and he will give it to you after he explains exactly what you are to do. You will receive more money when you return and show proof that the letter was received. Without a successful outcome, you will get nothing more. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, governor,” Weedly said.

  “Stop calling me Governor. I am Monsieur Etienne Gabeau, and I expect to be called by that name at all times in the future.”

  “Yes, Gov—Yes, Mon-sure Gab-bow.”

  Leon stiffened. If his leg hadn’t ached so much, he might have said something more. At last, Leon turned to his driver and said, “McGregor.”

  “Yes.”

  “Weedly and Finn are in rags. Go to the guardhouse where the earl’s footmen stay and have them fitted with proper attire like you did the last time they went to Scotland. I cannot have them looking like the peasants they actually are. I have a reputation to uphold, as does the earl.”

  “Very good, sir. I mean Monsieur.”

  “That’s better.”

  The butler opened the door for the driver and the other two men. All at once, a white cat with long, soft-looking fur crept into the room.

  “How did that beast get in here?” Leon demanded.

  “I’m sorry, Monsieur.” The butler reached down, grabbing the cat with both hands. “The animal belongs to Lady Victoria and normally has the run of the house. I will keep the cat penned for as long as you are here.”

  “I suggest you do.” Leon turned and followed the men out the door, tapping his cane as he went.

  He’d always hated animals with no purpose other than as a family pet. But sometimes he pretended otherwise when doing so was to his advantage. Why else would he have asked to care for the vicar’s dog during the pastor’s absence? It was to his benefit to stay on good terms with the local clergy, if he hoped to one day own Gatehaven.

  Ian glanced over at the vicar’s table off and on several times. At last, he looked at Peter and said, “I think I will go over to his table now and introduce myself.”

  Peter nodded as if to give Ian’s decision an extra layer of importance. “But please remember that I am Javier Perrine now, not Peter Aimee. For the moment, it might be best if we keep my true identity a secret.”

  “I quite agree.”

  Ian got up and stood by the vicar’s table. “I am Ian Colquhoun from Scotland.” Ian offered the vicar his hand in friendship. “Perhaps the earl wrote and told you that I am to be your new apprentice.”

  “No, I never heard from the earl. But I heard about you from my French friend from Scotland, Pastor Petit.” Mr. Steen stood and shook Ian’s hand. “I only wish I could have been here when you arrived.” A smile wrinkled the skin around the vicar’s thin lips. “My sister became ill, you see, and the dear lady died soon after I arrived at my destination. Of course I stayed on for the funeral.”

  “May I express my deepest sympathy in your time of sorrow?” Ian said.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Ian motioned to the table he shared with Peter. “I see that you have not been served yet. Why not join my friend Javier Perrine and me at our table? We would be happy to have you, and it would be a simple thing to have Hitty bring your plate to our table when your food is ready.”

  The vicar smiled. “Very well, I accept your invitation.”

  Ian introduced the vicar to Peter and told the vicar that the Earl of Northon invited a young woman from his village by the name of Shannon Aimee and her chaperone to visit him at his estate.

  “You were away when I arrived, vicar, and Monsieur Gabeau invited me to stay with him until you returned. So that is where I have been staying ever since then.”

  However, Ian left out the fact that he had read the letters the vicar wrote to Pastor Petit. He hadn’t mentioned the letters to Peter because Pastor Petit had asked that he not share them with anyone until he talked to the vicar first.

  The vicar covered a yawn with the palm of his hand. “As much as I am enjoying your company, I must eat quickly and then go up to my room. It has been a long day. I am tired.”

  “I understand completely, sir. And I want you to know that Monsieur Gabeau speaks well of you. I am sure he would welcome you into his home for the night as he welcomed me.”

  The vicar had looked as if he was about to fall asleep in his chair. All at once, he seemed to come to himself. “I think not. The Frenchman and I were never close—whatever he might say to the contrary. I couldn’t believe my ears when he volunteered to feed my dog.”

  Never close? Ian had thought they were the best of friends. Was that why the vicar was reluctant to stay the night at Monsieur Gabeau’s estate? If this was indeed so, maybe the vicar disliked Etienne Gabeau as much as Ian did.

  “Buster is in good health, sir,” Ian said. “I’ve been caring for him myself.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Colquhoun, I worried about my dog. I’ve been away from my cottage for a long while, and I hope you do not mind staying at Monsieur Gabeau’s estate a bit longer. It could be a day or two before I can have my house in any condition for a guest.”

  “Of course.”

  The vicar smiled. “Thank you for being so kind.” He glanced down at his plate like Ian did when he was trying to think what to say next. “I will send word to my housekeeper that I have returned from my journey and that it is time for her to get the cottage in proper order once again. Until then, I will be staying here at the inn.”

  Ian sniffed the air. Did he smell smoke? Hitty rushed toward them from the kitchen, carrying the vicar’s food tray. “Come quick. A small fire started in the kitchen.” She set the tray on the table. “Cook needs help at once.”

  “I will go.” Peter stood.

  Ian got up as well. “Maybe I should go, too.”

  “Keep your seat,” Peter insisted. “If I need more help, Hitty will come and tell you. Please excuse me.”

  When Peter had gone, Ian noticed that the vicar’s eyes looked heavy.

  The pastor really did look tired as he took in a mouthful of lamb stew.

  Ian continued to gaze at the older man. “I know you must be eager to climb the stairs to your room, sir, perhaps take a midday nap after your long journey. But before you retire, there is something I must tell you.”

  “And what might that be, Mr. Colquhoun?”

  Ian glanced around to see if anyone else might be listening. To his relief, all the other tables were empty. They were the only dinner guests left at the inn.

  “I have read all the letters you wrote to my minister, Pastor Petit.” Ian’s voice was
barely above a whisper. “I know about the murder of his cousin, Miss Petit, and I gave my word that I would not discuss this matter with anyone but you. It is Pastor Petit’s hope that I can help in your quest to find the murderer as well as assist you at the church.”

  The vicar nodded. “That is my hope as well. Pastor Petit penned a letter to me as soon as he knew for sure that you would be arriving in England, and he told me he gave you the letters.”

  “There a few things my pastor back in Scotland did not tell you in any of his letters because they occurred since I arrived in England,” Ian said. “If you are not too tired, I would like to tell you about them now.”

  The vicar’s smile became a short laugh, and his eyes appeared to come alive with merriment. “I have found that there is only one cure for a lack of sleep, and that is interesting conversation. You have captured my interest. So please, Mr. Colquhoun. Do go on.”

  Ian had expected to see a measure of surprise in the vicar’s eyes as he related all that happened since he left Scotland. But the vicar already knew almost everything Ian told him. In fact, he’d kept notes on the Spiritualist Society for several years.

  “Do you know about warfare of the spirit, Mr. Colquhoun?”

  “No. What is it?”

  “Warfare of the spirit is the casting out of demons or rebuking them in the name of the Lord. Do such actions make you feel uncomfortable? It is biblical, you know. Jesus cast out demons—so did His disciples. Read the Book of Acts.”

  “I—I know but—”

  “But what?”

  Ian sat there staring at the vicar because he didn’t know what to say.

  At last he said, “I have been reading in the Book of Deuteronomy chapter eighteen and attempting to discover the meaning of all those new words written there. But I never thought of acting upon them—not really, anyway.”

  “Perhaps you should.” The vicar sent him another smile. “What good are scripture verses that warn us of disasters and tell us what to do to prevent them unless we act upon them?”