Chapter Fifteen

Having tossed and turned much of the night, Glory rose late. Although she knew she ought to check on Thad first thing, she was not eager to speak with her brother. She could only hope that last night he had not seen much or that the laudanum the physician had given him had made him doubt what he did see.

For Glory had no desire to explain just why she had been kissing the Duke of Westfield. At the time, the duke had recovered quickly, smoothly rising to his feet and going to Thad’s side to report upon his apprehension of the Fairmans. And Glory had fled to her room.

Later, when she had the long hours to consider what had happened, Glory told herself that the excitement of the moment had preyed upon her emotions. The candlelight, the quiet, private atmosphere, and Westfield’s seductive kisses had worked upon her, leading to the perception that things were different.

But they could not be.

It was far more likely that the encounter had served as an end to their relationship. That was what had been settled, and, in effect, Glory had received a kiss goodbye. Because, with his duties done, there was no reason for Westfield to linger in Philtwell.

Blinking at the sudden pressure behind her eyes, Glory headed down the stairs to breakfast, hoping that no one else would be in the dining room at this hour. In her current state of distress, she would prefer to avoid everyone, including the duke—if he hadn’t already left Sutton House behind.

That thought made her pause and Glory halted her steps, taking a moment to try to compose herself. She nearly turned to go back to her room, but a thumping noise drew her attention and she headed towards the sound, coming across a young maid who was struggling with a heavy, old-fashioned door.

‘Oh, miss, would you mind helping me?’ the girl asked before glancing furtively about. No doubt the servant would be roundly scolded for engaging her betters in conversation, but Glory was not high in the instep, and she quickly moved to aid the girl.

Between the two of them, they managed to swing open the oaken portal, dark with age. ‘Thank you, miss,’ the girl said. ‘I’m to fetch a bottle of wine from the cellar for Mr Pettit, and I, well, I’ve never been down…there before.’

The poor maid obviously was not eager to descend into the depths below, and Glory could not blame her. Sympathy, along with a healthy dose of curiosity as to what lay under the oldest part of Sutton House, made her give the girl a nod of reassurance.

‘I’ll come along,’ Glory said. ‘I haven’t been down there, either.’ Of course, Thad had probably combed every inch of the residence in his quest for the Queen’s Gift, but Glory had not joined him on his searches.

So when she followed the maid down wide stone steps, sunken with age, Glory glanced about curiously. Unlike the damp cellar below the cottage, with its dirt floor and musty odour, the space below Sutton House was vaulted and vast, its floor neatly tiled, its clutter nearly non-existent. It wasn’t as bright as Glory would like, the only light coming from a couple of small windows, but she was not completely in the dark.

‘Now, let us get down to business.’

Surprised at the change in the maid’s tone, Glory turned, only to halt at the sight of a pistol trained upon her. For a moment, Glory simply stared, flummoxed by the servant glaring at her, weapon in hand. And then she realised just how foolish she had been.

She had stayed at Sutton House long enough to recognise all of the staff, and none of them would have begged assistance from a guest. Yet, Glory had fallen easily into the trap. Her only excuse was that she had been thinking, not of Queen’s Well, but of something far more important to her: Westfield.

But hadn’t he already apprehended the villains responsible for the spa’s woes? Glory frowned. Had the Fairmans engaged a woman to work with them? The only reports of a possible accomplice had been the mysterious lad… Blinking at the woman, Glory decided that she was young enough to pass as a boy, if dressed as such. And then it dawned on her.

‘Miss…Thorpe?’ Glory asked, uncertainly.

‘Yes. Are you quaking in your slippers, Sutton, now that I’ve returned to get back some of my own?’

‘Your own?’ Glory asked. She didn’t know what Miss Thorpe had in mind, but the weapon couldn’t be a good sign, and Glory was without her reticule. Her only hope was to distract the woman long enough to make an escape.

‘Yes, mine,’ Miss Thorpe said. ‘You Suttons took what was rightfully ours and fled Philtwell.’

‘Now, just a moment,’ Glory said, outrage overcoming her caution. ‘Any debt to your family was paid in full by the sale of this house, which had been our ancestral home for centuries.’

‘Blood money,’ the young woman said, practically spitting the words. ‘We were entitled to Queen’s Well and the Queen’s Gift, not some paltry sum.’

‘Paltry?’ Glory said. Businesses failed all the time and the funds put into them lost. ‘You were lucky to receive your investment back after the fire that closed the spa and killed my grandfather.’

Miss Thorpe took a step forward. ‘Lucky?’ she repeated. ‘That’s not what my father said. And I listened to him for years, his bitter complaints about what was taken from him, his talk about what could have been. But the waters worked against him, saddling him with a wife who bore him too many girls and spent too freely, and you Suttons put an end to all of his chances to provide for them. You destroyed him.’

It sounded like Mr Thorpe was the author of his own destruction, but Glory was not about to say so when his daughter was aiming a pistol at her. She took a deep breath, determined to return the conversation to an even tone, and perhaps someone would note that she was missing and come looking for her.

‘But surely you are too young to have ever even been to Queen’s Well,’ Glory said in a conciliatory tone.

‘I’m the youngest. It fell to me to take care of him when he sank into the despair that finally killed him, despair brought on by your betrayal. He never had the strength to come back and take what was rightfully his,’ Miss Thorpe said, her expression twisting in contempt. ‘But now that he’s gone I’m here to do it.’

Glory shook her head. Even if Miss Thorpe did her worst, she would never gain ownership of Queen’s Well. ‘You have no claim to the spa.’

‘I don’t care a whit for your muddy slop or the hogs that pay for the privilege of swilling it down,’ the young woman said, her voice turning brittle. ‘I’m here for the Queen’s Gift.’

Glory felt a measure of relief that there would be no dispute over her family’s heritage, legal or otherwise. But Miss Thorpe was not entitled to anything, including the Queen’s Gift, should it even exist. However, Glory decided not to debate that point, for she didn’t think the woman would take kindly to the news that there was no prize, as the Fairmans had discovered before her.

Glory chose her words carefully. ‘You can’t expect to find something that’s been lost for centuries and then waltz off with it.’

‘Oh, but I will,’ Miss Thorpe said. ‘Once it is in my possession, I can go wherever I want and do whatever I please.’

Was this wishful thinking, or did the woman really have some knowledge of the relic? Obviously, she considered it valuable enough to fund both her escape and her future. Glory frowned, considering the mural in the dining room above. ‘Then you believe it is a crown?’

Miss Thorpe laughed. ‘The Queen’s Gift is far more valuable than a jewelled bauble, some trinket to be sold for mere money. What I’m after is power, and with the Gift, I shall have it.’

‘Power?’ Glory said, confused. Did the woman plan to blackmail the royal family or try to seize a title? If so, she’d likely be tossed into gaol, never to be seen again.

‘Yes, power, a kind of power that very few have harnessed,’ Miss Thorpe said, her eyes narrowing.

‘And who is going to give you this power?’

‘Not who, but what,’ Miss Thorpe said, scornfully. ‘The power resides in the Gift itself for someone who knows its true worth, and I have uncovered its long-forgotten secrets. Only I am the successor to the arch conjurer, the master of the uncanny arts who hid it away, lest ordinary fools seek arcane knowledge beyond their ken.’

‘To he who hid it away? Do you mean Dr Dee?’ Glory asked, trying to make sense of the woman’s gibberish.

‘What do you know of him?’ Miss Thorpe asked, moving forwards, and Glory was hard pressed not to step back, away from the hatred that glittered in the woman’s eyes.

‘Just that he is rumoured to have visited the spa with Elizabeth, that he served as her adviser, and may have been connected with the gift she gave to the well.’

Glory’s innocuous answer did little to placate Miss Thorpe, who advanced threateningly. ‘As soon as I learned of you coming here, I knew you had discovered something,’ she said, spitting the words. ‘Why else would you suddenly appear in Philtwell to resume operations of a long-dead enterprise?’

‘We returned to restore our family’s heritage,’ Glory said. She spoke calmly, in an effort to soothe the young woman whose sudden venom was alarming. Glory did not care to try to dodge a bullet, and she glanced around for anything she could use against her opponent.

‘Have you found it? Do you have the globe?’ Miss Thorpe demanded.

‘Globe?’ Glory asked, genuinely puzzled.

Miss Thorpe smiled, as though pleased by Glory’s ignorance. ‘The globe, you fool, is the most valuable of Dr Dee’s possessions. His mirror was acquired by Walpole, who did not know what he had, let alone what to do with it. But no one has ever found the crystal globe, the real source of his power.’

The woman must be referring to what Westfield dismissed as Dee’s ‘mystic nonsense’. And Glory had to agree with the duke, for how could an object possess any abilities? How had Miss Thorpe reached her conclusions, which seemed implausible at best? Glory peered at the volatile young woman, wondering just how credible she might be.

‘But why would Dr Dee give away something like that, especially if, as you claim, no one else could use it?’ Glory asked.

Miss Thorpe shook her head. ‘You know nothing, do you? It has been working its magic for centuries, but soon it will work other magic, magic that I will direct. For too long its power has been wasted on these waters, to serve the foolish longings of your silly patrons.’

Glory blinked. ‘You think something Dr Dee owned is responsible for the old legends about the water’s properties?’

‘I don’t think it. I know it,’ Miss Thorpe said. ‘Dee bestowed his Gift upon the owners of the well, so that everyone who drank from it would experience the same romantic euphoria as had the queen herself.’

‘Queen Elizabeth?’ Glory asked, incredulous. In all her reading, she had never come across anything about the Virgin Queen falling in love, especially here at her family’s spa.

‘Of course, you fool,’ Miss Thorpe said, sneering.

‘But that legend goes much further back than Elizabeth’s visit,’ Glory said. ‘The Romans were here centuries before, and the name they gave the place was Aquae Philtri, the spa of the philtre, especially of love.’

‘You’re lying,’ Miss Thorpe said, and Glory realised that she should not have shared that particular bit of information with someone holding a weapon. Whether through madness or desperation or pure fantasy, Miss Thorpe had built her house of cards upon a faulty premise, and she would not thank Glory for knocking it down.

In fact, for one dark moment, Glory thought the woman was going to shoot, but instead, her expression settled into one of determination. ‘We shall see soon enough,’ she said. ‘For you will find it for me.’

‘What?’ Glory asked, alarmed.

‘I think it only appropriate that you, who stole so much from my family, should be responsible for some measure of justice.’

‘But how?’ Glory asked. Thad had been poking about Sutton House for some time, and he had found nothing. And, obviously, Miss Thorpe, despite all her attempts, had come up empty-handed, as well.

The young woman smiled, but the effect was disturbing. ‘It’s here, perhaps right where you are standing,’ she said, her pale face flushing with excitement. ‘I knew the moment I saw the mural that the Gift was here all along.’

‘But the painting shows the queen standing outside the house, on the grounds,’ Glory said.

‘It’s a symbol for the spa,’ Miss Thorpe said, dismissively. ‘And if only I had seen it earlier, we could have avoided all that unpleasantness at your precious Pump Room,’ Miss Thorpe said, as she began walking around the cellar.

Glory inched away, but the woman swung towards her. ‘I could have come and taken the Gift, and no one would have been the wiser. But it wasn’t until I saw some writings about Buxton Hall, the site of Buxton’s well, and engravings of other wells, replaced over the years, that I began to suspect the truth.’

‘What truth?’ Glory asked.

Miss Thorpe paused, her eyes shining. ‘The original pump was here, beneath the house, which was built around it,’ she said. ‘This residence is where Queen Elizabeth stayed when she visited. In fact, all the guests were housed here before the inns were built, and the Assembly Rooms, and the new Pump Room.’

Glory glanced around the cellar, suddenly aware of how the space might have been used in Elizabeth’s time, and she cursed herself for abandoning her older research materials in favour of the modern ledgers and guestbooks. Still, there was quite a difference between discovering the old pump and finding the Queen’s Gift, a quest that was bound to disappoint Miss Thorpe. And then, what she would do? Glory did not like to consider the possibilities.

‘Here,’ the young woman said, suddenly. She was standing by some sort of partition that had been built in the darkest part of the cellar, and Glory shuddered, struck by a sudden coldness. Sutton House had never filled her with dread, but now she experienced the same eerie sensation that she had known so often since coming to Philtwell: a malevolent presence watching her…

Drawing in a harsh breath, Glory realised that it was this woman all along, not Dr Tibold or Westfield or the Fairmans or any nameless, faceless man. It was Miss Thorpe, and all Glory could do was turn and face the enmity in her eyes.

‘Open it,’ the young woman said.

Glory didn’t understand what Miss Thorpe wanted until she jerked her head towards the partition. Or was it a tall crate whose top disappeared into the shadows? Stepping closer, Glory realised that there were narrow strips of blackness visible between the wooden slats, making it seem more like a cage than anything else.

The knowledge made Glory shiver, as did the thought of being locked away inside. For who would ever find her? Her heart pounding, Glory decided at that moment that she would do anything, risk everything, to avoid entering that dark chamber.

But she schooled her expression to reveal none of her intent as she turned to face her enemy. ‘How?’ Glory asked. ‘I’ll need a hammer or a crowbar.’ She glanced around, eager to get her hands on something that might be used against her opponent, but Miss Thorpe shook her head.

‘Just use your fingers,’ she said, with a sneer. ‘I thought you Suttons were clever and resourceful.’

Turning her back in order to hide her reaction, Glory took a deep breath and began to examine the wood as well as she could in the dim light. The carpentry was poor, as though the work had been completed quickly, rather than carefully. But Glory tried not to imagine the reasons for such haste. Instead, she looked for a loose board that she could get her fingers around, in order to make some noise, if nothing else.

Finding an end that was not nailed securely, Glory pretended to work at freeing it, while banging loudly in the hope that someone, even if only a servant, would come down to investigate unusual noises emanating from below. But Sutton House was a large residence, built of stone, and Glory did not know if the cellar was even used these days. She remembered the heavy door and wondered when it had last been opened.

But Glory could do little else, so she kept at her task, while above her the household continued on, the servants about their work and the residents blithely unaware of her plight. Perhaps Westfield had already taken off for London, leaving only Thad, lying abed, and an elderly man still recovering from a long illness to come to her rescue.

They were grim prospects indeed.

Oberon frowned at his plate. He had waited in the dining room so long that the remainder of his eggs had congealed into a sickening lump upon his plate. His mother and Pettit had come and gone, and still there was no sign of Miss Sutton. Finally, he asked a passing maid to check upon her, but the girl returned with the news that Miss Sutton was not in her room.

Oberon felt a nagging unease, which he dismissed. No doubt Miss Sutton had skipped breakfast entirely in order to spend the morning with her brother. Rising to his feet, Oberon went directly to Thad’s room, where he found the boy seated by the window in his dressing gown, eating from a tray. But there was no one else.

‘Where’s your sister?’ Oberon asked.

The boy eyed him cannily.

‘Perhaps I should be asking your intentions.’

Oberon frowned, unwilling to discuss his personal situation with anyone, let alone a mere boy. But how many times had he told Miss Sutton to treat her brother as the man he was becoming?

‘They are honourable,’ Oberon said.

Thad grinned. ‘Good, because I would hate to have to give you a good bruising, though I am feeling considerably better.’

Oberon smiled at the youth’s humour, but his amusement faded in the face of Miss Sutton’s absence. ‘Has she been here at all this morning?’ he asked. ‘I can’t find her.’

Thad did not appear alarmed. ‘You’re bound to have your hands full with Glory. She’s used to her independence. Mind you, she’s pluck to the backbone, but you must know she doesn’t take well to being ordered about. And there’s no denying that you are used to doing the ordering,’ Thad said, cocking his head as if to study Oberon like a sample of well water.

‘Not that I’d call you arrogant, but where Glory’s concerned, you’re just going to have to let her have her head, loosen the leads, that sort of thing, if you mean to get on. Or meet in the middle, you might say.’

Oberon recovered himself with some difficulty. ‘Do you recall what I told you last night?’

Thad looked a bit chagrined. ‘Truth to tell, I was a bit under the weather, and that physician made me drink something. Why, when I saw you and Glory together, I rather thought I was dreaming the whole thing.’

Oberon shrugged off the knowledge that he should have held his tongue on the subject of his intentions towards Miss Sutton. Instead, he tried to focus on imparting some sense into her brother. ‘Last night I told you that the Fairmans were not responsible for the vandalism, the destruction or the near murder on the crags. They didn’t do any of it.’

Thad looked at him for one long moment, then swallowed hard as the truth dawned on him. ‘Which means that Glory being missing…’ he began, only to trail off, wide-eyed.

‘Your sister might be in danger.’

Although Glory had hoped to lull Miss Thorpe into complacency, the young woman was too agitated to let down her guard. And she was starting to become suspicious about the noise, telling Glory to be quiet and produce results. Scanning the immediate area, Glory was tempted to duck behind the wooden structure and head for the shadows. But did she really want to play such a deadly game of tag? Any sudden movement might mean a bullet that could kill her or lay her low. And then she would well and truly be at the mercy of this woman.

And should she escape immediate injury, where would she go? Glory had never thought to wish herself back at the cottage, but there were too few places here to hide and only one way out. She glanced at the wide steps and knew she would never reach them without disarming Miss Thorpe. But the cellar of Sutton House was not cluttered with cricket bats and other potential weapons.

Her mind racing, Glory kept tugging at the loose piece of wood, which finally separated from its berth with a loud crack, nearly slicing open her palm with the rusty nail that protruded. Swallowing a gasp, Glory realised that this was her best chance, for the sharp shaft that had worked against her could work for her, especially since it was lodged within the heavy board.

Glory carefully lowered the slat in front of her, burying the telltale nail among the folds of her skirts. Although she appeared to be setting the piece aside, she simply transferred it to her left hand. And then she made a show of peering into the gaping hole she had made, her empty right hand gripping the opening.

‘There’s nothing in there,’ Glory said, though anything could have been hiding in the black interior.

‘What? Let me see,’ Miss Thorpe demanded, waving Glory aside.

Glory inched out of the way, but stayed close enough so that when Miss Thorpe stepped forwards, she was able to make her move. Swinging her makeshift weapon as best she could with her left hand, Glory could not muster the power that she wanted. Still, the board caught Miss Thorpe around the knees, and she twisted wildly, the pistol in her hand discharging its bullet.

It whizzed past Glory’s ear, too close for comfort, and she was not about to let the woman load the weapon again. But that was not Miss Thorpe’s intent. Her rage, her madness, or whatever drove her had reached its breaking point, and, releasing a shriek of fury, she flung the gun at Glory’s hand, causing her to drop the board.

Flinching, Glory took one look at her opponent and realised that her strength was no match for that of a lunatic. Knowing her only hope lay in surprise, she did not bend to retrieve either weapon, but lunged forwards, swinging her arm with all the force she could muster. The facer that she had so diligently practised connected to Miss Thorpe’s jaw with a sickening crack before the woman staggered and fell.

Above the thundering of her heart, Glory thought she heard frantic knocking, and, for one wild moment, she looked at the wooden structure beside her as if it truly held a prisoner. But then she realised that the sound was that of footsteps halting behind her. A hush fell over the cellar, then Thad’s admiring voice rang out.

‘Dem, Glory’s floored a female.’