‘He hid them in the ice,’ she said, wondering how they were to find them if that was true. The room was still a quarter full of huge blocks, layered with sawdust and hay. The flickering lantern light on the smooth wet surfaces cast weird blue shadows around the room. They seemed to dance in time to the soft, musical drip and trickle of melting ice.
‘Most likely he tucked them into a crack in the wall, or dropped them on the floor. If he had put them in the ice, I suspect we’d have found a loose stone in the bottom of the ice-cream bucket by now.’ He pulled a penknife from his pocket and searched through the ice-working tools on the hooks and shelves by the door to find something for her. He pressed an ice pick into her cold fingers. ‘I could not look in spring, when I first had the idea. Winter had just passed and the room was full to the doorway. But it is very near to the time of year when your father died. The same spaces are exposed.’ Then he turned her gently to face into the room. ‘Now, you must imagine that you are your own father. You have only a few moments to conceal something of value. Where would you put it?’
He lifted the lantern high over his head, so she could see the details of the room. While the tunnel leading to it was mortared stone, this space had been carved directly into the rock under the hillock. The walls were marked with the fissures and cracks of the excavation, any one of which could hide the jewels. Under her feet, the layer of damp sawdust that had frozen to the ground was thick enough to conceal any manner of things. If they had not been discovered for all this time, then what chance had she?
Then she remembered Will’s words. She must think like her father. She had no trouble picturing him walking the path above. She had done it before. But now she imagined it not bright with morning sunshine, but gathering gloom. She was being stalked. She could feel the eyes on the back of her neck. But the silence of the approach told her the identity of the assailant. Montague meant to betray her. She felt her quickening pulse and the overwhelming desire to run.
If she did, he would catch her easily and take what he wanted, just as he always did. She must not give way to panic. Her father had kept a cool head, even when death was imminent. He might have lost his life, but he had denied Montague what he’d most wanted. The thought made her smile. It gave her strength.
She looked around the room again. ‘It would have been dark. There was no time to light a candle. And he did not want to be discovered.’ She closed her eyes tight, to shut out the lantern light, and reached out a hand. Ice in front of her. It was shockingly cold and she drew back quickly, until her shoulders were against the wall behind her. Her hand bumped against a shelf.
That would be far too obvious.
She worked her way along the wall, trailing hands against it, following it around the corner until she had worked herself into what little space there was between the stacked ice blocks and the wall. Then she felt for a likely hiding place. There was nothing here. She could not find a notch to hide a single stone, much less a handful.
And then she remembered her father. When she had last seen him, he’d seemed huge to her, like a great blond bear. She had been but five. But it had been more than imagination. He had been a large man who could not have wedged himself so deeply into this space. She moved back towards the door again, until there was barely enough space for a large man. Then she ran her hands over the bumps and crevices in the wall. That was when she found the crack. It was large at the top and even larger near the floor. But in the middle, at a place about equal with the height of her shoulders, it narrowed. While much of the wall was rimed with frost, the ice in this particular place was hard and smooth. She opened her eyes, but it was too dark to see much more than what she had discovered with her touch. ‘Here,’ she said, tapping the ice with the pick in her hand. ‘Bring the lantern.’
Will crowded close behind her, holding the light so it shone over her shoulder.
Without thinking, she leaned back into him, trying to steal some warmth from his body to fight the growing chill of being so close to the ice.
Had he forgotten that he hated her? It almost seemed so. He did not draw away from her, but pulled her closer to shield her from the cold as she worked.
Her hand trembled as she jabbed the pick into the ice, only to feel it slide away without leaving so much as a chip. She struck harder the next time. And harder still after that. The ice in this spot was solid, as if it had rested there until it was as hard as the rock around it. Compared to all the other problems that had come between her and her goals, it was a very small thing. But it was very annoying. She struck harder, again and again.
And then she gasped. Just for a moment, she thought she had seen a glittering that was brighter than frozen water. She took her lover’s hand and directed it, to form a cup at the base of the crack. She struck one last time, prying outwards to lever out the last of the ice. And what looked, at first glance, like a trickle of water, split into a multitude of tiny sparkles.
She heard Will’s laugh of satisfaction as the gems poured into his hand. She poked about for a moment longer to be sure that nothing remained hidden between the rocks. Then she ran a fingertip through the shavings of frost and felt the sharp edges of faceted stones. If she got her jeweller’s loupe and looked closer, she was sure she would recognise her father’s work in the cuts, just as she could when she looked at the stock from Montague’s safe.
She glanced down at the little velvet pouch, still dangling from her left wrist like a reticule, and opened it so that Will might tip his hand and pour the stones inside. Then she tightened the drawstring and offered him the bag.
He shook his head. ‘Now that you have them, they are back where they belong.’
‘Not quite,’ said a voice behind them.
‘Montague.’ Will let out a curse under his breath at the sight of the man and the pistol he held pointed at them. ‘How did you find us?’
Justine berated herself for being so foolish as to lower her guard, even as she’d imagined his silent approach. She had warned Will that the man would find a way to cheat. But what was the point of winning the duel if he left Wales without the diamonds? ‘He waited in the woods and saw us when you opened the tunnel door.’
Montague gave a slight bow of acknowledgement, as though proud of his cleverness. ‘When you said you remembered all, I knew you would get the stones before it was too late. I had but to wait where the murder occurred to see if you would come and lead me to them.’
‘I should have remembered to lock the door behind me,’ Will said with a scowl. ‘You have already proven that you are a coward who will creep along behind, waiting for a chance to take from the unwary.’
Montague shrugged. ‘Not as noble as your family would be. But my method has proven effective so far. Now give me the diamonds and we will be almost finished here.’
‘Almost?’ Will said, watching the pistol in his hand.
‘There is still the matter of your threats of prosecution and the impending duel.’ Montague smiled. ‘While the odds are in my favour, I would not like to leave killing you to chance.’
She and Will had turned as a couple and she still stood slightly in front of him. Now he was taking her by the shoulders, trying to move her behind him, out of the line of fire.
That would not do. If she moved, her guardian would have a clear shot. She planted her feet and refused to budge. ‘Have you forgotten that you have but one bullet in your little gun?’ she said.
‘I need but one,’ Montague said. ‘Once William Felkirk is dead, the duke will want justice. And no tale of lost diamonds and evil strangers will save you from the hangman’s noose. It does