Page 47 of Exile's Return
Daniel met the man’s eyes. ‘Gold Unites. Elmhurst waylaid it on the way north and it was intended to be used to finance the uprisings of July that never happened. It’s hidden somewhere in Charvaley and only Elmhurst knew where.’
‘He told no one before he died?’
‘I don’t believe so. I am hazarding a guess that is why his cousin was so anxious to return the children to Charvaley. He too is looking for the gold.’
Thornton leaned forward, a frown puckering his forehead, but if he had been about to ask a question he got no further. They were interrupted by a hurried knock and Ellen Howell bearing a lunch tray.
Rising to his feet, Thornton said, ‘Whatever your plans, Lovell, you are welcome to rest here and regain your strength. We will talk later.’
With that he turned and strode from the room, leaving Daniel to the mercy of Ellen.
Chapter 20
Seven Ways, 20 November 1659
The horse fidgeted, shaking its head with a jingle of the bridle. Its rider sighed. He had been watching the red brick house for too long. He was cold and his horse sensed that a warm stable and food lay within its reach.
He had never been a coward, had always faced whatever life threw at him—even death—but now he felt fear clutching at his heart as it had never done before.
A hundred questions crowded his mind, deafening him from one big question.What if the note had been wrong?
The horse shifted its feet, its ears swivelling.
‘You’re right,’ the man said aloud. ‘If nothing else I get to see an old friend, although what in God’s name am I to say to him…’
He straightened in the saddle and kicked the beast forward.
As he rode into the courtyard and looked up at the red walls and mullioned windows, he tried to recall if he had been here before. It seemed familiar, but those harum-scarum days of the war had begun to merge and blend.
Leaving the horse with a groom, he asked to see Sir Jonathan Thornton but refused to give his name. The elderly steward seemed to take this lack of courtesy in his stride and showed him into a room that may have once been a parlour, but the chill in the air indicated that it was now only be used for suspicious visitors.
He removed his hat and gloves and set them on the table, and was in the act of untying the strings of his cloak when the door opened. The two men stood staring at each other for a long, long moment.
‘Christ!’ Sir Jonathan Thornton blasphemed.
‘I have been called many things but never, ever compared to the Good Lord,’ Kit Lovell replied.
Jonathan closed the door behind him and leaned against it for a moment.
‘Like our Good Lord, it appears you have the ability to rise from the dead,’ he observed.
Kit held up his hand to stay the inevitable questions. ‘A long…very long story, Thornton.’
Thornton continued to stare at him as if he were indeed a ghost. ‘What brings you here?…Of course, your brother…But how?’
Kit’s heart skipped a beat. ‘So it’s true? He’s here?’
Jonathan nodded. ‘Been here just over a week. He’s recovering from a bout of marsh fever. How the hell did you know?’
Kit afforded himself the luxury of a small smile. ‘I have friends in London who sent me a message.’
It had been a cursory note, written in Nan Marsh’s poor hand.
Daniel. Seven Ways.
Just three words, but it had been enough. No one ever forgot a name like Seven Ways.
‘He’s in the library,’ Jonathan said at last. ‘He…thinks…knows…you are dead. Do you want me to speak to him?’
