Rakes Vow

"That's because they're not yours to begin with!" Grinding his teeth, Whitticombe pushed Alice into the chair by the fire. "Just sit there and keep quiet!"

"I will not keep quiet!" Alice's eyes blazed. "You always tell me I can't have things I want-that it's wrong to take them-but you're going to take the abbey treasure. And that doesn't belong to you!"

"It's not the same!" Whitticombe thundered. He fixed Alice with a baleful eye. "I know the distinction is hard for you to grasp, but retrieving-resurrecting-lost church plate-restoring the magnificence of Coldchurch Abbey-is not the same as stealing!"

"But you want it all for yourself."

"No!" Whitticombe forced himself to draw a calming breath, and lowered his voice. "I want to be the one to find it. I fully intend to hand it over to the proper authorities, but…" He lifted his head and straightened. "The fame of finding it, the glory of being the one who, through his tireless scholarship, traced and restored the lost plate of Coldchurch Abbey-that," he declared, "will be mine."

Behind the screen, Patience caught Vane's eye. He smiled grimly.

"All very well," Alice grumped. "But you needn't make out you're such a saint. Nothing saintly about hitting that fool boy with a rock."

Whitticombe stilled. He stared down at Alice.

Who smirked. "Didn't think I knew, did you. But I was in dear Patience's room at the time and chanced to look out over the ruins." She smiled maliciously. "I saw you do it-saw you pick up the rock, then creep up close. Saw you strike him down."

She sat back, her gaze fixed on Whitticombe's face. "Oh, no, dear brother, you're no saint."

Whitticombe sniffed, and waved dismissively. "Just a concussion-I didn't hit him that hard. Just enough to make sure he never finished that sketch." He started to pace. "When I think of the shock I got when I saw him poking about the abbot's cellar door! It's a wonder I didn't hit him too hard. If he'd been more curious, and mentioned it to one of those other dunderheads-Chadwick, Edmond, or, heaven forbid, Edgar-Lord knows what might have happened. The fools might have stolen my discovery!"

"Your discovery?"

"Mine! The glory will be mine!" Whitticombe paced on. "As it is, everything's worked out perfectly. That tap on the head was enough to scare the old woman into taking her precious nephew off to London-mercifully, she took all the others as well. So now-tomorrow-I can hire some itinerants to help me lift that stone, and then-!"

Triumphant, Whitticombe whirled-and froze.

All those peeking through the screens saw him, hand upraised as if to exhort adulation, staring, goggle-eyed, into the shadows at the side of the room. Everyone tensed. No one could see, or imagine, what he was staring at.

His mouth started to work first, opening and closing to no effect. Then: "Aaarrrrgh!!!" His face a mask of abject horror, Whitticombe pointed. "What's that cat doing here?"

Alice looked, then frowned at him. "That's Myst. Patience's cat."

"I know." Whitticombe's voice shook; his gaze didn't shift.'

Risking a glance around the screen, Vane sighted Myst, sitting neatly erect, her ancient, all-seeing blue gaze fixed, unwinking, on Whitticombe's face.

"But it was in London!" Whitticombe gasped. "How did it get here?"

Alice shrugged. "It didn't come down with us."

"I know that!"

Someone choked on a laugh; the second screen wobbled, then teetered. A hand appeared at the top and righted it, then disappeared.

Vane sighed, and stepped out, around the other screen. Whitticombe's eyes, which Vane would have sworn could not get any wider, did.

"Evening, Colby." Vane waved Mi

As the company assembled in full sight, Alice chortled. "So much for your secrets, dear brother." She sank back in her chair, gri

Whitticombe threw her a swift glance and drew himself up. "I don't know how much you heard-"

"All of it," Vane replied.

Whitticombe blanched-and glanced at Mi

Who stared at him, disgust and disaffection clear in her face. "Why?" she demanded. "You had a roof over your head and a comfortable living. Was fame so important you would commit crimes-and for what? A foolish dream?"

Whitticombe stiffened. "It's not a foolish dream. The church plate and the abbey's treasure were buried before the Dissolution. There's clear reference made in the abbey records-but after the Dissolution there's no mention of it at all. It took me forever to track down where they'd hidden it-the crypt was the obvious place, but there's nothing but rubble there. And the records clearly state a cellar, but the old cellars were excavated long ago-and nothing was found." He drew himself up, inflated with self-importance. "Only I traced the abbot's cellar. It's there-I found the trapdoor." He looked at Mi

Bleakly, Mi

Edgar cleared his throat. "And I'm afraid you won't find anything, either. There's nothing to be found."

Whitticombe's lip curled. "Dilettante," he scoffed. "What would you know of research?"

Edgar shrugged. "I don't know about research, but I do know about the Bellamys. The last abbot was one-not in name-but he became the grandfather of the next generation. And he told his grandsons of the buried treasure-the tale was passed on until, at the Restoration, a Bellamy asked for and was granted the old abbey's lands."

Edgar smiled vaguely at Mi

Meeting Whitticombe's stu

"No," Whitticombe said, but there was no strength in his denial.

"Oh, yes," Vane replied, his gaze hard. "If you'd asked, I-or Grisham-could have told you the abbot's cellar was filled in more than a hundred years ago. All you'll find under that trapdoor is solid earth."

Whitticombe continued to stare, then his eyes glazed.

"I rather think, Colby, that it's time for some apologies, what?" The General glared at Whitticombe.

Whitticombe blinked, then stiffened, and lifted his head arrogantly. "I don't see that I've done anything particularly reprehensible-not by the standards of this company." Features contorting, he sca

Whitticombe poured out his scorn. "And last but not least," he pronounced with relish, "we have Miss Patience Debbington, our esteemed hostess's niece-"

Cru