Chapter 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

J ulian pushed open the study door, a sense of unease prickling at the back of his mind. Something felt off. His thoughts lingered on Molly's fall and the chaotic mess it had caused, as he crossed the room, distracted. It was unlike his house to have such commotion—there hadn't been any for years, in fact, until Ester's arrival.

Pausing by the desk, he glanced down and froze. The fifth and last drawer was slightly ajar. His brow furrowed. Had he left it open? A sense of foreboding gripped him as he reached forward and pulled it open a little.

A cursory glance came up fruitless for what his eyes searched for. He hauled out the entire drawer and stacked it on his desk. Still nothing.

Where was it ?

Julian's pulse quickened. He rifled through the papers, heart pounding in his chest now, desperately hoping the trinket had simply slipped beneath the workstuff. But his search revealed only one truth: it wasn't there. His mother's cameo portrait, the one he kept hidden away for safekeeping, had vanished.

He sank into his chair, a cold sweat forming on his brow. Maybe he had moved it. He tried to recall, grasping for any explanation that didn't involve theft. But the gnawing dread only grew.

A sudden, chilling thought struck him then, and he leaned forward, yanking open the third drawer down too. His stomach dropped. The leather satchel of coins—the very one he had narrowly retrieved from the highwayman—was gone as well. He stared at the empty space, disbelief turning into anger.

"Something wrong, old chap?" Kingsley's voice reached him as he appeared in the doorway.

Julian's gaze flicked up to the man and his companion, and his mind rummaged through the events of the past ten minutes.

Kingsley and Harper had taken tea in the library while Julian had been occupied with Molly, who had tripped and fallen down a flight of stairs. She seemed fine, with no sign of serious injury. Crammond had scolded her for carelessness at the mess caused but had sent her to the kitchen for a hot, sweet cup of tea to recover, while he tended to the broken crockery himself. Julian had told Molly to take the rest of the afternoon off, showing concern for his servant rather than the breakages. Then he returned to the study. Now, Kingsley and Harper appeared in the doorway.

Something was amiss.

"Theft," Julian said, flatly.

His mind raced, unwilling to suspect Ester, yet the coincidence gnawed at him. The stolen money and the cameo? Who else could have had both motive and opportunity?

"What?" Kingsley strode forward, looking at the empty drawers. "What's been taken? And by whom? By heaven, I've hardly seen a soul since I arrived, save for your man Crammond."

Julian's jaw tightened as he forced out the words. "…My houseguest."

"The village girl ?"

"My mother's cameo portrait has been taken," Julian said tightly. "The cameo itself is ivory and silver. Worth only a few pounds. But it held a great significance to me."

He kept silent about the missing satchel of coins. That had belonged to Ester. Or had it? The thought had nagged at him since the beginning. It had seemed strange to him that she would be abroad with a satchel full of coin. Perhaps it was stolen. If she were on the run from a crime she had committed, that would explain her behavior. Perhaps it was not a highwayman that had accosted her but an accomplice, attempting to double-cross her and keep the loot for himself.

It seemed ludicrous when he thought it of Ester… if that was her real name. She had already lied once about her identity. Julian didn't want to believe it but could not deny the evidence that seemed to be stacking up against the mysterious woman he had shown nothing but kindness and sincerity since her arrival.

"What shall we do?" Kingsley's sharp voice tore through Julian's thoughts. "Is there a constable or militia at Theydon? Or shall I send for the Runners?"

"There is a Justice of the Peace nearby," Julian replied, distractedly. "Sir Giles Thorncroft. He can summon the constables to hunt down the thief."

"Sir Giles Thorncroft," Kingsley mused. "I have heard the name." Turning, he commanded, "Harper, carry word to Sir Giles in the village about this crime. This girl can't have gotten far."

"No!" The word burst from Julian, startling even himself.

Ester's image burned vividly in his mind—her pale, delicate skin, the cascade of auburn hair that glowed like molten copper, and those eyes, deep and emerald, filled with a haunting innocence… Beautiful . Utterly beautiful . And pure. Perhaps there had been some deception along the way. But the troubled shadows he had caught in her absent gaze had been real, they had to be. He'd felt them in his bones. He would wager his entire estate on that.

But more than her beauty or her grace, or the inklings of an even greater deception at hand… there was the curse. The doom shadowing her every step.

The fever might have broken, but Julian had no doubt that her fate was sealed, just as it had been for Samuel and his mother. He glanced down at his gloved hands, flexing his fingers within the leather sheaths. Never before had he felt such a desperate need to understand the nature of this curse.

He could not understand how she had survived when it seemed that his touch had condemned her. Maybe, her subsequent actions were a madness that had fallen upon her as a result of the curse. Could it be that she was the victim of a mental affliction rather than a physical one? Julian ran his hands through his hair. Kingsley's words made sense. The thief had to be caught.

But, he would not— could not— abandon Ester to the cold clutches of the law.

"I will find her myself," Julian muttered, his voice now edged with resolve.

Kingsley's brows arched. "Whyever would you do that?"

Julian made a show of his hands in answer.

Kingsley scoffed. "This young village girl is a victim of the curse?"

"I believe so," he murmured.

"For heaven's sake, man!" his friend suddenly raged. "She is a thief who has taken advantage of your hospitality. And has you so much under her spell that you would spare her the punishment she deserves!"

Julian looked up for the first time, his gaze narrowing. "Why so angry, Simon? What does it matter to you?"

"It is not right," he replied, drawing a slow breath to calm his rising temper. "I cannot stand by and watch my good friend be taken advantage of."

"Then help me," Julian urged, his tone sharpening, "with each of us mounted, we can find her quicker than if I search alone."

Kingsley hesitated for a moment, then glanced at Harper, who gave a barely perceptible nod. A slow smile spread across the viscount's face. "A capital idea," he uttered. "Though I still believe we should summon the militia. But if you are determined to set off on this fool's errand, then I suppose, as an old friend, it is my duty to aid you."

The preparations were made quickly so as to overtake the thief. Crammond was informed and had informed Julian in turn that Ester had already left Theydon Mount according to Molly's testimony. This only doubled down his suspicions. From there, three horses were saddled from the stables. The three riders went off in three different directions.

Kingsley took the northern path, following the road toward Theydon Mere, while Harper rode south, making his way toward the village. They both planned to loop back to Theydon's Mount once they reached the farthest distance a person could feasibly cover on foot.

The paths Julian had mapped out for them were purposeful—knowing Ester, she would not retrace her steps to the place she was accosted, nor would she take the most conspicuous path back to the village if she wished to remain hidden. This would almost certainly mean he would be the one to find her first, if she was to be found at all.

Now, Julian steered his horse toward the western wing of the castle, into the dense woods that had long since encroached upon the estate gardens. Beyond the thick copse lay a crumbling stone wall, the former boundary of Theydon Mount's estate. Hidden within the woods were scattered, derelict outbuildings, slowly being reclaimed by the creeping undergrowth. From the ground, they were not visible, but from the chambers Ester had been assigned on the second floor of the Castle, they no doubt appeared as fantastical places tucked in the woodland.

Julian did not know the precise location of all these ruins, but he was confident that any fleeing soul would seek them out. It was the only logical refuge—a place to hide, to lay low until the hue and cry had faded. And it was there that he would begin his search.

He prayed he would find Ester there. More than anything, he needed the chance to speak with her alone, to look into her eyes and demand to know why she had stolen from him. The betrayal gnawed at his very core. There was little doubt in his mind now—she had betrayed him. That much was certain. But why ?

"Please let my intuitions be right, just this once," he muttered beneath his breath.

Julian guided his horse deeper into the woodland, letting it find its own way through the undergrowth while keeping it broadly aligned with the location of the first ruined outbuilding. That building had a pool outside of it, where a stream had become damned, creating a stagnant pond that reflected the light of the sun when viewed from a distance.

Slowing for a moment, Julian observed the low, darting flight of small birds skimming across the ground in front of him. When birds flew low, they were often heading toward water. It was a subtle sign that he was headed in the right direction. He ushered his horse to a canter once more.

The land to the left began to slope gently down and he noted the presence of trees and shrubs fond of wet, marshy soil deeper down the slope. Further evidence that there was water down there. He steered Rufus down the slope, brushing branches aside with his arm and scrutinizing the deep shadows of the undergrowth.

Then he saw it. The structure came into view from behind the cover of a line of willows. They marked the boundary of the pond, which was green with algae. The building was a square of stone with no roof or glass in its small windows.

"Ester?"

Dismounting, Julian swiftly searched the gutted building. His heart sank as he found it empty. It offered no clue, no sign that anyone had recently sought refuge within its crumbling walls or even walked around the area to disturb its natural surroundings. The disappointment cut through him with cold clarity. But he shook it off, tightening his resolve to press on.

Deciding to proceed on foot, he used a fallen branch which he had stripped of its leaves to batter aside tall nettles and brambles, heading for the next building in the complex. Rufus followed, grazing by his master's heels.

The next edifice loomed larger, a two-story structure with an intact roof and the ghostly remnants of broken glass in the upper-story windows. As Julian neared, he thought he caught a fleeting glimpse of movement behind one of those windows.

"Ester!" he called out, his voice echoing in the dense woodland.

Silence was his only answer.

"Ester! It is me, Julian! You have nothing to fear from me. Please, come out if you are there."

Again, only the sounds of the forest responded—rustling leaves, the chill breeze, and the distant calls of a bird. No further movement at any of the windows or signs from within that there was anything capable of hearing or understanding his words.

Rubbing his gloved hands together, and breathing into them—rather futilely—for warmth, Julian carefully made his way to the door, which was barely hanging on its rusty hinges. He wrestled it aside, the metal screeching in protest.

Inside lay a dark hallway, its air thick with the must of decay. Stairs led upward to derelict floors, many of their treads rotted through. Julian was certain the movement had originated from up there somewhere.

Muttering an empty prayer, he placed a foot cautiously on the first step—it creaked but held his weight. He climbed to the next, and then leaped across a yawning gap that spanned three risers. Landing on the next intact stair, he heard an ominous crack… then the stairs beneath him gave way.

He flailed for something to arrest his fall, missed with one hand, and miraculously caught the edge of a broken stair with the fingertips of the other. Splinters pierced through his gloves, drawing blood. His fall was momentarily halted, but now, the stair began to bend under his weight. His legs dangled in dark space. The clatter of broken and rotting wood hitting the floor was disturbingly distant. There must be a cellar level beneath the stairs, with no floor to separate it from the ground floor.

Above, just then, a silhouette emerged against the dim light filtering through the broken roof.

It was Ester.

Their eyes locked across the perilous gap, as she peered down at him from the summit of the staircase.

Julian gritted through clenched teeth, his voice straining with urgency, "I—I came to find you."

"To have me arrested," Ester countered accusingly, her eyes narrowing with suspicion.

"No!" His protest came in a breathless rush, his fingers slipping slightly as panic took hold. "To help you!"

Ester's gaze flickered with uncertainty, and then she disappeared for a moment. When she returned, her arms strained under the weight of a salvaged plank. It trembled in her grip, its heft perceptibly beyond her strength to carry. With a resolute grunt, she extended the plank across the gap, anchoring it firmly against the wall, and then held on to its end, bracing her feet against the banister.

"I don't know how long I'll be able to hold this," she called down to him, her voice trembling as much as the makeshift bridge she had created. "Hurry, before that step fails you!"

The stair in question was distinctly U-shaped now and giving protesting creaks. Julian's grip, however, had slipped to the tips of his fingers—already slick with sweat and blood. He would lose that grip before the wood broke in all likelihood. He could not hesitate.

With a surge of adrenaline, Julian flung his hand upward, seizing the rough edge of the plank. Straining his every muscle, he abandoned the crumbling stair, then with the hand that had held him dangling over the drop, grabbed the plank higher up. Ester, bracing hard against the banister, her feet dug into the wood, fought to keep the plank stable as Julian's weight shifted its balance. He climbed feverishly, hand over agonizing hand, until at last he could swing a leg over the top stair and propel himself onto the solid floor—just as a loud snap whipped through the hollow stairwell. The broken stair gave way completely, and Ester, too, let go of the plank as it slid away before landing below with a crashing cacophony.

"Thank you," Julian gasped, collapsing on his back onto the dusty floorboards in exhaustion. His chest heaved as he lay there, the coolness of the floor seeping into his bones.

Ester, her own breathing heavy, moved away from the perilous edge and crossed her legs as she sat down a safe distance away. Julian craned his head to see her clutching a worn satchel, protectively. His gaze quickly flickered away from it, but she caught the brief look.

"It is mine," she stated plainly, an edge of defensiveness in her tone.

"It is. I will not question it," Julian responded between labored breaths. He paused, gathering strength to speak again, "Did you also take the cameo?"

"No!" The denial burst from Ester with sharp intensity. "That was your good friend the Viscount Kingsley."

Julian sighed heavily, shifting onto his side, his lean, muscular form sprawled a few feet away from her smaller one on the dusty floor. It was an easy ploy. To deny guilt and cast it upon another. He watched her rise elegantly, the satchel clutched closed to the delicate curve of her waist.

"Are you going to hand me over to the magistrate?" Ester's voice broke through the tension, her eyes widening.

She stood before him, her gown sullied from where she had knelt on the floor to reach Julian with the makeshift ladder. There was a tear at her left hip and a wisp of fabric on a nail that jutted from one wall. Her beauty shone through the streak of grim on her forehead where she had wiped away sweat with the back of a hand made dirty by the piece of wood she had carried to the stairs. Yet, she faced him with head held high and eyes blazing.

He could see her fear, a vulnerability, in the slight tremble of her lip, the wideness of her eyes. But she fought it with everything she had. He recognized the look of someone backed into a corner.

Julian slowly rose to his feet too. His tall figure loomed in the cramped space. Yet, as his gaze met hers, the harsh lines of his face softened into a semblance of gentleness. "If that was my intention, it would be the militia out looking for you. Instead, it is just myself, Kingsley, and his man Harper—"

Her body twitched at the mention of the names and Julian hastened to reassure her, "They are well away by now, far south, beyond Theydon Mere. But tell me, why suspect Kingsley as the culprit?"

Ester's lips parted slightly as she answered, her breath catching. "I… It is nothing," she replied, her voice barely steady. "Please, you must let me leave. I am grateful for all you have done, but I can fend for myself from here on out."

A flicker of surprise jolted through him. Leave? Now? "You cannot simply walk away from all this," he insisted. "I know you are in trouble. Whatever it is, I want to help. I am not letting you face this alone."

"You can't help!" she burst out, her words cutting through the air like a whip. "This is not something you can just fix with a wave of your hand, Julian. You don't understand. You can't."

"Ester." He took a step toward her, but she matched it with a step of her own, her foot inching perilously close to the gaping hole where the broken stairwell once stood, causing him to freeze in place. "I—I chose to help you, and I'm not going to stop now. But I cannot do that if you keep shutting me out. What was the real reason you were walking alone with a satchel full of coins at night…"

Kingsley's words came back to him just then. Satchel of coins.

He leaned back against the walls, still breathing heavily. "Wait. How did he know you were carrying a satchel full of coins?"

Ester looked at him blankly.

"I told Kingsley about the incident where I chased off a brigand who had confronted you on the road. He questioned why a local village girl would be wandering alone at night with a satchel full of coins. I never mentioned the coins," Julian recounted, his brow furrowing as he pieced together the deception. "But… but Kingsley was out in London that night—of which I'm certain, for he went to meet up with our solicitor, Swinton, down at the Albany."

Just as he had found it impossible to accept Ester merely as a thief, so too he found it difficult to acknowledge Kingsley as a blackmailer of women.

"It wasn't Kingsley, but a henchman of his. I am not lying! He came into your study when Molly… fell down the stairs," Ester muttered. "Alongside a stranger. I was hiding and I could not see them but I heard them. It was the Viscount Kingsley who took your mother's cameo to try and incriminate me." Her expression was one of sheer desperation, her fingers clenched tight around the fabric of her dress. "You are chasing after the wrong suspect!"

"Let's suppose that is true. What about the money?"

"It was my father's money. My dowry. I did not steal it!" Ester insisted.

"You could have come to me for it," Julian offered gently.

"I couldn't. Not with him there."

Julian took the moment to step closer, his frown deepening. "And why does Kingsley claim your dowry? For what purpose? What does he gain by blackmailing you and trying to isolate you?" He was well aware of the fear flashing in her eyes, the way her hands trembled at her sides, the way her heel inched closer to that gaping hole. She was hiding something far more serious than she was letting on.

"Why do you need to know?" she bit back defensively. "Just let me go. I am well. The curse is not real. You promised you would if I recovered!"

"Then I lied. I am not letting you go until you tell me what is really happening," he replied, his tone steady, though his heart thundered in his chest. He softened his gaze, searching her face for the truth. "Please, Ester. What does he have over you?"

Her face twisted with a mix of pain and frustration. He could see the conflict raging within her, the battle between her need to keep the truth buried and her desperation for help. "He has lies," she muttered, her voice rising. "Lies that everyone will believe."

"What lies?" Julian pressed forward, holding back the urge to grab her shoulders and shake the truth out of her. "You need to trust me, Ester. I want to help, but I cannot unless you confide in me completely."

"If I tell you," she breathed, "it will change… it will change everything. You will look at me differently too. Everyone does. I cannot bear to be remembered that way anymore."

"No," he countered sharply, closing the distance between them in two strides. "Nothing you say will change the way I see you. You are stronger than you know. But I need to know the truth. Please. Tell me."

Ester's body shook, a silent sob catching in her throat. The room seemed to close in around them, his repeated words hammering at her defenses. She squeezed her eyes shut, clenching her fists so hard her nails bit into her palms. She was unraveling right before him. And then, with a choked cry, she shattered.

"Because—" The word tore from her lips, raw and filled with pain. "Because it was he who… who tried to ravish me." Her voice cracked, the confession exploding out of her in a stifled sob. "He forced himself on me, and when I fought him off, he threatened to ruin my family unless we paid for his silence."

Julian froze, the blood draining from his face. Her words hit him like a blow, knocking the breath from his lungs, and he stepped back.