No. Curtis didn’t want to leave Daniel, not at all. He wanted to be the one standing guard. But if he didn’t return, with Holt gone and Daniel missing from the cave, there would surely be a general alarm raised. And Miss Merton was competent and, so far as one could on such a short acquaintance, he trusted her.
“The Armstrongs are dangerous,” Curtis warned her. “James especially, but they will all be desperate if they find out what we know, it’s death to them. I don’t imagine they’ll hesitate to kill.”
“Nor will I.” Miss Merton sounded quite matter-of-fact. “I lost two brothers in the war. I feel quite strongly about treachery and selling secrets to our enemies. And I don’t appreciate this blackmail business at all, and nor will Fen. Now, you wait here for me. I’ll say I saw you out for a morning stroll and you’ll doubtless be back for breakfast.”
She left, striding out at a brisk pace. Curtis barred the door behind her and returned to Daniel’s side.
He looked flushed, unkempt, and vulnerable, too, with his mouth open and no trace of the armour of mockery and affectation. Undefended, that was how he looked, and Curtis felt his fists tighten at the thought. If James Armstrong came by, he was looking forward to having it out with him.
The knock on the door, an hour or so later, was Miss Merton, in walking gear, with a very nice Holland and Holland shotgun under her arm and a knapsack, which she hefted. “Food and drink, and a revolver that I’ll leave him. I’ll see him right. Off you go, now. I’ve spoken to Fen.”
“Be careful, won’t you? And look after him. Thank you, Miss Merton.”
“I’ll look after him if you look after Fen,” she said dryly. “And I think, under the circumstances, you may call me Pat.”
Chapter Eleven
He was soon on “Fen” and “Archie” terms with Miss Carruth too. It felt comforting to have an ally at breakfast, as he explained how much better his knee was and she chattered artlessly about Pat’s decision to go walking all day. Somehow, without the slightest impropriety, she managed to convey that now her companion’s strict eye was lifted, she intended to have a little fun, and she accordingly attached herself to Curtis.
James Armstrong didn’t seem to care. He was frowning at the table, noticeably depleted with the absence of Daniel, Holt and Pat Merton, and not long after they had finished the meal, when Fen was proposing a lazy stroll around the gardens, he came up to Curtis.
“I say, have you seen Holt?”
“I haven’t, no. He’s sleeping jolly late.” Curtis let himself sound a touch disapproving.
“He’s not in his room.”
“Oh. Then he must have gone out early.”
“Everyone seems to have done today,” Fen put in. “Pat went off on one of her marches, and weren’t you up early, Archie?”
“About six, I suppose. I can’t say I saw Holt, though.”
“Six!” Fen gave a tiny scream. “I need my beauty sleep.”
“Then you must sleep a great deal,” said Curtis, aware his role was to flirt a little, and also that he was really not very good at it.
Armstrong didn’t come in to improve on that lumpen compliment. He seemed not to notice that Curtis had attracted the woman he’d been so doggedly pursuing. “I hope he shows up,” he said, scowling. “You didn’t hear anything last night?”
“Last night? When?”
“Any time.”
Curtis shook his head. “I went to bed early, perhaps ten. Slept like a log, I’m afraid. You don’t think Holt went out in the night? Why on earth would he do that?”
Armstrong was looking decidedly uncomfortable, and now Curtis was sure that he had known what Holt was up to. He had put Daniel in the cave, he’d known Holt was going back there in the night, for whatever hellish reason.
“I don’t know,” Armstrong said. “Maybe he heard a noise, or, or—”
“A burglar?” Fen gasped with horror. “You don’t think he confronted a burglar?”
“Of course I don’t, you st—you, you see.” Armstrong’s recovery was stumbling at best. Fen looked at him, pretty features setting into an expression of cold politeness, leaving him in no doubt she knew what he had almost said.
“I’m delighted to hear it, Mr. Armstrong. Come, Archie, escort me, please.”
Curtis offered her his arm, and she swept out into the hall with an air of offended dignity that would have suited a dowager duchess. Armstrong didn’t try to follow.
Once in the gardens, sure of privacy, Fen looked up at him, a laugh in her velvet-brown eyes. “Well! He wasn’t very gracious, was he?”
“He’s worried. Don’t take this lightly, Miss—that is, Fen. I don’t know how much Pat explained?”
“Everything I need to know, which is probably everything.” Fen spoke with sublime confidence. “So Mr. Holt won’t be coming back?”
“Ah— No. No, he won’t.”
“Good.” He looked down at her, shocked. She made a face. “I thought he was quite nasty. He laughed at everyone, underneath. He was so polite to Sir Hubert, but one could see he was sneering really.”
“Would you say so? I didn’t notice.”
“I did. I don’t much like people who laugh up their sleeves.”