Once Upon a Remembrance

  "We should quit this place before someone shows up," Malry cautioned.

  Pierce indicated the lone crate that remained on the stone ledge.

  Malry grinned as he carefully lit a cigar. "Out of eighty crates, we should leave him something." He puffed on the cigar. "It's enough to make a grown man cry, it is."

  Pierce smiled. "I'm going up to the Manor."

  Malry gave him a narrowed glance. "Is that wise?"

  "It's time Treat and I were face to face."

  "I'll go with you. He's got more tricks up his sleeves than a card dealer."

  "No, let me finish this. It's become very personal."

  "All right, just don't let him get the drop on you. I'll ride into the next town to bring the sheriff. I'll also be bringing a special package back with me. It's time all this came to an end."

  Pierce raised a brow. "Hawk?"

  "Aye." Malry walked out into the open air, gave a quick look and then motioned to Pierce. He put a hand on Pierce's arm. "Lad, we don't know what will happen when I bring Hawk back, but if you're gone, know that all your hard work was for a good cause."

  "If he hadn’t been protected, I would cease to exist," Pierce said simply.

  Malry grimaced. "I'm off."

  Pierce watched Malry disappear into the line of trees, knowing his horse would be waiting. Now to catch Treat at his own game, he thought grimly. The time had come for the unmasking.

  Pierce spun on his heel and walked across the lawn toward the house. As he entered the back yard of the house, he sensed he was being watched. He stopped and saw Treat walk around the side of the house.

  "Hawk. I'm sorry it has come to this," Treat said. He motioned with one arm and two men with rifles also appeared.

  "Treat."

  "You never could mind your own business, even when we were children." Treat pulled a pistol from under his jacket and pointed it at Pierce. He indicated Pierce should move ahead of him.

  "I know what you've been doing," Pierce said. "I went to the cave."

  Treat laughed. "I have a perfect right to a side business if I choose."

  "Not when it involves stealing from the family shipping business."

  "Hawk, you have no idea what I’m involved in." Pierce detected the note of desperation.

  "You'll find a surprise waiting for you when you go to the cave," Pierce remarked.

  Treat grabbed his arm. "What have you done?" He turned to one of the armed men. "Go check the cave. Hurry, you fool!" the man turned and ran across the lawn toward the river.

  "Don't worry, your stolen contraband is safe."

  "Why do you always have to ruin everything?" Treat said angrily, waving the pistol.

  "Why, Treat? Money is deposited every month in your account. Why steal from the business? Why try to kill me?" he demanded.

  "Hawk, you always had everything. Our father's attention, the estates, the money, everything. I’m taking back what I should have had all along. With you out of the picture, I'll prove my parentage, and I will have what I deserve."

  Treat prodded him in the back with the pistol.

  The sound of running feet announced the arrival of the man who'd gone to check the cave.

  "There's one crate in there. Nothing else," he said quickly, huffing and puffing.

  "You just signed your death warrant," Treat snarled.

  "You've got the wrong man, you know," Pierce said. "I'm not Hawk. In fact, Malry is bringing Hawk back as we speak, along with the authorities."

  "Do you think me an idiot?" Treat said, "Your games will not work. Now be quiet."

  "You remarked yourself that I haven't been myself since the attack down by the offices."

  "We'll probably never know who was behind that," Treat said. "I’m sorry I didn't think of it."

  "Why lie about it?" Pierce asked. "There's no one else who wants to harm me."

  "Apparently there is, but it wasn't me."

  "It does not matter. When Hawk arrives he will know everything."

  "Enough."

  They entered a small clearing in which stood a cottage.

  "Inside," Treat said.

  Pierce stepped over the threshold. He turned back to Treat, but felt instead a blow to the back of his head.

  "Put him on the bed," Treat snapped. "We have to find that cargo." The door slammed.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Isabeau grew suspicious when no one in the household had seen Malry or Pierce for the better part of the day. She went to find Maize and Belva.

  She found Maize in the wash building out back along with the housemaids.

  "I really think something's going on with Malry and Hawk. I'm worried that no one has seen them all day."

  "It's that Mr. Treat," Maize blurted.

  "What do you know?"

  "Merely that that is the direction the two of them have been looking."

  Isabeau wondered why she hadn't been told that.

  "They seem to be missing -- doesn't that make you a bit worried?"

  "I have faith in the two of them. They'll know what to do."

  "Do you think they're at Sanderly Manor? All these accidents and attempted murder, people sneaking about in the night has me totally stressed. Worried," she clarified. "It's obvious whoever's behind all this will stop at nothing to harm Hawk. We should get the law involved. If we can't trust the sheriff in this town, maybe I should ride to the next town."

  Maize looked suitably worried. "Well, it's too late for you to leave now, it's almost dusk. It's not safe on the road this time of night and it's over an hour's ride."

  "I have to take that risk."

  Belva hurried across the yard. "Something terrible is about to happen, I can feel it." Belva began to cry, her thin shoulders shaking. "It's terrible. I saw it -- shots fired and I saw men falling. I am so afraid for Hawk. I'm afraid they've foolishly stepped into the line of fire."

  "Do you know where he is?" Isabeau asked urgently, dread a hard pit in her stomach.

  Belva closed her eyes, swaying back and forth. "It's dark and it's a sickly sweet scent that turns my stomach. It adds to the unsettled feeling I have."

  Isabeau froze, thinking of Sanderly Manor, recalling a sickly sweet smell. She put a hand over her mouth, a deep heaviness pressing on her chest.

  "Treat," she said. "It's Treat." She turned to Maize. "Where are the pants I wore when I first arrived?"

  Maize pointed to a neat pile of clothes on top of a wicker hamper. "We saved them just in case. Why do you need them?"

  Isabeau unfastened her skirt, quickly let it drop to her feet and pulled on her jeans, fingers fumbling with the zipper. "I need something to tie my hair back."

  Maize handed her a leather thong and Isabeau pulled back the length of her hair and secured it. "Where are you going?" Maize cried as she hurried back outside after her.

  "To ride for the sheriff. I'll make him listen."

  She wove her way through the garden and to the stables, a pain beginning in her chest and then settling in her back. Angrily, she wiped away the moisture gathering in her eyes. She had to stay focused. Pierce's life depended on it.

  Isabeau erupted into the stables. She halted, trying to calm herself. She would do herself no good if she didn't calm down. The mare would sense her distress and likely they'd both be hurt. There was no time for a saddle. With a halter, she mounted the mare from the mounting block and hurried into the quickly falling night.

  #

  But Isabeau rode to Sanderly Manor instead of to the sheriff. Everything inside her was screaming to go there. She and Pierce had come so far in this strange time, she could not lose him now. She didn't dwell on the consequences if she failed.

  Isabeau pulled the halter and rope from the horse and gave her a light slap on her hindquarters, hoping the mare would return to the stables at Hawk's Den. She cut through the woods and walked the last quarter of a mile to Sanderly Manor. The house appeared deathly still as she skirted it. Her eyes had adjusted to the dark, and she sa
w armed men walking the perimeter of the grounds. Keeping to the shadows, she made her way around to the back of the house. Maybe she could find a way inside and see if Malry and Pierce were actually here. She couldn't imagine that anyone could get the best of the both of them at once.

  "Did you hear something?" the rough voice was too close for her comfort. She moved backward slowly and kept moving until she was close to the tree line once again. Isabeau kept the two men patrolling in sight. She picked up the scent of the pigs before she reached their pen. The men on patrol walked in her direction. As noiselessly as possible, she crawled over the top board and knelt in the pen. Using one hand, she quickly pushed away the pig that came too close with his snout. The men continued past the pen. Watching them through the slats she waited until they rounded the side of the house before she quickly climbed from the pen. Shivering, she hurried toward the house.

  Crouching down, she carefully pried rotted wood from a small window at ground level. Ducking down, she was suddenly yanked backwards. Landing with force on her backside Isabeau could see the gleam of a rifle barrel in her face.

  "Move and I'll blow your head off. What do you think you're about?"

  A second figure joined them. "Come on, let's go. Another one for Mr. Treat. Bring him along. It's been a busy night."

  She didn't speak in case she gave away that she was a woman and not a boy in her jeans. The heavy dusk aided her at this point. They prodded her along an uneven rocky path into thick woods. The night grew darker, the wooded area more concealing. Were they going to kill her now?

  They walked to a small clearing, a tiny cottage-like house at the center. She could barely make out its outline in the dark.

  "Put him in with the other."

  They booted open the cottage door and she was shoved forward, the momentum causing Isabeau to trip over the threshold and land on her knees.

  "Don't even think about leaving. We'll shoot you if you come outside this door." They slammed the door and she heard booted feet retreat.

  #

  Isabeau crouched on the floor, hearing heavily labored breathing across the room. Carefully, she groped her way on hands and knees until she felt the post of a bed, then a leg. 

  Unmoving, booted feet.

  "Pierce?" She breathed fearfully, certain in her heart who lay so still.

  Gently, she shook his arm. "Pierce!"

  A groan was the only response.

  "Pierce! Wake up. Please, please, wake up. What have they done?" she muttered.

  She groped around for a lantern, discovering instead a candle holder on the stand beside the bed. She kept feeling around and found a box with several wooden matches. Striving for calm, she struck a match and lit the candle stub. Quickly, she scanned the sparse room, seeing the blackened fireplace, a few smoldering coals barely glimmering in the hearth.

  Cupping a hand protectively about the flame, Isabeau placed it in the brass holder and dropped the blackened globe in place.

  Leaning over Pierce, she ran her fingers experimentally over his scalp. A splotch of dried blood was crusted just into his hairline and his breathing sounded alarmingly labored. She shook his shoulder but could not waken him. She touched his head, worried about the head injury. Not again.

  Clutching at him, Isabeau lay her head on his chest, eyes burning dryly as she stared into the semi-darkness.

  The fine lawn shirt beneath her cheek grew damp as her tears wet his shirt.

  "Isabeau." Hard arms moved to encircle her. She drew a shaky breath, feeling queerly off balance.

  She carefully ran her fingers over his warm brow and put her lips to his ear. "No matter what happens, know that I love you." Gently, she touched her lips to his. "I'll always love you."

  She stroked his cheek, willing in him strength and vitality.

  Sitting upright, Isabeau tore a corner of her shirt and tried to clean the dried blood.

  His eyelids flickered, then opened.

  "Tell me you're all right," she pleaded gently.

  "Isabeau." Her name was a groan.

  Despite her squeak of protest, quickly muffled with her own hand, Pierce levered himself upright, then leaned against the wall behind him. "Damnation!" He touched his head. "I feel like I've been in a drunken brawl." Grimacing, he rolled his head back, his fingers kneading the muscles at the base of his neck.

  "I've been so worried," she whispered. "No one knew where you were. Malry's not back yet either, I didn't know what to do. Do they have Malry also?" Unable to contain the emotion roiling within, Isabeau knelt on the bed to put her arms tightly about him, wordlessly telling him all she had not said.

  "It's all right," he reassured her gruffly, then he went still.

  A strange expression crossed his features.

  "What is it?" she asked.

  "That smell. A new scent, sweetheart?"

  Isabeau colored. "The pig pen," she muttered. "I had to hide there."

  A hint of a grin molded his lips.

  Abruptly, she leaned back.

  He pulled her back into his arms. "I love you no matter what you smell like. I'm sorry you had to get into the pen."

  She smiled at him.

  Pulling her chin up, he demanded, "Why are you here in this mess?"

  "Why are you here in this mess?" she threw back at him. "I came looking for you."

  Pierce groaned. "I know, we're in a fine mess together." He sighed and leaned back, taking her with him. "Treat," he said simply, nodding at her angry grimace. "He's been smuggling, and he's wasted on opium. He's in pretty deep with a lawless bunch between all of that and gambling. Malry and I have investigated his finances. He's up to his eyes in debt.

  "We discovered boxes of illegal contraband stored in the Manor's cold cellar and underground caves. I planned to confront him, but I was careless," he ended in disgust.

  "There are underground caves connecting with the Manor?"

  "Yes. Actually, Malry knew of them, and I had forgotten them, though I played in them growing up. Before the war, they were used for smuggling, then during the war, valuables were hidden there. They access a river outlet."

  "How did you suspect Treat was involved with contraband?"

  "Malry and Hawk work for the government. They've been watching this area for some time."

  Isabeau blinked. "Well, I never saw that one coming," she said slowly. "That's why I kept getting conflicting impressions about Malry. I suppose he's undercover?"

  Pierce nodded and put a finger to his lips. He stood up, stretching, then moved over to the door. "There's two guards posted outside. Maybe we need a diversion to get out of here."

  "First, let me look at your head. Sit down."

  "Quickly." He sat on the bed, handed her a clean handkerchief and dipped his head. "We're sure the sheriff is involved. Malry and Hawk have been a team for years."

  "You didn't really have amnesia?" she demanded, using the cloth to dab at the blood.

  "Oh, I had amnesia all right. Malry, being the resourceful fellow, figured I could be a temporary stand-in for Hawk until he recovered from being attacked three months ago."

  Isabeau looked at him. "But I thought you were attacked?"

  "No. I just showed up in this time with no memory. Hawk was the one who was actually attacked that night."

  "So this has all been a farce, and Malry's known all along you weren't Hawk?" she asked angrily. "What if you’d never remembered?"

  "But that didn't happen," he said gently, taking the handkerchief from her and refolding it. "That's good enough. Don't be hard on Malry. He was looking out for Hawk."

  Isabeau crossed her arms. "No excuse." She shook it off, knowing this wasn't the time for this discussion. "What does Treat plan to do with us?" she asked instead.

  "I don't intend to wait and see."

  Pierce gestured toward the bed.

  Taken back, she looked at him dubiously.

  Grinning wolfishly, Pierce said, "When I signal, scream as loud as you can. We're going to se
t those boys back on their heels."

  Isabeau stood on the bed. He moved to one side of the door, wielding a large chunk of firewood. He signaled with his hand and she opened her mouth, letting out a scream she hoped would wake the dead.

  Silence.

  She screamed again. The door flew open, one man then another charged through the opening, howling in turn as Pierce belted their knees with the block of wood.

  Clumsily, they tumbled over each other, rifles hitting the floor, one discharging with a deafening roar into the ceiling.

  Jumping from the bed, Isabeau snatched up a rifle, then backed toward the door, motioning at Pierce.

  "Hurry!" she cried.

  Pierce stood unmoving. The rifle he'd grabbed he now let fall to the floor.

  "What are you waiting for?" she hissed. Suddenly she was prodded in the back.

  She turned quickly, coming face to face with Treat. A grin split his handsome face, as if he were enjoying a secret laugh.

  She stepped back as he pointed a pistol at her.

  She threw the rifle at him "Murderer!" she spat, glad when the rifle hit him on the shin. 

  Angrily, he kicked it aside, all amusement gone as he stepped forward and put his face close to hers.

  He reared back instantly, his eyes widening in almost comical surprise. "Good God!" he exclaimed, "M-Miss Isabeau!"

  Isabeau turned her back on him and stepped closer to Pierce.

  "I'd never have believed it of you, Hawk," Treat said slowly. "You kept her closeted for your own amusement." He looked at Isabeau. "I have to admit to grave disappointment at this turn of events."

  "We're going to be married, so watch your mouth," Pierce growled, taking a step forward. Treat cocked the pistol, then gave vent to a malicious laugh. "Married? I don't think so. Remember Amelia, your beloved fiancée?" He smirked at Pierce, the gun wavering in his hand. "It's against the law to have two wives. Of course, you could be like Father and keep your mistress on the side. If something happens to you, don't worry about Amelia. I'll console her."

  Motioning Isabeau back against the wall, Treat picked up the rifles. "It doesn't matter what plans you have, you can't marry." He laughed. "I won't let you. You haven't got a decent coin to your name. How do you propose to marry?"