Page 80 of Love, the Duke
Not so for Hurst. A harsh reprimand worked its ireinto Hurst’s voice. “What are you doing here? I told you you’re never to search a home alone.”
Was that all he had to say? In a sweetened whisper, she reasoned, “I’m not alone. I’m with you.” She could see his displeasure ease back a little. But she was certain he would argue the point more strongly at a later time.
In three strides he met her, pulling her close and away from the door. His handsome face loomed over hers, his eyes gleaming. “Ophelia, you vex me.”
Ignoring his censure, she asked, “Have you found the chalice?”
“Of course not. I’d be out of here if I had. We could be discovered any moment. The baron will return and find I’m not in the drawing room and come looking for me. We must hurry. He mentioned that things could be cleverly hidden right before our eyes, and we aren’t seeing it. And there are plenty of artifacts in here, but the chalice isn’t on the bookshelves. Most of the tables and shelving are displaying all rarities. You start over there.”
In one continuous swoop she glanced at everything. Late afternoon sunlight filtered through the room, dust motes danced off the heavy velvet draperies and anything else they touched. Ophelia went to a series of glass doors, very narrow and plain. She opened them.
Glancing her way, Hurst whispered, “What’s in there?”
“Nothing,” she answered, losing hope.
“I have a feeling in my gut that it’s in this room,” he whispered.
“What makes you think that?” she asked as she continued to look over a shelf filled with small figurines and delicate porcelain flowers.
“Because I believe in you. And you think it’s here.”
Ophelia’s hopes soared as they both went back to searching. She gazed about, moving things and lookingquickly. All to no avail. The paintings were dark and rich, a contrast to a large stained-glass panel that hung on a wall across from the window. A light prism reflecting colors far beyond those found in a rainbow eased its way across the wall as time ticked quickly onward.
Ophelia stood back. A gorgeous mosaic represented a man wearing a crown. She didn’t recognize him as royalty, but he possessed a regal air. Ringed fingers held on to the hilt of a sword pointing down. The glass pieces were vibrant and colorful and didn’t seem old, yet there was something odd about it.
“Hurst,” she whispered. “Come look at this glasswork. How is it being illuminated?”
“There’s a mirror on the other wall,” he said, after looking it over. “Sunlight is being reflected to illuminate the stained glass. But it’s more than that. The man in it is a likeness of Gagingcliffe wearing a king’s crown.”
“That’s kind of eerie.” She gave it a closer inspection. “I think you are right.”
“The man is eccentric. The glass colors seem translucent in places, as if the wall behind it is hollow.”
Looking left and right and then up, they saw that a series of pulleys had been anchored to the ceiling; the stained glass was suspended by them. “Ophelia, with just the right light shining through it, the sword’s hilt disappears, and it looks as if the man is holding a chalice.”
Gasping and unable to contain her excitement, Ophelia stared into the glass to see if she could see what Hurst had readily found.
His hands gripped the smooth sides of the heavy stained glass and she placed hers beside his. Slowly, they manipulated the chain to roll the pulleys and slide it open.
Ophelia’s pulse sped up and her heart pounded as shewatched the mystery reveal itself. Indeed, the artwork served a dual purpose! The framed stained glass covered a vitrine or some kind of wall niche. Centered in the middle of the shelf sat a solitary object. One that took Ophelia’s breath and chilled every inch of her body.
Chatham’s chalice!
They had found it.
Hurst grabbed the sacrament and gave it to her. “Is it the real one?” he asked quickly.
In her heart she knew it was, and by its weight she was certain. Still, she looked beneath the base of the stem to verify the maker’s mark. Her legs went weak with relief, and she steadied herself next to Hurst while smiling and blinking back tears of relief and joy. “It is.”
His expression filled with urgent determination. “Good. I want you out of here now. Go home and get the registry book. I’ll join you there and we’ll leave for Wickenhamden. If the roads aren’t boggy, we can have this safely back in the church before sunup.”
“Yes.” Her breaths were so labored with excitement she could hardly speak. She pointed to the vitrine behind him. “The bag that holds the chalice.”
Reaching out quickly, he took the cloth and stuffed the fine silk into her hand. “Go to my carriage; Mallord is waiting inside.”
“My footman?” she asked.
“I knew if there was trouble you’d trust him, and so do I. I assumed you were in the house and told him to wait until you came out; he was to take you home immediately. After you get home, tell him to bring the magistrate here. The authorities need to handle this.” Hurst wound his arm around the small of her back, drawing her close with his face inches from hers. “Do you understand, Ophelia? Please do not disobey me on any ofthis. Go home straightaway. No stops. Hold on to that chalice.”
