Page 75 of A Treacherous Treasure

“It is nearly well, but I am trying not to put my weight on it, which is why I’m using the walking stick.”

Her heart fluttered, partially because he was so kind and thoughtful, but also because she wondered if he would kiss her again, if they found themselves alone.

“I am coming with you,” Mrs. Heywood called out from behind them.

Rebecca’s heart sank.

They waited for Mrs. Heywood. She was already breathing hard after hurrying to catch up with them, and then they resumed their walk back to the house.

“I suppose you were snooping in Captain Heywood’s room, in his private papers and things, to find that map and that letter.” Mrs. Heywood was speaking between huffed breaths. “But if you had not found them, I suppose we’d never have found the Heywood family’s treasure. And I suppose it has occurred to you that if you marry Gilbert Heywood, you shall secure both the treasure and this house, in addition to his grand estate. But do not think that I blame you. I’m sure any young woman would do the same.”

Not only her heart, but her stomach sank at Thomas Westbrook being forced to listen to Mrs. Heywood’s ugly assumptions.

What had she ever done to make that woman hate her so?

In the early months of her marriage, Mrs. Heywood had been cordial to her, much of the time, anyway. But she’d become less cordial in her attitude the more Arthur ignored her and betrayed her with other women. It was as if she couldn’t get angry at her son, and since he was doing things that embarrassed her, she had to blame his behavior on someone else. Rebecca was the only scapegoat around.

For the longest time, Rebecca had yearned for the days when her mother-in-law had been amiable, or at least had veiled her contempt and criticism so that it wasn’t so obvious. But now she had no expectations of the woman ever being more than barely civil. For now she had no choice but to endure the woman’s blatant hatred. At least she could be under no illusions anymore about what the woman thought of her. She felt sick, though, as she wondered what Thomas thought of the woman’s accusations.

“I have never had any intention of marrying Gilbert Heywood.” Rebecca tried to keep her voice calm and emotionless. Certainly, it had enraged Mrs. Heywood that her son had left the estate to his wife instead of his mother, though he had made ample provision for her. But again, Mrs. Heywood couldn’t direct her anger at her precious son.

“Well, and I had no intention of marrying Mr. Heywood until he asked my father for my hand. Leastways, now we know who killed my Arthur. I am only too sorry that that rotten butler of ours had to kill the constable before he was brought to bear for his sin—murdering a landowning gentleman on his own land. Sickening. If he were alive, and if I were a man, I’d beat him until he was sorry he’d ever been born, and then I’d slit his throat.”

Rebecca shuddered inwardly.

“Perhaps if you had not shot the man, he could have been apprehended properly and locked away. Then he would have had to face the King’s Court and all could have been done decently and in order.”

Her repetition of the coroner’s own words made Rebecca wonder if he thought she was to blame for shooting the constable.

“What was he doing in your room?” Mrs. Heywood abruptly asked.

“He wanted the treasure map. He demanded I give it to him, several times. When he came toward me, I shot him.” She resented feeling the need to explain this again to Mrs. Heywood. The woman made her feel like a chastised child, causing her to feel that she should explain it to Mrs. Heywood all over again.

“And you could not have shared the knowledge of the treasure map with me? It belonged to me more than to you, as you’ve only been in this family for two years and I have been in it for thirty. Mr. Westbrook, I still don’t understand how you became involved in all of this. You and Arthur were not friends.”

Thomas said nothing for a few seconds, and Mrs. Heywood went on.

“I suppose Rebecca confided in you instead of me. But so might I, if I were young and unmarried. Well, here we are. I am going up to my room, and I shall write the news to my brother. He shall know how to advise—well, good day.” She hurried away up the stairs.

“I would apologize for her,” Rebecca said softly, “but I feel no responsibility for her behavior.”

“As well you shouldn’t,” Thomas said. He reached for her hand, but just then, a servant passed through the hallway behind them. He let his hand drop.

“Atwater!” Mrs. Heywood called, as her footsteps could be heard coming down the stairs. “I must speak with the cook about the dinner tonight.” As she came into view again, she asked, “Will Mr. Westbrook and Caroline be staying for dinner?”

Rebecca could feel herself bristling, her shoulders and neck growing tense at Mrs. Heywood’s rudeness and the fact that she felt free to take charge of the servants and such household matters as dinner, duties Rebecca had been carrying out since Mrs. Heywood had left on her visit to her brother’s home.

“We will not be staying,” Thomas said.

Rebecca liked it better when Mrs. Heywood refused to speak to Thomas Westbrook.

Mrs. Heywood walked in the direction of the kitchen while she continued to talk, something about dinner and servants not taking direction and how hard it was to get a good cook.

When she was out of earshot, Thomas’s gaze met hers and he gave her a gentle smile. Her heart stuttered.

“I should get back, to see if they need my help.”

“Of course.”