Page 41 of A Rare Find

She gripped the arms of her chair. “The Barrow King? Really? That was an obvious blandishment.”

Georgina gave her a knowing smile. “It doesn’t matter if it was obvious. It worked.”

“You won’t sustain his good opinion. He will see your false praise for what it is.”

“Your father inflates his ego with self-deception. The last thing he wants is honesty from the people around him.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it. She wasn’t as flagrant as Georgina, but didn’t she adapt herself to Papa daily, smoothing his perennially ruffled feathers in a hundred subtle ways, resorting on occasion to white lies? Didn’t he demand it?

Georgina sensed her wavering and pounced. “I will ask him myself.”

“Will the Major even allow it?” She stalled, gnawing her lip, uneasy flutters in her stomach.

This was Georgina Redmayne. She should say no. No. A thousand times no.

Georgina Redmayne. They walked into a room and every head turned. They told a story, and people hung on their every word. They were beautiful, lively, appealing—everything she wasn’t. When they were sixteen, they’d convinced Lord Fawcett’s son to ride his horse into the ballroom—at least, Elfreda felt almost certain it was them. They could convince William Aubin-Aubrey to come to Twynham. She knew it.

She put a hand on her stomach. The flutters were more insistent, more excited.

“The Major doesn’t have to know,” said Georgina. “I’ll go with you, and we’ll bring the Barrow Prince back. Unless you’d rather stay here and see if we can’t turn up some treasure.”

Her spine went so stiff so fast she heard a faint crack. “That’s what you’re after.”

They didn’t have the decency to look chagrined. “Is that a sin? Even nuns were after it.”

“This conversation is over,” she said, but she was too vexed to stop herself there. “If we did turn up the hoard, the coroner would hold an inquest. Hidden troves of gold and silver belong to the Crown, not the finder. It would all go to the king.”

And probably, eventually, to the British Museum. With her name attached.

Her cheeks warmed.

Georgina seemed unimpressed. “The coroner won’t miss a chalice or two. I don’t need much, just enough to rent a room for a year in a boardinghouse where I won’t get fleas. Plus expenses.”

“I would miss the chalices.” The warmth drained from her cheeks.

“But you wouldn’t miss me.” Georgina’s eyes sparkled, and they shot her a charming smile. “Just a handful of gold coins, and I’m out of your life. Isn’t that worth any price?”

Despite herself, she gave a snorting laugh. “I’m perfectly content to ignore you for the next thirteen months. It doesn’t matter where you are.”

“Look,” said Georgina, “I want loot, yes. I want to get back to London and tread the boards. But I’ll go with you to the Peak even if you decline. You’re right that I should make amends, and luring your Barrow Prince is the best I can do. So let me do it.”

They were very nearly irresistible. She could resist them, of course. She could say no right now. But this was about William Aubin-Aubrey. Faced with Georgina, he would say yes.

“Suit yourself,” she said.

“Good.” Georgina nodded, pleased. A moment later, they gave their head a shake. “Aren’t you intrigued, though? I can’t stop thinking about the clues.”

She stilled. “Clues?”

Georgina tapped the bottom of the page. “Clues.”

“The riddles?”

“Yes. Riddles. Clues.”

“The riddles aren’t clues.” Elfreda’s brows pinched. “See this line under the narrative?” She traced the inked line with her finger. “The riddles are beneath. This is a footnote. Grandmama put these riddles there as commentary.”

Georgina leaned back in their chair. “Mysterious commentary. Couldn’t she have included the riddles because they were there on the page, in the original manuscript? Just not in the main paragraph?”