Deadly Treasures. Vivian Conroy

but they had been on to him from the start and had devised their own plan. Alkmene had to be sent over to win him from the other woman. Alkmene was strong-willed; she would know how to handle him.

      Oh, she could just see her father’s hand, writing down the words. She was ashamed of it right as she sat here, fiery blood rising into her cheeks. Not just that Father had written it and his friend had believed it, but that she herself had risen so readily to the bait. She had just wanted to travel; she had not cared for Duncan at all, whether he was intellectual or not, a master of those fields she took an avid interest in. She had believed she could outsmart them all by going first, then moulding Duncan to be at least a little open to finding a suitable wife, and she could return home with fabulous experiences and nothing to feel bad about towards the viscount and his wife.

      But at her ready agreement the viscount had thought she really wanted to snare Duncan and that finding opposition on the way would only make her desire stronger. Her desire to secure her childhood friend and to outwit another woman who had no right to him.

      It was a clever plan on the viscount’s part, but it hinged completely on the assumption that she did want Duncan and she did not. Her appearance on the scene would be extremely painful, not only for Duncan and his secret love, but for her as well, because she would appear to be hunting a man who did not care for her, who indeed was pursuing another.

      It might look quite desperate of her to follow Duncan to Cornwall where he had retreated to ‘work’.

      Alkmene resisted the urge to clap her hands to her face and groan out loud. Her first, hot-headed inclination was to order the driver to turn around and take her back to London where she could tell the viscount to his face what she thought of him and his clever little plans.

      But he was a dear friend of her father’s and she had no intention of humiliating him. She had to grit her teeth and make the best of this embarrassing situation. It was after all – in part – of her own making. If she had not been so eager to make a trip, she would have declined. Her own motives had pushed her to accept, and now she had to face the consequences.

      A sign flashed past, reading ‘Blackcastle’. ‘Is that the village where I will be staying?’ she asked the driver, hoping she’d sound normal and not like she was crushed by his revelation. It had been a shock, but for a very different reason than the driver might assume.

      ‘Yes. It was named after an old castle nearby. There is just one tower left of it. The excavation site is a few miles to the south. You can see the tower from the site.’

      ‘How interesting.’ Taking a few breaths, Alkmene felt calmer. Her heart rate returned to normal, and she relaxed her clenched hands.

      She just had to press on now, meet Duncan and find out all about his secret love. Perhaps if he was sincere and the young woman was suitable enough, she might even put in a good word for him, convincing his family that his choice was not so bad?

      Her heart skipped a beat again. Who was she fooling here? Now that the viscount and his wife believed they could have her for a daughter-in-law, no other woman would do, let alone someone who had for some reason not been eligible to begin with. Her present involvement made it that much harder for the young lovers to ever wed, not easier.

      How Duncan would hate her as soon as he realized what she was here for…

      Meanwhile the driver steered the car ably through a small village. Stone houses on either side of the road with gardens in front of them, fruit-bearing trees beside them, climbing roses on trellises…

      In front of a low-roofed building marked ‘livery stable’ a girl was brushing a fine dark horse, not even bothering to look at the Buick.

      Alkmene was surprised that an unknown car, especially such a fine imported model, didn’t draw a response from the locals. One could argue that perhaps girls were not interested in cars, but a few more yards down the road two old men sat on a bench discussing something and they didn’t turn their weathered faces to the sound of the car engine either, but kept talking, one gesturing wildly with one hand holding a pipe. Their conversation seemed to engage them so that they were completely oblivious to their surroundings.

      Alkmene turned her head to look at them through the rear window. Perhaps some local event had shaken the natives. She wondered what that all-important occurrence could be.

      As they left the houses behind, the road rose to the top of a hill. Directly behind it lay flat grassy land, with bushes here and there. Birds rose from them, flashing around too quickly to make out what they were. In the distance a tall round tower stood outlined against the blue skies. It was much larger and plumper than a church tower. It had to be the remainder of the old Black Castle, after which the village took its name.

      The sun beating down from the cloudless sky above outlined everything in stark bright lines as if drawn by an exquisite artist.

      Alkmene breathed and tasted the freedom she had often wished for in the past. With a smile she sat up straighter and looked to her left where she could just discern an area that had been fenced off. Rough wooden fences were used, also wicker ones, and even string, running from one wooden pole inserted into the earth to another. She assumed that was the excavation site. There also was a simple wooden construction that was probably a tool shed or something.

      The driver slowed down and turned the car left into a dirt track that led straight to the excavation site. It was full of potholes that shook the car and reverberated in Alkmene’s back and neck.

      But she barely noticed, staring intently ahead. The wall of the tool shed that was directly opposite her now had been painted white, but the coat of paint wasn’t even. Some parts lay deeper.

      Like there had been carving in the wall that the paint had been intended to cover up.

      Letters. G-e-t…

      O-u…

      Get out?

      It sounded much like a threat.

      ‘There they are,’ the driver said, and Alkmene followed his nod. A group of people had gathered to their right. Workers in overalls with leather kneecaps, a man in a sharp suit… Had they gathered because some exciting find had been made? She would be lucky to arrive at some high point in the excavation’s proceedings. Duncan would be pleased and not suspicious to see her, and she could immediately join in the group sensation, without being stared at for being both a woman and a non-specialist in this field.

      The driver braked. Alkmene did not wait for him to get out and open her door for her, but opened it herself and climbed out. In preparation of the conditions on site she had put on a tweed skirt under a sturdy jacket and some decent shoes that would do for walking, climbing and the like.

      The wind coming across the hilly land grabbed at her hair as she marched up to the excited group. The well-dressed man in the suit turned to her with a frown as if he was not sure what she was doing there.

      Past him she spotted two uniformed policemen, each holding an arm of…

      ‘Duncan!’ Alkmene cried.

      Duncan Woolsbury had not changed much since she had last seen him. He had always been tall for his age and sturdily built, with broad shoulders. He had a real barrel chest now and his bare arms were covered with muscle cords. His reddish hair shone in the sunshine like fire. He pulled himself free from the policemen’s hold, exclaiming, ‘I will not flee.’

      Apparently his short words made an impression for they did not take hold of him again.

      Duncan stepped forward to Alkmene and said, ‘This is not a very good time for a visit, I’m afraid.’ He scanned her from top to bottom. ‘You’ve come on behalf of my father? To talk some sense into me?’

      Alkmene felt a fiery flush come up. She hadn’t expected Duncan to be quite so forthright. In the presence of others at that! ‘Your father did mention to me you were here now and doing interesting work.’

      ‘My father doesn’t find my work interesting, or worthwhile. He wants me to give it up and come back home. Has he sent