The River of No Return by Bee Ridgway (best novels of all time txt) 📕

“No,” Julia lied. She held it lightly. “What is it?”

Eamon looked at her, long and piercingly, and Julia returned his gaze. Apparently satisfied, he took a piece of paper out of his pocket. She could see that it had a line or two of Grandfather’s writing on it. “‘July the twenty-first, 1803,’” Eamon read out loud. “‘Solved reached in forty-eight seconds.’”

Julia turned the box over in her hands. “It requires a solution?” She hoped her voice sounded innocent.

Eamon snatched it out of her hands. “Yes, stupid girl. It is clearly a magical box of some sort. There is either something in it or something in the opening of it that must unlock time. I found it in a hidden compartment in this desk—devilish clever, but I found it. This box, and a worthless miniature of some mulatto.” Eamon dug carelessly in his pocket and extracted another square of paper. He handed it over and Julia gazed down at a remarkably realistic painting, smooth as ice. It depicted a young woman’s laughing face. The woman’s skin was darker than English people’s, her hair a deeper black, her eyes a clearer blue. Indeed, the colors of everything in the picture, including the slice of sky behind her head and the yellows of her dress, seemed richer than any Julia had seen before. She turned the painting over, but there was nothing written on the back. The paper was slick; Julia had no idea how the paint could possibly adhere to it. She held it back out to Eamon, but he waved his hand. “Keep it if you like.”

“Might not this picture be the talisman?”

“Give it back!” He snatched the painting and studied it. “Perhaps, perhaps . . . but how?”

“If Grandfather hid it with the box, perhaps they are to be used together.”

Eamon frowned at her, suspicious. “You suddenly seem very eager to help, Julia.”

“As you know, Cousin, I do not believe there is a talisman. I believe Grandfather’s talent died with him. But if this trinket will satisfy your quest for one, I shall be delighted.”

“There is a talisman.” Eamon pushed the painting back into his pocket, oblivious to her sarcasm. “I am sure of it. It is this box. But the note is puzzling. The box must be manipulated in a certain way for exactly forty-eight seconds? Could that be it?”

Julia knew very well what the note chronicled. Grandfather had been looking at his stopwatch while she had tried to solve the puzzle. She had thought herself defeated, for the box never opened. But clearly she had, in fact, succeeded, and he had been testing her speed with it. Why?

Eamon was half twisting the box one way, then twisting it back, and half twisting it another. He was clearly afraid to disarrange it. “How does it work?” he muttered to himself. “What is the secret?”

Julia cleared her throat. “Cousin, may I please leave you to this?”

Eamon looked up at her blindly, the lacquered box sickly bright in his pale fingers. Then he nodded. “Yes, yes. Go. Run along. In fact, I don’t want to see you for the remainder of the day.”

And I hope to never see you again, Julia thought as she left the room.

* * *

Nick leapt from his horse, tossed the reins to a waiting groom, and ran from the stable yard to the house. He began yelling for Clare before he was even properly inside.

She came running, her face pale. “What is it? Are you ill?”

“I am completely well,” he said, “but what in the devil’s name is wrong with you?”

“With me?” His sister drew up short. “Have you hit your head again?” She came forward, hand outstretched to feel his forehead.

“There’s nothing amiss with me.” He pushed past her and strode ahead into the drawing room, then turned and pointed a finger. “But you need a damned good explanation for why you haven’t been to see Julia Percy, when you must know that her reputation is in tatters. The new Lord Darchester is keeping her locked up like a prisoner. Or are you deceived by the slander?”

“Heavens.” Clare sank onto a settee. “I feared that something was terribly wrong over at Castle Dar. There has been talk among the servants that the new earl might be mad. Their footman is betrothed to our kitchen maid and she said—”

“I see. You feared something might be wrong. And you heard from the servants that the earl is mad. So instead of helping our family’s friend and neighbor, you spent your time weaving plans with Jem Jemison for the destruction of Blackdown.”

Clare thinned her lips and took a moment to respond. “Mr. Jemison has left Blackdown, you will be pleased to know. He has gone to London.”

For some reason this only enraged Nick further. “So now I must find a new steward? Wonderful! And why didn’t he tell me of his decision to leave? I am the marquess—”

“I hired him when you were dead,” Clare said sharply, her temper finally flaring. “And so he came to me this morning and told me he was leaving. He is in London, trying to find another way to care for the soldiers of your regiment.”

“Oh, they were my soldiers, were they, who were going to swarm like locusts over my land? You didn’t tell me that yesterday. And now you imply that I am the rich man of the parable, that I turn them from the door like Lazarus the leper! I understand you, Sister. You imply that I am a negligent boor, and perhaps I am. But you are no better. Explain to me about Julia Percy, and why you have abandoned her!”

Clare stood still, allowing his rage to crash around her, her face rigid. “You have been away too long. You forget: You cannot simply burst into the home of a belted earl on the strength of servants’ gossip and demand that he hand over a member of his family.”

Nick threw