Behind the Mask (52 page)

Abbi left the park to do her other errands, delighted to find the painting supplies she needed with little trouble. She paid for the purchase and arranged to have it delivered the following day. Then she ordered several paint smocks in various fabrics and paid for them as well.

Riding slowly homeward, Abbi’s thoughts were overwhelmed by how little she knew about Cameron. She was carrying his child, yet she knew almost nothing about his circumstances or background. She had married him without question, but she had no idea what her name would be when their marriage was made legal.

A dull ache settled low in her back, and she dismounted to lead the horse for a few minutes in order to give her muscles some diversion. She was aware of people passing on the road in both directions, but it wasn’t until a white stallion fell in time with her steps that she interrupted her train of thought and looked up.

“Your Grace,” she said sarcastically as she looked into the eyes of Nikolaus du Woernig. She found it ironic to see how evil he looked now that she knew his true character. She wondered how she ever could have been foolish enough to believe that he had any good intentions whatsoever. She concluded that he was a very good actor when he wanted to be.

“Abbi, my sweet.” He smiled like the devil. “It’s been a long time.”

“Not long enough,” she replied.

“Have you considered my offer?” he asked, ignoring her rudeness.

“I have. And I’m not interested.”

He chuckled. “Why not? I’m not such a bad guy.”

“You’re worse than bad,” she sneered. “Besides, I’m in love with another man.”

“Now that,” he smirked, “is no problem. Lance is certainly a nice enough guy, but I doubt he has the passion a woman like you deserves. I’m certain we could make arrangements to keep you happy in all respects.”

Abbi was furious. She felt certain there was no man on the face of the earth lower than the Duke of Horstberg. She glared up at him, feeling delightfully treasonous as she spat, “You can go to hell, Nikolaus du Woernig.”

He threw back his head and laughed. “I’ve already been there, and it was too crowded.” His expression sobered as he added with arrogance, “It’s
Your Grace
to you, wench.”

He broke into a gallop and was soon out of sight, but it took Abbi several minutes to calm the anger he had spurred in her. She hated that man zealously, and she couldn’t help wondering what kind of power Cameron held over him with knowledge that had the potential to see him undone. The very idea gave her a great deal of pleasure.

The following Sunday Abbi went to church with Georg, Elsa, and Marta. She noticed that many of the servants from her household also attended. She’d meant to go ever since her return, but laziness or illness had kept her away. Now she felt a strong desire to make religion a regular habit in her life, if only to express gratitude for all that God had done for her.

There were many branches of the church throughout the valley, but her household attended the main branch that met in the great cathedral, where the bishop himself conducted the service. Of course, the cathedral was the meeting place closest to the estate, since it had to be passed in order to get into the heart of town. But Abbi enjoyed its atmosphere as opposed to the other small, quaint church buildings. She truly enjoyed the service and felt a strengthening of her hope as she listened to the sermon.

Within a matter of days, Abbi settled easily into her new hobby. She felt awkward at first with the brush in her hand, but still she enjoyed working at her semblance of art. She experimented endless hours with mixing colors and dabbing oils sporadically onto canvas to determine how to achieve different effects. Her first project was a painting of roses from the garden, and then she decided she’d like to paint something from memory and see how it turned out.

With zeal and purpose, Abbi first did a rough sketch of the view she’d seen of the valley of Horstberg from the high ridge. She worked on it every spare minute, indulging in fond memories and sweet dreams as it gradually began to take form. And by keeping busy the time went more quickly, which made her dreams feel almost close enough to touch.

Chapter Fifteen

AT LAST

G
eorg leaned in the stable doorway, watching Abbi across the lawn where she sat on the little bench, painting—as she often did these days. He was grateful she’d found something to occupy her time and ease the waiting. He only wished he had some such hobby. But nothing could relinquish his anxiety over the passing of time while access to vital information eluded him. Before the lieutenant’s death, a puzzle had been carefully put together that would allow them to get to the witness at the same time the duke would be out of the country. Now Georg had set events in motion that needed to be followed through before they lost momentum. But any access to their witness continued to escape them. He’d prayed for help until his head hurt. He’d thought and stewed. He’d discussed it with anyone trustworthy who had any connection at all. The situation appeared hopeless. He was beginning to wonder if their best option might be to just get Cameron and Abbi out of the country and allow more time to pass. Maybe he should have done that to begin with. The thought made him curse under his breath and return to his work.

Since Cameron had been arrested, Georg had done his best to feel his instincts and do what he believed was best on his friend’s behalf. But now he had to wonder. He felt discouraged and completely inadequate to accomplish what Cameron had put into his hands. Or perhaps his involvement was more God’s doing. Either way, Georg wasn’t sure they had the right man for the job.

An hour later Georg looked up to see a man in uniform riding toward the stable. He had no idea who this man was or what his purpose might be. He kept a steady expression as he stepped outside to meet him, but he couldn’t help wondering if he should be concerned.

“I’m looking for Georg Heinrich,” he said, dismounting.

“That’s me,” Georg said without betraying his own anxiety.

“A friend told me you had some excellent horses for sale.”

Georg smiled. “Yes, we do.”

“Farold Garver.” He introduced himself and held out a hand which Georg shook firmly. “Could I see what you have? I’m looking for something special for my daughter.”

“Of course.” Georg walked down the long row of stalls in the stable, pointing out the assets of each animal available. Then they walked outside to the main corral where several horses were lazily grazing.

As both men leaned against the fence, Officer Garver said, “You do have some magnificent animals. I’m impressed.”

“I can’t take much credit,” Georg said. “I just work here. I take care of the animals and train them. Someone else is responsible for their quality.”

“And that would be . . .”

“Josef Albrecht. Although he’s passed away now.”

“You carry on his work beautifully.” Officer Garver turned his back to the fence and leaned against it. “I understand his granddaughter has inherited the estate.”

“That’s right,” Georg said, nonchalant but cautious.

“I also understand that her father would give a great deal to be back here again.”

“And how is that?” Georg’s heart quickened for an entirely different reason as the fear he’d experienced earlier turned to an obscure hope.

“I talk to him regularly.”

Georg searched his instincts, hoping they weren’t nearly so far gone as he’d begun to believe. “You didn’t come here to buy a horse, did you.”

“Not today.” He glanced over his shoulder. “When I need one, I’ll certainly know where to come.”

“Why
are
you here?” Georg asked, watching this man’s eyes carefully. He’d learned a great deal in recent years about finding integrity in a man’s eyes.

“Gerhard Albrecht sent me. He would have come himself, but . . . that
is
the heart of the problem, now isn’t it?” The officer smiled.

“Delivering messages for an exiled criminal could be misconstrued as treason. His Grace has executed men for less. Why take the risk?”

“Because there’s something not right about this whole situation. I don’t know of a single person beyond His Grace who has even a clue concerning Gerhard’s crime. He’s guarded every minute of the day, given anything he asks for beyond his freedom. It makes no sense. I like Gerhard. I think it’s time he got a fair trial; a trial at all would be a good start.” He laughed with an edge. “Besides, His Grace won’t find out I’m delivering messages . . . as long as
you
don’t tell anybody.”

“Why would I?”

“Gerhard told me I could trust you. I have no reason to believe otherwise.”

“You can trust me,” Georg said.

Garver looked into Georg’s eyes. “Yes, I believe I can.”

“So, what’s the message?”

“He told me to tell you that he has reason to believe Cameron’s alive, and if that’s the case, to tell you that he has the information you need.”

Georg’s heart beat painfully fast. He had the feeling he was looking at the man who could be their final key. He just didn’t know how to ask.

The officer cleared his throat. “Cameron’s not a terribly common name for a German man. In fact, I’d wager there aren’t two of them in the country—which makes it even less likely that there would be more than one Cameron believed dead. And I’d wager if Gerhard knows something about this Cameron, it could well explain why His Grace keeps such a close eye on him.”

“That sounds logical to me,” Georg said.

Garver chuckled. “You’re a cautious man.”

“I have to be.”

“So, I’ll do my best to make it easy for you.
If
this Cameron is alive, and he knows what I think he knows, I would gladly do anything in my power to help him. But don’t count on me saying that under oath.”

“Of course not,” Georg said blandly while inside he bubbled with excitement.

“My shifts with Gerhard are Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, from two to midnight. And every other Sunday. If you need to get information to me, my home is on Bader Street, number twenty-seven.” He smirked subtly. “My wife makes tatted lace; a fine gift for any woman. You might want to come and look at it. You can leave any message with her.”

Georg’s excitement calmed to gratitude. He reached out to shake the officer’s hand, but they gripped forearms instead. “Thank you,” Georg said. “It would seem you are the answer to many prayers.”

Garver tightened his grip. “It would seem you are the same.”

Georg watched him ride away, not knowing whether to shout for joy or fall to his knees. He turned his face heavenward and laughed. Then in reverence he muttered, “Thank you, God. Between us, we may get through this yet.”

On a warm afternoon in August, Abbi made herself comfortable on the lawn to paint, her materials laid out on the bench beside her. But she stared at the image in front of her more than she put any effort into dabbing paint on the canvas. Occasionally she gazed toward the mountain, as if doing so might refresh her memory of the view looking down from that high ridge where Cameron had taken her.

Sadness enveloped Abbi against her strongest effort to keep it at bay. Time was passing, and it wouldn’t be much longer before her misshapen figure would become obvious no matter what she wore. Georg assured her daily that he was doing all he could, and he would hold to his promise to see Cameron off that mountain before the end of summer—one way or another. But the waiting had become ponderous. Her hopes and dreams seemed difficult to grasp when loneliness and discouragement were her constant companions. And she knew that whatever she might be feeling, Cameron had to be feeling it tenfold. Her heart ached for him and the loneliness he had to endure. She prayed it would not be much longer.