“The people in the village are saying that Mr. Catesby has lost his mind,” Byram reported when, having labored to put out the last embers of the fire and sluiced himself down with water from the well, he finally joined me in the parlor. Robbie was sitting by the fireside playing with a hoop and ball, seemingly engrossed in his game. “They say he must be bewitched by grief to desert his son and his home and ride off in the middle of the night.”

“They may well be right,” I said.

Byram nodded toward Robbie, enraptured with his toys.

“He comes home with us?”

I nodded. “Robert decreed it,” I said. “Robbie is to make his home with us at Ashby. I doubt the Leighs will object.”

Byram looked grimly pleased. “We’ll see him right,” he said.

I nodded. “We shall.” I stood up, stiff and aching, and crossed to the window. Never had a day seemed to arrive with such gray and weighty dullness. It felt as though all the sadness in the world was piled up in those gray clouds. “I see that all the fires are out,” I said.

“By divine providence.” Byram gave me a twisted smile. “It rained.”

I nodded. I could hear the dripping of raindrops from the roof onto the terrace and smell the cloying scent of wet burned wood in the air.

“And the other matter from last night,” I said. “How did you fare with that?”

“I found the chamber beneath the obelisk in the garden,” Byram said. He shook his head. “It was empty. Whatever you expected, madam, it was not there.”

I sat down rather abruptly. I had not anticipated this. “There was a chamber, as I had predicted?”

“Aye, madam.” He measured the room with his eyes. “About half the width and almost the height of this space, so of considerable size. Six steps down and a trap door over, like you said. It is lined in stone and is as secure a storage spot as one might wish, and untouched by the fire, but as I said—empty. I nearly put my back out climbing down into it, and all for nothing.” He cocked his head. “May I ask what it was that you thought I might discover there?”

“I thought you might find the treasure of the Knights Hospitaller,” I said, “golden chalices, jeweled crosses, illuminated manuscripts, holy robes, devotional relics...”

Byram’s eyes bulged. “Holy Mary!” he said. Then: “And what a pity I did not find it.” He nodded toward little Robbie. “A few pieces of gold and some jewels would give the youngster the best start in life. He deserves it.”

“He does,” I agreed, for I knew the road ahead of us now was going to be a bleak one. Robert would bleed Ashby dry of any income and Robbie and I would pay the price. I wished suddenly, fiercely, for some of that gold coin Byram imagined, but even as I did, I knew it would never serve.