The Pirate's Duty (Regent's Revenge #3)(66)

John moved toward the trapdoor, stopped midstride, and turned to face her. “What, besides revenge, could Charles hold over you? Whatever it is, I need you to show me before we run out of time.”

“Aye.” She took a long, steadying breath and moved to the cellar door. “’Tis there.” She pointed to the floor. “I’m afraid it will be—Oh!” She covered her mouth with trembling hands. “It’s unlocked.”

John came up from behind her, knelt on the floor, and without hesitation lifted the door hatch, careful not to make a sound. “I’ll go first.”

Oriana nodded, feeling a sense of urgency she couldn’t quite control. Her instincts railed, though she didn’t know why. It felt wrong for some reason to bring John into the cellar, to reveal the one weapon she had left to use against Charles. The treasure was her greatest secret, and she’d acted wisely, using it sparingly to help the needy.

John descended the ladder, hauling a lantern down with him, flicking his gaze downward before he stepped onto the cellar floor. He moved out of her line of vision. His lantern was her only clue that he moved freely about, checking the interior for any signs of danger.

An eternity seemed to pass before he looked up at the hatch again. “Ye can come down now. It’s safe.”

Oriana wasn’t so sure. She glanced around the kitchen, feeling unsettled and uneasy. It wasn’t like Girard and O’Malley not to be here. Fear mounted in her chest as she followed John, swinging her legs over the edge of the trapdoor. She made her way partially down the ladder, careful not to step on her skirts, and closed the cellar hatch.

Once inside, Oriana proceeded down the ladder and then walked over to the shelf concealing her storeroom. “The entrance to my storeroom is here.”

She began lifting several bushels of grain, and John stepped in to help her. “Move back,” she told him, levering the shelf and pulling it toward her. “This storeroom has been in use since my father built it.”

His brown eyes turned cold as he nodded, and she bristled beneath his silent condemnation, reminded that he’d admitted to being a revenue man. “Believe me when I say I took no pleasure in his evil deeds,” she told him.

“I believe you,” he said, his voice a soothing balm to her soul.

She reached for the long ribbon on which three keys were threaded, which was tucked beneath her gown, and lifted it from around her neck. Using one of the keys in the lock, she opened the latch. Metal clicked.

By the time she began pulling the door outward, John was there to help her. “Bring the light,” he said.

She nodded, retrieved the lantern, and handed it to him so he could light the way through the darkened room.

“Where are the items you’ve hidden from Charles?”

“This way.” She swallowed thickly as she walked straight past the eggs, milk, salted fish, cheese, meat, and barrels of ale to the back of the room, where more casks had been stowed for the fermenting process.

“Move this barrel,” she ordered, taking the lantern from him.

He nodded and lifted the barrel she’d pointed to.

“And this one.” She pointed at another one.

Her heart hitched as the two topmost barrels were removed and her hiding place was revealed. Her heart fluttered like hummingbird wings as she raised the lantern, illuminating a square crevice set in stone. “What you’re about to see weighs heavily on me.” She shook her head, trying to dispel her burdens and the penance she deserved for harboring the devil’s spoils. “I should have destroyed it long ago, but part of me held on to the hope that from somethin’ so awful, I could bring aid to others.”

She sighed as John listened silently. “I make no excuses for my actions, no matter my intentions.” She turned to face him, fearful that she’d lost his good opinion of her. “I don’t know why I ever thought I could save Charles from himself.” She choked back a sob. “But ye must understand why I had to try.”

Shadows played over John’s face in the lantern light. He touched her arm, the gesture reassuring in the wake of her depravity.

Oriana set the lantern down and then selected another key from around her neck. She inserted it into a hole fashioned in the stone. A latch clicked, and a lever engaged. The granite slab rose, producing a grinding sound that grated on her nerves.

Grief sank to the pit of her stomach. There, in the vault, sat a trunk with a crest, a T supported by an anchor.

John blinked. “What’s in it?”

“Blood money.”

She squeezed her eyes shut when she heard his swift intake of breath.

“Where did it come from?” he asked.

“Ghosts.” A haunting guilt swept through her. “Ships.”

She’d never been able to blot out two particular ships, the Remus and the Mohegan. Nor could she forget the senseless way Charles had viciously murdered Mr. Owens, the boatswain assigned to protect Lady Chloe and Jane. Owens had told her he’d been on board the Remus. Somehow, unbeknownst to Charles, he’d escaped her brother’s edict of “no witnesses.” She’d not been able to discover how, though. There’d been no time.

“I intended to give the cache to the authorities, but there was no way of knowin’ who to trust.”

“What about the magistrate? The Board of Excise?” he asked, brow furrowing.