Flight From Blithmore by Jacob Gowans Read Free Book Online Page B

until it filled her with a burning heat that gave her the focus she
needed to obey her mother’s dying wish.
    With
tenderness, she covered her mother up to her chin so anyone looking in would
think Lady Oslan was sleeping. Then she let go of her self-pity, drew in a
shaky breath, and hurried downstairs.
    “Norbin!”
she called as she reached the back door, “Fetch a spade and meet me at the far
hedge.”
    Norbin
tried to sputter a question, but Isabelle raised a hand and repeated the order
with increased urgency.
    Isabelle
sprinted across the lawn. The rain that had been threatening at lunch now fell
lightly, making the grass on the slope glisten. As she passed the hedge, she
wondered which piece of earth covered her mother’s treasure. When she burst
into Henry’s woodshop, her breaths came in sharp pants. A cry of surprise came
from the far southwest corner where Henry stood.
    “Henry?”
she called out.
    “Isabelle?”
Not Henry. Brandol. “What’s it you want?”
    “I
need Henry now. It’s urgent!”
    Brandol
stepped closer. It wasn’t the first time she’d mistaken the two at a distance.
“Boss’s on delivery,” he explained, taking off his work gloves. “Took his
‘prentices with him.”
    “Can
you help me?”
    Brandol
glanced back to his work and then back to her. “I s’pose.”
    She
led him to the hedge. Norbin was coming down from the manor as fast as his
skinny, wobbly legs would carry him with not one, but two spades.
    “Follow
me,” he wheezed to them, somehow understanding exactly what was going on. As
Brandol obeyed, his face wore all the confusion Isabelle had felt only a short
while ago.
    The
afternoon sunlight dimmed as darker clouds gathered rapidly above them. The air
was thick with a steady breeze that made the rain fall at a mild slant.
Isabelle prayed that her father would be gone long enough for them to get the
gold.
    Norbin
stopped only a few yards over from the spot where Henry and Isabelle normally
met in secret at night. Isabelle wondered if he had chosen this spot with them
in mind.
    “How
deep is it?” she asked.
    “It
took the man who delivered it almost an hour to bury it,” Norbin wheezed.
    “Dig,
Brandol,” Isabelle said, thrusting a spade at him. As she made to start, Norbin
stopped her.
    “My
Lady, please allow me to—”
    “Norbin,
you are a dear,” Isabelle said as she brushed hair out of her face, “but you’re
too old to do this.”
    “No,
Miss, it’s not that. If your father sees you dirty . . .”
    “I
have no other choice,” she said as she scooped the first lump of dirt.
    Several
minutes passed in silence as Isabelle and Brandol dug. Norbin watched
anxiously, his gaze going from the house to the digging and back. The rain
continued to fall, softening the dirt they worked at. Isabelle was grateful
that Brandol did not stop to ask questions. She bent her will on unearthing the
coffer before her father came home. A low rumble sounded overhead, and in a
matter of seconds heavier drops splattered her face.
    The
dirt grew sloppier until it turned to mud, slowing them down. They dug faster
to compensate until, at last, they struck something solid. Isabelle threw aside
her shovel and frantically pushed aside the mucky soil with her hands. Norbin
raised a small yelp, but didn’t attempt to stop her. Brandol entered the hole
with her to help, and finally the lid could be seen.
    The
coffer was as long as a grown man’s arm and wider than Brandol’s chest, made of
black oak with gilded corners. For a brief moment, the party of three stopped
and stared at the large black box.
    “At
least we don’t have to lift it,” Isabelle commented.
    Even
Brandol must have sensed what was inside, because his eyes widened in anticipation.
The sound of hooves in the distance interrupted their efforts. Isabelle
recognized instantly the distinctly feeble gait of Esmond, the family horse.
    “The
key!” Isabelle cried. “The key, Norbin!”
    The
ancient servant