Free Never to Part by Joan Vincent

Daphne’s brow creased. Just who would send her a clue? She had dreamt again last night of the first baroness but the dead could not frank posts. Daphne inspected the wrapping and the envelope. The post mark was London but no where near Mayfair. She pressed the two halves of the broken seal and traced a finger over it. “This looks like a B but I am acquainted with no one whose last name starts with that letter.”
    “Mr. Blanchard,” Saddie told her. “’Haps this is what he meant about helping you?”
    “Eldridge Blanchard would find the treasure himself if he were able,” Daphne stated with absolute certainty.
    “Lord Dremore’s family name is Blanchard.”
    “His seal has the letter D with gryphons upon a tree,” Daphne replied. She took in the other’s assessing look and heat rose to her cheeks. “His mother’s, which is the same, was on my invitation to the house party. You know they must be much alike,” she ended lamely.
    Daphne hurriedly reread the last verse. “Bidle’age. I have heard of it before. Bidle’age?” she repeated softly.
    “Of course,” Saddie laughed. “’Tis the village that is the home seat of the Clandons.”
    “Mary Clandon George,” exclaimed Daphne. “One of my best friends when I attended Beatton’s Academy for Young Girls. When I stayed with her the summer of ’07 we went walking into the village of Biddleage to see the house Lord Nelson had resided in until his death at Trafalgar.”
    “But the other words make no sense,” Miss McRae told her. “What would Gemini and a dryad have to do with a path or with solving the mystery? Is the mystery the treasure?”
    “The treasure is connected with the first Lord Dremore and his bride,” Daphne began.
    The laurel sprig beside Daphne leapt and began to tumble off the bed. She snatched at it. Her fingers closed about it. At once an image came into sharp focus. Daphne gasped for she was once again on the third floor gallery at Heart Haven. Her gaze slowly shifted down the length of the first Dremores’ portrait to the nameplate on the frame at the bottom.
    “Laurel Clandon Blanchard,” she exclaimed.
    “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Miss McRae soothed. “Who is this Laurel?”
    “The first Baroness Dremore. Now I think of it, Mary does have somewhat the look of her.” A surge of great purpose brought her to her feet.
    “Mary Clandon wed over five years ago but if I recall correctly—” Daphne thrust the paper into Saddie’s hands, heedless that the laurel fell back onto the bed. She hurried to the writing desk near the window. Daphne opened a drawer and began going through a box. Finding the letter she wanted she unfolded it and read.
    “Yes,” she noted to Miss McRae. “Her husband is in the cavalry and was sent to Spain a few months ago. Mary is staying with her parents while he is there,” she ended triumphantly, now certain of what she would do. Daphne sank to her knees beside the bed. From beneath it she drew out a portmanteau.
    “What are you thinking?” demanded Saddie. “You can’t mean to go haram-scarum off to Biddleage without so much as an invitation? What do you hope to accomplish?”
    “I shan’t learn what the rest of the verse means unless I go there,” Daphne told her. “My visit to Mary will give Geoffrey time to think about the present course he is set upon.” She hurried out of Miss McRae’s room and into her own. There she quickly stooped and tugged a valise out from under the bed.
    While Saddie watched with a disapproving frown Daphne placed some stockings and a night shift in the bag. “I shall not even leave a note for Geoffrey explaining where I have gone.”
    Saddie’s loud sniff showed sharp disapproval.
     “I have to attempt to solve the clue. I must try to find the treasure,” Daphne explained. “I know ‘tis wildly foolish but anything is preferable to marriage to that aged lecher.”
    “Not everything,” Miss McRae sniffed.
    Daphne hugged her