On the third day, she moped. There could be no other word for it. She tried to put her feelings and thoughts away. Tried to bury them under a blanket of doubt. And failed miserably.
Surely she couldn’t be in love. She had always imagined that love only happened when both people felt it at the same time. Those silly stories of unrequited love had always seemed preposterous. How could any woman allow herself to fall in love with a man who did not love her in return?
No. Surely she could not be such a fool.
Yet. Her days were filled with thoughts of him. Was he all right. Was he recovering or had he relapsed. Had an infection returned? Did he think of her?
These and a thousand other worries danced through her head each day, all day.
Her life had changed, she realized. It had become smaller, less important somehow. Spending her days reading, doing needlepoint, visiting friends. It all seemed so pointless. So without meaning.
Lord Warwick had opened up her world. But then walked away and left her to discover her own meaning.
Sighing, she pulled the thread through her work then looked up as Molly came in to light the candles. Her maid gave her a quick glance of pure concern. She had been like that for the last three days. Walking around as if on eggshells. Waiting for her mistress to become distraught.
Amanda gritted her teeth and focused on her work. She refused to dissolve into a puddle because some man didn’t care for her the way she cared for him.
“Cook has left for the night, Mum.”
Amanda nodded, “Thank you. And you can retire for the evening as well. I will be going up soon.”
“Yes, Mum,” Molly said with a quick curtsy. She paused for a moment while she continued to stare at Amanda.
Sighing heavily, Amanda looked up from her work and raised an eyebrow, silently asking her maid to continue. All the while, her insides turned over. She so didn’t wish to talk about what Molly wanted to discuss.
But there was no way to stop her.
“Any word, mum. From his Lordship?”
Amanda gave her best smile as she shook her head. “No Molly. And I don’t expect we will.”
Molly shook her head and frowned heavily. “Men,” she barked as if that explained everything.
Amanda laughed. “Exactly.”
Molly gave her a weak smile and left. Amanda sighed. Another night alone. Perhaps she should hire a footman after all. The house seemed different without Lord Warwick in residence. Quieter, softer, without a hint of specialness.
Sighing again, she put her needlework aside and retrieved her book. Maybe she could become lost in it. If she was lucky, it might take her mind off the pain churning inside of her. Take her to some far off world that didn’t remind her of a certain British Lord.
After almost an hour of fighting with the book. Determined to accomplish something, a distant sound caught her attention. Was Molly up and about? Unusual for her. The girl worked so hard, she needed her sleep. Or had Cook returned? The woman had a key to the back door. Had she forgotten something?
Had she heard something? A floorboard creek perhaps? Frowning, she stared at the door.
Her heart jumped as the handle slowly began to turn.
Freezing in place, her breath caught as she forced herself to grab the fireiron. She raised it above her shoulder and waited. She would look ridiculous if it turned out to be Molly or Cook, she realized. But she didn’t lower her weapon. Lord Warwick’s world had exposed her to the true evil that lurked in London.
The knob stopped turning.
Had Lord Hicks and his henchmen discovered her involvement? Were they here for revenge?
Amanda’s heart stopped beating as the door slowly swung open.
Gripping the iron so tight her fingers ached, she waited.
Then, her world shifted as Lord Warwick stuck his head around the edge of the door and gave her a quick smile while holding a finger to his lips.
Amanda gasped. He was the last man she expected to see. Dressed in wool trousers, an off-white linen shirt and a rough brown jacket with a button missing. The hand that held his cane also held a small cloth bundle. He looked like any other London tradesman. Except he wasn’t. He was her Lord Warwick. The man that set her heart to racing.
His color was better, much better, she realized as she hurried to him. He stood straighter and was barely resting on his cane.
“Shush,” he whispered as he slipped into the room and quietly closed the door behind him.
“What are you doing here,” she hissed back as her heart jumped with pure pleasure. He had come back to her world. Once again, things felt as they should.
Lord Warwick smiled as he slowly examined her. Suddenly she realized that her dress was not one of her best. A high waisted muslin with a purple sash for a belt. She had not been expecting guests and her hair had fallen a bit in the back.
He didn’t seem to mind as he looked at her with pure pleasure. As if he was enjoying what he was looking at.
“I’m here to get you,” he said, again quietly.
Her heart skipped as her insides turned to mush.
“Get me?” she asked.
He smiled again. That little boy smile he got when he was about to do something he shouldn’t.
“I assumed you would desire to go with me when I examined Sir Barclay’s residence?”
Amanda gasped. Could it be true? Was he really going to include her?
“But,” he continued. “I need you to wear this.”
She watched as he unraveled the cloth bundle and shook out a maid’s gray uniform, white apron, and cap. She took the dress from him and frowned as she tried to understand.
“A disguise,” he said with that smile. “No one would suspect a downstairs maid of hunting French spies. The image doesn’t match.”
She snatched the clothes from his hand then pushed him to the door. He stopped for a moment and looked down at her. Her heart jumped at the hunger in his eyes. It was the kind of look that could set a woman’s soul on fire.
Sighing heavily, she closed the door on him and sent up a silent prayer to remain strong. Now was not the time.
Once he was outside, she hurriedly changed, folding her clothes and leaving Molly a note in case she did not return before she woke. Running a hand down over the dress and apron she felt different. Almost freer somehow. The gray dress had a much lower waistline, more feminine without being frilly. She often regretted the current fashions. They seemed to be designed to hide a woman’s best assets. As Olivia used to say. They made a woman look like a Greek pillar. Cold, and hard.
Why did these clothes make her feel less like a lady? As if less were expected of her. Almost as if the rules had been changed.
Putting the cap on, she stuffed her hair up under it as she smiled to herself. She liked disguises she discovered. They gave her a power. A power to be someone different.
She pulled the door open while she pushed her spectacles back up on the bridge of her nose. How many maids wore spectacles she wondered. Never mind. Do not bring it up, it might make him change his mind.
Lord Warwick turned and examined her from head to toe then nodded his approval.
“Perfect,” he whispered with a smile.
She wondered if he was talking about her disguise or about her. Oh, how she hoped it was the later.
“Molly usually removes her apron if she is leaving the house,” she told him, being careful not to wake her maid.
“Leave it,” he replied. “It sends the message we want to send.”
She bit back a dozen questions as her mind raced. Instead, she simply smiled and raised an eyebrow.
“Come,” he said as he took her hand and led her to the back door.
“How’d you get in?” she asked as they entered the kitchen.
He laughed as he held up a twisted piece of wire, “We must get you better locks. In fact, perhaps a castle with a moat.”
Her stomach clenched up. Was it really that easy to break into her home
? Had she been relying on a false sense of security all this time?
Lord Warwick slowly pulled the back door open and poked his head out, scanning her yard before opening the door all the way and pulling her outside into the dark night.
“We will get a cab a few blocks over,” he whispered. “No need for anyone to associate us with this address.”
She nodded, he knew every trick she realized. How long had he done this kind of work? What must it be like to always be on your guard? Never able to relax. Constantly transitioning between two worlds.
The two of them hurried down the path to the back gate. Or at least as fast as Lord Warwick’s limp would allow them. Hand in hand. Then into the alley. A quarter moon gave them just enough light to see faint obstacles.
London had started introducing coal gas lamps in some of the areas. But on the main streets only. The back alleys had remained as dark as pitch.
Amanda had never been out in such darkness. Most homes hung lanterns in the front of the house. Giving the street enough light. But here, back in the alleys. It was cast in darkness. A shiver ran down her back as she realized just how dark it was. They could be attacked without warning from any of a dozen pockets of blackness.
Lord Warwick gave her hand a reassuring squeeze and led her down the alley. The tap of his cane echoing off the brick walls. Then, across a street and into another alley. The man seemed to move as if he were in his own living room.
Once they were safely away, he flagged a cab. The driver pulled to a stop and frowned down at them as if asking how two such people, obviously of the lower class, could possibly afford a cab.
Lord Warwick tossed up a silver coin. The driver caught it mid-air and nodded. Warwick gave him an address and opened the door to hand her up.
Amanda climbed up and scooted across to give him room. He climbed up after her. She smiled to herself as she saw how well he was moving.
“You are recovering quickly,” she said to him as she moved her dress out of the way for him to sit.
“I had a good nurse,” he replied as he settled down next to her, his leg resting against hers.
A warm sensation settled over her. The scent of sandalwood and leather engulfed her, making her want to sink into him and never come out. Sighing heavily, she slipped her arm into his and leaned against him for a moment.
“I missed you,” she said before she could stop herself.
He laughed. “You missed having someone to boss around. Admit it.”
She laughed with him, “Perhaps.”
The cabbie flicked his whip and the horse started off, the heavy clop of its hoofs clacking against the cobblestones.
“Why?” she asked. “Why did you come for me?” The question had been bothering her since his arrival.
“I don’t know,” he said with a shrug. “It just seemed the right thing. It shouldn’t be dangerous. Liverpool has had the house under guard. If anyone is watching, we will be two workers entering. Probably to clean up the mess.
“At this time of night?”
He shrugged again.
She settled back and thought about what was happening. Lord Warwick had come to her for help. Could any woman be luckier than herself?
Chapter Fourteen
When the cab pulled to a stop, Amanda watched as Warwick gingerly made his way down then held out a hand for her. Amanda stepped down and examined her surroundings. A typical London neighborhood. Brown brick buildings lined up next to each other.
Turning quickly she confirmed that the streets were empty.
Warwick took her arm and led her up the steps. He knocked and the door opened almost immediately. A sour looking older man with a wisp of gray hair stared at them. She frowned to herself. He didn’t look as if he could guard a henhouse, let alone a critical location such as this.
“Liverpool sent me,” Lord Warwick told the man.
The old man stepped back and opened the door.
A long hall greeted them with doors leading to the right and stairs leading up on the left. Several candles were burning in their sconces making the house rather bright for this time of the evening. The old man must have been nervous about staying in a house where a man had so recently taken his own life.
“Up on the left,” the man said. “The body’s taken. The filchers have probably gotten him by now.”
Amanda shuddered at the thought of grave robbers digging up the body.
“You can leave,” Warwick told him.
The old man nodded and left without another word.
Amanda glanced up the stairs as a cold chill ran down her spine making her shiver.
Lord Warwick started up the stairs, just assuming she would follow. She could see a set grimace on his face as he focused on his task. He is moving better, but there was still pain with each step.
“What are we going to look for?” she asked as she followed him up.
He shrugged his wide shoulders. “We’ll know it when we see it. That’s one of the reasons I brought you along. You don’t miss much.”
She smiled behind his back. The man always knew the perfect thing to say.
When they reached the room, Lord Warwick paused for a second. Shooting her a quick glance as if asking if she was ready.
She nodded.
He opened the door, holding the candle up to light their way.
The first thing she noticed was a large brown stain on the pillows. Blood, she realized with a shudder. A lot of it. Her insides squeezed tight as a sense of dread washed over her. A man had taken his own life in that bed. The ultimate sin. What had he been like? What could drive a person to take such a radical irreversible action?
Lord Warwick frowned. “Who kills himself while lying in bed? He would have had to go down to his study. Load his pistol and then return here and lay down in his bed. Under his covers no less?”
Amanda studied the bed. “Maybe the covers were mussed when they removed the body.”
“Not that much.”
She slowly turned and examined the room. A large bed with a heavy headboard. Two side tables. A dresser and a tall armoire in the corner. Lord Warwick bent over to examine the bed while she turned and opened the armoire. Typical men’s clothing. A couple of red uniforms, black frock coats.
“Did he have servants?” she asked.
“I shouldn’t think so. Not with his debts.”
Her mind drifted as she examined the clothing. Nothing of any significance. Nothing that would point to anything about French spies.
Taking a deep breath, she started going through the pockets. She remembered how her father would forget things. Half the time he would find them weeks later in the pockets of a jacket.
Nothing. Sighing, she turned and started on the dresser.
The man had been neat. A typical soldier, she imagined. Everything organized. Folded and put away in its proper place. Lord Warwick began removing drawers from the side tables. Holding them up to examine the bottoms. He shot her a quick grin, obviously letting her know that he had learned from her discovery.
The top dresser drawers offered up no clues.
“How sure are you that he is one of the names?” she asked.
He frowned. “Relatively sure. Besides what Lord Liverpool passed along. The man was seen entering Lord Hicks home several times. I’ve had a man keeping an eye on the place for a year now. Not enough to take to trial. But my gut tells me he was involved up to his neck.”
Amanda nodded as she pulled out the bottom drawer of the dresser. She ran her hands through the clothing. But again nothing. Gritting her teeth, she pulled the drawer all the way out and examined inside the furniture.
Reaching down, she slid her hand along the edge until it came in touch with a cold metallic object. Pulling it out, she smiled to herself as she examined a small tin box. Holding it up, she caught Lord Warwick’s attention. Opening it in front of him, she tipped it up and let a small key fall out into her hand.
“Interesting,” Lord Warwick said as he examin
ed it closely then placed it into his coat pocket. “Let us hope we can find where it goes.”
The two of them continued on with their search but found nothing incriminating.
“The study?” he asked.
She turned and examined the room one last time before nodding. A cold chill traveled down her spine. The sooner she could be out of this room the better. While she didn’t know if she believed in ghosts or spirits. It wasn’t very logical after all. Yet, she was also opened minded enough not to dismiss them out of hand. If there were such things. That room would surely hold one.
Once they were downstairs, she was able to breathe a little easier. Quickly dismissing such silly thoughts, she glanced over at Lord Warwick. She was not surprised to see that the man showed no such worries. To him, the bedroom had been just another room.
No, nothing would ever cause him to fear the unknown.
Sir Barclay’s study was as she expected. A desk and chair. A long leather couch, only one bookshelf. Again, a soldier she reminded herself. A life on the move did not encourage the keeping of books.
Warwick shook his head.
“What?” she asked.
“His pistol box,” he said indicating the wooden box on the corner of his desk. She picked it up and examined it. Just like her father’s. inlaid with a velvet cushion for the pistol. A small powder horn, ramrod, and four pistol balls were placed in each of their compartments. One round hole was empty.
“What about it?” she asked.
Lord Warwick frowned. “He comes down here. Loads his pistol, puts things back in their compartments, but then leaves the box laying open on his desk. It doesn’t add up.”
“You think someone killed him.”
He bit his lip and nodded. “Probably. They wanted to make it look like he did it himself.”
“Why? Wouldn’t such a death bring attention to him?”
Lord Warwick shook his head as he continued to stare down at the empty pistol box. “Not if they thought we weren’t on to him.”
“Or they thought you were dead,” she said. “And with your death, any evidence you might have gathered would be gone.”
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