by Ann Chaney
Gillian appreciated the obstacles of identifying the man. She waited for the gentleman to speak again. This was a golden opportunity for Moreham to identify the leader or one of the leaders of the treasonous group. Between the three of them, they’d spent many hours socializing with members of the Ton in the drawing rooms and ballrooms of Town. To be sure one of them would recognize the stranger’s voice.
Whitney threw his hands up in resignation. “Very well, have your meeting. I will have my guests here at midnight tomorrow night.”
“Excellent, please pass on my best to your duchess.”
To Gillian’s surprise, Whitney did not take exception to the stranger’s reference to Aunt Isadora. The menace in the man’s voice left little doubt he meant her aunt harm. Strange that. She knew without a doubt, Moreham would kill any man who spoke her name in such a threatening manner.
She was so consumed with questions about what she had heard in the courtyard, the silence broke through her thoughts like a cannon firing. Why weren’t the stranger and her uncle still talking? She eased forward and found the courtyard empty.
Moreham took her by the shoulders and turned her away from the window. Cross waited in the doorway. The old abbey was silent once more. They must return home and confront Uncle at once. She would not rest until she knew the truth. Even if the truth brought about her ruin and the end of her marriage.
“Did either of you recognize the man’s voice?” she asked Moreham and Cross once they were back outside the abbey. Both men shook their heads.
Moreham took control of the conversation. “Cross, go after the stranger. We will follow Whitney back to the house. Stay back. Do not approach him for any reason. I’d rather you lose the man than alert him to your presence. We still have tomorrow night.”
Cross nodded his agreement and headed out of the abbey. They made their way outside to their horses. Cross rode off without a word.
Moreham looked down at her. “Dearest, you cannot dwell on what was said in there. Remember, Philly’s mantra. Nothing is ever as it seems.”
She could not stop the words from pouring out of her mouth. “What if that man is correct and I am French? Maybe someone in my family was an aristocrat secreted out of France during the Terror. A member of the aristocracy to give him a credible claim to the Crown would be more valuable than gold to Napoleon. You know I speak the truth. Say something, Moreham,” she muttered. “Tell me everything we heard was a nightmare and we will wake in our bed and laugh at the absurdity of it all.”
“I’m sorry dearest, but I fear we are awake and we are truly in a nightmare. Do you trust me?”
“You know I do. I would not be here with you if I did not. I would say the more meaningful question is do you trust me?”
Moreham jerked at her question. He kissed her forehead. “My dearest, of course I trust you above all others.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t. If what we heard is true, an association with me will bring dishonor upon your name. I may be innocent, but Uncle and Percy Arnold have involved me in their dastardly conspiracy. I am the last person in Britain you should have faith in at this moment.”
Gillian took the lead in the ride back to the house. Thankfully, Moreham did not try to reengage her in conversation. She knew what they must do. The question was would Moreham agree? To her surprise, they were met in the stable yard by Cross.
“I lost him,” Cross ground out. “He headed for the village but disappeared in that forest at the edge of the estate. Not knowing the lay of the land, I decided to return with the hope one of you may know of a hidey hole in the woods.”
Gillian shook her head. “No, those woods are for hunting only, even the gamekeeper's house is in the village proper. The only possible place he could be is the old gatehouse. Uncle didn’t feel the original lane’s approach showed the house to its best advantage. About ten years ago he had a new road and gatehouse constructed. The old road is indistinguishable anymore. If you found the abbey a trial the gatehouse is worse. Covered in vines and overgrown bushes. One must know where to look to find that pile of bricks.”
Moreham dismounted and held up his arms to help her slide to the ground. Cross took the reins of her horse. They followed the somber earl into the stable. No one spoke another word until their horses were back in their stalls.
Gillian took Moreham’s arm for the walk back to the back of the house and through the French windows of the library. She stepped into the room only to find her uncle sitting behind his desk. Waiting.
“My dearest Gillian, I should have known. Moreham had recruited you. I wanted your marriage to be real so badly, I refused to believe otherwise. I am an old fool looking for easy answers.”
Gillian looked at Moreham before stepping in front of her uncle’s desk. She felt rather than saw the men line up behind her. She was not alone.
“Uncle, I refuse to believe what I heard tonight. You cannot be associated with such people. You have always esteemed the king and loved this country. I know you have reasons for what you are doing.”
The man buried his head in his hands and cried. Moreham pulled her back against his chest. There was nothing she could do. Her uncle had to be the one to act.
“Uncle, please tell us what is afoot. Please tell us the truth. Who is that man? What hold does he have over you? Did you know Percy Arnold traveled to Portugal to kill General Lord Wellington?”
The duke’s head shot upward at the mention of the general’s name. “Percy is going to kill the general?”
Moreham’s voice rumbled. “No, we have agents in Portugal to keep that deed from becoming a reality. Your Grace, as Gillian said, we were at the abbey. We saw and heard you talking to a stranger. We heard him speak of Gillian and a connection to Napoleon. Cross followed the fellow but lost him in your woods on the edge of the village.”
The duke sighed deeply and looked up at them. “I wish I’d never started this journey. None of this would have happened if I had returned to Whitings and spent my evenings sitting by the fire with a good book.
“An associate introduced me to Percy Arnold. Said he was a friend. Percy is the one who introduced me to the gentleman you saw in the abbey courtyard tonight. Although, introduce is not correct since I still have no notion who the man really is. I do know I have never seen him in a society setting.”
Moreham stepped forward. “Where did you meet him?”
“Percy asked me to join him for drinks at a fencing club in Mayfair. This fellow joined us in a private room. He was all that was proper. Talked about this and that before bringing Gillian’s name into the conversation.” He reached out to Gillian. “He was most interested in your mother’s family. Your mother was a cousin of Napoleon’s wife Josephine.”
Gillian couldn’t believe her ears. She had never heard one word of any connection to a French family. Her knees wobbled as the shock of her uncle’s words robbed her of feeling in her body. She felt around for one of the two chairs in front of his desk and sat. Moreham stood by her.
Gillian swallowed hard and tried to slow down the frantic pace of her breathing before she swooned. Moreham stepped closer and rested his hand on the nape of her neck. His gesture was welcomed, and she returned the favor by patting his hand. This man was her strength.
Moreham knew he should speak, but he couldn’t conjure up a single word. Why had he not seen the possibility of Gillian’s innocent involvement?
It was Gillian who spoke first. “Uncle, why don’t you start at the beginning and tell us all. Maybe there is a clue to the stranger’s identity or a weakness we can make use of.”
The duke sighed again and raised his head to look from one to the other.
“It all started with Percy Arnold. Last summer, I came upon him with one of the locals at the tavern in the village. He was a nice enough fellow. I was playing chess with Dr. Williams. The doctor had an emergency, so I asked Arnold if he played the game. He said he did. We played and talked of inconsequential topics that evening. He said he was in
the neighborhood for a sennight. At the end of the evening, I bade the man a good night and came home.”
“Did you see him after that night?”
“I think two days later the duchess had me fetch a bolt of cloth from the dressmaker for her. I came upon him on the road. He suggested I join him for a pint at the tavern. I said yes.”
Moreham’s fingers dug into her shoulder. A clear sign Moreham was hearing more than she was.
The duke took a sip of his brandy then continued, “That day he offered to ride with me. I was obliged to agree.”
Uncle looked over at her with tears in his eyes. “On the ride back to Whitings, he opined about the dastardly families who hid their French bloodlines from their peers. I expounded on how dastardly I thought it and that such behavior should not be countenanced. Arnold turned on me and said I was guilty of such an offense. I was stunned. I had no idea what he was talking about. He proceeded to tell me of Gillian’s connection to Empress Josephine. He said it would be a shame to ruin Gillian’s chance for happiness for a thimble full of frog-blood. He would keep silent if I helped him acquire a position in Whitehall. He knew precisely which position he wanted. All would be forgotten if I did so. That was a lie of course.”
The duke dropped his head into his hands. No one said a word. Gillian reached across the desk, took her uncle’s hand and smiled encouragingly. The duke continued, “After our return to Town, Arnold called and requested an introduction to Gillian.”
The duke tightened his grip on Gillian’s hand. “Dearest, I told myself I used my influence with Whitehall to gain his employ in the Quartermaster Office for you. I didn’t really like the man, but I turned a blind eye to what was truly going on.”
“Percy is the man who introduced you to the leader?” Moreham asked.
“Is that who you think the fellow is? I was of the impression the man is a go-between for the upper echelons, more an errand boy really. Both men suggested I host a house party to announce Gillian’s engagement to Percy. Percy would tell me who to invite.”
“And he had you. Should that truth, if it is truth, be revealed Gillian, you and the rest of your family would be ruined and shunned by all Polite Society. There would be no salvation for you socially,” Moreham deduced.
“Such a consequence would kill Isadora. She loves going about in Society. Being the arbiter of good taste.” Her uncle cast a sheepish look at Moreham.
Gillian looked up at him with tears in her eyes. He wished they were still in London in his chambers. Anywhere, but in this room where the harsh reality of her family’s future rested. Her eyes bore into him. He knew she wanted him to save her uncle. The truth was he hadn’t a notion on how to do so.
Cross cleared his throat. “Your Grace, have you discussed this allegation with your duchess?”
“No, I have complied with every one of his demands.”
Gillian gasped, and Moreham squeezed her hand. He really should send her upstairs to bed before her uncle said anything else.
“Don’t even suggest I leave this room. Whitney is my uncle and I will not be scuttled off like a brainless twit for you gentlemen to ferret out the truth then devise a plan to save the day.”
Cross coughed. Moreham glared at his friend. Now was not the time to engage in frivolity over his wife’s hold on his heart.
Moreham directed his attention to Whitney. “To clarify, are these peers attending the house party. Did you invite them as Arnold directed?”
‘Yes, the Earl of Colchester and Viscount Roberts. Both have accepted our invitation. I thought Arnold asking me to include the gentlemen and their wives unusual. I received a missive, unsigned, directing me to escort the earl and viscount to the abbey ruins after midnight tomorrow night.”
“Do you know what will happen at the ruins?” Cross asked.
“I have no idea. Once Arnold’s friends appear, I am to leave.”
“If you are to leave, how will the men return to the house?” Gillian mused.
Moreham groaned. All became clear. The men were not coming to the house party for a meeting. They were coming to be assassinated with Whitney framed as their killer.
Chapter 16
Whitney jumped to his feet, wide-eyed with fear and agitation. He looked around the room as if trying to find an escape. His words stumbled from his mouth in rapid succession, one after another. “Dear Lord, he’s going to kill those men. Isn’t he? What am I saying? He plans to kill me.”
Moreham growled and left her side. “I would wager they are accomplices and he must eliminate the risk of being exposed as a foreign agent. Since the meeting is taking place on your land, you will be suspected of the killings. Filled with remorse, you will commit suicide. I’d say the fellow has come up with a rather neat resolution to a sticky problem. He can move on to another group of peers and continue to undermine the government. The real question is why? What is the purpose of assassinating members of Parliament?
Gillian was still trying to understand how Percy, Aunt Isadora and Uncle Whitney had been snared into such a nefarious business. She still did not believe Percy possessed the intellect to mastermind such a scheme. Aunt Isadora was more concerned with the proper drape of her gowns over her bosom while her uncle was a simple man who enjoyed life. Whether in London or here at Whitings, Uncle was a good man who spent his afternoons at White’s with his friends reliving their glory days, taking his seat in Parliament, and squiring his wife around Town when Aunt Isadora wheedled.
That is it!
She jumped up from her chair and rushed to Moreham. “We have been looking at this all wrong.”
Moreham frowned down at her. “What do you mean?”
“These men are not here to steal secrets. They are here to replace the old guard in Parliament with men who are in sympathy for the French,” she insisted.
Cross muttered behind her. “Could she be right? Has this all been a ruse to change the balance of power?”
“It all makes sense now.” Uncle Whitney lurched to his feet and joined them by the window. “My heir is a mere boy barely twenty years. The lad is an easy-going sort who will fall in line with anyone who panders to his vanity. He is a veritable dandy.”
“Gillian, wake up Philly. She must be apprised of our conversation.”
Gillian left the men talking.
She rushed into Philly’s room to find the lady in question sitting up in bed reading.
“Philly, why are you still awake?”
“Couldn’t sleep until you and the others were back. I’ve been waiting to hear footsteps. Haven’t you learned by now…I know all?” Philly threw off the bedcovers to reveal her nightrail and wool stockings.
“We are down in the library with Uncle. You must come at once.”
Philly rose from the bed, grabbed her dressing gown then joined her by the door. Gillian followed the lady down the stairs into the library. The men were standing by the windows just as she had left them.
“Whitney, Moreham, Cross.” Philly addressed the men.
The gentlemen bowed to Philly. No one commented on her state of undress.
“Well, what happened at the abbey?” Philly asked Moreham.
Moreham recounted the events of the night. Philly remained quiet, asking no questions until he stated Gillian’s theory.
“That is quite an assumption, young lady. It seems Moreham was wise to bring you into his business, after all. His calculating nature working with your keen analytical mind has made short work of your first assignment.”
Philly turned to Whitney. “Well, Whitney, what do you think? Does this theory of salting the seats of Parliament with French sympathizers have any merit?”
“Oh, Philly, I wish I could say no emphatically, but the more we discuss the men involved the more likely Gillian’s theory is correct.”
“Cross go to the stable and wake my coachman. Sylvia and I will return to Town at once.” Philly waved her arm in the direction of the French windows. The earl didn’t say a word as he quick
ly walked over to the French windows and disappeared into the garden.
Gillian worried about what Aunt Isadora would say when she learned Philly and Lady Sylvia were on their way to London. She had to ask. “Won’t your departure tip our hand?”
Philly shook her head. “Oh no, dear, just say we were received word that Sylvia’s sister Euphonia has taken a turn for the worse. She does so all the time. Everyone knows Euphonia is prone to sickness. No one will take note of our absence. As far as everyone outside of this room will be concerned, Sylvia and I are two old ladies who are far too outspoken, and our departure will be regarded as good riddance.”
The spymaster turned to Gillian’s uncle then took his hand.
Philly’s voice softened. “Whitney, you must carry on with the house party. Be the gracious host, I know you to be. Trust the others to devise a plan.” Philly sighed. “Don’t blame yourself. I wish I could tell you this was the only plot against the Crown, but it is one of several in full assault. We are at war, you know. Since the beginning of time, most have believed a war is restricted to battlefields with formations of soldiers, but unfortunately, that is untrue.” Philly shook her head. “The stories I could tell you…oh well for another time. Maybe when we are older and grayer?”
Gillian realized Philly’s esteem for her uncle had been right under her nose and she had never noticed.
“Now, I must change.” Philly smiled at Gillian’s uncle and leaned forward to kiss his cheek.
Philly turned away from Whitney to face Moreham. “I would consider it a personal favor if you would keep this old reprobate alive as well. I don’t know who would keep Isadora in line if he weren’t around.”
Philly took Uncle’s hand and they moved toward the door. “Now, Your Grace, if you would be so kind as to escort me to my room. I will rouse Sylvia from her sleep. We will be on the road within the hour. Let us leave these two to their machinations.”