Realm 06 - A Touch of Love

by Regina Jeffers

  Lawrence Lowery closed the drawing room’s door behind his wife. “Now, Your Lordship, I think it time you explain what has caused this upheaval in my father’s household.” He directed the older man’s steps to the grouping of chairs.

  The earl sat heavily. “I cannot express my regret, Lord Hellsman.”

  Law’s irritation rose quickly. “I want no more words of remorse, Lord Charleton. I am willing to place my resources at your service as long as your family’s crisis does not create difficulties for Lady Hellsman. My wife and our future family are my priority.” He schooled his expression. “Please speak of what has happened to send your niece out into the night.”

  Charleton nodded curtly. “Very well, Hellsman. As I explained to your lady, Lucinda and I examined Roderick’s personal papers last evening. Everything appeared to be going well; my niece has shown more trust of late, and I held great hopes we would soon close the chasm we inherited. Unfortunately, Lucinda read something in her father’s military records, which upset her. I made my attempts at an explanation, but being unaware of how my brother Roderick and I came to feud so violently shocked her so much, Lucinda stormed away in tears.”

  Lawrence listened carefully to what His Lordship did not say. “And you think this alarming news drove Mrs. Warren from her chambers?”

  The earl scowled in disapproval. “I would not think it of Lucinda; I suspected to face a barrage of contemptuous remarks today, all well deserved I might add, but I am more than surprised my niece has chosen retreat. Roderick would never have approved, and my niece has always struggled to please him.”

  “I thought you unaware of Mrs. Warren’s upbringing,” Law said suspiciously.

  Profound sadness crossed the earl’s countenance. “Lucinda’s mother kept me informed of my niece in lengthy, newsy letters. It is true I do not know her well, but what I do know of Lucinda does not speak of cowardice.”

  Law added, “If not for Mrs. Warren’s quick thinking my brother would have a met a dreadful end. In reality, I can easily imagine the lady rushing into the struggle, not the reverse.”

  The earl nodded eagerly. “I fear Lucinda’s disappearance only complicates the situation.”

  “True,” Law reasoned. “But surely she is somewhere about the estate. I would think Mrs. Warren has taken refuge in one of the follies rather than to risk being alone in the dark.” He doubted a brisk walk in the night’s middle was the lady’s true destination, but if Mrs. Warren had departed on foot, they would quickly locate her. Unless, she sought out the solitude of Dark Peak or the bottom of one of the estate’s tarns, he thought. Carter would be livid if Law had permitted the woman to know danger.

  Anxiousness returned to Charleton’s countenance. “What is being done to locate my niece?”

  “I have asked two of my most trusted servants to search all the rooms. First, we must ascertain whether Mrs. Warren is on the immediate grounds. If that search proves fruitless, I will call forth the hounds.”

  Bella reentered on a rush. “I have discovered a note,” she said out of breath. She thrust the paper in Law’s direction, but he was more concerned with the paleness of Bella’s lips, all color drained from her cheeks. He caught her about the waist and set her firmly in a nearby chair before accepting the note she held firmly in her grasp.

  The earl rose slowly, almost as if he expected the worst. “What does the message say, Lord Hellsman?”

  Law unfolded the single sheet to read aloud: “Tell the baronet if he wishes the lady’s return, he will learn to look elsewhere. If he comes closer, the lady will die.”

  Charleton’s pallor spoke volumes. “In what type…of investigation…has Sir Carter involved my niece? I thought their only connection was the location of Simon’s family,” he accused.

  Law said defensively, “It was Mrs. Warren who received the threat when they were in Suffolk. My brother nearly died saving your niece!”

  Bella snapped, “It does not matter who is to blame. You must send for Carter right this minute. There is no time to lose! Only the baronet can resolve this chaos.”

  Lawrence reached for the bell pull. “You write the message, Bella, and I will make arrangements for a rider.”

  “Two riders,” Bella insisted. “Lord Worthing is in Derby. He can be at Blake’s Run within hours.”

  Law nodded his agreement. “Perhaps we should send for Viscount Lexford and the Marquis of Godown also. The last I knew, Carter was in Suffolk, but that was a week prior. We require someone with knowledge of Carter’s investigations.”

  “Meanwhile,” Charleton asserted, “If you hold no objections, I would ask several of your men to organize a search.”

  Law cautioned, “Do not in your frenzy to locate your niece run the risk of ruining her reputation.”

  “Tell Mr. Sack Mrs. Warren has gone for a walk and you fear she has lost her way in unfamiliar country,” Bella reasoned. Law smiled at her: His wife was a woman made for crisis. “Now, hurry,” she encouraged.

  Aristotle Pennington’s appearance at the Suffolk inn did not surprise Carter so much as it amused him. “I thought it best if we speak in person,” the Realm leader assured. “I could not assume the chance we had more than one possible spy working within our ranks.”

  Carter poured them both a drink. “It was Swenton who questioned Monroe’s motives,” he confessed. “I fear I did not recognize what the baron easily observed.” Uncomfortably, he added, “I have failed you again.” He shivered with trepidation.

  The Realm’s leader’s eyes flashed in annoyance. “Dear God, Lowery!” Pennington said with a huff. “You will never be perfect. The best any of us can do is surround ourselves with the best people we know. You have done that with Swenton.”

  Carter corrected, “You chose the baron long before I was part of the Realm.”

  Pennington shook his head in disapproval. He regarded Carter narrowly. “But it was your leadership which presented John Swenton with new possibilities. Until you joined the unit, I often wondered if the baron would sabotage our best-laid plans simply because he had previously known nothing but misery. Swenton has never had a family or someone he admires. The baron sees that in you; you have provided a sail for his sinking ship.” He slugged down the drink. “Enough of your questioning your ability to lead this organization. Concentrate on what you do best, and all else will fall where it may. You cannot control every situation. Unfortunately, upon occasion, innocent people suffer. It is a fact against which you must wage the battle, but it is also a fact you must accept when even your best efforts are not enough. Now, retrieve the letter Mrs. Warren received and permit me to compare the handwriting to that of Monroe’s reports.”

  Carter did as he was told and within a few minutes they poured over the samples Pennington had brought with him. It was in such moments Carter cherished his relationship with Aristotle Pennington. If he were younger, he might have wished his own father had been cut from the same cloth as the Realm’s stoic leader, but Carter had not had Pennington’s acquaintance until the man quite literally snatched Carter from the battlefield.

  “What is your business with a lieutenant in King George’s army?” Carter had defiantly thrust off the hold James Kerrington had had upon his arms.

  “Easy, Boy,” Kerrington had hissed. “No one means you harm.”

  Carter jerked the line of his coat straight. “I am no one’s boy!”

  Pennington had immediately diffused the situation by walking away. “Perhaps you are correct,” he had patiently remarked. “You are not a boy, but you have yet learned the ways of a man. Boys solve disharmony with violence; men with reasoning.”

  At the time, Carter had possessed no choice but to follow the man. Kerrington and Marcus Wellston had kidnapped him from where Carter had overseen the watch and had transported him to a deserted area behind enemy lines. If he did not quickly ascertain what the crazy Englishman meant, he might lose his life, and so he had trailed after the man the others had called “Shepherd.”

>   “What if I wish to be a man?” Carter had challenged.

  Pennington had paused to wait for Carter’s approach. “Then you will dine with us this evening and decide if you wish to be an integral part of something larger than Wellington’s army.” Carter had known confusion, but something in Pennington’s countenance had spoken of confidence–had made Carter abandon his doubts–had created a desire to know Aristotle Pennington’s approval.

  “Note how the author of Mrs. Warren’s letter has attempted to forge your script, but there are characteristics of his hand which betray his efforts.” Carter examined the points to which Pennington pointed. “Your tutor, Mr. Brady, taught you well regarding the necessity of a neat hand.” It no longer surprised Carter to hear the Realm’s leader speak casually of personal facts regarding his agents. He had learned since joining Pennington at the Home Office the man had kept meticulous files on those he had chosen as Realm members. “You never leave a smear from too much ink on the pen or a dull point.”

  Carter finally recognized what Pennington did. “It is as if our unknown author paused to construct his thoughts.” There were thicker letters where the ink pooled. “I never allow my a’s to lie so flat along the line,” he remarked.

  “Nor your c’s and d’s.” Pennington unfolded one of Monroe’s most recent reports. “You can easily note your assistant’s lazy script.”

  Carter felt ill; he hated to believe they had erred in choosing Dylan Monroe. He could not say he held a true affinity for the man, especially after Monroe’s attentions to Mrs. Warren, but Carter understood the expense of their specialized training. “Why?” he asked. “Why send Mrs. Warren on a dangerous mission?”

  Pennington sat the papers aside. “We must approach this situation carefully. If we play our cards too quickly, we might not discover the depth of Monroe’s betrayal. Does the man work alone? Does he have connections to foreign agents operating in England?”

  Carter asked immediately, “Such as Jamot?”

  Pennington’s grave dissatisfaction crossed his countenance. “My guess is any connection on Jamot’s part is purely coincidental. Yet, my suspicions say the Baloch plays a role in this madness.”

  Carter scrubbed his face with his dry hands. “Where do we begin?”

  “Send for Swenton. I want the baron involved. As you have previously noted, John Swenton possesses the knack for quickly analyzing the fine nuances which define an indignity.”

  When Carter returned forty minutes later, Pennington had retreated to his room. “I thought it best if others did not know of my presence in Suffolk,” he admitted as he drew chairs about a small table. “Before coming here, I instructed Monroe to return to his duties.”

  Swenton grumbled, “I am grateful for the reprise. Staring upon an empty farmhouse for hours takes its toll on my patience.”

  Carter and Pennington exchanged a knowing glance. It had been over a year since the baron had last seen Lady Yardley’s twin sister, Satiné, and Swenton grew more withdrawn each day. Only Carter and Pennington recognized the baron’s unease. The others knew Swenton held a “lost love,” but none suspected the baron had developed an affection for the scandal-ridden Satiné Aldridge. Their acquaintance had been of short duration, but Pennington had made Carter aware of Swenton’s frequent secret correspondence with the woman. It was the reason Carter had earlier suggested a companion for Swenton’s “ill friend.”

  “I thought it might do me well to make a list of what we know and what we have yet to discover,” Pennington suggested. “Would you mind serving as scribe, John?”

  Swenton shrugged from his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. “Feed me, and give me drink, and I will obediently be your clerk.” His friend’s shoulders relaxed with the familiarity of the routine. He reached for the paper Pennington had placed upon the table. “I see you began without us,” he said with a taunt.

  “Writing assists me in organizing my thoughts.” Pennington poured them each a drink. “I will not apologize for knowing my strengths and weaknesses.”

  Carter read over Swenton’s shoulder. In addition to the questions Pennington had previously voiced, the Realm’s leader had added: Has Monroe forged other documents or letters in SC’s name? Is DM involved in the smuggling ring? Who are DM’s contacts in the Realm? In the Home Office? Are the attacks on Mrs. Warren related to those on SC? Does Simon Warren’s sudden appearance play into the attacks?

  Swenton released a slow whistle. “Appears we have a multitude of questions to answer.”

  Pennington moved his chair closer. “No time as productive as the present. I wish to know every detail, no matter how insignificant.”

  Some five hours later, no conclusions had been reached, and Carter had, in truth, lost interest in the multiple conversations. Having taken a short respite to dine, they lounged lazily afterwards. Swenton had propped his feet upon Carter’s abandoned chair, while Pennington had partaken of an imported cheroot. Unable to tolerate the idea of how many facts he had ignored, Carter had lain across Pennington’s bed. His legs dangled over the edge, and he covered his eyes with his forearm. All the talk of Lucinda Warren had brought images he had spent a week suppressing, and Carter wanted nothing more than to sleep long enough to finish his dream of making love to the woman. Pennington had not asked of the lady’s connection to the events at Waterloo, and Carter had made a private promise not to implicate her further.

  As he accepted his obsession with the woman, an exquisite image of Lucinda in passion filled his mind, and Carter felt the responsive tug in his groin. He wondered if Swenton entertained such moments in response to a memory of Miss Aldridge. It was certainly not a topic men readily discussed. The bizarre thought brought a smile of amusement to his lips. The world assumed men held all the answers when, in reality, there was no manual on how to attach a woman’s affections. The female population was a fickled sect. “Fickled enough to accept Dylan Monroe’s attentions over yours,” he grumbled silently. Recognition of the man’s influence over the woman Carter desired brought a curse to his lips. “Monroe!”

  Pennington turned from the window. “What of Monroe?”

  Carter pushed to a seated position to stall for he had not meant to bring his jealousy to the conversation. “I was…I was wondering how Monroe came to be so…so highly placed. It is not like you, Sir, to permit a man with ulterior motives so close to our operations.” Immediately, Carter wondered if he had said too much.

  Although Pennington scowled, he did not appear offended. “Occasionally those who practice nefarious purposes manage to invade our inner structure. However, Monroe came to us via a recommendation from the Duke of Portland, and I had Monroe thoroughly investigated, and there were no questionable connections.”

  Swenton asked, “Who is his family?”

  Pennington ticked off the names of several minor aristocrats. “The Goodwins, the Woodvines, and the Dymonds.”

  Swenton observed, “Those families only go back two or three generations.”

  Pennington’s frown liens deepened. “Although we prefer those with strong ties to England’s history, deep ancestral lines are not a prerequisite for service.”

  Carter asked, “Which Dymonds? Those in Staffordshire or Cornwall?”

  Pennington responded, “Those in Cornwall, but I would suppose the Staffordshire branch on the same family tree.”

  It was Carter’s turn to frown. “Cornwall is close to Devon, from where both the Warrens and Roderick Rightnour hail,” he said slowly as if tasting the words. “And the current head of the Dymond family in Staffordshire is Franklyn Dymond, the Earl of Whitrow, Hugh Dymond’s father.”

  An icy eyebrow rose, and Swenton asked, “Hugh Dymond, as in Viscount Ransing?”

  Carter watched as Pennington made the connection. “It cannot be. I specifically turned away Ransing’s overtures to join us.”

  “When did Hugh Dymond seek admittance to the Home Office?” A cold shiver ran down Carter’s spine. He prayed he had not underestimated La
w’s former enemy. If so, Carter’s family was in danger.

  “Then we are agreed?” Pennington asked. They had spent several frantic hours planning what action to take. “I will ask Monroe to escort me to London. Once there, I will observe him more closely and set about finding our answers regarding the depth of the man’s deception. Swenton will travel to Oxford and make contact with Ward Dartmour. They will oversee the investigation into Cyrus Woodstone’s most recent dealings, and you will explore Viscount Ransing’s involvement in this twisted web.”

  It had taken all of Carter’s well-honed patience to sit through the procedural meeting. His emotions screamed for his immediate withdrawal to Derbyshire to ensure his family’s safety. “Agreed,” he said through tight lips.

  A light tap on the door interrupted Carter’s dark thoughts. Swenton opened the door to a sour-faced Symington Henderson. “I beg your pardon, Sirs,” he said in obvious nervousness. “I bring poor tidings. Mr. Monroe is no where to be found.”

  Before Pennington could respond, Carter had taken up his jacket and his hat. “You three may make the best of this madness; I am to Blake’s Run.” He took several tentative steps, uncertain how his actions would translate on paper. Would the Selection Committee think his choice the sign of a weak leader?

  From beside him, Swenton whispered, “Your duty is to home first.”

  With a curt nod, Carter raced from the inn to the stables; within minutes he pressed Prime to a gallop.

  Despite the danger on the road, he had ridden throughout the night, attempting to stretch Prime’s stamina to its limit, but with dawn’s appearance, Carter had quickly come to the conclusion he could not knowingly cripple his favorite stallion; so he had reluctantly turned Prime toward a place, which would welcome him, at any hour: the circle before Linton Park. Carter slid to the ground as Lord Worthing’s grooms rushed forward. “Thank you, Prime,” he whispered as he stroked the lather from the animal’s neck.