by Sarah Zettel
Isolde whimpered.
“Izzy, where are you?” I whispered exasperatedly.
She answered with a tiny growl from under the armchair.
“Izzy, come out of there.”
She did, triumphantly and with several threads hanging out of her mouth. Clearly, I had just been saved from a dangerous piece of loose fabric. She shook and sneezed and waited for her praise.
I gave it, rather more fulsomely than I had intended. “You clever, clever girl!”
That armchair was the room’s one luxury, being covered in fabric, sprung, and well padded. As carefully and quietly as I could, I tipped it onto its back. There was burlap underneath, but the scissors in my work basket were sharp, and I quickly slit the seam at the edge, just far enough that I could slide my ladder inside.
Izzy wagged her bottom and nosed my hand.
“Yes, now, you guard that carefully,” I murmured to her as I righted the chair.
It was then I heard the footsteps.
They were quick and light, a scant pattering against the floorboards. I froze in place and held my breath. I also grabbed up Isolde so that she might not make any undue sound.
The footsteps tapped up to my door. A light flickered through the crack underneath. Stealthily, the knob was turned. My heart stopped. My straight pin was not on hand, but the scissors in my basket were.
Then a second pair of footsteps sounded. These came, I thought, from the other end of the hall. It is not so easy to track movement by sound as playwrights and poets would have us believe. But my doorknob stilled and those steps moved away.
“Well, Izzy,” I breathed. “What do you make of that?” Isolde growled. “I agree.”
I waited quietly, holding Izzy in my arms, but Bidmarsh House seemed to be admirably and frustratingly supplied with thick walls. Strain my ears as I might, I could make out no further noises. My window looked out from the rear of the house rather than the front. I peered out of it anyway, remembering to keep behind the curtain. The moon had risen, but with the wind-blown clouds cluttering the sky, its light was neither bright nor certain. As far as I could tell, however, the lawns and the flat land beyond appeared empty of movement.
Izzy growled again, and squirmed. I heard a new noise as well, and sprang back from the window. It was a hesitant rustling of thick skirts, accompanied by an equally hesitant scraping and groping. Next came a soft whimpering that reminded me very much of Izzy when she was uneasy.
“There!” cried a woman’s voice, too high and harried to recognize. “Catch her!”
There followed the slap of running feet and a woman’s scream, accompanied by a flurry of thumps and struggles. Izzy barked as loudly as her tiny lungs allowed. I grabbed the doorknob unthinkingly, but froze. Did I want them to know I was awake? Light flickered beyond the door and someone moaned. Then, within the space of a few heartbeats, all sound of struggle ceased. I bit my lip and laid my hand over Izzy’s head to muffle her barks. While my dog most ungraciously attempted to gnaw my finger-ends, I backed away from the door.
There was the sound of something heavy being dragged. Then there was silence. There was silence for a very long time.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
IN WHICH FRESH INTRODUCTIONS ARE MADE AND A BREAKFAST PROVIDED, WHICH PROVES TO BE GENEROUS AND UNNERVING.
My next several hours were divided between pacing and hesitation. I crossed from the door to the window and back again, straining eyes and ears to detect some additional sound or action. I knelt and peered at the keyhole, even though I already knew my jailers had not been so careless as to leave the key in place. Time and again, I considered unearthing my candle and starting out from my prison of a room by means of the rope ladder and the window.
I fed Izzy half my little stock of biscuits in an effort to keep her quiet.
No new noises came. In fact, the night remained absolutely still, except for me and my awareness that there was some woman or girl in this house who should not have been, or who did not want to be.
It can’t be Olivia, I told myself over and over again. It cannot possibly be Olivia.
They would have had to break into Father’s house, where Father lay in a drugged sleep. Or they would have had to catch up with Olivia on the road, going in the obvious, but entirely wrong, direction with Matthew.
It could not be Olivia. But as dark and cold leeched into my impatient self, another thought occurred to me. It could be Aunt Pierpont. My naive aunt might have tried to divest herself of any last incriminating papers by handing them over to the Jacobites and begging them to leave her and her daughter alone. Given how soon they all said they expected their plans to come to fruition, they might not have wanted to risk leaving so foolish a woman at liberty.
Any sympathy I might have harbored toward these people and their cause was driven away entirely by the idea that they might have confined my harmless, nervous aunt.
But I could not go out to discover the truth, no matter how badly I wanted to. I knew nothing of the house. I had no idea who might be awake and watching. I could not risk it.
Not yet.
I peered out the window at the empty gardens. The silhouette of a single church steeple stood out sharply against the brightening sky. A profound awareness of how very alone I was stole over me. No one who meant me any good knew I was here. No one would know if I was made to disappear forever into the November marshes.
It was too much. I curled up on the bed. Isolde, with much scrabbling and circling, managed to make herself comfortable in the hollow near my stomach. I clutched her tightly and tried not to be afraid.
I must have slept at some point, for I did eventually sit up on my bed in the full light of morning, stiff as a board and cold to the bone. Someone was knocking at the door.
I found I had enough presence of mind left to scramble beneath my covers before I called out my permission to enter. The maid from the night before came in with candles and a chocolate pot. She did not, I noticed, have to pause to unlock the door. Which meant either she’d already done so or someone else had unlocked it earlier.
This was not a comforting thought.
Frost ferns decorated my window, and my prison room lacked any sort of fireplace. I’d brought with me only two shawls and one pair of slippers, and they felt entirely too thin for the circumstances. The candle Hannah carried provided no relief. My extreme desire to find the breakfast room, where it was surely warmer, almost drowned out my worries as to what, and whom, I would find when I reached it.
As it happened, I was not the first person to arrive at breakfast, not by a long chalk. Bidmarsh’s pleasant, pale green dining room with its long painted table and commodious sideboard was already well filled with talk, activity, and a variety of persons, both male and female.
Among them waited Lord Lynnfield and his younger brother.
I had known they must be here. This, after all, was their house. I had thought myself ready for it, but as I reached the room’s threshold and saw both Sebastian and Julius, I froze.
Lord Lynnfield rose politely from his place at the head of the table and bowed. Sebastian, who stood at the sideboard next to a round-faced gentleman in clerical garb, straightened from his slouch. His hand spasmed so severely that the piece of cake he held broke apart and its crumbs rained to the floor.
Mrs. Oglethorpe, seated at the foot of the table, did not appear to notice anything amiss with her hosts. Nor did she wait, as normal courtesy would have dictated, for either of them to speak.
“Ah! Here at last is our guest of honor!” Mrs. Oglethorpe came to take my arm. “Now, my dear, what can have so disconcerted you? We are all friends here.”
I swallowed. “Yes, of course,” I croaked. “I was simply startled. Since he did not come to greet us last night, I had thought Lord Lynnfield was away from home.”
“So we were,” replied Lynnfield calmly. “Detained on a matter of business, as it happens. We only arrived very late last night.”
Late last night?
Before or after the disturbance outside my door? I racked my brain. Had I heard a man’s voice in the commotion? Certainly some of the steps had been heavy enough to belong to a man. It can’t have been Olivia, I told myself again. Oh, please, Heaven above me, don’t let Olivia have done anything so foolish as to get caught by Lynnfield.
And not Aunt Pierpont, either. I don’t know what I’d do if they hurt Aunt Pierpont. I almost had to stifle a laugh. While I was praying, was there anybody else I should make sure of?
Besides Matthew, who might very well have died before he let anyone lay hands on Olivia.
I blessed my stars for my courtier’s training, for it was only this that enabled me to keep my features composed as Mrs. Oglethorpe led me farther into the room.
“Now, Miss Fitzroy, do let me make you known to our dear friend Dr. Atterbury.” The clerical gentleman standing at the sideboard bowed in acknowledgment of this introduction. To my shock, I realized I had seen him at several of the princess’s levees. “And my daughter Anne.” Miss Anne Oglethorpe did not rise from her place at the table. At least as old as Princess Caroline, Miss Olgethorpe strongly resembled her mother, particularly about her neck, which was inordinately long and stiff, and her sharp nose. She did possess a fine head of dark hair and wide-set brown eyes to balance these prominent features. Those eyes watched me with the sort of keen discernment that would have done credit to Sophy Howe.
“And of course,” Mrs. Oglethorpe went on, “you are well acquainted with our excellent Lord Lynnfield and his brother.”
“Very well. Yes.” I met Julius’s assessing gaze. “Although,” I added, careful to sound both bemused and fluttery, “I wonder if they are surprised to find me here on such terms.”
“Not at all,” Lynnfield replied. “The only uncertainty was when you’d arrive. I did not think you would precede us.”
To my surprise it was Sebastian who answered next, and his answer was a loud and dismissive snort. “Oh, for God’s sake, Julius!”
“Sebastian!” cried Mrs. Oglethorpe. “Do not blaspheme!”
Sebastian ignored her. “Surely you didn’t expect the old snake and her daughters to change their spots just because you’ve declared for the same side! Why, someone might think she gave a damn about either one of us!” He aimed a vicious kick at the bit of the seed cake he’d dropped and stomped out of the room.
We all stared after him. Not one of us moved. The clerical gentleman, Dr. Atterbury, cleared his throat.
“For shame, Mrs. Oglethorpe,” he murmured. “Here we are, keeping Miss Fitzroy standing and talking, when she is clearly faint with hunger.” He gestured to the battalion of covered porcelain dishes that crowded the sideboard. “What can I help you to, Miss Fitzroy?”
The thought of food was actively sickening, but I forced that feeling to one side, along with all misapprehensions about my current company. I needed to eat. Firstly, to maintain strength of body and mind. Secondly, because the process of choosing breakfast would keep me from having to make polite conversation while I marshaled something approaching rational thought.
Dr. Atterbury solicitously helped me to fish, muffins, and a thick slice of fruit cake, accompanied by a cup of strong coffee.
Once again, the food proved to be excellent. Mrs. Oglethorpe presided over the table without reference to Lord Lynnfield, who resumed his seat at its head. While we ate, she chatted calmly and casually with Dr. Atterbury and Miss Anne Oglethorpe about what I guessed to be local news and mutual acquaintances.
Lord Lynnfield, naturally, watched me. It took all my training to keep my hands steady as I wielded fork and knife to cut the fillet of sole in lemon sauce and to butter the freshly baked muffins. I was so fixed on navigating my breakfast and concealing any hint of genuine feeling that I barely noticed that Mrs. Oglethorpe had paused in her chatter.
“You seem a bit pale and quiet this morning, Miss Fitzroy. I trust you slept well?”
“Very well, thank you, madame,” I answered, grateful that established courtesy provided the set form of answer. The spy in me, however, decided that this was not quite enough. “My room is extremely comfortable. Although . . .”
“Although?” Lynnfield barked. As sharp as the single word was, the glance he received in answer from Mrs. Oglethorpe was sharper.
“I’m afraid my puppy, Isolde, finds the change unnerving.” I smiled and lowered my eyes. The edge to Lord Lynnfield’s inquiry gave me the answer I sought. Whatever had happened last night, Lynnfield knew about it, and it worried him. He was a man who liked to be in control, and that control had slipped. “The poor thing woke up at some time during the night, and I had quite a time getting her settled again. I am, however, certain she will soon grow used to her new surroundings.”
“Yes indeed,” agreed Dr. Atterbury, smiling. “Young things of all sorts are highly adaptable.”
“No doubt.” Lynnfield’s reply and countenance were bland, but he climbed to his feet. “I’m afraid I must beg a word in private with you, Mrs. Oglethorpe,” he said.
“And with Miss Fitzroy as well, I imagine.” Mrs. Oglethorpe cast me a positively conspiratorial glance.
“If she has no objection.”
I had a thousand objections and would cheerfully have listed them. Unfortunately, this did not seem like an opportune moment. Instead, I wiped my mouth and fingers on my napkin and stood obediently.
“Perhaps once our business is concluded, Anne can show you the grounds.” Mrs. Oglethorpe smiled. “Unless, of course, it’s too cold for you?”
“Oh, you needn’t be concerned about me,” I murmured. “I am quite used to going abroad in all weathers.”
“Ah, yes.” Miss Anne Oglethorpe smiled. “We’ve heard how the German bitch loves the out-of-doors.”
The hard word was dropped so casually, I started as if it were a china cup let fall. Mrs. Oglethorpe did not seem to notice anything, however. She just turned smoothly and left the room, with Lynnfield striding behind her. I was left to follow along.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
IN WHICH A COLD WALK PROVIDES OUR HEROINE WITH CERTAIN UNSETTLING REVELATIONS AND AN UNINSPIRING VIEW.
The library of Bidmarsh House would have moved Olivia to raptures. It was a broad room with soaring ceilings. Shelves lined its walls, and those shelves were entirely lined with books. Comfort had not in any way been neglected, as there were several plump armchairs and sofas scattered about, as well as a broad writing desk.
Of course Lord Lynnfield locked the doors. Mrs. Oglethorpe settled herself onto the sofa nearest the fire. “Well, Julius, what is it you wish to say?”
He smiled and folded his hands behind his back.
“I merely wished for the opportunity to welcome Miss Fitzroy into my house.” I thought I detected a slight emphasis on the possessive pronoun. “And to inquire whether her journey here was comfortable.”
I took some time in answering. I wanted to be sure my gaze and hands would stay steady before I spoke. I might play the fool for Mrs. Oglethorpe, but that disguise would not serve me in front of Lynnfield, who had seen me much closer to my true self. “The drive was difficult, and I regret the necessity of having made it. However, I am here, and I mean to stay as long as I am welcome.”
“Well spoken, Margaret,” said Mrs. Oglethorpe with warm approval.
Lord Lynnfield, though, shook his head. “I admit to a certain disappointment. I really did think I’d found in you someone more creative, and more loyal to her own. Still.” He shrugged. “Perhaps now I’ll have a chance to begin again with you. That also might have its advantages.” As he spoke, he bestowed on me one more long and thoughtful look. It traveled up my body and down again, carefully weighing and assessing all that I wore and all that I was.
Mrs. Oglethorpe smiled to see this close regard. I suppressed the urge to run to find the nearest basin of fresh water to wash the oily touch of Lynnfield’s gaze off my skin.
“But that’s for later,” said Lord Lynnfield. “What we need
to know now is how successful our plans have been thus far.”
Mrs. Oglethorpe’s fond smile turned into a grin of absolute triumph. “Margaret, perhaps you will do me the favor of telling Lord Lynnfield where you last spoke to Tierney.”
“In his cell in the Tower of London.” I couldn’t keep the catch out of my voice as I spoke.
Lynnfield was in no way impressed. “She could be lying,” he said to Mrs. Oglethorpe. “She’s better at it than you might think, and none of us would find her out for several days.”
“True,” I replied calmly. “But you might also ask yourself whether I would be here, with you, if I had anywhere else to go.”
Another man might have smiled in amusement at this, but in my experience, there were no other men like Lord Lynnfield. “No, you would not.”
“Perhaps you should inform Julius what happened to you in that Tower cell?” Mrs. Oglethorpe prompted. I’m afraid I rather started at this question. In response, I received another of her benign smiles, which were truly beginning to grate on my nerves. “It’s all right. We’ve already heard the story. At least, I have.”
There was danger underneath the confident and honeyed tones of those words. I was on display here in more ways than one. The Old Fury was demonstrating her talents and her resources to the doubting Lord Lynnfield. She was also warning me that if I strayed from what she believed she knew, there would be consequences.
As I spun my tale, I wondered: Did Mr. Tinderflint know she would find out about my visit to the Tower and our conversation? He must have. This was why he’d wanted us to be heard quarreling—not because word would get to the palace, but because word would get to the Old Fury.
I would have a great deal to say to my patron when we both emerged from our respective difficulties.