Paladin's War

by Peter Greene

  They remained like this for what seemed to be one hundred heartbeats. Then, ever so slowly, the horseman turned his back to the window. Delain immediately dropped to the ground. Legs still aching, she ran around the corner of the mansion and back into the hedges. She froze once again, unbreathing. The sounds of the key and knob were followed by the creaking of the door opening. The rider emerged and looked about. Shadows covered him almost completely as he stood as still as stone. He then stepped quickly into the woods. A moment later, Delain could hear the horse’s hooves pounding the soft earth as the Black Rider rode away into the trees’ gloom.

  Delain took a deep breath to calm her nerves. She rubbed her calves for a moment as she looked about. When she was sure she was alone and no workers, horses, or mysterious riders were visible, she approached the door. Hoping it was unlocked, she planned to see just what was placed behind the book in the case.

  She gripped the knob. The door was locked; however, her curiosity had been opened.

  Miss Thompson had waited with Steward on the side of the drive until the last carriage had deposited its travelers at the front steps of Wilder Manor. They had been looking about the hedges somewhat nonchalantly, hoping to catch a glimpse of their missing party. After several fruitless minutes, Barbara had made up her mind to cancel her attendance.

  “Steward, I cannot wait any longer. I will go inside and inform the doorman that we are unable to—”

  “Shall we go in?” asked Delain, appearing from behind the carriage, trying to fix her misplaced strands of hair and brush water drops and several leaves from her dress.

  Miss Thompson’s mouth was literally agape.

  “Delain Dowdeswell! What a caution you are! Your hair! Your clothes! Quickly, into the carriage! Dear, dear, dear…”

  After a full fifteen minutes of hairdressing, leaf-picking, waving of a handkerchief over damp areas of her dress, and avoidance of any details about her sudden disappearance, Delain was almost presentable once again. Steward stood watch outside, now and then stating to curious passersby that it was “just some female delay” or “typical London weather, eh, gov’na’?”

  * * * * *

  The tea was most splendid, even by Delain’s standards. Initially, she expected Lady Wilder might be a dull host, but to the contrary, she was lively, polite, and engaging. Dressed in a less-than-attractive and slightly out-of-style ensemble, Alina seemed happy to have a celebrity such as Delain in her company. She escorted the youngster by the arm, parading her about the greeting room, introducing her to various ladies of the city, showing her off as if Delain were her distant cousin. Many asked for details of her exploits as a stowaway aboard HMS Danielle and about her activities at the Castle of Fire. Of course, they then became shocked by her audacity.

  Delain couldn’t help but think that all in attendance disapproved of her behavior. I don’t care, she thought. If people such as these actually did approve of my behavior, I would question my own purposes!

  “And here is Mrs. Brookside!” exclaimed Lady Wilder, leading Delain like an immensely curious pet on a chain. “May I introduce to you the famous Miss Delain Dowdeswell, daughter of His Lordship Admiral Dowdeswell, Governor of the Bahamas.”

  “Ah,” said Mrs. Brookside as she looked Delain up and down as if evaluating her for purchase. The frown on her face and turning of her double chin into at least several new chins signaled her displeasure, yet her eyes held a glint of interest in the subject. “This is the young lady who lived on a boat with a few thousand men.”

  “Not a boat,” giggled Lady Wilder. “A vessel of such size as the Danielle is a ship. A seventy-four-gun, third-rate ship of the line, to be exact.”

  Delain stared intently at Mrs. Brookside and considered using a few moves she had learned while dispatching pirates from the Drake. She believed a quick stomp on the foot, then a hefty blow to the throat would be in order. As if reading her thoughts, Miss Thompson appeared and diffused the situation with a jolly laugh.

  “Oh, Mrs. Brookside! Always a wonderful sense of humor you display.”

  The only one truly interested in the details of Delain’s tale was Lady Megan Wildrige. Stunningly beautiful in her auburn hair, and only a few years older than Delain at seventeen, she was especially intrigued by Delain’s firing of cannon. Besides her supposed rude remarks about Lady Eder, Delain almost tolerated her, to the point of actually liking the young woman.

  “Are the cannon loud?” asked the young noblewoman, smiling with excitement.

  “Extremely,” said Delain. “And the flames were hot. I could feel them even standing behind.”

  “I wouldn’t want to find myself in front!” laughed Megan. “I have seen and heard cannon fired from ships in the Port of London, but never up close. Does the ground shake?”

  “Indeed it does,” said Delain. “But remember that a ship’s cannon are called guns, and a gun on land is called a cannon.”

  Confused, Lady Megan just nodded her head.

  “I fired seven of them,” added Delain casually. “Struck a few French warships as well. Frigates, actually. Most exciting.”

  All were, of course, dressed splendidly, Delain thought, with the exception of Lady Wilder. Her dress was of the same frayed and tattered condition as the one she wore to the yacht race. Money problems, Penelope had thought.

  Topics of discussion, however, mostly remained dull and uninteresting. Once seated on a paisley pouf next to Lady Wilder and Miss Thompson in the drawing room, Delain listened to long dialogues on such topics as the weather, the fashions from France that were now flowing into the city, and slight gossip about so-and-so who said this-and-that to Lady Whomever. The only thing that kept Delain awake was her desire to see just what had been placed in the library by the mysterious rider—and the never-ending trays of small chocolates and cucumber sandwiches that were offered by the servants of Lady Wilder. And that gave her an idea.

  After her third cucumber sandwich, Delain became silent and slumped ever so slightly in her chair. She waited a moment, unmoving.

  “And how is Admiral Moore?” asked Lady Wilder of Miss Thompson. “All going well?”

  “Exceedingly well,” said Barbara.

  “And his son? Out to sea again?” asked Lady Wilder.

  “Yes,” added Barbara, “aboard the Paladin.”

  “The craft we saw at the race?” asked Alina.

  Delain ignored this small talk. She sat quietly for five minutes. Then, very slowly, to not be noticed, took a deep breath and held it as long as she could, and then held it longer. This caused her to make an odd squawking noise as she released the air from her lungs. That, in turn, caused Lady Wilder and Miss Thompson to interrupt their conversation and become concerned.

  “Miss Dowdeswell?” asked Lady Wilder, “are you well?”

  “Your face seems…slightly flushed!” said Barbara.

  “I think having cucumber sandwiches may not agree with me. I have never had them,” said Delain.

  Miss Thompson knew this was not true. She had served them to Delain herself on more than one occasion; however, maybe it was the mustard dressing added to today’s variety that was upsetting.

  “Dear me,” said Lady Wilder. “What can I do for you? Water? Fresh air?”

  “She has had plenty of fresh air,” said Miss Thompson, somewhat suspiciously. Could this be one of Delain’s famous subterfuges?

  “Maybe if I could lie down for a while?” suggested Delain.

  Within minutes a servant arrived and, led by Lady Wilder, supported Delain slowly to a bedroom in the rear of the house.

  Now alone, head resting on a pillow in the oversized bed, Delain remained still for a moment, listening to the footsteps of Lady Wilder as she walked the long hallway back to her guests. Noisy shoes on that wooden floor, thought Delain. I had better take mine off, which she immediately did. After another moment, she sat up slowly and slid off the bed. At the door, she listened for a full minute, hearing only the dull drone of dull conversation
coming from the tea room. It seemed safe to peek out.

  Opening the door ever so slowly, Delain could see the empty hall leading all the way into the tea room. She carefully craned her neck the other way, opening the door wider, to see a dark passage to her right that immediately turned left, in the direction she assumed led to the library and its mysterious contents.

  Holding her shoes, Delain breathlessly tiptoed down the hall.

  In the tea room, no one was the wiser, until Miss Barbara Thompson happened to glance down the hallway leading to the bedroom where Delain had been deposited. She immediately noticed the form of a young lady in white running down the hallway, shoes in hand, disappearing into the dark.

  Oh my! she thought. What could Delain be up to now? Yet another trick? And here? At Lady Wilder’s home? It would not be inconceivable that the entire illness was feigned—and all in preparation for another stunt. Why can’t she just be a lady? It is as if I am managing a rambunctious filly, with great promise and no demeanor!

  Delain continued down the dark hallway to the left. She was now able to breathe easily, being out of sight of the tea room. She took the opportunity to get her bearings. Looking outside a crinoline-draped window, she could see her location in relation to the library. There, outside, was Steward, sitting atop the parked carriage. From the inside pocket of his woolen coat, he withdrew something. It looked positively disgusting: a fish sandwich he had most likely made himself. Delain was sure she could make out the head that was still on the fish as he began to eat, and as appalling as it was, it was no matter. Steward was slightly to her left, so that meant the library would have to be to her right.

  Walking onward, Delain had a moment to think of an excuse, should she be found skulking about. A simple “I was looking for a powder room” would be easily believed if she were seen en route or returning from her task. However, what if she were discovered in the library—on a chair, reaching up into the bookcase? There would be no way to explain that if caught red-handed. Creeping down yet another turn in the hall past portraits of staring eyes and noble glances, she continued to think; however, not a single excuse came to mind. Best to not get caught then, she reasoned.

  When she reached the end of the hallway, there were no other turns or doors, just a simple wooden entry on her left. It had to be the library. She listened for a moment, heard nothing, then, heart racing, she entered the room and quickly closed the door.

  The room was dark, with only a dim light shining through the stained-glass windows directly before her. To the left was the large desk, flanked by two overstuffed chairs, and a floor-to-ceiling bookcase behind. The walls on either side of the door and to her right were also made of shelves filled with books. Delain turned around to face the door and looked upward to the secondmost top shelf. Yes, there it was: a volume just slightly protruding from the row of books by almost a half inch. It looked to be a large tome, certainly capable of making the loud thud she had heard earlier as she was peeking in the window. All she needed was to grab it and retrieve whatever was behind. Unfortunately, she needed a ladder.

  All libraries have a ladder, she thought. But not this one. Of all the bad luck! No issue, I will use one of these chairs!

  The nearest chair had to weigh over a hundred pounds, and though tough and resourceful, Delain was just slightly that weight herself. She gritted her teeth, angled herself just so, and then, with all her might, pushed the chair as hard as she could. It budged, making a squeaking sound as it rubbed the wooden floor.

  Had anyone heard? She couldn’t stop now!

  She pushed and shoved, and eventually the chair was positioned, back to the wall, directly under the suspected book. She stood on the seat, in her stocking feet of course, and reached above. Feeling for the protruding volume, she looked upward. She was almost two feet below her target. Delain climbed up on the arm of the chair, and then, steadying herself by grabbing the edge of the bookshelf in front of her, leapt up to the high back. The chair shook. She wavered helplessly as her hand lost its grip on the shelf. A fall was imminent.

  However, this was Delain Dowdeswell, adventurer, one who had climbed the walls of fortresses in Nassau, dragged cannon from recesses of a great castle, and scurried about the warship HMS Danielle unseen for several days. She was used to being in precarious positions and getting out of them.

  Literally balancing on the fulcrum of disaster, Delain realized her silly poise exercises from the Swedish School had some practical use in her current predicament. She leaned to her left, then right, then found a middle ground of stability somewhere in between. Once assured of her position, she slowly moved her hand back to the shelf and grasped it.

  She easily found the book hiding the treasure and removed it, dropping it on the chair silently. She reached into the space behind. Yes, there was something there, a fabric bag? It was heavy but not unmanageable. She took it.

  Climbing down, she went to the desk, sat in the chair behind it, and looked in the bag.

  “Money!” she gasped, then covered her mouth. Delain began extracting piles of English bank notes, counting as she went: five piles, each with ten one-hundred-pound notes each, totaling five thousand pounds. That was a small fortune by anyone’s standards.

  There was more: a slip of paper with the words “April Seventeen, Three A.M.” scratched hastily in juvenile-looking script, and a letter in an envelope. The envelope was not sealed, only folded closed. Delain carefully opened it. Inside was a letter over a page long, neatly written yet completely unreadable. It was obviously in a foreign language.

  To Delain, it was as if the letter were daring her, begging to be translated. To take it would not only be stealing, but it would tip off Lord Wilder that someone was onto him and his mysterious rider. The best thing to do was to reproduce the strange script. Rummaging through the desk drawer, she found a stack of writing paper and a fountain pen. She began copying.

  In the tea room, some of the guests began asking Lady Wilder as to the whereabouts of Miss Dowdeswell, to which she replied, “The poor dear was feeling a little under the weather. I am having her lie down in a guest room for a while.”

  “So kind of you,” added Barbara. “I am sure she is just fine.”

  “Odd,” said Lady Wilder. “All that time at sea and crawling about dirty castles, and a little proper tea has her flustered. Maybe I should check on her.”

  Trying to hide her shock, Barbara held up a hand and shook her head vigorously

  “I will check, Alina. Please enjoy your tea.”

  “I will be right back, really!” said Lady Wilder politely.

  “Then allow me to go with you,” suggested Barbara, almost in a panic. “We can share a few private moments to discuss my situation as we walk.”

  Lady Wilder paused, thinking, and then slowly smiled. “All right, dear. As long as we have our time together. Shall we?”

  With that, they left the tea room.

  As she copied the letter, Delain noticed the odd and strange markings above some of the characters and some symbols that just seemed backward. As confusing as it was, she persisted, making sure to precisely and thoroughly replicate each shape, until she finished the last few lines of the letter. Then, after carefully blowing across the wet ink, she folded her copy in half, and in half again, and placed the letter in the folds of her dress. Quickly, she replaced the writing pad and pen in the drawer where they had come from. Now, the money, the strange note, and the original letter had to go back in the bag exactly as they had been. But wait. Was the money atop the letter or the other way around?

  Dear me, she thought. As hard as she tried, it produced no result. She simply couldn’t remember the proper order. In the end, she put the money on the bottom, all else above, and scurried up the chair to return it to the previous spot in the bookcase. She positioned the book as it had been, sticking out a half inch, then stepped off the chair. Again, she began to push at the massive piece of furniture.

  “You mentioned your situation, Barbara,”
said Lady Wilder as they walked the hallway to the guest room. “Do you have anything to share?”

  Noticing a picture hanging on the wall to their left, and wanting to delay the unfortunate future about to unfold, Barbara motioned to the portrait, and recognizing an opportunity to delay, asked, “Ah! This portrait! How wonderful! Who may I ask, is the subject?”

  Alina frowned at her friend with a questionable expression. “Queen Victoria. Is it that poor?”

  “Oh,” said Barbara with a forced laugh. “Of course, how silly of me.”

  “Indeed,” said Alina.

  Barbara repeatedly stole glances down the hall at the doorway ahead, expecting at any moment the appearance of Delain in some awkward position doing some deplorable act.

  “Now, Barbara, please tell me!” said Lady Wilder, excitedly, “is there any announcement concerning you and the admiral?” Her appetite for gossip was well-known—and also the fact that she could not keep a secret. Barbara had to be careful. Whatever she said would surely be repeated.

  “Yes, there is!”

  “Has he…proposed?” asked Lady Wilder.

  “Not exactly, but he has hinted and seemed very nervous the past few days.” This was safe to say—nothing really new in the statement that hadn’t been discussed by many in town already.

  “Dear,” said Lady Wilder. “We all know that! If he doesn’t ask you soon, I feel others may wonder. I mean, none of us are getting any younger.”

  Barbara ignored this suggestion that she could become an old maid if her relationship with Nathaniel did not turn into marriage. In fact, she had a feeling that as soon as Jonathan and Sean returned, she would become engaged.

  “Here we are!” Barbara announced loudly. She had a feeling that it would be best if she entered the room first to check on Delain, just in case. “Let me check on her, and I will be right back!”

  “Allow me,” said Alina. “She is my guest.”