Waltz of the Crows

by L Rollins

  “Then you can’t do what?”

  Her fingers traced down the front of his shirt, moving over each button. “I can’t do us.”

  This wasn’t what was supposed to happen in Conques. Leila should have discovered the source of the waltzing flu ages ago, proved her competence to her superiors, and left before growing too attached to anyone, especially someone like Samuel.

  He took both of her hands and pressed them inside his own. “All right. Only let me help you.”

  She couldn’t. There wasn’t adequate reason to risk bringing him in and telling him the truth. Leila pressed her lips tight and shook her head again.

  Samuel let out an exasperated sigh. “You look exhausted.”

  Tears pricked at her eyes, only this time she didn’t seem to have the energy to stop them.

  “That’s not a very flattering comment to say to a lady.” Blast this whole assignment. Only that evening, she had been telling herself how content she was to have a marriage arranged for her—now her heart seemed to be bleeding out at the very thought.

  He chuckled softly as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “You should sleep.”

  They walked toward the small sofa and Leila sat down. The moment she did, her legs tingled with relief. What a night it had turned out to be. She ought to hurry straight to Inez and tell her what she’d overheard between Monsieur Jus and his bulldog Sidonie, but just now she couldn’t even stand if she’d wanted to.

  Samuel knelt in front of her. “I’ll be upstairs. If you need anything, just let me know.”

  Upstairs sounded like a terribly long way away. “Would you stay with me for a minute?”

  It was selfish to ask, and the moment she’d said it Leila wished the words back. Hadn’t she just told him she couldn’t be with him? What would he think?

  The side of Samuel’s lips turned up. “Of course, mon coeur.” He sat beside her, resting his arm around her once more, and pulled her close. “I’ll stay as long as you need me.”

  Leila rested her head against his shoulder and instantly her eyes felt heavy. She shouldn’t be snuggled up so close to him. She ought to be keeping her distance, both for her own sake, and for his. How would she ever forgive herself if she hurt Samuel?

  But she would worry about all of that tomorrow. For now, wrapped up in his arms, Leila felt safe.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  THE BOTTOM OF his foot hurt.

  Why in the blazes would his foot hurt?

  It didn’t matter. Without opening his eyes, Samuel sagged yet further into the sofa where he sat, his arm still draped across Leila’s shoulders.

  A sharp, painful jab ricocheted from the soul of his foot up his leg. Samuel grunted, pulling his foot back. Devil take it. He opened on eye, but only a slit.

  Amelia towered over him, a basket of laundry in one arm, her free hand resting on her hip, and a murderous expression across her face.

  “Samuel Astor Rowley—”

  Leila stirred as Amelia’s voice rose.

  “Shh.” Samuel put a finger to his lips and then pointed to the sleeping Leila. Amelia closed her mouth, but her lips pinched disapprovingly tight.

  He slowly slipped out from under Leila, laying her down gently on the sofa.

  “Let’s talk outside,” he said. Sunlight poured in through the few small windows of the house. Just how late was it?

  Amelia marched to the back door and flung it open. It hit the wall with a bang and Samuel glanced over at Leila.

  She rolled over, but didn’t seem close to waking. That was good. After whatever she’d been through the night before, the least he could do for her was make sure she got enough sleep.

  He wished he could do more. But what? Nothing. Not until Leila decided to tell him who she truly was and what she was doing. Well after Leila had fallen asleep next to him, he’d stayed awake wondering and worrying for her.

  Small sticks and pebbles pressed against his feet as Samuel stepped outside. Amelia smirked at his pain. He’d forgotten he wasn’t yet dressed for the day. His right foot hurt dramatically more than his left. He looked at the sky. At least it was only just past dawn; Samuel hadn’t slept in like a stuffed gander after all.

  He lifted it and inspected the sole of his foot. It was already turning an angry red. “Just how hard did you kick me?”

  “Just how many rakish habits did you pick up while at sea?” she countered, practically throwing the large basket to the ground, nearly tipping out all the laundry. “Bringing a lady home for the night. Samuel, our parents taught you to be more of a gentleman than that.”

  “Would it help if I said she came of her own accord?”

  “This isn’t a joking matter,” Amelia nearly screamed.

  Gracious, she was truly upset. Had she actually believed he’d taken advantage of Leila? He would never.

  “Amelia, you know me better than this Nothing happened.” He hoped she wouldn’t press him for details. What would he say? Leila couldn’t tell him anything, so he didn’t have anything to say to Amelia.

  Amelia muttered under her breath. Leaning over, she rummaged through the laundry, pulled out a single item of clothing, wadded it up, and threw it at Samuel’s feet.

  “What’s this?” And what did laundry have to do with his time spent with Leila? Maybe running the orchard nearly on her own was going to Amelia’s head. She seemed quite close to losing it entirely.

  “This is what was left the last time you and that woman did nothing.”

  Samuel picked up the clothing and held it up. It was one of his old shirts, but it was dyed a rusty red. “What happened to my shirt?”

  “How should I know?” Amelia grabbed several other pieces of laundry and thrust them deep into a large vat of soapy water. “I’ve washed it nearly a dozen times.”

  This was the shirt he’d worn when he jumped into the well to get the letters for Leila. He rubbed a bit of the fabric between two of his fingers.

  What was it Amelia had said the day he’d returned home? “Mercury dyes everything red,” he muttered, his voice low.

  Amelia’s scowl deepened. “What was that?”

  “Never mind.” He hurried back inside, hobbling slightly for the lack of shoes. He needed to show Leila.

  He entered the house to find her sitting up on the sofa. Her back was to him, her hair down over her shoulders. His step slowed and he watched her twist it back in its usual coiffure and secure it with pins.

  Gads, but she was beautiful like this, casually going about, doing what needed to be done. She turned in her seat and caught sight of him watching her. Pink spread across her cheeks and she smiled.

  “Good morning, Samuel.”

  Maybe he had picked up some rake habits after all—it wasn’t gentlemanly to stare at a woman without her knowing.

  “Please excuse my intrusion.” Did he really just say that? This was his house. But, then again, it seemed like the right thing to say. He’d just walked in on her unannounced. Not that he regretted the opportunity to see her do her hair. It was a simple thing, but one he’d thoroughly enjoyed.

  “I wanted to show you this.” He moved toward her, sitting on the sofa beside her. Memories of holding her flooded over him. Lud, he needed to get a hold of himself. She’d made it quite clear last night that she wasn’t interested in being with him. Samuel blew out a quick breath, and with it any hope she’d let him hold her again.

  “What is it?” She looked at the reddish fabric skeptically.

  “This is the shirt I wore the night I dove into the well.”

  Her brow creased and he could see the wheels turning in her brainbox. “Your shirt was white that night.”

  “Something in the water must have dyed it.”

  She picked up the shirt and turned it over. “Mercury in the form of cinnabar is rust red,” she whispered.

  It seemed her thoughts were taking the exact same path of his own.

  She looked up at him, eyes wide. “They’re contaminating the water.”
>
  “It would seem so,” he said. But something about Leila’s statement bothered him. She’d said ‘they’ were contaminating the water.

  Leila continued, thinking aloud. “If mercury were in the water, then it only makes sense that both people and animals are being infected.” She stood, the shirt still grasped between her hands. “I need to go.”

  Samuel stood as well, taking hold of her elbow. “You said ‘they’ are contaminating the water. You think someone’s doing this on purpose?”

  She clamped her mouth shut. Blast it all—blast her stubborn silence and determined persistence. “Leila, you can’t keep doing this on your own.”

  “I’m not doing anything.”

  “Liar.”

  She shrugged. “I’m not on my own.” She held up a finger when he opened his mouth to object. “And that is the truth.”

  He wanted to wrap his arms around her again and hold her close. Instead, he kept a safe distance between them. After all, she’d made it clear that’s what she wanted. “Whoever is in this with you didn’t have your back last night. You need to let me help.”

  “Samuel, you know I can’t—”

  “Who jumped in that well for you? And who reached out to Doctor Hopkins? We wouldn’t even know to be looking for mercury if it wasn’t for me.”

  She seemed to be thinking it over, tilting her head to the side and chewing softly on her bottom lip. A lip, Samuel noticed, that was looking entirely too kissable. But no, he would respect her need for space between them. Besides, he was there to convince her to let him help her. Last night, when he’d pulled her close and kissed the side of her face, she’d only pushed him further away. He wasn’t about to make that mistake again.

  “I can’t promise you anything,” she finally said. “But if you come with me . . . well, we’ll see.”

  Sounded like a path worth pursuing. “Lead on, Leila, lead on.”

  ***

  Less than half an hour later, Samuel stood outside one of the bedchamber doors in the grand castle. Leila rapped lightly on the door. What in the blazes were they doing there? Samuel wasn’t wholly sure, but he was fairly confident this wasn’t the room of another nurse.

  Whoever was beyond the door was probably still sleeping, too. It was barely past dawn.

  Without an answer coming from the room, Leila pushed the door open and pulled Samuel inside.

  A woman of advanced years sat with her back toward them, scrawling out a letter at her writing desk. She had a silk wrap about her, but her hair was down. She was up and awake, but didn’t appear to have been so for long.

  “Leila,” she spoke over her shoulder with a British accent. “I saw Vic—”

  “Before you say more,” Leila interrupted, “I need to introduce you to someone.”

  Samuel watched the older woman closely. He himself had never worked as a butler or man’s servant in a grand household, but he was completely sure Leila had just broken all types of etiquette rules by interrupting a woman so far above her status.

  The older woman turned in her chair. Her gaze landed on Samuel and her eyes narrowed. She was the woman he’d seen arrive a couple of weeks ago and again from a distance while touring the factory—Madame Winstone. If the rumors among the servants were to be trusted, she was a woman of wealth and influence.

  Leila hurried forward. “He deserves to know.”

  Madame Winstone shook her head. “Get him out of here before my maid shows up and sees him.”

  “Inez, please.”

  Gads, did she just use the woman’s Christian name? Samuel got the creeping, unsettling feel that there was far more going on here than he’d ever guessed.

  “You are getting dangerously close to twisting my arm into reporting you.” Madame Winstone’s voice was cold and threatening. “London does not look kindly on this kind of action.”

  Samuel was by no means a man who usually sat back and let life pass him by, but he was a man who knew when keeping his mouth shut was the better of two options.

  Leila didn’t back down. “Says the woman who pulled this very same stunt and got me involved.”

  Now that was a story he needed to hear, but he wasn’t about to force himself into this conversation just now.

  “Precisely, which is why I know.” Madame Winstone pointed at Samuel. “You pull him in now, and you very well might not have any training to return to.”

  “He’s the reason we knew to look for mercury. He’s also the one who dove into the well—”

  “He’s the one? Not you?” Madame Winstone faced Samuel. “How much do you know?” she demanded.

  Leila spoke before he could. “Look.” She forced the dyed shirt toward Madame Winstone. “They’re leeching it into the water. That’s why the spread is so erratic.”

  Samuel took a step forward. It seemed the time had come to plead his own case. “I was wearing that when I jumped into the well. My sister has washed it numerous times, but it seems to have been dyed.”

  “A rusty-red,” Madame Winstone muttered, grabbing the shirt from Leila and turning it over in her hands.

  “Aye. Same color as mercury,” he added.

  The older woman seemed to lose her fury as she contemplated the piece of clothing. “If they had just dumped the poison into the well, it could prove enough to dye a shirt.”

  She’d said ‘they’, just like Leila had. It didn’t sit well on his stomach. Was it true? Was there a person, or even persons, willing to cause the waltzing flu on purpose? He or she would be nothing short of a monster.

  Leila spoke up, her voice soft. “You said you saw Victor this morning. How is he?”

  Madame Winstone’s lips twisted to the side. “Improving.”

  She seemed far less likely to bite off Samuel’s head now than when he’d first entered the room. Perhaps they were convincing her.

  “I promise you can trust me, madame,” he said.

  “Nice words,” Madame Winstone replied. “But I don’t trust people I don’t know.”

  He could understand that. “It’s nearly impossible to keep a secret when you’re shut in with the same people for weeks on end aboard a submarine. But as second in command, I was privy to many pieces of sensitive information.” He met her steady gaze with a determined one of his own. “I know how to keep a secret.”

  She sighed and sat back in her chair. “In some ways I’ve come to the same conclusion as you, Leila. We need more heads on this problem. I’ve decided, and Victor agrees, to reach out to Monsieur Claude Martin.”

  “Samuel has already proven himself an insightful ally.”

  Madame Winstone waved a hand toward Leila. “Very well. You’ve told him too much not to let him in on the rest anyway.” She stood and moved toward a small door in the corner. “Allow me a moment to dress, then we can go down to the library. I’ve asked Monsieur Martin to meet us there. We’ll fill them both in at the same time.”

  Leila nodded her agreement and Madame Winstone slipped out of the room.

  Leila moved over to him. “If I’m not mistaken, you would prefer me to explain this to you in private instead of in front of Claude.”

  Just how many Christian names of the elite did Leila have permission to use? It made him feel quite below her and whatever was happening.

  “That depends on what you have to say,” he said.

  “Samuel,” she said, then paused for a deep breath. Now she was using his Christian name—it made his heart do a quick start-stop-start flip.

  “I’m not a nurse. Not really. This is only my cover.”

  He didn’t want to interrupt—who knew how quickly Madame Winstone would dress and be back out? Most women from the upper class could take up to thirty minutes to dress, but somehow he didn’t think Madame Winstone was that type of lady.

  “I work for the Queen of England,” Leila said. “I am a British spy.”

  Samuel felt the floor rock beneath his feet. A spy? He took a step back, turning his back to her so that she wouldn’t see the shoc
k on his face.

  “My name isn’t Bartel. It’s Hale.” After that, Leila remained silent, probably believing a few minutes to process was what he needed. Truth was, he’d need ten times a ‘few minutes’.

  A spy? Gads. He hadn’t exactly figured out what or who Leila was . . . but this was far and away from anything he’d expected.

  When she spoke next, Leila’s voice was much softer. “Was I right thinking you’d prefer to be told this one-on-one?”

  “Absolutely.” He ran a hand through his hair. A spy! Lud, why hadn’t he seen it before?

  Her tone turned lighter. “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever been able to successfully put myself in someone else’s shoes.”

  ‘Someone else’s shoes’—another great line of English cant. He hadn’t heard much since coming ashore. Hearing it come from her mouth now reminded Samuel that he was talking to a friend, and one he could trust.

  “I guess that explains a lot,” he said, turning back toward her. The way she’d been able to expedite the hair samples to Doctor Hopkins. Why she was wanting letters drugged up out of the well. Why she was out last night . . .

  Hold on. He pointed a finger her direction. “What exactly happened last night? And don’t try to sugar coat it—I’m in now. I want to know everything.”

  “All right.” Leila pulled her shoulders back. In his gut, Samuel felt certain he wasn’t going to like what he heard next.

  “I noticed a few lights still on at the factory and decided it was worth investigating.”

  “On your own?”

  She pursed her lips. “Yes. It’s not like I haven’t been on my own for months now.”

  Was it common for London to send out their spies alone? That seemed a very foolish practice to him. Or perhaps he was just feeling overly protective. After all, London hadn’t seen Leila covered in dirt and brambles, breathing deeply from her hard sprint.

  “It turned out to be nothing, but on my way back I ran into a couple of people. They didn’t take too kindly to being overheard. One drew a gun—”

  “A gun!” Holy gears above.

  “But I escaped,” she rushed on. “The other gave me chase and that’s when I found myself at your place. Your window was the only way in.”