Waltz of the Crows

by L Rollins

  Taking a long step forward, Samuel wrapped his arms around her and hugged her close. “I’m so glad you’re safe.” He wanted to kiss her soundly. Make sure she understood she could never wander out alone again. Convince her that—

  A less than soft ‘ahem’ sounded from the other side of the room. Madame Winstone stood, fully dressed and deeply displeased.

  “If you two are quite finished, Monsieur Martin is waiting.” Her scowl seemed only meant for Samuel.

  He reluctantly released Leila. She gave him a half-smile as she stepped away from his embrace.

  Madame Winstone stalked toward the main bedchamber door and pulled it open. “Come along, Leila. We have work to do.” She marched out into the hall.

  Instead of following, Leila leaned against Samuel’s arm, lifting herself closer to his ear. “When I talk about last night, don’t bring up the gun.”

  Then she hurried out of the room, trailing after Madame Winstone.

  ***

  Discovering that Leila was a spy had been upending. But it was nothing compared to the rest of what he learned in the library that morning; her role as a spy was only the beginning.

  Conques was the mark of some crazed individual, bent on hurting people. But no one knew who or why. Though they now understood Conques was being poisoned with mercury leeched into the water.

  Leila was not the first spy London had sent. It was actually Madame Winstone’s husband who’d come originally, a man named Victor. He had infiltrated the small town claiming to be a victim with the name Randall Crept. However, at some point he’d become compromised.

  The factory’s foreman was in on the treachery. It was he who drugged Victor and, through the use of dark magic, tried to ascertain what London knew.

  Leila admitted that last night she’d overheard a conversation between Monsieur Jus and a tall woman named Sidonie. By Leila’s description, she sounded like the same woman Samuel had seen by Monsieur Jus’ side during the factory tour.

  Moreover, judging by what Leila had overheard, Monsieur Jus was the worst sort of blackguard and actively hiding what he was actually up to.

  “So you think it might be him, Monsieur Jus, behind the waltzing flu?” Monsieur Martin was obviously rocked by the news but seemed to take it all in measured stride. “And you’re sure the poison is mercury?”

  Madame Winstone nodded. “It is. And, for the time being, yes. Monsieur Jus is the most likely suspect.”

  Leila had left the part about the gun out, and per her request, Samuel kept it to himself as well. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t demand the full details the moment he could get Leila alone.

  “I’ve researched mercury,” Leila added. “There’s no known safe way to remove it from water. You can’t boil it out, as it only makes the mercury airborne.”

  “Then what do we do?” Monsieur Martin asked. “There’s no logistical way to transport enough water for the entire town from any of the neighboring cities.”

  Madame Winstone tapped the table between them. “The only viable option is to catch whomever is contaminating the water supply and force them to stop.”

  Samuel watched Leila out of the corner of his eye as she debated with the others why Monsieur Jus might be doing this and how he could possibly be getting his hands on enough mercury to poison so many.

  “Someone must know if he’s been receiving shipments of mercury, right?” Leila asked.

  “Perhaps that was the topic being discussed last night.” Madame Winstone offered.

  Did Leila know how to protect herself sufficiently? What she was doing had and would continue to put her safety in jeopardy. Had she been sufficiently taught how to fight? How to protect herself? That would be another subject matter for detailed discussion next time they spoke in private.

  Eventually the group agreed that watching Monsieur Jus closely for the next few days was the best course of action. They needed to better understand what he did with his time, who his close allies were, if he had any previous offenses that shed light on why he might do this, and what resources he had available to him. Then, they could decide how to act.

  Monsieur Martin showed them all to the door, saying they best not be shut up together too long or someone may begin to suspect. Leila agreed, saying she was due back to her post quite soon.

  Leila left with hardly a smile for Samuel. Now that he knew her secret, was she less interested in being with him? Perhaps she never had been interested. It had come out during their conversation in the library that Leila was actually the daughter of a very wealthy man in London. Monsieur Martin had stared at her for a long time after that little announcement.

  Samuel had been so certain last night that she had begun feeling for him what he felt for her. Had it all been his own wishful thinking? Waking up that morning with her curled up next to him had been the happiest moment of his life. But now, he had no idea where they stood.

  “Walk with me, Samuel.” Madame Winstone’s tone left no room for debate on the subject.

  He obeyed and they strolled down the wide hallway and out to the rose garden. The bushes were all in bloom; one last glorious, colorful burst of hope before the winter wind made everything gray.

  “I have much to do today, so I’ll get straight to the point,” she said. “Leila is off limits.”

  “I beg your pardon, ma’am?”

  “I don’t know your intentions toward her, but I know the way she looks at you and the tone her voice takes when your name comes up in conversation.”

  Well, now that was cause for hope.

  “So I’m telling you this in confidence. Keep her at arm’s length.”

  Less cause for hope.

  Perhaps if he pleaded his case a bit. Helped her see that he was no rake that couldn’t be trusted. “Ma’am, I assure you I am a respectful gentleman when it comes to ladies.”

  “I know you are,” Madame Winstone said. “The moment Leila started using your Christian name I had you thoroughly vetted. You have a reputation for being impulsive, but never dishonorable. You are not the problem here. Leila is.”

  “I’m not sure I follow you.”

  Madame Winstone’s lips turned down, deepening the wrinkles there. “You said you can keep a secret, so I’m trusting you won’t tell her, or anyone else, what I am about to tell you. Leila’s superiors have already begun choosing a husband for her.”

  Samuel felt his jaw slacken. “She’s betrothed?” Gads, just saying it aloud hurt.

  “She soon will be.”

  A smoldering anger bubbled in his stomach. “Against her will?”

  “When Leila signed on as a spy, she knew fully well what the future would hold in terms of marriage. She is not, however, aware that the process has already begun.”

  Samuel shook his head. He’d believed Leila was a nurse. But actually, she wasn’t; she was a spy. Leila let him hold her last night, and he’d believed she was beginning to care as he did. But actually, she was as good as married to another. His chest ached.

  Madame Winstone’s voice softened. “I’m only telling you this to protect her. Please be careful while working with her. I don’t want her young heart broken.” She placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m guessing you don’t want that either.”

  She walked passed him and back toward the castle. Samuel waited until she was out of hearing range and then drew on his many years of experience aboard a submarine and swore so profusely that, had Amelia heard him, she’d have disowned him right then and there.

  He thought back to watching Leila do up her hair that morning—the way the sunlight highlighted strands of her hair, the way it hung over her shoulders in soft waves.

  What he wanted most in that moment could never be. Would never be. It left him feeling sick.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  LEILA WAS LATE for her shift—again.

  In the two days since telling Samuel and Claude who she was and the true reason she was in Conques, Martha had kept her busier than ever before.

 
; Or at least, that’s how it felt. Then again, there were more patients being cared for in the castle than ever before.

  And Madame Winstone expected her to do more investigating during her breaks than ever before.

  And she’d received more attention from Claude than ever before.

  And Samuel had been more cold and more formal than ever before.

  Everything, it seemed, was more than ever before. Leila tried not to sag under the weight of it all as she hurried from her bedchamber. If only she could slip into the room she was responsible for working in today without Martha seeing her, that would go a long way to making her morning better.

  Leila pulled up short, just before colliding into a broad shoulder. Claude was standing before his sister’s portrait again.

  “Oh, good morning, sir.” She dropped into a quick curtsy.

  “There’s no need for that now, Leila,” he said. “You’re one of us.”

  She knew he meant it as a compliment—he was, after all, acknowledging her standing in society as being noteworthy. But somehow, it felt like a slight. She certainly never saw Samuel or Amelia or Natalie as below herself simply because they had to work for a living.

  “I beg your pardon, sir.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “But we must keep up appearances.” Claude would make a lousy spy.

  He swung toward her, a deep glower darkening his expression. “Don’t mouth off, girl. You may come from a wealthy family, but yours is not half so prestigious as my own.”

  Leila took a half-step back, and stared up at him confused. He’d never once taken that tone of voice with her, even when he still believed her a nurse. “Sir, is everything all right?”

  He let out a growling sigh, and his shoulders slumped. “My apologies, Leila. I can get a bit snappish when upset.” He turned back toward the portrait. “Or so I’ve been told.”

  Whatever upset him must have been something serious. She’d never known him to be prone to outbursts. “Is this about what Inez and I told you?”

  “That? Oh, no. I already assumed London had spies about the area. Spain and Germany probably do, too.” He folded his arms across his wide chest. “If I were a neighboring country, I’d want to know the waltzing flu wasn’t going to spread into my homeland.”

  That was a relief. She’d hate to have included someone who was morally against their efforts. Solving this riddle was difficult enough without Claude slowing them down at every angle, arguing against how they were solving things.

  He continued to stare at the portrait, his eyes glowing with a sad sort of familial love. Below the portrait, the long table stood bare. Wait . . . where was the vase and ornate balls?

  Leila glanced back up at Claude. He seemed disinclined to share his troubles. Perhaps if she approached the problem from a different angle, she may learn something.

  “Were the vase and glass balls broken, sir?”

  “No.” His voice was still tense. “I had to sell them.”

  Sell them? Claude had spoken to her, many times, of the wealth his ancestors had left to him.

  “You were in need of money?” she asked. That he would admit to needing to sell anything was quite surprising.

  His words came out sharp and biting. “Caring for so many does not come cheap.”

  Leila studied his face. His shrinking funds was a source of frustration, but it wasn’t the main reason for his distress. Still, it was most likely compounding whatever bothered him.

  Perhaps another angle was in order. She looked at Alice’s portrait. “How is your sister these days?” she asked.

  Instantly, Claude’s face crumbled. She’d hit upon it then, the cause for his ardent discommode.

  “She is doing no worse. However . . .” he dropped his voice just as she had moments ago, “I’ve had reports that her husband has been seen about town with another woman.”

  Oh, gracious. Leila knew how Claude felt about family—nothing mattered to him more. For Alice’s husband to take up with another woman would cut Claude deeply.

  “Does she know?” Leila asked.

  “Not yet. Hopefully not ever. But I intend to straighten out her husband once and for all. Though I have to do it in such a way that Alice never suspects.”

  “So, that rules out shooting the man.”

  “Unfortunately, yes. Alice is quite committed to her rake. In hurting him, I run the risk of hurting her even more.”

  Leila almost felt sorry for what Claude would do to the husband. Though, if Claude’s sources were right and he was guilty, the husband no doubt deserved it.

  Speaking of guilty parties—she was undeniably guilty of getting to work late.

  “You’ll have to excuse me, sir,” Leila said with another curtsy. “But Martha will skin me alive if she catches me showing up late.”

  Claude’s only good-bye was a distracted wave as she walked away. He clearly wasn’t going to do anything until he solved this problem with his brother-in-law.

  Leila hurried through the castle until she neared the door to what once was a ballroom. She pushed it open and scanned the space for Martha, sighing with relief when she wasn’t there. Leila slipped into the room pulling the door closed behind her. Beds lined every wall, and three more rows of them filled the center.

  These patients were mostly stable—sick, but not worsening. Leila walked between the rows checking on patients one at a time. She hadn’t dared leak to the other nurses that she knew the waltzing flu was actually mercury poisoning. It hardly mattered. Hours of research in Claude’s library had proven there was no current medicine to treat mercury poisoning.

  Their best chance at saving anyone was to find the perpetrator and prevent them from doing any more harm. Those who were currently sick may or may not ever get better. Only time would tell.

  Leila moved on to her next patient.

  “Good morning, Edgerton,” she said.

  He looked up at her but didn’t smile. Leila could so clearly remember that morning he’d collapsed. That was the first of many trips out to the hillside to collect dead birds. It felt like ages ago. It was also the day she first met Samuel. But she didn’t want to think about him or his recently cool manner.

  “How did you sleep?”

  He shrugged and ducked down, sinking lower between the blankets.

  Strange—Leila pulled her lips to the side—he’d never acted shy before.

  “Do you care for some breakfast?”

  Why . . . the grown man blushed. Gracious, what was happening? Edgerton was a gentle man, but she’d never known him to be so easily made uncomfortable.

  “Has one of the other nurses brought you food?”

  His complexion only grew redder, and he shook his head ‘no’.

  If no one had brought him food yet this morning, then surely he was hungry. “What would you like me to bring you? We have broth, as well as some porridge.”

  His expression hardened, and he flung the blankets off. “What I want?” he yelled. “What I want?”

  Standing abruptly, Edgerton towered over her.

  “Where’s my horse? I’m getting out of this flee-ridden nest.” He strode around the foot of his bed, head swiveling back and forth as though he expected to find his horse chatting with one of the patients in another corner of the room.

  “Sir,” Leila took hold of his arm and pulled him gently toward his bed. “Please sit back down. Perhaps you can go outside later today.”

  He yanked his arm from her grasp so forcibly that Leila nearly tumbled into him. “I can’t wait that long. My crop is burning, woman! Now get out of the way. I have to summon the water sprites to help me.”

  Oh, good heavens. So much for Edgerton being stable.

  “Edgerton,” she spoke firmly. “You don’t have any crops. You worked in the stables.”

  He rounded on her, his white hair sticking out at strange angles along the edges of his head. “My crop is burning. You will get me my horse or I’ll run you through.”

  He stepped toward
her, forcing Leila to take a step back. “Sir, you know you have no crops.” Not to mention there was no such thing as water sprites. But, one thing at a time.

  Around them, other nurses who worked the room were moving her way, ready to step in and help if need be. One slipped out the door, probably to go get help.

  “You have to listen,” Leila said. “You have no cro—”

  Edgerton wrapped a large hand around her throat and pushed her up against the wall.

  “Then I’ll find someone else to bring me my horse.”

  Another nurse moved up behind Edgerton. “Sir, let her go.”

  Glancing angrily at the nurse behind him, Edgerton only squeezed harder.

  “Stop, please,” Leila said, as much to the nurse as to Edgerton.

  Gears above, how was she going to get out of this one? Her options were limited. There was no chance she could physically overpower Edgerton. And there was no one around who could.

  Leila glanced quickly around her. She only had two options: fight the man or talk to the man.

  The first would not end well. That was clear.

  Talking to him so far hadn’t gone well either. But, what if she did as Inez had said? Tried to see this from Edgerton’s perspective?

  His perspective was currently crazed and unbound by reality—but for him, it was real.

  “I’m sorry about your crops,” Leila wheezed.

  Edgerton’s brow furrowed with confusion and his grip loosened slightly.

  Leila took that as a good sign and continued. “You worked so hard in that field this year and water sprites are blasted hard to find.”

  Did she actually just say that? Those words came from her mouth? Never had she been so glad her mother and sisters were not around.

  Edgerton titled his head to the side. His hand didn’t leave her throat, but he held her loosely now. “Blasted hard to find,” he repeated.

  Martha entered the room and marched directly up behind Edgerton. Without saying a word, she stuck the large man with a needle.

  He swayed, the concerned creases on his brow lessening.

  Martha caught him as he started to collapse, swinging one of his arms securely around her shoulders. Leila reached for the man’s other arm—someone as big as he would be frightfully difficult to move.