Except that Sparrow would be the persona Clara made her. Whoever she was, whatever she was, there was nothing else to base her on. Everything would be from Clara’s own mind and own abilities. It was a name with position and responsibility, someone who answered to superiors and lived a life of secrets.
Perhaps Sparrow was simply the person of Clara Harlow after all.
“So what am I to do now?” Clara murmured, returning her eyes to Pippa. “I realize I am returning to Kirkleigh, but what is my task?”
“Barcliffe.” Pippa reached down beside her and pulled Clara’s drawing diary out, flipping open a few pages to the sketch she had done that magical day when Hawk had taken her hand as she walked along the shore.
Clara shook her head to clear the whimsical, longing reminiscence from her mind and focus more intently on the task at hand.
Pippa traced the shading that indicated water depth with a finger. “This was critical, Clara. It changed everything. A fully loaded ship could get closer to shore than in any other place we have found in the Kent coastline yet. We believe there are smugglers working with the Faction, though what is being brought into England, or who, is not yet known. This is what I need you to look into.”
“I knew it,” Clara whispered, staring at the shading in breathless wonder. “I knew that had to mean something; I didn’t know what…”
“We believe it does,” Pippa confirmed. “We have no way of knowing what connection the estate has to any of this, or if the family is involved, but we firmly believe this beach and cove are being used.”
Clara shook her head, swallowing. “I cannot see the Brownings being involved. I met them, and they are… Well, I believe someone might consider them bumbling.”
Pippa gave her a surprisingly scolding look. “Never be fooled by appearances, Clara. Skilled actors come in all shapes and sizes. No one is above suspicion. No one.”
Suitably chastened, Clara nodded obediently. “When will I be going back to Kirkleigh?”
“Next week. First, we must have you undertake some training.”
Training. What in the world would that entail? Visions of being handed an épée and being forced into fencing sprang into her mind, however unlikely it was. Would they train her to be a pickpocket? Would she learn the value of disguises?
The doors to the library opened, and Mrs. Allendale entered with a tray. She strode over to them with determined steps and set the tray on the table before them. “Will there be anything else you ladies need?” she asked, propping her hands on her hips.
Pippa eyed Clara for a moment, then looked up at the housekeeper. “Yes. Would you please tell them we are ready? Fifteen minutes should be soon enough.”
Mrs. Allendale’s brows rose, and she looked at Clara as well.
What exactly she was thinking while she did so was a terrifying prospect in Clara’s mind.
“Right you are, Miss Bradford,” Mrs. Allendale murmured, still staring at Clara. “Fifteen minutes it is.” She left without another word, glancing back at the pair of them before closing the library doors.
“Who’s coming?” Clara asked as she lifted the lid from the plate of cold meats and began to serve herself.
Pippa’s soft smile returned, and Clara wondered faintly if the woman were ever angry. “A few individuals who will be training you before your return. I believe most of their faces will be familiar to you.”
Clara gave her a questioning look, but Pippa only continued to smile as she helped herself to their cold luncheon.
Fourteen minutes and twenty-seven seconds later, the library doors opened once more, just as Clara had finished all she wished of her luncheon and was trying to think up topics of conversation to pass the time. She turned in her chair and gaped at the parade of persons entering now, all intending to assist her in preparation for her first assignment as Sparrow.
Every face but one was familiar to her.
Abby led the way, her arm linked through Phoebe’s, which minimized her limp until it was barely noticeable. Minerva Dalton followed them, which was an unsurprising fact, and Clara was glad to see her among the group. Morna Lennox was with them also, and while Clara did not know the Scottish woman well, she liked and respected her very much. It would be intriguing indeed to discover what part she played in all of this.
What shocked her was the identity of the three men who followed the women. Mr. Quinn was the gardener at the school, Mr. Haigh was the stablemaster, and Mr. Fairfax worked with Pippa to determine the best candidates for the Rothchild Academy. Clara had enjoyed occasional conversations with each of them, and now they were revealing themselves to be among the covert operatives whose ranks she had now joined.
It was a force of people willing to help prepare her for the new tasks that would be required of her.
The sight was a stirring one, indeed, if a little intimidating.
“Good day, Clara,” Abby greeted with her usual warm smile. “I’m so pleased to begin training with you.”
Clara tried to smile at them all, but her nerves kept her from the ability to do so.
A tall, dark-haired woman with dark eyes stepped forward, her hair pulled back in the most elegant style Clara had seen on anyone who was not adorned for a ball. She narrowed her eyes at Clara, then nodded once. “Yes, I see what you mean, Flora. She is quite in need.”
Clara blinked at that, then looked at Phoebe, belatedly recollecting what her code name had been.
Phoebe gave her a quick wink. “Indeed, Tilda. You will enjoy this.”
Dread curled in Clara’s stomach as she looked back at the woman she’d called Tilda. “I don’t wish to look overly fussed,” she warned weakly.
Tilda beamed as the others in the room chuckled knowingly. “My dear girl, no one I dress is ever overly anything except perfect. Now, stand up for me, I need to see you better.”
Chapter Twelve
Elmsley Abbey was a quiet estate, far removed from any great village or town, and the landscape one rich in rolling hills of green with glimpses of limestone scattered throughout. The tenants were pleased with their situation, the estate was thriving, and Hawk’s daily routine had become a flurry of activity working alongside several of them as they prepared for winter, though the weather was mild enough that the concern was low. His estate agent had asked him to take some time in the next few weeks to discuss some ideas for changes in the coming year, and Hawk had yet to settle a time for that with him.
Mostly because the bustle of his hard labor was becoming increasingly important in his daily life.
How else could he avoid dwelling on a certain woman currently touring somewhere in England, if not already back at Kirkleigh?
Well, he knew it was not probable she was back at Kirkleigh already.
He’d asked Stafford to write to him at Elmsley if she returned.
That was likely a bit much, considering he had invited her to stay at the house whenever she liked or had need, and had failed to give any sort of conditions on the thing. He hadn’t thought he’d needed any conditions, considering he did not even care for Kirkleigh. Why should he care if someone who loved the place should stay there in his absence?
He didn’t care. She could live there for the rest of her days, if she liked.
He simply wanted to know if she did.
The day she’d left, he’d spent so long working with tenants, Nat had come to find him in the evening to ask if he intended on having any sort of supper. Hawk had deferred the reasoning for his intensity of work, claiming he had simply lost track of the time, but he was convinced that Nat did not believe it. Thankfully, his friend had not said anything on the subject.
The truth of it was that Hawk had lost track of the time.
Intentionally.
He’d never get Clara’s downcast expression out of his mind. His reserve and stoicism, what had been so carefully reconstructed after the soul-stirring walk along the seashore, hadn’t helped matters there. The connection between them had been undeniable for bo
th of them, he refused to deny it, and felt Clara would say the same.
Yet to spare himself, he had refused to admit any such thing or leave her with any sort of clarity on his feelings, the future, or even that he was pleased to have met her again.
How selfish could he be?
It might have been for the best, eventually, given that Clara would be touring around England with friends and connections. She might even meet a well-situated bachelor who saw just as much fire in her as he did. That said, she might meet one who was all money and no manners. She might meet a fellow artist who hoped to make his living by his art and who would only be able to provide an attic over a business for a home.
Would Clara accept any of that for her future?
He realized that he hadn’t truly spent private time with her during the few days they’d had together, so learning much about her tastes and her nature hadn’t been possible. Of course he had not spent much private time with her; such things were not permitted, and he knew that well, but it seemed to him that it should have happened, given how much he had felt.
What exactly it was he had felt was less clear, but there was a great deal of it.
None of this made any sense, and Hawk did not appreciate things that did not make sense.
Walking back to Elmsley Abbey after a hard day on the largest tenant farm, Hawk shook his head, his almost-callused hands clenching and unclenching as they swung alongside him. Returning to his residence was not the same without the chance of seeing Clara sketching along his path, or without the opportunity of sharing a supper with her. He still found the work more satisfying than being a gentleman of leisure, but the rewards for his efforts were far less sweet.
He had to somehow break free of this lingering melancholy if he wished to function well in the foreseeable future, and if he did not wish for the holidays to be possessed of the same.
Even Adrianna had commented on his lack of enthusiasm when he’d gone to see her at the Miss Masters’ campus. Receiving criticism at her hands was not uncommon, and it was always lovingly given, but there had been real concern behind her words this time. He’d done all in his power to persuade her that he was well and whole, and his new hobby simply exhausted his usual good spirits. As with Nat, his sister had not been easily convinced, but she had allowed him to shift the subject to that of her education and how she was progressing. Her answers were short, her stories long, and he was pleased to see that she was the picture of excellent health. He’d never had any doubts about sending her to the school, and as she had gone on there, he’d grown more convinced of it.
She had grown into a beautiful young woman and would likely be considered very striking when she eventually made her debut in Society. She had no desire to take part in the Marriage Mart, she had assured him, but she was very much curious about the rest of the Season.
He had wondered at the time just how long it would be before she received her first offer of marriage, and how she would respond to it.
It was a terrifying thing to be the responsible party for a young woman of means, beauty, intelligence, and breeding.
Those few hours he had spent with his sister had been the best he had known since Clara’s departure, and the return to the too-quiet halls of Kirkleigh had been all the more jarring for it.
He’d left for Elmsley the next morning.
A thundering of hooves echoed from behind Hawk, and he shifted to his left to allow the rider room to pass, though it seemed a strange politeness to bestow when there was no path he had been walking on.
“You seem to be trudging, Your Grace.”
Hawk groaned to himself, rolling his eyes and turning his head to glare up at the rider now pulling his horse to a walk beside him. “And if I am? What’s that to you?”
Nat grinned at the cynicism. “I thought your new hobby was designed to give you more satisfaction and joy in your life, yet here you are, sour as lemons and twice as bitter. Somebody steal your hammer?”
Shaking his head, Hawk looked ahead rather than at the equine-mounted idiot following him and muttered incoherently under his breath.
“Come on, Hawk,” Nat encouraged, losing some of his teasing air, though not all. “Misery loves company.”
“I did not realize misery was a social creature,” he grumbled moodily. “Makes one wish to reconsider hosting it.”
Nat scoffed and tutted to his horse, who had begun snorting at his bridle. “Look, this estate of yours is perfect for a good ride, and taking one is marvelous for the mind. Do yourself the favor of doing so tomorrow, won’t you? Might make your own company more bearable once you work through some things.”
Hawk flicked his gaze up at Nat cautiously. “What makes you think I might have something to work through?”
“Because I have a set of eyes, am not an idiot, and have been with you while you darted from estate to estate,” Nat snapped without spite. “You’ve not been downcast at any other place. On the contrary, you’ve been rather keen to start working on some project or other, and eager to learn the specific strengths and weaknesses for each estate.”
“I didn’t realize I had been so obvious,” Hawk grunted with a swipe at his brow. “Or that I had been so closely observed.”
“But we arrive here,” Nat went on, clearly not listening, “and all is drudgery. I’ve never known Elmsley Abbey to be full of thunderclouds and chills, it’s always been one of your most lively estates. Might as well be visiting a cave for all the life here now. Do you really need me to explain it more specifically, or have I made my point?”
Hawk scowled at his friend. “What I really need is for you to shut up and take that point of yours away from me.”
“I shall take that as a no.” Nat nodded and adjusted his hold on the reins, straightening in the saddle. “Clearly, you quite take my meaning.”
Derision knew no better face than Hawk’s at that moment, and Nat chuckled at seeing it.
Nudging his heels into the horse, Nat rode off at a trot, eventually moving into a full gallop towards the house.
Hawk did not bother to watch him go, knowing if he did not find something to brighten about, his friend would either continue to pester him on the same subject or abandon him to the gloomy estate entirely. What friend would wish to remain in his company if he were the picture of depression?
On the one hand, he might enjoy not having someone else always about when he rather thought sitting in a stupor of sorrow would be more worth his time. But on the other, he had never done that particularly well, and being without influences outside of himself could bring him to drastic actions that would be utterly out of character.
Better to live in the present than loathe to leave the past.
It might not be the end for him and Clara, though nothing had particularly begun. For as long as she wished to remain in England, and stay at Kirkleigh, he would have every reason and right to go there, as well. In point of fact, he could choose to make Kirkleigh his primary residence, if he was so inclined. It was, after all, his house.
It didn’t feel like his house, but it was.
Hawk exhaled roughly, scolding himself for being so maudlin. It was a house, for heaven’s sake, and if he hadn’t any desire to live there for an extended time before this, it would make very little sense to do so now. As with all of his estates, he would see what the coming year brought for gains and needs, and informed decisions would be made at that time as to whether it should be kept or given up. If one of his siblings preferred any of the houses, he could see that it was written into their legacy or work out some sort of arrangement.
Other than that, he need not think of Kirkleigh at all, just as he rarely thought of the other estates, unless there were issues.
It was just a house.
Nothing more, nothing less.
And the Duke of Kirklin had several houses.
Hawk nodded, pressing his tongue to the back of his teeth in thought. Perhaps he should make an effort to go to London for the Season in the coming
year. A bit of social engagement, establish worthy connections, perhaps even start the process of finding a wife for himself. Adrianna would take part once she had finished with school, and he would certainly need to be particularly present for as much of that as he could be. Why not turn the thing into something beneficial while he was doing his duty?
A pair of rich hazel eyes and a dazzling smile came to mind, but he was quick to shove the thought away. He could not continue to think of Clara when there was nothing there to tell.
He would not.
“A song? I have to break this code… with a song?”
“Yes. You can read music, can’t you?”
Clara gaped at Abby without shame, then began silently sputtering as she struggled for an answer. “Well, yes, enough to plunk out a tune and be told that I need to practice more. Why in the world would anybody code a message that way?”
Abby continued to smile, no doubt finding Clara’s distress amusing. “Because it is difficult, and no one will suspect it is being done that way. We’ve only known about this for a few weeks, Clara, and it’s the best lead we’ve had in months, if not years.”
Pinching the bridge of her nose, Clara groaned at the approaching headache. “Please tell me there are other people being forced to endure this ridiculously tedious deciphering who are not trained in the field.”
“There are, don’t worry.” Abby patted her shoulder, as though it should give Clara some comfort.
It didn’t.
Still, Clara nodded all the same. “Good. I should hate to be doing this alone.” She dropped her hand and sighed, leaning over the table where her next task lay, her mind spinning as she took it all in.
It was her fifth day of training in between her classes, and while some things were coming easier, they continually gave her new things to work on or accomplish.
First had been a complete debriefing, as they’d called it, on the situation as it stood with this Faction, including everything that had been discovered on the Paris mission Pippa had mentioned the other day. She knew more details about past actions, present concerns, and future risks than she would ever have cared to know, yet now she did care a great deal. All of the gathering information now percolating in her mind had awakened a streak of patriotism and loyalty she had never really considered in herself before. She loved England, to be sure, but that love had never had cause to be tested, or really examined.
Fortune Favors the Sparrow Page 14