Fortune Favors the Sparrow

by Rebecca Connolly

  She was proving it now, there was no question.

  After the debriefing, she’d been trained in information gathering by Mr. Quinn, infiltration and undetected entry by Mr. Fairfax, and riding by Mr. Haigh. Of course, Clara knew how to ride a horse, but there was a great difference between the gentle, polite riding one might expect of an accomplished lady, and what she was being taught. This was mad, reckless riding, sometimes without any saddle at all, jumping unexpected obstacles, sometimes while being pursued… It was a terrifying experience, but she had finally managed to meet Mr. Haigh’s approval there.

  Mr. Quinn and Mr. Fairfax had reached their satisfaction with Clara’s skills far sooner, but she refused to consider the implication of that.

  Then there had been training with Minerva for impersonation and blending in with any station of people, self-defense fight training with Morna Lennox, and a primer on encoding one’s notes with Phoebe. She’d been given books to read on seafaring and on ships themselves, old reports on smuggling, and even some notes on military tactics. All of it was designed to increase her knowledge of the situation she would be entering, to give her a better sense of what she should be looking for, and to protect herself above everything else.

  She understood all of that; her mind was simply exhausted from it all.

  Now she needed to decode these letters using a song from some French opera?

  This whole thing was madness, and no one would convince her otherwise.

  Still, she had promised to do this, to devote herself to this assignment, and to return to Kirkleigh, this time as a true covert operative.

  It sounded so silly when she said it like that. Of all people in the world, she was now considered a spy?

  She, who had been forced to leave her own village due to rumors and perceived scandal, was now going to intentionally walk into a social circle and make connections. She, who had avoided anything even remotely intrepid, was now going to place herself directly into potential danger to root out any threats in the area. She, who lived the most uncomplicated life known to an unmarried woman, was now going to be living a double life in the most devious sense of the word.

  How in the world had she come to this?

  “Watch yourself, Clara,” Abby told her, breaking into her thoughts. “You’ve missed a few there.”

  Clara’s eyes darted up to where Abby’s finger had traced and sighed as she quickly moved back and recorded the letters she had neglected. “How am I going to remember all of this in the moment, Abby?”

  “You won’t have to. We’ve given you several lessons on improving your ability to memorize, haven’t we?”

  “Yes…” Clara said slowly, wondering what that had to do with anything. She continued to notate the requisite letters of each word, the pattern becoming monotonous in its repetition.

  “And Tilda has told you that she will outfit each of your gowns with hidden pockets, has she not?”

  Sensing she was about to be neatly trapped, Clara scowled and finished her copying. “She has, and she was quite proud of that, though I hardly think we can attribute the invention of pockets to Tilda.”

  Abby laughed to herself, then said, “I would not put it past her, but you have a point. Those pockets will serve a greater purpose for you than simple convenience.”

  Clara glanced up at her friend, her curiosity unwittingly piqued. “Will they? How so?”

  Reaching into the pocket of her pinafore, Abby pulled out the smallest book Clara had ever seen, and a very small pencil to match. “These will fit unobtrusively in any pockets you have. You may find opportunities to capture anything you see or hear, or happen to discover, should you be so inclined, on these pages when you are away from Kirkleigh. Should you happen to forget these, or, should an unfortunate situation prevent you from having access to them, your memorization skills will serve you well.”

  Believing what she was hearing was rather difficult for Clara at the present. It was as though some grand drama had been constructed around her, some bizarre orchestration of plots and ploys that were better suited to legends than to life. How could she be involved in anything that would require her to keep a constant record, or memorize things she may only get a moment of?

  For what had to be the fiftieth time in the five days she had been training, Clara wondered how she was supposed to manage any of this. Her instructors had a lifetime of instincts to draw upon for their assignments, though most were not currently taking any, she understood. She had nothing of the sort, her instincts confined to a canvas or a classroom and rarely extending beyond.

  She had been praised for her instinct in capturing the depth of the water on the Barcliffe beach, as it had made Barcliffe and the surrounding area a more likely target for investigation, which had apparently been difficult to come by. How could Clara tell them that she had not been thinking about her assignment, the potential for the covert world, or anything remotely related to ships at all?

  She’d only been thinking of capturing the scene for her art, and of exploring more of the beauties before her with Hawk.

  Hawk…

  The passing days had done nothing to soothe the ache in her heart where he was concerned. When she considered the prospect of returning to Kirkleigh in a few days, the only image that came to her mind was his, and knowing he would not be there made the very idea of returning to Kirkleigh a distasteful one. She would not mind living in the lovely house once more, especially without a specified end to her time there, but Hawk had brought the place to life, made it the charming haven it had been, and given Clara the chance to dream when her life had forbidden any such thing of her.

  Oh, how she had dreamed…

  Even now, she could not admit to herself what those dreams had meant regarding her feelings for Hawk, and wisdom told her that she had only known the man a few days, and therefore could not feel anything worth trusting.

  Wisdom did not hold any sway over her heart.

  Worst of all, despite Pippa’s assurance that Hawk was not under any sort of suspicion from the powers that be, Clara could not be so sure. Why would they choose Kirkleigh as the house for her residence? It could not have been so convenient when they had had to find the real Miss Moore and glean all they could of her life so that it could be portrayed by Clara. What had kept them from finding any kind of connection to the Brownings? Or any of the other families in the area, whose names Clara would undoubtedly soon discover?

  Why Kirkleigh, and why Hawk?

  All of these questions, as well as the discomfort of Clara’s unclear feelings for Hawk himself, meant that facing Lady Adrianna Russell in any sort of capacity was impossible. Clara did not have any direct contact with the girl now, as she had passed Clara’s classes, but there were still various chances for their paths to cross throughout any given week.

  The day after Clara had returned to the school, Hawk had come himself to visit his sister, and, thankfully, protocols had been set in place so that Clara would be in no danger of meeting him.

  It had taken all of her strength not to break those protocols herself and see him regardless.

  Now she was expected to live in his house, continuing as Miss Moore, and serve her country.

  Why did he have to come to Kirkleigh at all while she was there? This all would have been so much easier had she never known him, never felt anything, never known anything about him but that Kirkleigh was his. She would never have felt as though she was betraying him with the many lies, that she was ruining her happy memories of him by using Kirkleigh as her own personal fortress, or that at any minute he might burst back into her life knowing the truth and condemning her for all time.

  She might never be free of these fears, but there was also no turning back.

  The cause was too important, and the risks too great.

  She only prayed she would not live to regret it.

  “Clara…”

  She paused in her absent work and glanced up at Abby, prepared to apologize for wandering thoughts, o
nly to find Abby’s eyes fixed on the page, their blue depths wide and surprised.

  Clara frowned at the sight, looking back at her work in confusion. “What? Where did I go wrong?”

  “No, Clara…” Abby leaned forward and jabbed a finger at the paper. “You deciphered the next layer without my giving you the key word. How did you do that?”

  “How did I…?” Clara shook her head, lifting a shoulder in an imitation of a shrug. “I’ve been listening, I suppose. I know how important that phrase j’ai vécu is, from all that I’ve read and been told, so I thought it made sense to try it out once I’d gotten through the song. I’m not done yet, obviously…”

  Abby laughed a bit breathlessly and grinned at Clara. “It doesn’t matter. You did it. You’ll be perfect, Clara. Utterly perfect.”

  There was something in that statement that did not sit well with Clara at all, but she could hardly say something when so many of her friends were part of this world. And they were still her friends, so she would never say they had lied to her or betrayed her. But she was not like them.

  She might never be like them.

  “How do you resign yourself to the changes in your life?” Clara murmured, sitting back. “How do you live a life not truly being yourself anymore?”

  Abby sank down in the chair beside her and took her hands quickly. “Listen to me, Clara. You are not losing yourself in this. Yes, you are playing a role for a time, but only for a time. You have been chosen for this because you are you. You will succeed at this because you are you. I promise you, this will feel more comfortable to you very soon, and you will see that you never stop being yourself. You only find more facets of yourself you never knew were there.”

  Clara nodded, swallowing once, gathering her thoughts. Then she ventured, “Do you miss it? I know you’re in training on a daily basis, but do you miss having missions and the like?”

  “Every day,” Abby told her without hesitation. “But this is how I can be of use now, and I accept that. However I can be of use, I will be.”

  Of all the things Clara had heard throughout her training, while at Kirkleigh, or since first learning about the covert world that existed around her, that rang the truest. The most real.

  The most like her.

  She found herself nodding repeatedly, mulling the words over and over in her mind. And when she was done, she looked her mentor in the eye and made the same vow.

  “However I can be of use,” Clara said clearly, “I will be.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Why am I here?”

  “Because we could use an extra hand.”

  Nat gave Hawk the driest of all looks and held up his hands for Hawk to see. “Do these look like the sort of hands you would like to have as an extra?”

  Hawk squinted at them for a moment’s consideration, then gave his friend a firm nod. “Yes, they do.”

  “Really?” Nat glanced at his hands himself, frowning. “I don’t think so. They look useless for the task at hand.”

  “You don’t even know what the task is,” Hawk pointed out with a wry smile.

  “I’m fairly certain any of the tasks these fellows would need help with would render this particular set of hands rather useless.” He showed his hands to all of them as though to prove a point.

  Hawk rolled his eyes and looked over at his estate manager and tenants. “Apologies. He’s usually much more principled and much less fragile.”

  Nat coughed in apparent distress. “Fragile? I’ve never been fragile a day in my life!”

  “I really thought,” Hawk continued, still speaking with the others rather than acknowledging Nat’s remarks, “that he might be more than the soft London gentleman that he appears. That he might relish a chance to prove his strength and his lack of pretension. I did not realize he’d disrespect you all in this way.”

  “Disrespect?” Nat’s voice was nearly squawking now, and it took all of Hawk’s energy not to break character.

  Hawk exhaled heavily, forcing as much disappointment into the sound as possible. “After all, we’re simply looking for someone to drive the team of horses as we load it up with our recently cut firewood. Surely even a soft gentleman can drive a team.” He turned back to his friend at that, raising a brow.

  Nat had opened his mouth to protest something else, outrage and indignation rampant on his face.

  Then his mouth snapped shut, and he scowled darkly. “That was rude, Your Grace.”

  “No, it wasn’t.” Hawk looked at the others and held out a questioning hand. “Did I say anything that might be construed as rude or impolite in any way?”

  Several heads shook obediently. “No, Your Grace.”

  Hawk turned back to Nat in triumph, though his friend’s expression hadn’t changed. “What?”

  Nat waved dismissive fingers at them. “They work for you. They could not possibly be tempted to say anything contrary to your wishes, or to disparage you.”

  “Mr. Gentry,” Hawk called without turning around. “What would you say about my help of late?”

  “We’ve had worse, Your Grace,” the man replied easily, “and we’ve had better, too.”

  Nat looked over Hawk’s shoulder to give the man a bland look. “That can hardly be considered contrary or disparaging, Gentry. See me after class.”

  That brought good-natured chuckling from the group, and Hawk waved the entire group over to the wagon in question, grinning far more easily than he had done in some time.

  It would have been easy enough for one of the men already gathered to drive the wagon while they loaded up all of the wood they’d cut on the land they’d needed to clear. There were certainly enough of them, and they had offered, but Hawk had grown tired of working alongside his men while his friend laid about Elmsley Abbey enjoying a fine holiday for himself.

  If Hawk was going to work, there was no reason why Nat could not do so as well.

  So Hawk had sent word up to the house that Nat was needed urgently, and, as he suspected, his friend had come directly.

  As he had not been panicked or in any way distressed about Hawk’s health or safety, it was no stretch to conclude that Nat had been bored and in need of a task.

  Now he had one.

  The tree trunks had been split and chopped into neat piles all throughout the area, the men having habitually piled the logs together beside the stump they had been felled from. The stumps would be pulled out in the spring, then the ground turned into additional farmland. There was still a vast amount of forest on the estate, so Hawk had had no qualms with clearing a patch of it to extend the land of the most profitable farm.

  And now there were several bundles of firewood they could distribute to tenants and other villagers before any of it was desperately needed. There was some satisfaction in being able to provide goods from their own lands, thus rendering the purchase of such items from outside sources unnecessary. Those funds could then be used for other, more needed items, and if Mr. Forbes, his estate agent, was to be believed, such things were needed by a few families in particular.

  There was a great deal of satisfaction indeed, in that.

  Hawk was already making plans to be as generous as he could afford with his poorer tenants this Christmas, both here at Elmsley and at his other estates. Letters had been sent just that morning to each agent for the express purpose of identifying the specific needs of families that would likely be unable to be met by their own funds and efforts. It was not a habit that he likely ought to fall into each year, as it might prevent his tenants from being as dedicated in their responsibilities, but he had no desire to see any of them starve or suffer, either.

  Balancing mercy with wisdom would be key, though he could not see a fault with being considered generous.

  That thought would have shocked him only a few months ago.

  Working with his tenants, learning from them and speaking with them, had opened his eyes to the true nature of their life and their efforts, if not their needs. He no longer wish
ed to be a distant master at any of his estates and was determined that he should work just as tirelessly on the behalf of his tenants as they worked to make his estates prosperous.

  Such subjects of thought were doing wondrous things for his soul and relieving him of any formerly held concerns of boredom or inefficacy.

  The Duke of Kirklin would be an active, generous, attentive duke, and one who commanded the respect of his tenants without demanding it.

  It was as though the mantle of his identity had suddenly fallen upon him, and it had done so with the peace of a falling leaf, the weight of a boulder, and the magnanimity of being robed in a cloak.

  Humbling, ironic, and stirring, this rebirth of himself.

  And yet…

  “Hawk,” Nat called as he mounted the wagon and picked up the reins. “A message arrived for you before I left Elmsley. Not urgent, but it was from Kirkleigh.”

  Days of absence suddenly rushed together in a blink, and his heart leapt within his chest, smashing against his throat, then dancing along several ribs in a random pattern that made Hawk dizzy. He swallowed, fighting for the moderate indifference he would have felt had a note from Millmond arrived and been dubbed not urgent.

  “Thank you,” he said calmly, though there was a wavering note in his voice that he instantly hated, fearing Nat would hear it.

  If he had, he made no comment on the subject.

  It would appear it was a day of miracles, then.

  He could not leave to fetch his message, not if he wished to maintain any sort of image of calm respectability, and save himself from an impertinent interrogation at the hands of Nat. He had to continue on as he had been, painstakingly fetching log after log and loading them into the wagon, then distributing them to those in need of them. Any change in that plan would have been suspicious, and he could not risk questions when he had no answers.