Ursula wrinkled her nose.
“Well, I thought we might meet up with some suffragette friends and smash a few windows on Regent Street. I’ve been out of practice since the summer. Then it’s afternoon tea with some Bolsheviks at the Rose and Anchor—”
“And after that?” Lord Wrotham asked dryly.
“After that,” Ursula replied, “I’m all yours.”
Epilogue
JANUARY 1913
Ursula and Lord Wrotham returned to Chester Square after an afternoon spent wandering through the National Gallery. A shallow mist had settled along the gardens in the square, hovering above the ground, hinting that ice might form overnight.
Biggs met them at the front door and led them inside to the roaring fire set in the front parlor. Ursula shrugged off her cashmere coat and hat and handed them to Biggs before flinging her gloves on the table and sitting down with a laugh.
“I don’t see what you could possibly find to object to. Eugenie Mahfouz is excellent company, and as long as we make some temporary adjustments to Bromley Hall, she and all her harem can stay for as long as they’d like.”
Lord Wrotham walked over and warmed his hands over the fire.
“I suppose her husband will be giving a series of lectures while he is here. No doubt on the evils of the British Empire.”
“No doubt,” Ursula replied lightly.
“Well,” Lord Wrotham said, “I know there’s no way I’m going to change your mind, so I guess I may as well accept my fate. No chance that I could stay at the Carlton Club all spring instead, is there?”
“Not a chance. Unless you’d like to take your mother with you, of course. . . .”
Lord Wrotham shot her a withering glance.
Biggs returned with the day’s mail and placed the bundle of letters down on the mahogany side table.
“Will that be all, Miss?” He addressed Ursula and she smiled. Even though she was soon to marry, he continued to acknowledge her as mistress of the house, refusing to treat Lord Wrotham as anything other than a guest until such time as the two households and two sets of servants merged.
“Yes, thank you, Biggs,” Ursula replied, as she reached over and grabbed the mail. She leaned back in the chair, unbuttoned her tweed jacket, and started sorting through the letters.
“Why, there’s one here from Peter Vilenksy,” she exclaimed. Although her relationship with Peter Vilensky was now cordial, she would have expected him to communicate with her only via Lord Wrotham. She hoped his letter did not herald bad news.
“Has he left Palestine?” Lord Wrotham asked. Ursula shook her head, scanning the handwritten pages.
“No, he’s still in Jaffa. But he says the memorial to Katya and Arina has been completed. He and Baruh have placed it in the center of the new settlement. There are nearly fifty families living there now. Isn’t that wonderful?”
“Did he say when he was likely to return to England?”
Ursula shook her head, her eyes fixed on the letter. “No. . . . The letter is more of an apology, really.”
Lord Wrotham raised an eyebrow. “For alerting Dobbs to Katya’s inquiries?”
Ursula swallowed hard. “No, for failing to appreciate love when he had it.”
A knock on the front door caught them both off guard.
“Who on earth could that be, at this time?” Ursula wondered aloud.
Biggs opened the door and entered the parlor, followed by Chief Inspector Harrsion. Through the doorway Ursula could see two policemen waiting by the front door.
“Chief Inspector,” she said, rising from her seat. “This is unexpected.”
“My sincere apologies, Miss Marlow, for involving you in this.”
Ursula looked at him with blank incomprehension. Lord Wrotham was standing stock-still. She could feel the tension in his body even though his face remained impassive.
“My Lord, this is one of the hardest things I have ever done, but I felt it ought to be me and no one else who did it.” Harrison’s voice broke slightly.
“What on earth are you talking about?” Ursula demanded.
“Lord Oliver Wrotham,” Harrison continued, ignoring her, “I am here to arrest you on charges of conspiracy to commit treason against his majesty’s government.”
The Serpent and the Scorpion Page 29
