by Gayle Callen
“Did you use it?”
He paused. “What do you mean?”
“Sometimes I’d come to look for you, and no one could find you.”
“I used to do my schoolwork in here,” he admitted. “If I tried to study at home, inevitably I’d have to help my parents with the younger children.”
She deliberately lightened her tone. “And you didn’t like to do that?”
“I helped them whenever they asked. But when my chores were done, I needed time alone.”
“And I had too much time alone,” she said, imagining him as a young boy, grateful for the quiet, working studiously to better himself.
“We lived very different lives,” he said.
She didn’t want to think about that. “So tell me—as you grew older, surely you used this shed for other things.”
“Just my studies.”
“You must have brought a girl or two here to be alone. Isn’t that what boys do?”
She heard a rustle in the silence, and wondered if he was looking toward her. Then she felt the slight puff of his breath and she shivered.
“No.”
He spoke simply, and she believed him. “Why not? Were there other places a boy from a large family could be alone with a girl?”
Again he hesitated. “I never met any village girls I wanted to be alone with.”
Sam didn’t know what ridiculous impulse had made him say such a thing. He should have said girls had chased him his whole life. But after everything he’d done to her, he couldn’t lie.
“There were some very pretty girls in Misterton,” she said. “None of them appealed to you?”
“No, which is one of the reasons why I went into the army. I thought that by traveling, I’d meet other women.” That was certainly what he’d hoped. But he’d never had a serious attachment, because no one had ever matched Julia. “You need to sleep. You have to have all your wits about you to carry off this masquerade.”
“All right,” she murmured.
It didn’t seem to take long before she was breathing deeply, evenly. He called her name, and when she didn’t respond, he gently touched his fingers to her hand. Such soft skin.
He must have finally fallen asleep, for suddenly he awoke, thinking the air smelled of the freshness of the coming day—and hope. And then he realized why he felt at peace: Julia was wrapped in his arms, her bent knee covering his hips, her head pillowed between his shoulder and chest. In the faint light coming from the cracks in the door, she looked dark and tousled, not like herself at all.
But she certainly felt like Julia, and his body was letting him know what he wanted to do with this woman in his arms. He should have changed her position; instead he foolishly called her name.
She came awake immediately, looking up into his face with surprise.
They broke apart as if lightning had struck them.
“It’s a good thing we’ll have our own beds,” Sam muttered.
She only nodded hastily, pulling her frock coat tighter about her chest.
They waited in a copse of trees outside the gates of Hopewell Manor for several hours. Once the sun was sufficiently up, Sam went through his saddlebags and produced a small wooden box.
“Is there anything you don’t have in those bags?” She practiced walking between the trees, swinging her arms in a manly fashion.
He thought he’d be amused at her attempts, but she had taken to the movement rather easily.
“This is something I always carry with me to help disguise my features,” he said.
He opened the box and showed her several glass vials and a small brush.
“Cosmetics?”
“Very good. Now come here and sit in the light.”
“Are you sure this is necessary?” she asked.
She sat on a fallen log beside him. The sun through the leaves shadowed her face in light and dark.
“We’ll have to repeat this every day,” she cautioned.
“It will help with your disguise. We can’t have you too pretty.”
“I’m not pretty.”
He glanced at her, startled. He saw that she wasn’t searching for a compliment, had even spoken matter-of-factly, as if she’d accepted such a ridiculous thing long ago.
“Your opinion doesn’t count,” he said.
“Why not?”
“You can’t be the judge of your own appearance.”
She laughed. “Sam, you say such silly things.”
He loved to watch her smile. She had even teeth and such a natural sparkle in her eyes that matched the prettiness of her mouth. He continued to look at her, until she finally pointed to the cosmetics box.
“Do we need to add water?” she asked.
He quickly looked back at the box. “No, only to wash out the brush.”
He opened one vial and shook a touch of black powder into his palm. “I’m going to give you faint shadows under your eyes.” He dabbed the powder on her skin with his finger. She looked up at him with fluttering eyelashes, whose length he hoped no one noticed.
When he was satisfied that her eyes didn’t seem to sparkle so much, he applied more of the powder on her cheeks and jaw, using the tips of the brush to give the faintest speckled effect.
“This is for the shadow of a beard,” he explained. “Try to touch your face as little as possible.”
When he put the cosmetics away, he brought out a bottle of macassar oil and showed her how to work it into her hair. Soon her hair was swept back off her face and behind her ears, leaving a straight part at the top of her head.
Sam stepped away with relief, already dreading having to touch her every morning for this process. He studied her carefully. “Your lips are a little too pink, but there’s not much we can do. When you smile, don’t show your teeth. That should help.”
She groaned and threw up her hands. “How will I ever do this, Sam? There’s so much to remember!”
“As I told you before, you need to become the character, to think only as he would.”
The horses had grown restless, and when Sam and Julia finally mounted, it took several minutes to calm them down.
Once Julia signaled that she was ready, Sam said, “Here we go.”
He watched her straighten in the saddle and throw back her shoulders. Then he took the lead, checking carefully that there was no one on the road before he led them out of the trees.
The gates were wide open during the day, and just as they entered, a boy emerged with a small flock of sheep. Sam nodded and touched his top hat, while the boy just gaped, probably at the constable’s uniform. Last time Sam had been home, Misterton only had a sheriff, a local who volunteered his time.
Sam wanted his presence well known, and this would certainly start things rolling. If he was lucky, someone would come forward with evidence.
Lucky, but not likely.
The gravel road wound through gardens he still remembered vividly. There were glades of rhododendrons, scarlet geraniums, and vivid blue lobelia. His brother hadn’t changed much in the design, only adding the occasional exotic plant to make one startled and surprised.
The road separated around a large fountain, and he took the opportunity to glance back at Julia. She was seated rigidly, unsmiling, her whole demeanor the height of seriousness.
He barely held back a smile.
By the time they reached the front portico a young groom was waiting near the stairs. They dismounted and handed over the reins. Sam watched Julia adjust her hat, then look out across the estate curiously as if she’d never seen it before. Good.
He took the marble stairs slowly, thoughtfully, no detail escaping his notice. He raised the door knocker and let it drop loudly.
“Ready?” he whispered over his shoulder.
“Ready.”
General Lewis Reed stared out over London from the third story of his town house, feeling as if the whole city were stretched out at his feet, when all he wanted to do was retreat into the obscurity of Hopewell Man
or. He had just attended another dinner in his honor, another night wearing a false smile painted on his face.
Patience, he counseled himself, as he’d often had to do these last few months. It would all be worth it in the end.
There was a scratch on the door, and a maid informed him that a soldier waited in his study with a message. As Lewis descended to the first floor he wondered how much longer he had to wait before he could safely resign his commission and be done with the military.
But the soldier waiting in his study was Clive Randolph, and the man was in Lewis’s employ now, not the military’s.
Lewis closed the door behind him. “Is there news about my sister’s trial?”
Randolph shrugged. “There’ll be no trial until they recapture her.”
Lewis gripped a chair back and took a deep breath as all his worries intensified. “How the hell did she escape?”
“She had help. Sam Sherryngton, one of the soldiers who’d helped capture her in the first place. Seems he didn’t believe she was guilty after all.”
He remembered Sam as a boy who didn’t understand his lowly status on the estate. “When I heard he was involved,” Lewis said between gritted teeth, “I knew it boded ill. He was always too concerned about Julia. But I never thought he’d commit a crime for her. I assume you followed them.”
“They almost gave us the slip by heading north,” Randolph said. “We were covering the train stations, when there she was, that hair as bright as day. Seemed like she wanted to be seen, you know?”
“Get on with it,” Lewis said curtly.
“We almost missed the switch—I caught it, of course. Albert would have continued on to Edinburgh,” Randolph said, shaking his head as he smiled in triumph.
“They switched trains?”
“Headed south again. We couldn’t approach them on the train or in town, so we attacked outside Rotherham.”
“Did you kill them?” Lewis knew it was too late to be squeamish about another murder, but she was his sister. Yet her death would solve so many problems.
“No. The bloke killed Albert.”
“Damn.” Lewis paced to the window and back. How had everything become so complicated? All he’d needed was a little money to hold on to his estates. He’d never thought that his information sold to the Russians would lead to a massacre.
“I thought you’d want to know they were headed for Hopewell Manor.”
Lewis swore and came at the man until he backed up against the wall. “And you left them there?”
“You told me to report to you.”
“Get back there! Don’t leave again until they’re dead. But I don’t want the staff harmed in any way. Lure them outside before you end it. I don’t need any more talk about my family than necessary. And remember, if I’m caught you’ll go down with me.”
Randolph nodded coolly and headed toward the door.
When the door closed behind him, Lewis sank into a chair and covered his face. Everything was spiraling out of control. He had never planned to frame Julia, but she was such an embarrassment to his orderly life that it had proven the perfect opportunity to steer the blame away from himself. He was trapped into ending this violently. He couldn’t alert the police to her whereabouts, for fear they would investigate her theories.
She’d left him no choice.
It was her own fault that she had to die.
Chapter 10
After knocking on the door of Hopewell Manor, Sam resisted the urge to glance back at Julia. He could only trust her now.
The door slowly creaked open, and the butler, tall and imposing with his powdered hair, embroidered coat, and formal knee breeches and stockings, nodded his head. Sam knew there would be no respectful bow; Sam and his assistant were obviously not gentlemen.
“May I help you, Constable?” the butler asked.
“Why, yes, sir, ye may. Is General Reed at home?”
“He is not. Would you care to leave a message for him?”
“No, sir. I’d like to speak to the person in charge. Is that you?”
The butler showed only a moment’s distaste before his face became a blank mask once again. “If you would wait in the entrance hall, I’ll send Mrs. Cooper, the housekeeper, to you.”
He ushered them inside, and Sam looked around the hall, for in truth he’d never been in the formal area of the manor before. Even though the master wasn’t at home, everything gleamed in the daylight, from the marble table-tops to the intricately laid tiles on the floor. The sculpted ceiling was arched high overhead, the two full stories of the house.
While they waited, he glanced at Julia, but her gaze was fixed forward without expression. What must it be like for her to come back here, a place where she’d never been made to feel comfortable? And now she was a wanted criminal. Hopewell Manor might hold the only key to her freedom—or it would be the place she was captured. And it had been his idea to bring her here. He wasn’t used to questioning every decision he made, but with her life on the line, it was a constant challenge to bury his doubts.
Frances strode in, her large key ring jingling at her waist, her expression pleasant. “May I help you?” she asked, as the butler withdrew from the hall with a bow.
“Yes, ma’am. Ye’d be Mrs. Cooper the housekeeper?”
She nodded. “Is there a problem, Constable?”
“I’m Constable Joseph Seabrook, and this is my assistant, Walter Fitzjames. Surely ye already know about Miss Reed’s troubles.”
“Yes, another constable came to speak with us soon after she was arrested.”
“Well, ma’am, she’s escaped the jail. My chief constable in Leeds sent me here for a further investigation. If I can uncover enough clues, it might lead me to her. Ye haven’t seen her, have ye? Or a bloke by the name of Samuel Sherryngton?”
Her eyes narrowed at him. “I’ve seen neither of them, Constable. And as the butler Jenkins must have told you, General Reed is in London, and not due here anytime soon.”
Sam was impressed by how well Frances was handling her role. She was making it easy for him to concentrate on his own character.
“That’s all right, Mrs. Cooper, because we’re mainly here to talk to the staff, to examine the house and the grounds, to get an impression of Miss Reed’s life.”
“She spent much of the past ten years abroad, sir. I’m not sure what you’ll find.”
Sam grinned genially. “Ye never know, ma’am, and with the help of a good woman like you, we may finish our investigation in only a few days.”
Her eyes widened nicely. “A few days! That is quite an imposition, Constable. I’d need to see your orders.”
He heard Julia betray herself with the faintest gasp, but if anyone else had overheard, they might think she was just affronted by Frances’s request.
“I’ve got them here, ma’am.” He brought out folded papers with the correct wax seal that he’d stolen from the Leeds office.
While Frances looked them over, Sam turned to Julia and said, “Now, see, Fitzjames, how important it is to prepare? What would you have done in this situation if ye’d forgotten the papers?”
“Yes, Constable, sir,” Julia said gruffly.
When Frances looked up, Sam shrugged and nodded his head toward Julia. “Fitzjames is a recruit in trainin’, Mrs. Cooper. I’m doin’ my best to help him learn the business.”
Frances handed him back the papers. “Let me show you into the drawing room, and I’ll send for some tea.”
The drawing room was immense, running down the front of the manor, with groupings of settees and chairs and little tables scattered everywhere. Huge crystal chandeliers were hung from elaborately decorated ceilings. Frances pulled a discreet cord, and while they were seating themselves on overstuffed chairs, a maid entered pushing a well-laden cart before her. The maid was dressed in a plain gown and white apron, and beneath her cap was a brilliant shock of red hair.
Was this his baby sister Lucy? He tried not to stare at her too eag
erly, so he complimented her on the generous spread of cakes, all while studying the fine freckles across her nose, and the way she snuck a peek at him with intelligent brown eyes. She looked much like his childhood memories of his mother. He felt his throat tighten up with emotions he wasn’t used to feeling, and forced himself to look back at Frances. She was simply staring at him, but he saw understanding in her eyes.
Once Lucy had finished setting the repast on the low table, Frances said, “That will be all, Lucy.”
“Yes, Mrs. Cooper.”
She bowed her head and left the room. Yet she cast one inquisitive glance back over her shoulder—at Julia. Was the girl suspicious already?
As Frances filled their teacups, she said, “Constable Seabrook, I noticed you have a slight limp. Are you in pain, sir? I could send for the local physician.”
“No, thank ye, ma’am. It’s an old wound, one that acts up on me on occasion, especially when I spend long hours in the saddle. But I thank ye for your kindness.”
Even though the door was now closed, Sam wouldn’t break character, for servants had a habit of listening at keyholes. He could see Frances clutching the arms of the chair, her work-roughened hands white at the knuckle. She opened her mouth and he quickly shook his head, knowing damn well that she was going to speak too freely.
Frances nodded, then took a sip of her tea. She began her words on a sigh. “You said you’ll be staying a few days, Constable. Do you have lodgings in Misterton?”
“We came right from Leeds, ma’am, and haven’t gone into the village yet. But I wonder if ye might have spare rooms for us here. It will make our work go much faster.”
Frances regally inclined her head, and Sam wanted to smile at how she’d taken to the formality of her position.
“Of course I can offer you rooms, Constable. What else can I do for you?”
“Give us the freedom to wander where we will on the estate, Mrs. Cooper. The investigation will be smooth if I don’t constantly have to run to you or Mr. Jenkins for permission.”
Frances eyed him sternly over her cup. “You will not disturb the master’s private apartments without me accompanying you.”
