“Portia!” Cecily gasped, lifting shocked eyes to her sister. “You really are ruthless, you know.”
“No, I’m not,” Portia argued. “I just refuse to be forced into doing something that would ruin my life.”
“But marriage, and, and,” Cecily made wafting motions with her hand, “that! It’s a bit erm -”
“Wanton?” Portia murmured, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Is that so bad?”
Cecily’s eyes grew round, and she bit her lip to prevent herself from returning her sister’s smile. Portia had always been far more daring and risqué but, for once, Cecily was apt to wholeheartedly agree with her suggestion. For the first time in a long time, she began to feel the first tendrils of hope steal into her soul. Turning back to Portia, she slowly shook her head and brushed out her skirts.
“I have no idea what the future holds for either of us, but I do know that we had better make certain of our plans before we go anywhere in defiance of our father. He is going to be furious with us, and will not take kindly to having his matrimonial plans for us thwarted, let alone us both going against is orders.”
“Do you know something, Cecily?” Portia declared, glancing around her with a frown. “I don’t care. I am not going to just sit back and allow anyone to throw my life into misery, and that includes father.”
She didn’t know if it was her imagination, but she got the strangest feeling that she was being watched. Studying the trees carefully for any sign of person or persons unknown, she almost missed Cecily’s next question.
“So, what should we do?”
“We need to go to Aunt Adelaide,” Portia murmured, peering cautiously around the trees behind them. It was too dark beneath the thick branches to see much, but she could tell by the uninterrupted chirping of the birds that there wasn’t anybody lurking in the undergrowth. So why was she getting the strange sensation of being watched? Shaking her head at her wayward imagination, she turned back to her sister.
“What if she doesn’t take us in?” Hope began to unfold within Cecily, like the silken petals of a flower, glorying in the first tendrils of warm sunshine.
“Then you can go to Lord Calverton, and beg for his assistance. I can go to Uncle Robert and Aunt Suzannah’s, and hope that they will accommodate me long enough to secure a position of employment somewhere.”
Cecily remained quiet for several long moments. Was a chance of freedom really so impossible? Even if Lord Calverton refused to help her, she could probably prevail upon him to help her secure alternative lodgings. It wasn’t as if she wasn’t afraid to work for a living. Although untitled, their father was a merchant who had garnered enough wealth to be able to furnish them all with an extremely comfortable lifestyle. Unfortunately though, he was a miser, who only parted with his money when he absolutely had to. As a result, he refused to furnish the house with a proper housekeeper or even a scullery maid, insisting that it was a waste of funds to spend money on such frivolities when he had two women in the house who were perfectly capable.
“What about you?”
Portia turned her solemn gaze toward her sister. “I will be fine, Cecily. I will prevail upon Aunt Adelaide and, if she won’t accommodate me, I am sure she can furnish the suitable connections to ensure I am employed somewhere. She won’t want the scandal of having a niece homeless and destitute.” The more she considered throwing herself upon the mercy of her Uncle Robert and Aunt Suzannah, the more she decided that they would just send her straight back to face her father’s wrath rather than incur it themselves. She couldn’t take the risk that her daring plans for a better future might all come to naught so easily.
“So what do we do now?” Cecily asked, unsure how one went about defying the orders of one’s only parent and guardian.
“Choose a day,” Portia stated boldly. She would never say so to her sister, but she didn’t think that any day would ever be the right day. If they were going to attempt to escape, then they had to move quickly, especially given that Portia’s betrothal was due to be announced in the few days.
Cecily stared cautiously at her, as though trying to decide if she really meant what she was saying. After several long minutes of studying Portia’s implacable face, she mentally shrugged and decided to go along with it, and hope that Portia was as determined as she looked. Cecily wished she did have the confidence to throw herself upon the mercy of Lord Calverton and, although the possibility filled her with dread, she wasn’t about to disregard the probability that she would have to. She didn’t say so to Portia, but if Lord Calverton was prepared to help her, then Cecily would do everything she could to ensure that his help extended to her elder sibling.
“All right then,” Cecily announced, turning to stare challengingly at Portia. “Let’s go tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow, it is.”
“But how do we get out? I mean, father is hardly likely to hold the door open for us. How does one go about leaving home?”
“Well, we cannot take all of our things. Not that we have much of course, but we can only really take a bag that we can carry. I have enough stored away to purchase tickets for us both on a mail coach, then there is the housekeeping of course.” Portia began to think through the finer details. The more she thought about the actual arrangements, the more determined she became that this was the course of action they should take. She knew where Papa kept the small box of money secreted beneath a stone under the chair in his study. It was stuffed full of notes that would more than adequately furnish the funds they needed for their escape. “Leave it to me. Just make sure you pack a bag with everything you are likely to need.”
“We can’t take the housekeeping, Papa would be furious.”
Portia merely shrugged. “He is going to be angry anyway. Besides, he owes us for all of the necessities he wouldn’t purchase for us.”
“Alright.” Doubt laced Cecily’s voice. “I’ll pack a bag tonight and be ready to leave first thing in the morning.”
“We will wait until Papa leaves for the day. There will be a mail coach at noon.”
“Where does it go?” Cecily gasped, wondering how long Portia had been considering running away. She seemed to know an awful lot about mail coaches, and funds.
Portia shook her head. “I am not sure, and do you know something? I don’t really care. As long as it is away from here, then it will serve our purposes. When we have got away from the village then we can work out how we can find our way to Aunt Adelaide’s.”
“We will need to take more than the housekeeping,” Cecily warned, frowning at Portia’s secretive smile.
“Leave it to me,” Portia replied vaguely. She knew Cecily didn’t know about their father’s hiding places, mainly because Cecily didn’t dare defy their father’s orders to stay out of his study. “Just make sure you have the things you will need to last you for a few days.”
“Alright,” Cecily sighed, awed at her sister’s forethought. “Meantime, are you coming to the church to do the flowers or not? If we take too much longer, the vicar is going to send out a search party for us, and will undoubtedly mention our tardiness to Papa.”
“I’m going to stay here for a little while longer,” Portia sighed, smiling defiantly at Cecily. She knew her younger sister wasn’t prepared for what they were going to do, and wondered if she herself really had the courage to go ahead with it. Nevertheless, Portia was determined that she would escape the horrid marriage, and was more than happy to drag Cecily along with her.
“Alright, but don’t sit too long,” Cecily warned, glancing up at the clouds forming on the horizon. “I’ll tell them you were delayed, or something.”
Cecily slowly walked across the field in the direction of the church. The last thing she really wanted to do was arrange the altar flowers. She wanted to sit beside the stream with Portia, and discuss the finer details of their escape, but she knew her sister well enough to know that she was still mulling things over. She would tell Cecily when she had made her plans, and they would car
ry out her scheme to perfection. That’s how things always worked when Portia made their plans to escape from their father for a few hours and, even though this time they were planning on going further, for considerably longer, Cecily had no doubt about her sister’s efficiency. If Portia decided they were going to escape their father’s wrath, then that is what they would do.
She climbed the gate and glanced back across the field. Portia looked so alone sitting on the bank that her heart went out to her. For a brief moment, Cecily wondered what the future held in store for both of them, and hated the thought that she would not see her sister every day. From the plans that Portia had suggested, their futures were likely to be very different.
Cecily was about to turn away and head down the lane toward the church, when a flicker of movement through the trees caught her attention. She froze and slowly turned around, wondering if she should go back and insist that Portia accompany her to the church. Cecily carefully scanned the trees for signs of anybody who might pose a threat, but couldn’t see anything. She jumped when a large black rook broke through the branches at the very top of the trees and flew off into the distance. Shaking her head at her own foolishness, Cecily cast one last look at her sister still sitting unconcerned beside the brook, and headed off to church.
Portia watched Cecily climb the gate at the far end of the field, and turned back to the stream. The gentle trickling of the water as it tumbled through the coarse rocks soothed her senses, and helped to ease her jumbled thoughts enough to allow them to fall into some semblance of order. The last thing she wanted was to arrange flowers for the church or anywhere else, but those were her father’s orders. She would get into awful trouble for not doing as she was told, but the worse her father would do is shout at her, threaten her with being cast out – again – and banish her to her room, which is where Portia spent most of her time, and where she preferred to be anyway. She had spent many hours locked in her room with Cecily, which was one of the reasons why she had such a strong bond with her sibling.
Her gaze wandered lazily over her surroundings. Besides the wooded copse on the opposite banks of the stream, and a handful of trees behind her, and the church of course, there was nothing for miles around. So why was she still feeling as though she was being watched? As far as she could tell there was nobody else in the area. Cecily had gone off to church to carry out Papa’s orders, leaving only herself beside the brook.
A gentle breeze whispered across her skin and made her shiver. Tugging her shawl tighter about her shoulders, she eased off the hard boulder and stood, arching her back as she smothered a yawn. She really should be heading off to church herself. It was very selfish of her to expect Cecily to arrange the flowers all alone, but she something deep inside her refused to adhere to all of Papa’s dictates. He had positively ordered them to do the church flowers and be back in time to get dinner ready by the usual time of eight o’clock. Portia couldn’t ignore the feeling that he had wanted them out of the house for a while, and briefly wondered what he was up to, before deciding that she didn’t really want to know. She didn’t care what he got up to when she and Cecily weren’t around, as long as he wasn’t plotting anything to do with them.
Portia lifted her face toward the sun and basked in the gentle warmth for several moments, absorbing the simple peace and tranquillity of her favourite spot. As she listened to the birds and the gentle trickle of the stream, she slowly became aware of the quiet sound of distant footsteps intruding on her pleasure. Her heart leapt at the thought of being discovered sitting by herself, beside the bank of the stream. Glancing around frantically, she quickly dodged beneath the large, low-slung branches of one of the huge oak tree, and stood with her back to the trunk. She was certain she had heard someone approaching, but nobody was walking across the field toward her. Frowning deeply, she studied the trees opposite. Could she hear voices?
She briefly considered leaving only to wince as she caught sight of the source of the noise. There, through the trees were the clear outlines of three, no, four men talking quietly. Portia had lived in Tissington all of her life and knew practically everybody. As far as she could see, the men in the woods weren’t local. Her stomach lurched as she thought about the dangers of being found alone, in the middle of nowhere by four strange men, and she felt her hands begin to tremble. Reminding herself that she was hidden in the branches of the tree, and wasn’t altogether visible unless they were looking for her. She stood frozen in place, not daring to move, or breathe, for fear of discovery.
They are only talking, Portia chided herself sternly. If she left the safety of the tree now, they would undoubtedly see her. She could hear faint murmuring, but it wasn’t loud enough to decipher the words. Strangely, she felt as though she was being watched still, and that unnerved her. Cautiously glancing at the surrounding area did little to reassure her that there was nobody around.
Sighing deeply, she stood motionless and watched two of the four men disappear deeper into the woods and simply vanish, leaving two men standing just inside the tree-line. They seemed to be arguing. One of the men was gesticulating wildly with his hands. He seemed to be protesting against something. Or was that pleading? Curiosity piqued, Portia knew she should turn away and allow them their privacy, but couldn’t bring herself to leave.
Deciding she had no choice but to wait until the men had left, Portia settled back against the tree to wait.
CHAPTER TWO
Archie smothered a curse and stared down at the dark, glossy head directly beneath his feet. Could life get any worse? He shook his fist at fate for bringing the ladies to the stream in the first place, especially at a time like this. Now though, one of them appeared to be as nosy as she was beautiful.
When they had first appeared below him, Archie had been intrigued by the beautiful ladies who had invaded his hiding place. With nothing else to do, he had listened to them lament their fate at the hands of their stern father, and make their plans of escape. He wanted to caution them both as to the folly of their intentions, but his own predicament forced him to keep quiet.
Archie winced as a particularly sharp piece of bark bit into the back of his thigh, but he daren’t move. Mentally cursing his luck, he studied the small group of men who had appeared in the trees opposite. They were undoubtedly the ones he had been sent to Tissington to gather information on. He strained his ears to listen to what was being said, studying the landscape for any sign of the two guards while trying to figure out what he was going to do next, preferably without alerting the unfortunate witness beneath his feet.
Trust me to pick the wrong woods, Archie thought with a rueful shake of his head, glancing down at the intriguing young woman again. She should have left with her sister, and then she would have been out of the way. As it was, right now, she was watching two of the most notorious spy smugglers England had ever seen and, he suspected, about to watch a murder.
Over the course of the past few months, the men deep in conversation on the opposite bank of the stream had, along with their French counterparts, managed to establish a chain of English and French people from all walks of life. Those people were smuggling French spies into the country, providing them with a place to stay while furnishing them with new papers, before helping them disappear. One or two had re-emerged in the halls of government, in menial jobs that left them with plenty of time to watch those around them carefully. Others had yet to be found.
The Star Elite had been tasked with finding those culpable; breaking the chain and making sure everyone was brought to justice. Slowly but surely, French spies were being either captured for interrogation or removed – permanently. So far, Archie and his associates had discovered where they were being brought into the country, and which house in St Issey they were being held at before they were moved further inland, to the small village of Much Hampton nestled in the wilds of Bodmin Moor. Thanks to his friend, Simon’s recent endeavours, they had found the master forger who produced the false papers, and uncovered the very pl
ace where the French spies were furnished with new identities. Lindsay, the man responsible for that particular part of the chain, was on his way to Bodmin jail for questioning.
Jamie and Rupert, two other members of the Star Elite, had discovered that a meeting was going to be held between the smugglers near Tissington. They were panicking because they couldn’t get hold of Lindsay, or Archembault, their master forger, who had disappeared at the same time.
Archie had been tasked to watch the meeting, and gather as much information on what was discussed as possible. They were aware of someone in Tissington providing the smugglers with finances to carry out the English part of their operation, but the Star Elite hadn’t managed to uncover who that particular traitor was. For now, Archie had to find out which of the French spy leaders were in the area, and follow them to their next meeting with the unknown Tissington contact.
It should have been so simple, especially for someone as adept at hiding as Archie was. It would have been easy too, if he had chosen the right group of trees, and the two ladies hadn’t chosen that moment to seek privacy to discuss running away from home. He briefly wondered why neither lady was already married by now. They were certainly of marriageable age, and both were beautiful in their own right, so what was wrong with the men in Tissington? He had overheard enough of their conversation to know that it probably wasn’t the ladies, but their father and it was a shame to think of such wonderful ladies being handed over to lecherous old men.
Shaking his head at the strangeness of rural folk, Archie turned his attention back toward the woods opposite.
From the look of the two men who were left, the argument was going to be fierce. Archie had seen first-hand just how ruthless this group of spy smugglers were, and could only hope that on this occasion his instincts were wrong, and there wouldn’t be any bloodshed.
Glancing down at the lady standing at the base of the tree he was sitting in, Archie knew she had spotted the activities across the way, and cursed his luck. She had yet to look up. If she had, she would have seen him wearing his very effective disguise of workman’s clothing, his dark brown breeches accompanied by a rather rough, yet clean white shirt accompanied by a leather waistcoat. The rather grubby and well-worn riding boots he wore were years old and were barely fit for purpose, but fitted his outfit perfectly.
His Lady Spy (The Star Elite Series) Page 2
