by Brooke, Meg
“Well, thank the Lord for Toby, then,” Eleanor said, and when Colin frowned she smiled a little. “And Mr. Crawley, of course. Oh, Colin, you don’t have to dislike Toby for my sake.”
“I don’t dislike him,” Colin said, “Tonight’s events have raised him considerably in my estimation. I may even recommend him for a position with the Foreign Office when this is all over.”
“Perhaps he can be your replacement,” Eleanor ventured.
His tone serious again, Colin said, “You know that I will never leave my work, Eleanor. Not until I must, at least.”
“No, of course not,” Eleanor said. “I am more than happy to go with you to Brussels, Colin. I could be happy wherever we are together, I think,” she added, blushing and looking away.
“Good,” he said rather uncomfortably, and then, as though he realized how precariously close they were coming to a moment of real tenderness, he kissed her and led her back to bed. She allowed herself to be led, to lose herself in the feel of his skin against hers, of the soft touch of his fingers against the smooth skin of her back. But later, when he was quite still beside her, his breathing even and deep, she pressed her lips to his shoulder and whispered, “I love you, Colin.”
TWENTY-THREE
September 5, 1834
By sunrise the clouds had dissipated and the sun shone brightly over the Park. Colin rose as the first fragile rays of light broke into the bedroom, dressing quietly and going downstairs to help Crawley organize the patrols that would scour the Park and the surrounding lands for Strathmore and his remaining henchman. As they walked through the stableyard, however, he repeated his prediction that they would not find the man.
“I’m inclined to agree,” Crawley said. “He does not have the manpower any longer, and by now he must suspect that we’re on to him.
Colin ran a hand over his face. “I still can’t believe—”
“Neither can I. I knew him in India before we were ever sent to Algeria, of course, but not well. Still, it’s difficult to imagine him killing Yates.”
Though he started to agree, Colin paused as he thought of what Strathmore had said as they rode behind the body into Porter-on-Bolling, that Yates would have been prepared to be tortured. Now that he looked back, Colin could hear the frustration and resignation in Strathmore’s tone. Had he killed Yates because the man refused to break?
Colin supposed that he would find himself replaying many of his conversations with Strathmore in his head when all this was over. If there was one thing that had been made clear to him by this escapade, it was that he was not at all suited to espionage. Much though he had chafed at his new role when it had first been thrust upon him, he saw now that he belonged in Brussels, where he could do meaningful work, work at which he excelled.
“You don’t think we’ll find him, do you?” Crawley asked, drawing him back to solid English soil.
“No,” Colin said decisively. “Though we know where to begin our search now.” Udad had told them about the little clearing in the woods on the other side of the northern hill where the group had been camping. It was entirely possible that after Udad’s capture they had picked up and moved in case he revealed the location of the camp, but at least now they had an idea of where to start looking for clues to Strathmore or the Tuareg’s whereabouts.
“There’s that at least,” Crawley said cheerily. Colin had to admit that when he had first met the man, he had put him down as a brute with few useful skills that did not involve his brawn. Though Crawley was not much taller than Colin himself, he had twice as much muscle, and Colin had sent him to join the princess’s party at Hafeley because he had assumed the man would be of little help at Sidney Park, where brawn would not be much of an asset.
“I can’t help but wonder, if I had sent Strathmore to Hafeley instead,” Colin began, giving voice to his thoughts, “would any of this have happened?”
“He would have found a way,” Crawley insisted. “He always found a way to get what he wanted, and I’ll wager it’ll be the same now. If he doesn’t want to be found, no amount of searching will do us any good.”
“Still,” Colin said, “I think it’s best to send the men out, just to be sure. Perhaps we will find the Tuareg.”
When they reached the makeshift barracks Colin gave the soldiers a description of their quarry, though most of them had met Strathmore. Then he turned to Crawley, who said, “We are also looking for his last accomplice. He is an Algerian, a Tuareg, which means that he’ll be wearing a blue headscarf, which may make him easier to spot.”
The soldiers listened intently and then split into their patrols. Crawley led one group west toward the Broads while Colin took another north over the hill. Colonel Taylor was to stay behind and secure the house.
When they reached the place Udad had told them about it was exactly as Colin had expected—everything had been cleared away long before, probably immediately after they realized Udad had been captured. He scoured the whole clearing but found nothing more than a single piece of white cloth with some black Arabic writing printed across it. Colin put it in his pocket, making a mental note to ask Crawley about it later.
As the patrol got back on their horses, Colin cast a look down the valley and out into the Broads. Faraway across the flat riverlands he could see smoke rising from the chimney of the Gulleston house, and a sudden thought struck him.
“Go on ahead,” he called to the leader of the patrol. “Ride the east rim of the valley and then report back to the house. I’ll meet you there.”
Then, before they could ask any questions, he spurred his horse and rode off towards the flats.
Eleanor went to her mother as soon as she could be reasonably sure Lady Sidney was awake. She found her still abed, but with her breakfast arrayed on a tray before her.
“There’s too much chaos in the dining room with all these guests,” her mother explained as Eleanor came in.
Smiling, Eleanor said, “I understand. I would escape, too, if I could. But you deserve a few moments’ peace before the whirlwind begins again.”
Her mother nodded and nibbled her toast. “What do you have planned for today?”
“Right now I’m taking Mabon out for a ride,” Eleanor said. “He’s been languishing in the stables far too long.”
Looking shocked, her mother asked, “Are you certain that’s safe?”
“That’s what I came to talk to you about, actually.” Eleanor gave her mother the condensed version of the night’s events, and when she had finished her mother smiled and squeezed her hand.
“I am so relieved, Eleanor. I have been so fearful this whole week. But to think that that nice young man was a traitor all the time! How awful.”
“I think Colin was very shocked,” Eleanor said. “But the good news is that it’s over now, and we—and more importantly, the princess—are safe. You don’t have anything more to worry about.”
“And I know that I have you to thank for it, Eleanor. You have been a dutiful daughter, my dear. When you return from your ride, perhaps we can spend some time with Lord and Lady Townsley. They are your new family, after all.”
Her new family. As Eleanor went down the stairs and out into the stableyard, she wondered at that. In the space of a few days she had gone from being the glue holding her own family together to someone else’s wife. Soon, she knew, she would be someone else’s wife in a foreign country, where no one knew her as the sister of Viscount Sidney, as the daughter of a good, decent man. She would be known only as Lady Pierce, her every move made to support Colin’s work.
She knew, of course, that his duties were important. But as she and Mabon trotted out of the stableyard, she could not help but remember what he had said the night before, that he could never leave his work. It was what defined him, she knew. It had been too much to hope for, that she might be able to comfort herself during her separation from her family with the knowledge that they might return some day soon. And really, she reminded herself, she would have to l
eave Sidney Park and her family anyway. If they were to stay in England, they would surely live at Townsley or in London. It was thinking of her life in Town that made Eleanor realize that it was not really Sidney Park or her mother and siblings that she was reluctant to leave. It was her work in London, the preparations for the school. It was what defined her.
Well, she promised herself, she would find something else in Brussels. There were other ways to be happy.
Refusing to think any longer of the troubling choices—or lack thereof—that she faced, she let Mabon have his head, galloping across the flats towards the south, her hair flying in the breeze. She gave herself over to the joy of her freedom, to the exquisite thrill that filled her body as the horse’s hooves pounded over the ground.
It was only as she neared Havenhall that she realized what she meant to do. She felt a momentary twinge of fear as she rode through the gates, but she was resolved.
She found Toby in the yard behind the house, one end of a long lead in his hand as he worked a stunning chestnut mare through her paces. Toby had always had a way with horses. Even Mabon seemed overjoyed to see him, prancing merrily as they neared.
“He’s excited to see you,” Eleanor laughed as she leaped out of the saddle.
“I’m sure it has nothing to do with Lianne here,” Toby said, bringing the chestnut in.
“She’s lovely,” Eleanor said, reaching out to run her hand along the mare’s neck. “When you’re ready to breed her, I’m sure Mabon would be happy to oblige.”
Toby smiled at that. He led the chestnut out of the paddock and back towards the stables, which were by no means as large as those at Sidney Park, but were beautifully kept all the same. Eleanor followed him, looping Mabon’s reins loosely over the post.
When Toby had led the mare into her stall, he turned to Eleanor. “What can I do for you?” he asked.
“I came to thank you for what you did last night,” Eleanor said. “You saved that man’s life.”
“Much as I respect him, I don’t believe that it was of him that I thought,” Toby replied, his eyes not quite meeting hers.
Feeling suddenly nervous, Eleanor wondered if this had been a good idea, after all. “Toby, I—”
“No,” he said, “there’s no need to explain. I had no claim to you, Eleanor. You were always free to choose another, and you did. How can I be angry at anyone but myself?”
Eleanor leaned on the wall of the stall, grateful for its solid presence between them. “Why didn’t you write, Toby?” she asked.
“Your mother was right,” he said. “I had nothing to offer you. Though we have done our best, my family was impoverished. It would have been wrong to engage your affections when I was so far away. So I told myself that I would give you your freedom, that if you really wanted me, you would wait.”
“It wasn’t that I didn’t...” Eleanor paused, not sure what she meant to say. “I was so young, Toby. I didn’t know what love was.”
Now his eyes met hers at last. “Do you know now?” he asked.
She nodded. “I do.”
“That’s good enough for me, then,” he said. “I’m glad you’re content, Eleanor. Your husband is a good man, and he will do his best to make you happy.”
She stared at him in silence for a long moment before she said, “What will you do now?”
He grinned. “I have everything I want right here. Now that there’s enough money, I have no need to continue working for the Company. My contract is up. Perhaps I’ll breed horses and live as a country gentleman. There’s no rush to decide.”
She reached out her hand, and he took it. “Thank you, Toby,” she said, and then she went back out into the stableyard. As she rode away she looked back to see him standing at the gate, watching her go. But that part of her life, no matter how bittersweet it had been, was over.
It did not take Colin long to reach the Gullestons’ cottage. Mrs. Gulleston must have seen him riding across the flats, for she was standing in the doorway when he arrived, hands on hips.
“Now, young man,” she scolded as he dismounted, “what’s this I hear about your marrying our Miss Elly and not even inviting us to the wedding?” She sounded quite serious, but there was a twinkle in her eye that Colin recognized from his previous visit.
“My humble apologies, Mrs. Gulleston. We’ll be sure to send you a piece of the cake.”
She smiled at that, “Oh, don’t bother, dearie. We’re too old for such sweet things. Come inside and have you a cuppa.”
Mr. Gulleston was nowhere to be seen when Colin entered the small house. Mrs. Gulleston urged him into a chair and bustled about making tea and arranging a plate of biscuits. It was only as she brought them to the table that a loud snore emanated from the little bedroom.
“You’ll have to forgive the old Guller,” she said. “I made him have a little lie-down; he had such a fright last night that he hardly slept a wink.”
“What happened?” Colin inquired, trying to sound as though he were being no more than polite, allowing Mrs. Gulleston to have her little gossip.
But the old lady was clearly distressed. “He were out tinkering with the wagon; Lord knows why he were doing such a thing when it were getting dark and the clouds getting ready to let loose. But he would do, and nothing would stop him. Anyway, I went out to call him in, and I must have surprised him because he dropped his hammer. But what do you know, young man? Just as he bent down to get it a man comes riding by on a big gray, fast as if the devil hisself were chasing him. Nearly took poor Guller’s head off! The Guller yelled after him, but he was too far away by then to hear. Just rode off across the flats, though any fool knows not to ride amongst them when it’s dark. A body could kill hisself, riding like that. The poor Guller was so shocked he laid awake half the night.”
“Indeed?” Colin asked. “Which direction did he ride?”
“South, of course. Young fools,” Mrs. Gulleston muttered. “And our Miss Elly’s as bad as the rest of them, riding that beast of hers like she were in a race. You give her some pretty babies to look to, young man, d’you hear? Then she won’t need to go tearing about the countryside.”
Colin was certain his face was bright crimson, but he gave Mrs. Gulleston his solemn promise and took his leave. The old lady showed him out.
“You tell Miss Elly we sent our love,” Mrs. Gulleston said, just as another snore from the Guller rattled the windowpanes of the little house.
Colin nodded. “Of course, Mrs. Gulleston.” Then he rode away across the flats to the south.
It did not take him long to see what Mrs. Gulleston had meant about the Broads being a dangerous place at night. Though there was only one wide river in the area—the Bolling, for which the village was named—there were many little creeks and marshes that fed it, and everywhere there were pitfalls. Strathmore must have been quite desperate to come this way in the darkness, with storm clouds gathering. Colin ambled down the Broads, though he knew it was highly unlikely he would find anything to tell him which way Strathmore had gone.
Instead, he allowed himself to think about what Mrs. Gulleston had said. Colin had never imagined himself as a father—he had never particularly liked his own, and it was difficult to think of following in his footsteps without cringing. But if Eleanor...well, it was easy to imagine Eleanor with his child in her arms, and the picture that appeared in his mind made him suddenly long for it in a way he had never thought he would.
He was drawn out of his reverie when his horse gave a nervous snort and pawed the ground in agitation. Colin drew his wits about him again and looked around for whatever had startled the animal. It did not take him long to find it. In the damp ground were the trenches made by a skidding horse’s hooves, and not far beyond, his bloodied head mere inches from the rock it had struck, lay Simon Strathmore.
TWENTY-FOUR
It could not have been put off much longer, and yet Eleanor would have rather seen her new mother-in-law again almost anywhere but in the hall as she w
as coming in from her ride, muddy and wind-blown and bedraggled, with her hair loose and her cheeks still pink from an exhilarating gallop. Still, she managed to smile winningly and say, “Good morning, Lady Townsley.”
Her mother-in-law, resplendent in pale blue satin, looked her up and down assessingly. “Good morning, my dear,” she said at last. “You’ve been out riding, I see.”
“I have,” she said lamely. “Mornings are quite beautiful out on the Broads this time of the year. It’s a shame to waste them.”
She smiled at that, at least. “I am glad to hear you are an active sort of person,” she said. “It will serve you well, being married to Colin. The boy never seems to stop moving.”
Eleanor ran a self-conscious hand through her tousled hair. “I have noticed that, My Lady.”
For a moment, both women stared at each other, the silence hanging between them growing more and more uncomfortable. At last, Lady Townsley said, “You must wish to change out of those things. But perhaps you would care to sit in the salon with me this morning? If you are to accompany Colin back to the Continent so that he can continue his...work...then we must not squander this opportunity to get better acquainted.”
“Of course,” Eleanor said, feeling slightly offended by the tone with which Lady Townsley spoke of her son’s profession. Still, it would be foolish to waste a chance to escape, and so she made her excuses and rushed upstairs towards her room.
As she came to the top of the stairs she nearly ran into Princess Victoria, who was coming down the corridor, followed closely by Baroness Lehzen.
Skidding to a stop, Eleanor said, “Forgive me, Your Highness.”
“Of course, Lady Pierce,” the princess said, smiling brightly. She was very young, Eleanor thought, and her childlike stature added to the impression. But there was something in her eyes, something deep and wise, as though she had seen the whole world and had grown tired of it already. “Have you been out riding?”
