A series of numbers met him, and Luke cringed.
Dammit, Redley.
“Another clue?” Vivian’s voice was laced with the frustration he felt to his bones. “Luke, when does this end?”
“I don’t know,” he said quietly, and looked over the sets of seemingly random numbers. “This has to mean something.”
“More riddles, and more clues. This might all be for nothing. Redley could have us spinning in circles on some merry goose chase while he gets as far away from England as possible.”
“Redley is not a traitor,” Luke said harshly.
“I’m not saying he is,” she replied gently and her gloved hand rested on his sleeve. “But enough people think he is that it might be better if he left after all.”
Luke shook his head. “No, we came to Salisbury for a reason.”
“Yes, the Magna Carta—”
Something tumbled together in Luke’s head and his eyes widened in surprise.
“We haven’t seen the Magna Carta yet.” He twisted away from her and hurried up the steps.
Vivian hastened after him. “Yes, we have. You were with me while I read over the page earlier. Were you not paying attention?”
“Yes, we saw it, but not with this information.” He waved the letter, turned into the aisle and rushed down the path.
“Luke, stop running in the church!” she hissed from behind him.
They came to stop before the Great Charter, encased in glass as it had been before, but this time Luke recognized what the numbers on the paper indicated.
Tugging his leather-bound book from his inside coat pocket, he flipped to a blank page and began to decipher the message. The writing on the ancient Magna Carta was minuscule, and difficult to read, but he fished a monocle from his jacket pocket, which magnified the text.
“Where did you get a monocle?” she asked, disbelief settling over her features.
“I’m surprised you even had to ask.” He squinted through the glass.
“Do you have a snuff box that explodes? Or a dagger in your shoe?”
“Heavens, no. Be reasonable.”
She grinned. He couldn’t help but turn his head to grin back before he refocused on his work.
She watched him for a long moment. “How are you getting these letters?”
“First letter is the row, second letter is the position on the page,” he explained quietly, and counted the letters across the fourth line. O R, followed by an S.
She watched him work, but remained silent as he concentrated on the ancient text. Finally, he came to the end of the number sets, and snapped his book shut, the coded message stuck between the pages.
“What does it say?” she asked.
Luke shook his head. “Not here.” He needed a minute to compose his thoughts. The words he’d deciphered didn’t make sense, though that was likely Redley’s intent.
They collected the little luggage they’d traveled with from where Luke had stashed them near the door and left the church through a north-facing door.
Once outside the church, they moved further onto the lawn, closer to the road, where the trees and low stone wall might muffle any sound. The lawns were too open, and their voices could carry. Luke didn’t want to be overheard.
He stopped, and flipped open his journal, ignoring Vivian’s furrowed brow. Without comment, he handed her the translation.
She looked down at it, her eyes darting over the words again and again. Luke peered over her shoulder and reread the message.
Victor Smythe
Vivian glanced at him. “This is my Uncle Ducky.”
Luke nodded. “I remember.” He held her gaze, hoping she knew something that he didn’t. There was a reason Redley wanted them together. There was a reason Vivian’s uncle was named here. But Luke was at a loss as to why.
A carriage rolled past. Birds chirped in the trees overhead. The bells of the church began to chime the hour. But the silence rang louder than anything else between Luke and Vivian.
Vivian didn’t break the contact of his gaze. “Why has Redley written his name? Is he the one behind all of this? Is he the one to go to for help? For the next clue?”
Luke floundered for a moment, hoping Vivian couldn’t see how confused he was.
“When did you last see him?”
Vivian thought for a moment. “My father’s funeral. Mother refused his offer of assistance, though what her quarrel was with him she never shared. I never pushed the issue. But Luke, my uncle usually carried a jeweled cane.”
Luke looked at the paper again. “Your aunt said he was hosting a house party?”
Vivian blanched. “I think… I think it is this weekend. And…” She spun around, searching their surroundings again. “His estate, it’s near Salisbury.”
That info washed over Luke like an icy wave crashing over his head. “He’s here? In Salisbury?”
“Well not here at the Cathedral but his county estate is nearby. I don’t know where exactly. Perhaps someone in the town might know?”
“Do you know the name of the estate?”
“Yes, it is—”
“Vivian Burke?”
Vivian’s head snapped up at the sound of her aunt’s shrill voice. Her gaze met Luke’s for scarcely a second before she spun about. Before them marched Mrs. Dorothea Barfield, her daughters Marianne and Annabelle attached to her sides. They’d come from a carriage stopped in the street.
“Good morning, Aunt Dorothea.” Vivian pasted a bright smile onto her face.
Her aunt’s eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh, we, uh-” Vivian sputtered but Mrs. Barfield didn’t wait for an answer.
“They said it was your carriage that arrived at the house, but I wasn’t sure if I believed it. How on earth did you get here without your carriage?”
“Our carriage?” Vivian repeated, her voice hitching up.
“It was Kenswick’s crest on the carriage door, so it must be your carriage.” Mrs. Barfield said. “It was in the front drive when we departed nearly two hours ago.”
“Quite right,” Luke said, saving the conversation, though he knew very well he didn’t have a carriage here, and his carriage did not have his crest anywhere on the vehicle. His carriage should still be in Kent. “It seems the wheel was repaired sooner than anticipated.”
“The wheel broke?” Miss Barfield asked, her head tilted at a curious angle. “How unfortunate.”
“We didn’t want to wait for it to be repaired as they said it would take days,” Luke continued. “So, we came ahead on the coach.”
“You rode on the mail coach?” Miss Annabelle asked. Her nose wrinkled in disgust.
“Ah, a private coach,” Luke lied. He did not care for Vivian’s cousin’s tone, nor did he want to get into these details with his wife’s family.
“You left London so suddenly, we weren’t sure where you’d gone off to,” Miss Barfield said.
“On honeymoon,” Luke said quickly.
Miss Annabelle glanced around, unimpressed. “In Salisbury?”
“It’s a tour of cathedrals, actually,” Vivian said. “My darling husband knew I loved Gothic architecture, so he arranged a tour of them for our honeymoon. We’ve been to Wells, and Canterbury, and now Salisbury as well.”
“That sounds rather…” Miss Barfield began but hesitated before she said something rude.
“Fascinating?” Luke offered. “It has been a remarkable journey. So much history I never knew about. And Vivian is a wealth of knowledge. I can’t tell you how lucky I am to have a wife who has a brain between her ears. Those boring ladies who talk of nothing but painting and shoes would have driven me mad.”
Vivian smiled brightly at her relatives. “I say, what are you all doing here?”
“We’ve come for Uncle Ducky’s house party, same as you,” Miss Barfield replied.
Mrs. Barfield glanced between Luke and Vivian. “You didn’t forget about Ducksworth’s party, did you?”
/> “No, of course not,” Vivian answered. “We’d hoped to see you there. And I am eager for Uncle Ducky to know my new husband.”
Normally they wouldn’t just pop in and invite themselves to stay, but Luke had a strong impression they were expected. “I say, how did you find us?” he asked. “We’d not expected to see anyone until dinner.”
“We saw you as we drove past just moments ago,” Miss Barfield answered.
“We came in to town for the millinery,” Miss Annabelle added. “To repair my sister’s bonnet.”
“I’m normally not so clumsy, but my sister tripped me—” Miss Barfield tried to explain.
Miss Annabelle cut her off, turning to glare at her sister. “Perhaps if your ribbons were tied properly it wouldn’t have fallen to the ground—”
“And then you stepped on it!”
Mrs. Barfield cut them off in a tone that made Luke’s brows rise. “That’s enough, girls. I’m sure the earl doesn’t want to hear your squabbling.” He’d found the teensiest bit of respect for the Barfield matron.
“Sorry, Mama,” both Barfield sisters said, still glaring at each other.
“Come along, then,” Mrs. Barfield said to Luke and Vivian. “We will convey you to Ducksworth Park. We can’t leave you here looking…” She paused as her gaze roamed over their economical clothing choices. They were not dressed in the fashionable style one would expect of an earl and countess on their honeymoon. “So forlorn.”
Forlorn was the opposite of what he felt, but he followed along behind the Barfields, Vivian on his arm.
“Are we truly going to attend a house party?” she asked him quietly. “In the middle of everything else going on?”
“It’s a bed to sleep in for the night. And apparently, we have been sent a carriage.”
“Which could be from….”
Luke shrugged. “No idea.”
“It could be a trap.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “Probably.”
Their whispered conversation was over as they handed their luggage over to the coachman. They entered the carriage and took their seats on the rear facing bench, and soon they were tucked up in the carriage with the Barfields, on their way to Uncle Ducky’s country house party. Their half an hour long journey was thankfully done in silence.
As they passed through the gates, Luke was surprised at the splendor of the estate. It was Italian and classic, that much Luke could recall from his varying courses at Oxford a decade earlier. Two wings stretched towards the middle where four stone columns stood over a portico. A pair of curved, matching stone steps swept down from the portico to the drive in front of the house.
Where on earth are we? Luke wondered as he marveled at the opulence.
He did not like walking into an unknown situation and he felt the hairs prick on the back of his neck.
The carriage came to a stop before the stone steps. They escaped the carriage and were ushered up the curved steps and inside.
The magnificence of the house was staggering, and this from the son of a duke who had spent his childhood in one of the most impressive homes in England.
Portraits of ancestors lined every free space of the cream-colored walls. The foyer opened upwards with a rectangular staircase bending and stretching up three levels, a plush red carpet running down the middle.
“Lord Kenswick?”
The butler stood before them, holding a card. “Your valet said you were to receive this upon arrival. Also, his grace asked for you to wait for him here so he may speak with you.”
“Might we rest for a bit first?” Vivian asked. “We’ve been traveling for days.”
“I apologize, Lady Kenswick. His grace was rather insistent. He has been notified of your arrival and will be down momentarily.”
Luke took the card and nodded his thanks. Best to get this interview with the uncle over with.
The butler bowed his head and moved further into the house.
Mrs. Barfield and her daughters hadn’t moved very far away, and watched them with a knowing smirk. “I knew Ducksworth would be eager to meet you, Kenswick. Best of luck to you.” She exchanged a knowing glance with her daughters before they moved up the staircase.
Vivian and Luke watched them ascend the stairs, waiting until they were out of earshot.
“I didn’t see the carriage in front of the house,” Vivian noted.
“No, it’s likely been put up in the carriage house already.” Luke tore into the message, finally confident they would not be overheard. “This is from Quan. ‘The pineapple trees are thriving. See insert card.’” Luke looked at the other card folded into the message. He opened it as well and chuckled. “The carriage is a wedding gift from Andrew. He says it was supposed to be a birthday gift, but as our carriage burned in the fire in Canterbury, he thought to send it now.”
“Well that’s one mystery solved quickly, something we haven’t had much of. Quan is here?”
Luke nodded. “Somewhere. Posing as my valet apparently.”
“Its easier than trying to explain quartermaster.”
“Thriving pineapple trees means no problems, all is well, and he wasn’t coerced into writing this message.”
“Do you have a coded message for every scenario?” she asked.
Luke glanced at her with a wicked grin, but as he looked past her, he froze. Disbelief swept over him as he spied a gentleman in the doorway. He was an older gentleman, old enough to be Luke’s father, with a full head of greying brown hair and a remarkable jeweled cane in his hand. Luke felt his wife’s gaze upon him. No doubt she’d noticed the change in his posture, and likely recognized the panic that washed over him.
She searched his gaze as he glanced down at her. “What is it?”
“That man,” he whispered with a discreet nod of his head. “That is Templar.”
Vivian’s gaze darted back and forth between the older gentleman and Luke. “Are you certain? It’s been some years…”
“It’s him.”
“Luke, that is not possible.”
“Why? Do you know him?”
Vivian glanced at the gentleman again, and took her time before she dragged her gaze back to Luke.
“That’s Victor Smythe, the Duke of Ducksworth. Luke, that is my Uncle Ducky.”
Chapter Twenty One
“You are looking well,” Ducksworth proclaimed.
“As can be expected.” Luke sat beside Vivian in the Duke of Ducksworth’s library. The room had a gentler feel to it than Luke would have predicted. The creams and golds lent a relaxing air to the sage-colored walls. Bookshelves were built into the walls, offset with cream framing and arching above the top ledge where various vases and marble busts were on display. None of it suggested a great spymaster lived here.
Luke was careful to control his face, his posture. He was tense, coiled together like a tightened spring, ready to leap into action should it be needed.
He hadn’t thought he would ever see Templar again. To discover his old mentor was a duke was not surprising. Luke had known he came from an aristocratic family, as he did. To learn his old mentor and Vivian’s uncle were one and the same was surprising, though something in the back of his mind whispered that this was too convenient. It made sense, now that he thought about it. The strange things Vivian had mentioned about her uncle had reminded him of Templar at the time. He should have realized it sooner.
Ducksworth nodded. “Married life seems to agree with you. I thought it might.”
Vivian’s head snapped forward just as Luke’s eyes narrowed at his former mentor’s comment.
No one said anything, and the silence rang throughout the room.
Questions upon questions swirled about in Luke’s head, but one thought screamed above the others: he had a terrible suspicion he’d been moved about like a pawn in a game.
Espionage is akin to a game, Templar—Ducksworth— had once told him. Luke knew this fact all too well.
“Does my niece know of the horses you ke
ep?” Ducksworth asked, a question that was code for “Does she know you’re a spy?”
Before Luke could answer, Vivian replied, “I’ve heard all sorts of stories about my husband’s horses. What are their names again? Wizard, Arthur, and we mustn’t forget Templar. He’s a murky one, that chap. Or so the story goes.”
Luke’s lips twitched at her impertinence, but he didn’t comment.
“Good, we can speak freely then. Vivian, would you pour tea?”
Luke glanced at her, as she moved to pour the tea. She had proved to be a worthy ally. A wave of wonderment at how he had found such a competent woman, an equal in so many ways, crested over him and he marveled at his good fortune.
His gaze snapped up to Ducksworth, and he thought over the older man’s comment again.
Married life seems to agree with you. I thought it might.
Ducksworth accepted his tea. “I cannot say I am surprised to see you here, so I won’t pretend otherwise.”
“And yet, we are surprised to be here.”
“I thought you might be.”
Luke took his offered cup of tea, and went through the motions of sipping the tea before setting it down before him. Vivian opted to not have any tea.
Ducksworth laughed. “I’m not going to poison you, boy. The opposite really.”
“I have no doubt.”
“You would like to know how I knew you would be here?” Ducksworth asked.
“Among other things.”
Ducksworth sipped his tea. “It was Redley who informed me. Your old partner is a bit of a chess player.”
“He’s beaten me almost every time we’ve played. As did you.”
“For goodness sake,” Vivian said with a dramatic sigh. “Could you two just speak plainly please? I’m about done with the spy nonsense and double meanings and insinuations and the lot of it. Just ask a question and answer it without the riddles. The both of you.” She turned her narrowed gaze onto Luke before giving her uncle the same treatment.
“I am sorry, my dear. Old habits and all that.”
“It’s not a coincidence I ended up at Kenswick Abbey, is it?” Luke asked.
The Spy’s Convenient Bride: The Macalisters, Book Five Page 26
