CHAPTER TEN
Felicity walked with Aunt Agnes back to their room as her aunt mumbled to herself.
How would her poor aunt survive this shock? She’d become nearly comatose after her sometime suitor, a Mr. Turner, had jilted her and married someone else. That had been years ago, and her disposition had never been strong since. Even if she was able to weather the shock of finding a dead man in Lady Blackmore’s garden, how could Felicity protect her from future blows? Would she survive hearing of the other guests here becoming murderers, killing Members of Parliament, and even the king?
In their room, Felicity sat her aunt down in a chair and covered her lap with a shawl.
“Shall I go to the kitchen and get you some warm milk?”
“Who was that man, Felicity? Why was he dead in Lady Blackstone’s garden? Are we to be murdered in our sleep?”
“Of course not. No one would want to murder us.”
Felicity smiled, but it was wasted, as Aunt Agnes did not even look at her. She stared down at her lap and pulled at the fringe on the shawl.
“Shall I fetch your book, then? What were you reading? Perhaps something by Hannah More would make you feel better.”
“You know I cannot attend to Hannah More’s writings.”
“Well, then, I shall bring you your favorite, The Mysteries of Udolpho. That always transports your mind.” She hurried away to fetch it before her aunt should protest that as well.
When Felicity handed her the book, Aunt Agnes opened it and seemed to be reading. Felicity poured her a glass of water and brought it to her.
Aunt Agnes suddenly closed the book. “I keep seeing that man’s face.” She burst into tears.
Tears pricked Felicity’s own eyes. “It was very frightening to see that man there, but we cannot let fear overwhelm us.”
How noble and brave and capable Mr. Merrick had looked when he had leapt over that bush to get to them, and how kind and gentle he had been with Aunt Agnes. Truly, he must be a very capable man for the Home Secretary to trust him enough to infiltrate this dangerous group alone.
“And in truth, we are not without a friend here, Auntie. God has not left us friendless.” That was a verse in the Bible, was it not?
“Yes, of course. Mr. Ratley.” Aunt Agnes lifted her head and pulled out her handkerchief with shaking hands and wiped her face and nose. “Mr. Ratley will not allow anything bad to happen to us.”
She refrained from telling her aunt that she was not talking about Mr. Ratley.
A light knock came at the door.
“I’ll be back in a moment.”
Felicity went to the door and opened it. Mr. Merrick quickly stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
Startled, but mesmerized by the intense look in his blue eyes, she held her breath as he began to speak in a hushed voice.
“Can you meet me in an hour?”
“I . . . I think so.”
“In one hour, go to the library. On the left wall is a door to a small room. Will you meet me there?”
“Yes.”
“How is Miss Appleby?” He glanced in Auntie’s direction.
“She is very upset. I was just about to go get her some warm milk.”
“Allow me. I shall find a servant to bring it up to her.”
“You are very kind.”
“I will meet you in an hour.”
He left as quickly as he had come.
Felicity tried not to appear anxious, but her heart was beating fast as she made her way down the stairs. She had her answer ready in case anyone saw her—she was going to the library to get a book for her aunt.
She made it to the library without anyone seeing her. She walked to the left, pretending to look at the books on the shelves, moving rather slowly, listening for other people in the room. But when she found the door Mr. Merrick had told her about, she had not seen or heard anyone.
She turned the knob and stepped inside.
The room was completely dark except for the candle that Mr. Merrick was holding. He reached behind her and quietly closed the door, his arm brushing her shoulder in the small room.
Old books lined the walls and filled the air with a musty smell. But her gaze was arrested by Mr. Merrick’s face. Truly, in the dim candlelight and shadows, he seemed even more handsome, and she noticed that he was quite tall.
She was endangering her reputation by meeting a man alone at a house party, but she felt safer in this moment than she had in days.
“Forgive me for asking you to meet me like this,” Mr. Merrick began, his voice low and gravelly. “But I need to know anything that might help me discover who killed Mr. Erickson. Did Miss Appleby see anyone before she found the body?”
Mr. Merrick leaned toward her, and she was very aware of his being only inches away.
“Neither of us saw anyone else in the garden. I went to look into a bird’s nest, and Aunt Agnes screamed. When I returned to where she was, she was hysterical, and I saw a hand lying on the ground. I pushed back the bush then, and we could see the man’s face. A puddle of blood seemed to be coming from beneath him.”
“Did you know him? Had you seen him before?”
“No, never.”
“And you saw no one else in or around the garden?”
“No. Who was the man?”
“He was a reformer, but he favored peaceful means of reform. After Lady Blackstone’s gang made it clear that they intended to seize the government through violent means, he may have opposed them and may have tried to turn some of the other members of the group against Lady Blackstone and the others who favored violence.”
“I see.” She shivered, then found herself leaning toward Mr. Merrick’s tall, muscular frame. Would he keep her and her aunt safe? The look in his eyes was compassionate while his jaw was hard and unflinching.
“Lady Blackstone and Mr. Ratley were nowhere to be found as everyone was trying to figure out what to do. Do you know where they were? Did they mention going on some errand today?”
“No, but it would be unusual to go an entire day without Mr. Ratley asking me to go for a walk with him or escorting me down to the drawing rooms to talk.” She wasn’t sure why she was blushing. There was nothing strange about a man spending time with his fiancée. Perhaps she was embarrassed about agreeing to marry a revolutionary.
“You have no idea where he was this afternoon?”
“None at all.”
His forehead creased, forming a V between his eyes. Serious and sober or friendly and smiling, he stole her breath a little bit. But at the moment, she needed to be thinking about more important things.
“Mr. Merrick, I would do anything to get my aunt out of this house and away from these nefarious people.”
“Miss Mayson, please forgive me, but I have no way at present of getting a message back to the Home Office without exposing myself and my motives.”
A twinge of guilt pricked her chest. She seemed to be only thinking of herself and her aunt.
“It is imperative that I stay here and find as much information as I can about these insurrectionists’ plans. Believe me.” He suddenly took hold of her hand while holding the candle in his other hand. “Nothing would please me more than to assist you by taking you and your aunt back to your family, to deliver you from danger, but—”
“No, no, I understand. There is much at stake here—our country’s survival and many other lives besides my own. And though I would be happy to be home with my family, I am willing to stay and do my best to help, to discover what information I can.”
“Thank you, Miss Mayson. I appreciate and admire that more than you know.”
She felt a strange flutter in her heart at his words. She swallowed, forcing herself to ignore it. “I am a loyal subject to the king. I will do the best I can.”
“Again, I thank you.” He was still holding her hand, and now he squeezed it and let go. “I think this is a good meeting place. If you have anything you wish to tell me, anything at all that might be pertinent, just say something about the sky or the clouds, and I will understand it to mean you will meet me here as soon as possible.”
“The sky or the clouds. Very good.” Felicity nodded.
“Now, we should probably get back. How is your aunt feeling?”
“She is resting. She drank the warm milk—thank you for having that sent up for her—and seemed calmer when I left.”
“And you? Were you able to bear the shock?”
“Yes, very well. The more excitable others are, the more calm I seem to be.”
“That is a good trait.”
“I suppose I should go before anyone comes looking for me.”
“I shall wait for you to go before exiting.”
“Thank you for your kindness, Mr. Merrick.”
She stared into his eyes, wondering how to take her leave. But the concern in the blue depths shook her more than seeing the dead body in the garden.
She turned and fled the room.
Philip searched the faces around the table that evening at dinner. Lady Blackstone and Mr. Ratley had returned from wherever they had disappeared to. Mr. Ratley looked rather grim, which was not his usual demeanor. Lady Blackstone’s eyes were bright, but so they often were.
Who amongst them had murdered Mr. Erickson? No one looked particularly altered, except perhaps Mr. Ratley. But anyone capable of stabbing someone in the back would be coldhearted enough not to appear remorseful.
Miss Mayson looked appropriately subdued as yet another guest asked her if she was the person who had discovered the dead man’s body.
“It was actually my aunt, Miss Appleby. She is now quite distraught and doesn’t wish to leave our room. I shall leave when dinner is finished to go and sit with her.”
“You will be missed, my dear,” Lady Blackstone said.
“I hope your aunt will be feeling better very soon,” someone else said.
“I can hardly blame her,” Mrs. Cartwright, the young wife, said. “I am sure I would have screamed for a full ten minutes if I had seen him lying there. Mr. Cartwright said it made his blood go cold to see him with his eyes staring straight up.”
“A dead man!” Lady Blackstone clutched her table knife and fork so tightly her knuckles were white. “Is there nothing else we might speak of?” Her lips were turned up at the corners, but her eyes were steely.
Mr. Ratley wiped his face with his handkerchief and tucked it back inside his jacket pocket.
“Will we still have the ball tomorrow night?” Miss Mayson spoke up, evoking surprised looks from several guests as they turned toward her.
Lady Blackstone’s smile seemed calmer as she said, “Yes, we will. Thank you for asking, Miss Mayson. A newly engaged couple should be afforded the opportunity to dance with each other.”
Mr. Ratley smiled at his fiancée, and Philip’s stomach turned. Was Miss Mayson having the same reaction? She couldn’t possibly want to marry him, even though she had only just accepted his proposal a few days ago. Did a woman fall in and out of love so quickly? But perhaps she had not been in love with him at all. Marriages so often were based not on love but on money and position.
Or perhaps she was more in love with Ratley than he knew. Would she prove more loyal to her country or to her fiancé? He should remember that her loyalty might well be divided when she was forced to choose. Would she betray him, revealing his identity as a spy to her fiancé and Lady Blackstone? But, no, Miss Mayson was obviously frightened of these people. God, please let me be able to protect her, should she ever need protection.
When Lady Blackstone announced it was time for the ladies to retire to the drawing room, Miss Mayson took her leave.
The men spoke of the dead body, but then the conversation turned to the fact that they would be waging war soon and it was no time to be faint of heart. And the more they talked of it, the more they all drank.
Philip made an excuse to go to bed early, and no one even seemed to notice. But instead of going to his own room, he went to Mr. Ratley’s.
Mr. Ratley’s room was down the corridor from his own. He moved quickly but quietly until he was standing in front of it. He tried the knob. It turned, and he slipped inside.
Philip let his eyes adjust to the dark room, but it was a cloudy, moonless night, so if he hoped to find any important documents or written information, he’d have to light a candle.
He pulled out the small candle he carried in his pocket along with some matches. When the candle was lit, he began looking through the papers on the small desk.
He found costs and estimates for supplies that the insurrectionists would need. Philip needed to find written plans, locations of weapon stockpiles, names of people and places. If he did not find something useful and concrete, his supervisors might not even believe his tales of a large gang of insurgents and their plans to kill Members of Parliament and the royal family. So far, he had no proof besides what he had heard. And his wounded pride would be nothing compared to the consequences to the entire country if he did not stop them.
But now he had the added worry of Miss Mayson and Miss Appleby. They were innocent, but he was the only person who knew they were. And if he was caught and killed, the authorities would believe they were as guilty as the others. Nor would they have anyone to help them escape from Lady Blackstone and Ratley.
But the way Miss Mayson had gazed up at him in the library closet, so trusting, so vulnerable . . . so lovely . . . His chest ached.
He shook his head to clear his thoughts as he scanned one paper after another.
When he’d glanced over every paper in the desk drawer, he placed them back in the same order he’d found them. There was nothing here of particular significance.
Suddenly, he heard voices. Were they coming from the corridor? He blew out the candle and darted to the door. He listened, plastering himself against the wall. His heart thumped, and he kept his mind alert and clear as the footsteps and voices neared . . . then continued down the corridor.
His heart slowed. The men should linger downstairs for quite a while longer, at least an hour. But most of them were already drunk when dinner ended. Lady Blackstone might order them to bed sooner, especially if any more fights broke out.
He didn’t want to leave this room without something of relevance, so he went back to the desk to continue searching.
After at least ten more minutes, he found two receipts—one from a gun shop in London and the other from a gun shop in Birmingham. And since the receipts were underneath several other papers, he decided to fold them and shove them into his pocket. They might not help him locate the arms stash, but they could at least serve as evidence against Ratley.
Perhaps Philip should not push his luck any longer. He turned from the desk and strode to the door. The knob turned silently, but when he pushed the door open, it made a creaking noise.
Philip hurried to close the door again, then heard footsteps. Someone was coming.