CHAPTER ELEVEN
Felicity went to her room and looked in on Auntie. She’d taken a small dose of laudanum before Felicity went downstairs to dinner, and now she was in bed.
Felicity tiptoed to her side. Aunt Agnes’s breathing was heavy and regular, so Felicity blew out her candle and went back to the door.
Did she dare go and trespass on her hostess’s room? The thought of Lady Blackstone finding her was so terrifying her blood pounded in her temples and she felt a little faint. But how else would she find out the important information Mr. Merrick—and her country—needed?
Felicity turned the knob as quietly as possible, mentally preparing an excuse for where she was going and why. She heard only silence as she stepped out into the corridor.
Lady Blackstone’s bedroom was in another wing of the house. She followed the meandering corridor until she came to the correct door. She turned the knob, and it opened. Felicity went inside and shut the door.
Her hands were shaking as she gazed across the room. A single candle lit the room.
Where should she search? A small chest of drawers stood on a low table. A key protruded from the bottom drawer. She crossed to it, turned the key, and opened the drawer. Inside was a small pistol and a knife.
Felicity’s breaths came faster as she stared at the weapons. Shrinking away from touching them, she shut the drawer and opened another. Inside were papers. Felicity pulled one out and tried to examine it, but the light was so dim she could barely see the words written on it.
There were still some glowing embers in the fireplace, and the candle was on a table near it. She picked up the stack of papers and took them closer to the light.
At the very top were the words Lancashire/Manchester and below that was a list of men’s names and then The Red Lion and 54 West Clover Street, Manchester.
Felicity looked at the next paper. At the top was written Yorkshire and below that was another list of names and then 29 Bleecker Street, Bridlington.
The other papers followed a similar pattern: a place name at the top, then a list of men’s names, then sometimes the name of an inn, and then a street address.
O God, help me memorize something from these lists.
She scanned the one titled “Lancashire/Manchester” and read over each of the names on the paper, the name of the inn, and the street address. She read them again and again until she was fairly certain she had memorized everything. Her hand was shaking so badly she had to brace her forearm against the side of the fireplace mantel.
There. She closed her eyes for a few moments to imprint the words on her memory. Then she went back across the room and put the papers carefully back into the drawer and closed it.
A female servant entered the room through a side door.
Felicity froze, not daring to move. The servant had walked beyond Felicity’s line of vision. Had she seen Felicity?
The servant seemed to be at the fireplace that Felicity had just left based on the sounds of someone putting more wood on the fire and using a poker to stoke up the hot embers.
Felicity’s mind raced. What would she do if the servant saw her? How would she answer if the girl asked her what she was doing there? She would surely tell Lady Blackstone.
The maidservant’s back would be to Felicity while she tended to the fire. Should she try to hide, risking that she would make a noise and draw attention to herself?
Before she could consider the option further, the maidservant walked back to the side door, went through it, and was gone.
Could it be that she had not seen Felicity standing there? Of course, the servant had not been expecting anyone to be in the room, it was rather dark, and Felicity had not moved while the servant was there. And after stoking the fire, her eyes would have been somewhat blinded by the flames.
Weak-kneed and atremble, Felicity turned and walked to the door leading to the corridor. She opened the door, and with only the barest sound, walked out into the hallway.
Her heart was beating so hard it made her feel sick. Her breath was shallow, but she quickened her step, hurrying out of that section of the house and into the corridor where her own bedroom was located. She could see it ahead of her, even as her vision was spinning and going dark.
Suddenly, someone was running toward her from the opposite end of the corridor. Had the servant girl reported her? Were they coming after her?
O God! Help me get to my room! She tried to hurry, but her knees were so weak. Don’t let me faint.
Just as she reached her door, the figure emerged from the dark corridor.
“Mr. Merrick.” She sighed.
But why was he running toward her? Her hand slipped off the knob as all the strength ebbed from her limbs. Everything was going black.
Philip could hear the heavy footfalls behind him, the heels of a man’s shoes clicking on the polished floor. He ran as quietly as he could down the dark corridor, until he saw the slight figure of Felicity Mayson approaching her bedroom door.
She seemed to catch sight of him, and just as he reached her, her eyes closed and she started to crumple.
He held her up with one hand on her waist and opened her door with his other hand. He swept her up in his arms, carried her into the room, and closed the door behind them.
He stood still, holding her against his chest. Had the person seen him go into Felicity’s room? Would they knock on the door?
The steps came to within a few feet of the door and stopped. Three seconds went by, four, five, then the steps started back the way they had come, and soon the sound disappeared.
“Miss Mayson, forgive me,” he whispered. “Are you injured? Are you well?”
She had not moved since he’d lifted her. Then she drew in a labored breath, her head lolling on his shoulder. “I think I just fainted.”
He carried her to the nearest bed and laid her down with her head on the pillow. He’d never carried a woman before, and he was trying not to think how pleasant it had been as he took a step away from her. He found a stool and sat beside her.
Miss Mayson brought her hand to her head. “Thank you, Mr. Merrick. I don’t know what caused me to do something so foolish and dangerous as to faint outside my room.”
Her voice was still weak, but at least her eyes were open now.
“Please don’t trouble yourself, Miss Mayson. All’s well that ends well, and it seems the man, whoever he was, who was following behind me has given up his pursuit.”
“Was a man chasing you?”
“I don’t know if he was chasing me, but he was curious who I was and where I was going, at the very least.”
“Oh dear, I hope I didn’t forget!” She sat straight up, then sank back. “Please, will you fetch a piece of paper from my writing desk, and a pen. I need to write down what I saw in Lady Blackstone’s room.”
Philip went and fetched her traveling desk from the table. “Tell me, and I’ll write.”
She held a hand to her temple and closed her eyes. She began to say names, one after the other, and he wrote as quickly as she spoke, scratching out the names on the paper.
When she finished speaking and he finished writing, she said, “There were many sheets of paper with the same type of information, with a different place name at the top. What could these lists be?” she asked. “I should think it was a list of supporters in each area, although it could be a list of enemies or people to stay away from.”
“I think you are right with your first idea. She’s listing their supporters, the inn where they hold their meetings, and the street address is—and this might just be wishful thinking—but it could be where they are storing their weapons. Where did you say you found these papers?”
She told him, then said, “But I was nearly discovered. In fact, I’m not completely sure I wasn’t discovered.”
“What do you mean?” If she had been discovered, they would kill her as they had killed that man in the garden. How could he bear it if he got her killed doing his job? He was the spy, the informer. He was the one employed by the Home Office to discover the plans of this group of rebels.
“I had just put the papers back in the drawer when a maidservant entered the room from a side door. She went and stoked up the fire, then left. It was very dark in the room, so I don’t think she saw me, but I cannot be sure. It frightened me so much I left. Then when I was almost to my room, I saw you running toward me, and . . . I’m sorry. I know it was foolish to faint.”
A vision flashed before his eyes of Lady Blackstone plunging a knife in Miss Mayson’s back. He ran a hand over his jaw, his throat suddenly dry.
“I—I will do better in the future. I can be brave, I promise. I don’t want you to think you can’t count on me. Tomorrow when she goes for a walk in the garden or is out of her room, I’ll bring some paper with me and I’ll write down the rest of the information in those papers and—”
“No. It’s much too dangerous. I never intended for you to search Lady Blackstone’s room, only that you would inform me if you heard something important. Please. I will steal the papers and copy them myself.”
“You don’t trust me because I was nearly caught.” She lay back and covered her face with her hands. He imagined her cheeks blushing a pretty pink.
“That’s not true. I am greatly impressed with your spying skills. But . . . I don’t want you to endanger yourself anymore. It’s my job to spy on these people, not yours.”
“But I can help you. I know I am only a woman, but—”
“Why do you say that? Only a woman?” It was the same as his saying he was “only a fourth son.” That was a painful way of thinking . . . and he should know.
“Because I fainted. Men don’t faint.”
“Nonsense. You faced more dangers today than many men do in a lifetime. I think you’re very brave. Besides, I should imagine fainting has more to do with involuntary impulses and biological factors than with courage.”
She was silent for a few moments. “You are very kind to say so. But I will try very hard not to let it happen again.”
“You have discovered some very important information. And the sooner I can retrieve the rest of it, the sooner we can leave this place. However, it is extremely dangerous for you to go into Lady Blackstone’s room. You must not attempt it again.”
“I nearly forgot. I also found a small gun and a knife in Lady Blackstone’s bureau.”
It was an interesting discovery, but it was not unusual for a wealthy woman to have a gun in her room. The knife was no great surprise either, although he couldn’t help wondering if it was the murder weapon. Even if it was, it would be difficult to prove. However . . .
“That’s another reason it would be dangerous for you to go back into her room. We must accept that it was either Lady Blackstone or Mr. Ratley who murdered that man in the garden.”
A sudden noise from the bed beside Miss Mayson made him jump. Philip reached for the dagger in his coat pocket. But it was only Miss Appleby as she drew in a loud, snoring breath.
“I should get back to my room before someone comes to look in on you,” he said.
“Yes, please do not endanger yourself unnecessarily.” She was so gentle.
He folded up the paper he’d written her information on and shoved it into a hidden pocket in the lining of his coat.
“I shall let you know if I find out anything new—or I shall give you our ‘sky’ signal and meet you in our secret meeting place in the library.”
Was it his imagination, or was she smiling?
“Miss Mayson, I hope you have not forgotten how dangerous this is.”
“I am as loyal to my country as anyone—I have a brother in the army. I grew tired of always waiting for . . . That is, I rather thought I would become a missionary. But I am pleased to help, Mr. Merrick, to save our king and Parliament.”
Again, he shook his head, this time at Miss Mayson. “I am glad, since you are risking your life, that you are able to do it wholeheartedly.”
“We women are able to do many things wholeheartedly.”
Felicity could not convince her aunt to take a walk in the garden with her the next day, but she could not bear to stay in the house all day, so she took her walk alone.
The sky was dark and threatening, but at least it was not terribly cold. Spring was well underway, producing more color. But the flowers were hardly a distraction, as she could think of little besides the drawer in Lady Blackstone’s room where she’d found the papers with the counties and cities where Lady Blackstone’s fellow rebels lurked, waiting to betray their government with violent overthrow. If only Felicity had stayed longer and memorized more or had been brave enough to steal them outright. She could have copied them in her own room and then returned the originals before Lady Blackstone was aware they were gone.
Or she could have gotten caught.
Would Lady Blackstone truly murder Felicity if she discovered she was spying on her? The dead body was proof enough of the danger, but Lady Blackstone professed to love her and Mr. Ratley. Would her fiancé defend her? She said a quick prayer that she never had to find out.
She examined the new leaves sprouting on a tree in the less-formal section of the garden. Her cheeks heated as she remembered fainting in Mr. Merrick’s arms. When she had come to her senses again, he was placing her on her bed. Thankfully, Mr. Merrick was a gentlemanly sort of man and did not tease or berate her. And she did not even want to think about the impropriety of him carrying her to her bed.
But she was doing something important—something very important—for her country. All of those men who had refused to dance with her at balls because she had no fortune, would they not be surprised to see her now? All those times she had secretly sobbed into her pillow at night because someone at a party had looked down on her, or because a gentleman she fancied had become engaged to someone else, she had felt helpless. Now she felt strangely empowered, even though her life was in danger. But at least her life did not depend upon marriage. It depended on how well she could conduct herself.
But she had nearly forgotten: she was engaged to be married to Mr. Ratley. Such a foolish, impulsive thing to do, accepting that man’s proposal. It was as if it was another person who had decided it was a good idea to marry a man because Lady Blackstone influenced her, because that man was cheerful and polite, and simply because he had a fortune with which to make her life comfortable.
But she had no mental energy to waste on regret and rumination. She had to think of how to get those papers from Lady Blackstone’s room, even though Mr. Merrick had asked her not to endanger herself. If she were able to, why shouldn’t she steal the papers? But if she tried to search Lady Blackstone’s room during the ball, she might be missed. She would keep her ears and eyes open for Lady Blackstone’s and Mr. Ratley’s whereabouts and plans.
And thinking of Mr. Ratley, he’d seemed so distracted the night before at dinner. Tonight was the ball, and she’d be forced not only to talk to him but also to dance with him. She only hoped she’d be able to dance at least once with Mr. Merrick.
Foolish thought. They should stay away from each other, lest anyone get the idea that they were anything more than passing acquaintances. But she couldn’t help thinking how much more handsome he was than Mr. Ratley. What had made her think Mr. Ratley was handsome at all? Mr. Merrick’s blue eyes were so arresting, and his red hair and gentle features made her heart flutter even now. There was a certain deep look in his eyes, a solidness and honesty that she rarely noticed in a man so young as Mr. Merrick, who must be around twenty-four or twenty-five.
But she should not be thinking of him. She had to stay alert and clearheaded.
After her morning exercise, she walked back to the house. She opened the door and found Lady Blackstone and Mr. Ratley standing in front of her, as if waiting for her to come in.