CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Felicity and Aunt Agnes walked the short distance to the parish church with one of Lady Blackstone’s footmen escorting them. Felicity clutched her Book of Common Prayer to her chest and had to take several deep breaths to calm her racing heart. Aunt Agnes, however, barely even plucked at her sleeves.
They sat through Mr. Birtwistle’s sermon, and he impressed Felicity with his heartfelt sincerity. The man even referenced Miss Hannah More’s latest book and quoted her, making Felicity like him even more. And Aunt Agnes never took her eyes off him.
When the service was over, Felicity glanced over at the footman. He was watching her and Aunt Agnes, and he turned to follow them out of the church.
Felicity was careful not to make eye contact with anyone in case they tried to talk to her. Although that was unlikely, since she didn’t know anyone at this church. Finally, they were exiting, and she let Aunt Agnes move in front of her to speak to Mr. Birtwistle.
The rector’s face lighted up as he caught sight of her. “Miss Appleby. How good to see you. I trust you and Miss Mayson are well.”
“Very well, I thank you. Though Lady Blackstone is not so well and wishes me to give her regrets at not being able to attend this morning’s service. And here, I have brought back your book, which you were so good as to lend me, and I have included something inside it for you.”
Felicity’s heart skipped several beats as she prayed the footman had not heard the latter part of Aunt Agnes’s speech. But it was just as they’d rehearsed, so she could not find fault with her aunt, who continued to surprise Felicity with her calm competency.
Mr. Birtwistle took the book from her, and his eyes widened. Would he be scandalized that a woman unrelated to him would give him a gift?
“I shall be happy to inspect it when I am home. And did you enjoy the book?”
“Oh yes, it is one of my new favorites.” Aunt Agnes smiled.
“Perhaps I shall call on you and Miss Mayson later this week.”
“I would like that.”
Felicity shook his hand as well, and they were soon moving down the lane toward Doverton Hall, the footman close behind.
Aunt Agnes smiled at Felicity and winked. Felicity grinned back as they walked arm in arm.
As Felicity sat in the drawing room with Aunt Agnes that Tuesday, her body seemed almost light enough to float up to the ceiling. Her mind wandered from the book she was reading, and she imagined how shocked Lady Blackstone and Mr. Ratley would be if they knew that she and her aunt had outsmarted them. Mr. Birtwistle had undoubtedly found the papers and read the note they had included in the book Aunt Agnes had returned to him. Perhaps he had already sent the all-important papers to Mr. McDowell in London.
Was Mr. McDowell well? Was he suffering any serious consequences from his injuries? Did he appreciate and admire her for risking her life to get that information to him? She liked to think he did, that he was thinking fondly of her at that very moment.
Of course, it was much too dangerous for him to try to help her or even to make sure she was safe.
But the more she thought of him, the more she realized . . . he might not think so highly of her at all. She was ashamed for anyone to know she had engaged herself to an insurrectionist who wanted to kill innocent people and wage war on his own government. And Mr. McDowell knew it all, had even seen her kissing Mr. Ratley.
She had behaved foolishly and unseemly. Was there something wrong with her, that she had fallen in love so easily? That she had trusted someone so quickly who was so greatly flawed? That she could agree to marry a man such as Mr. Ratley?
No, she wouldn’t let these thoughts tear at her heart. Yes, she had foolishly engaged herself to the wrong man, but she had also done many brave things. Perhaps no one would ever know the things she had done for her country and her king. But she knew, and Mr. McDowell knew. She had risked her life. She had done what she could to save Mr. McDowell’s life and mission, and to save her aunt and herself.
She admired Mr. McDowell so much. He’d been so strong and heroic and selfless. And just thinking of his handsome face made her heart flutter. The blue of his eyes, the masculinity of his square chin and rigid jawline, and even his red hair appealed to her in a powerful way. But most of all, there was a gentleness in the way he had touched her, including the last time they’d met in the closet in the library when he’d clasped her hand. Her heart had pounded as he gazed so intently at her, as if he was about to tell her something important. But then Mrs. Cartwright had opened the door and caught them.
Felicity sighed. It was not to be. Mr. McDowell would not want her any more than the other gentlemen, both with and without fortunes, had wanted her. She might as well start studying Chinese again.
Besides, she would probably experience something of a scandal for having been engaged to Mr. Ratley, once the truth came out about his involvement in a group to overthrow the government. And the newspapers would no doubt refer to the fact that she had been at Doverton Hall with Lady Blackstone, the leader of the group, for weeks. The damage to her reputation might be irreparable.
Lady Blackstone’s voice carried down the corridor. She sounded strident and serious.
Everything had been chaotic since they had discovered that Mr. McDowell had run away. Many had fled Doverton Hall, fearing the worst, and the rest seemed poised to leave as well. Was Lady Blackstone giving them last-minute instructions?
Felicity tiptoed into the corridor. When she was only a few feet from the dining room, she stopped and listened.
“We must strike now,” a man’s voice said, “before the Home Office sends out troops to seize our weapons and arrest us.”
“I think Mr. Rowell is correct.” Lady Blackstone was speaking now. “We will keep our plan exactly as it was, only we will begin to put it into play on the twenty-sixth of April instead of the twentieth of May.”
“That is only seven days away,” someone said.
“Yes, so we must get word to everyone else. I don’t trust the post, so I am sending you all as messengers to inform the others. We will have to make haste, but we are ready, are we not?”
Voices rang in agreement.
Lady Blackstone began telling each man where she wanted him to go to spread the news of the date. Their voices were quite animated as the plans they had been making were finally about to come to fruition.
Felicity turned and carefully hurried back to where Aunt Agnes sat engrossed in a book.
“Auntie,” she said quietly, “is Mr. Birtwistle supposed to call on us again today?”
“Why, yes. And I have his book here that I promised to return today.”
“I need to put a new note inside. May I have it?”
“Of course, but he will be here soon.”
“I shall bring it back presently.” Felicity carried the book up to her room.
She hastily grabbed a sheet of paper and used the edge of her desk to help her tear it in half and then again in fourths. On one she wrote, Please get word to Mr. McDowell at the Home Office that the plan has been moved up to 26 April. It is urgent.
Felicity folded the paper and stuck it inside Mr. Birtwistle’s book and carried it back downstairs.
She handed the book to Aunt Agnes, who nodded.
Felicity could only hope Mr. Birtwistle understood by now what was at stake. No doubt he had been shocked to get their first note on Sunday. Had he sent the papers to Mr. McDowell by post? Had he gone to London himself? Or, as she thought most likely, had he given the papers to the magistrate, who then took them to Mr. McDowell and his superiors at the Home Office?
There was no way to know, but as the two days had passed, she’d had to ask God to take care of it for her, because the burden of worrying about it was too heavy. Besides, she had done everything she could.
They sat in silence for a while longer, and then the servant announced Mr. Birtwistle. Lady Blackstone must have intercepted him in the corridor, because she heard that lady say, “How good of you to visit us again. Did Miss Mayson and Miss Appleby inform you of my ill health on Sunday?”
“They did indeed, my lady,” Mr. Birtwistle replied, his voice sounding rather shaky. Would he give them away?
“Well, I am much better now, as you can most likely see.”
“Oh yes, quite.”
They arrived in the doorway of the drawing room. Aunt Agnes had closed her book and was smiling up at Mr. Birtwistle. If that man only knew how infrequent it was for her to close her book for anyone, or for her to wait in anticipation of a visitor.
Lady Blackstone entered the room with him, and they both sat.
“Mr. Birtwistle, we are delighted to see you again.” But Lady Blackstone’s eyes had a certain hardness about them, and her lips were decidedly straight—not a hint of a smile. And she seemed to emphasize the word again.
“Why, thank you, Lady Blackstone. I was on my way to call on some other sick parishioners, and I thought I would call on you first, since you are nearest to the parsonage.”
“I am quite well now, thank you.”
She was giving the rector such a hard, direct look, he seemed to squirm a bit in his chair, but then he turned to Aunt Agnes.
“Have you been well, Miss Appleby?”
“Oh yes, quite well. My dear niece and I have been able to take walks in the garden every morning, and we enjoy reading. And I have just finished reading this book you loaned me.”
Aunt Agnes held up the book.
“Oh yes. And did you enjoy it?”
“Very much. You have excellent taste in books, sir. I have never thought I would enjoy a book of essays, and though I cannot get through them as quickly as I can a novel, I did enjoy it.”
“I am happy to hear that you have such an open mind.” He smiled.
“Mr. Birtwistle, will you be staying for tea?” Lady Blackstone asked.
“Oh. No, I thank you. I should go. Thank you.”
Mr. Birtwistle stood to leave just as Aunt Agnes held out the book to him. He reached for it, but somehow it slipped out of their hands and landed on the floor, with the spine of the book facing up. Mr. Birtwistle picked it up, but when he did, the note Felicity had written fell out of it and fluttered to the floor.
Felicity’s heart stopped. She bent and reached for it, but Lady Blackstone got to it first.
Lady Blackstone snatched up the small piece of paper and examined it. Her eyes went wide, then immediately narrowed. She expelled an audible breath through parted lips. Her face began to take on a reddish hue, and her chest rose and fell rapidly.
O God, help us, help us. Please let her not kill us.
“What is this? Felicity?” Lady Blackstone fixed her eyes on her.
Felicity’s head began to throb and her vision to blur. “I—I don’t know. What do you mean?”
“Mr. Birtwistle, what have these two ladies been doing? Did they have you send a message to . . . someone?”
Mr. Birtwistle rose from his chair. “Send a message? Why should they do—do a thing—a thing such as that? I should be going now. Forgive me.” He practically ran to the door. “I can see myself out. Good day, Miss Appleby, Miss Mayson, Lady Blackstone.”
Lady Blackstone never took her eyes off Felicity except to glance at Aunt Agnes, who sat frozen, eyes wide, staring back at her.
How could Felicity possibly explain this? Her cheeks tingled, a burning sensation in the bridge of her nose. She didn’t need to faint now. She had to think.
“You betrayed me.” Lady Blackstone’s voice was icy. “I trusted you.”
Felicity’s stomach sank to her toes. She took deep breaths to try to get rid of the black spots dancing in front of her eyes.
“Mr. Ratley!” Lady Blackstone grabbed Felicity’s arm, her fingers sinking into her flesh.
Mr. Ratley hurried into the room.
“Your fiancée just tried to send a note through Mr. Birtwistle to a Mr. McDowell at the Home Office to tell him our plan was moved up to the twenty-sixth of April.” She squeezed harder, bruising Felicity’s arm as she turned her black eyes on her. “How many notes have you sent? What have you done? What does Mr. Birtwistle know?”
“N-n-nothing. I haven’t sent anything.” Felicity stood and tried to pull her arm free.
But Lady Blackstone held on. “Look at this note they put in Mr. Birtwistle’s book.” She held it out to Mr. Ratley.
Felicity cringed, her strength ebbing as Mr. Ratley read it aloud.
Mr. Ratley’s face was deathly pale as he stared at Felicity. “You betrayed us? You want us all to hang?”
“No, of course not.” They would surely kill her now. She had been caught, and she and Aunt Agnes would be murdered forthwith.
“How could you do it? I thought you loved me.” He stared at her, disbelief in his big, round eyes and open mouth.
The color returned to his cheeks as they transformed from pallid to inflamed. “How could you do it?” he repeated. “I demand you tell me why you want me dead.”
“Please forgive me, Oliver,” she said. “I never wanted you dead. I was frightened. For you. For what might happen to you if you went through with this. Mr. Merrick didn’t have any evidence to convict you of treason. He—he would only have made some arrests in London, and you and I could have gotten away. We can still get away, to America or France or—”
“What were you thinking? Did you think he could take better care of you than I could? He left you!”
“I know that. There was nothing between him and me. I am engaged to you.”
“You would rather marry that Merrick fellow. And now we shall all hang.” Mr. Ratley walked away from her, his shoulders sagging, and put his face in his hands.
Felicity was trembling all over now.
“Felicity still wants to marry you,” Lady Blackstone said in a honeyed voice. “Don’t you, Felicity?”
“Of course. As much as ever.”
“Oh dear. What is happening?” Aunt Agnes was plucking at her sleeves. “I don’t understand why Mr. Birtwistle departed so quickly.”
“He departed because he caused your niece, Miss Mayson, to be caught betraying your host. Perhaps I should send someone to kill him so he doesn’t talk.”
“He doesn’t know anything,” Felicity said quickly as her breath deserted her.
“Doesn’t he? Did you not pass information to him at church on Sunday?”
“How could we have done that?” she squeaked breathlessly. “The footman was watching us.”
Lady Blackstone pressed a hand to her forehead as if she was thinking. “Mr. Ratley, what do you say? At least she and Mr. Merrick were unable to get the most damning information, which was the locations of our weapons and the names of our leaders. I still have the copy he made in his own handwriting.”
But Lady Blackstone was wrong—or at least, Felicity dearly hoped she was.
“Well, Mr. Ratley? Do you still want to marry Miss Mayson, even after she tried to betray us?”
Mr. Ratley seemed to rouse himself and lifted his head. “How can I marry her now, knowing she would betray me at any moment?”
“Oh no, she will not.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Once you are married, she cannot testify against her own husband. And murder is so messy. If you don’t marry her, we shall have to kill her.”
Aunt Agnes moaned, and then a hush fell over the room. Mr. Ratley looked first at Lady Blackstone, then at Felicity. There was a hard, dark, cold expression on his face. She waited for his answer. Was it to be murder? Or marriage?
“I have the special license. We can get married tomorrow.”
“Or even today,” Lady Blackstone said.
Felicity’s heart hammered in her chest. Would she be forced to marry Mr. Ratley to save her life?
She turned to him. His face was unreadable.
“I shall have to think about it. I am still very hurt.” He turned away from her, and she was reminded of a child, pouting because he had not gotten what he wanted.
But Lady Blackstone’s expression was more akin to that of a falcon setting its sights on a field mouse.
“What else did you tell that rector?” Lady Blackstone hissed, striding forward and pointing her finger in Felicity’s face. “Tell me.”
Oh dear. She fought against the darkness closing in on her. She felt herself slipping, blacking out. She reached out for the arm of the chair, but her hand had no strength. She was falling.