On Wings of Devotion, page 31
The puppy followed along, climbing up the many stairs so awkwardly that Arabelle eventually gave in with a laugh and carried her the rest of the way. Once in her sitting room, she deposited both dog and satchel. She smiled to find a teapot awaiting her on her desk. Leave it to Sarah to see she had a cup too. She’d just gotten her belongings stowed away, her tea poured, and a blank sheet of paper drawn out, in case she wanted to take notes, when the first applicant knocked on the door. Ara looked up with a smile for the young woman, who introduced herself as Helen as she dipped a curtsy.
She was, as Sarah had promised, a lovely girl. Bright and positive, and certainly full of the energy a house of this size required. She’d be grateful to take up residence here, she said, and was agreeable to every single term Arabelle named. Not a thing to object to. As she bobbed another curtsy upon taking her leave, Ara figured Sarah was probably right about her top pick.
But then the second woman entered—and that niggle in the back of Arabelle’s mind turned to a full bell ringing. She stood, hand outstretched, darting a gaze toward the patch of sunlight in front of the window to make sure Caddie was still curled up there. “Good afternoon, Mrs. . . . ?”
“Reed.” The woman sucked in a breath as their gazes and fingers met.
“Kath.” Arabelle squeezed her hand, smiling. “How is your ankle? We met outside Charing Cross—”
“Yes, I recall.” A blush stained Mrs. Reed’s cheeks. “Not that I realized it when I applied, of course, but now that I see you . . . It’s mended. Was right as rain by the next day, as you promised.”
Seven children. And Ara had been right to assume it was the war that had taken her husband. She motioned her into the chair Sarah had positioned near the desk and took her own. She glanced down at her paper, where she’d jotted the questions she’d asked Helen Smithfield. She’d ask the same of Kath Reed.
But she wasn’t sure she really needed to. A burden had settled on her heart the moment she saw her. She’d wanted to help this woman weeks ago. She’d prayed there on the street about how she could—and now here she was.
Kath’s answers to the first questions were about what she’d expected—she’d never been a domestic before, but she had ample experience keeping her own house. She was motivated. She came with plenty of character references. Though when Arabelle mentioned taking up residence here, Kath’s face fell.
Arabelle lifted her brows. “Is that a problem?”
For a moment, Kath’s mouth moved with no sound emerging. Then she cleared her throat. “I’m afraid I can’t, Miss Denler. I realize many domestics leave their children in a family member’s care while they work, but I’ve no family in London. I’ve found a neighbor who will watch the little ones during the day, but I can’t be gone from them all night too. I’m sorry.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean you should come without your children.” Ara said it before she could really give much thought to what she was promising with those words. Promises she knew well Sarah wouldn’t exactly approve of. But the thought brought nothing but a surge of giddiness to her own chest. “I adore children and have always wanted a large family under my roof. You could bring them with you—we’ve four rooms for staff, none of which are currently occupied. Would that be enough for the eight of you?”
Red lashes blinked at her. “Are you . . . I mean . . . you can’t want that, Miss Denler.”
Arabelle held her gaze, wondering at her own determination. This woman before her certainly didn’t seem eager. Not like Helen. She seemed, if anything, resigned. Determined, but certainly not excited by the thought of the position, nor by the accommodations.
She could practically hear Sarah in her head, whispering that if Kath felt no enthusiasm, Ara certainly shouldn’t. She gripped her pen. “I wouldn’t have brought it up if I weren’t agreeable to it. And I am specifically looking for live-in help. So if I were to hire you, that would be a requirement. Room and board for you and your children would be provided.”
Sarah mumbled in her head again about room and board for one being far different than for eight.
Kath Reed fiddled with her skirt, not quite meeting Arabelle’s eye. It must be a terrible affront to her pride, having to apply for a position like this when she’d once had a house of her own. “I . . . I suppose that would be doable. And is quite generous of you. Though . . .” A glance up, a brush of gazes, and back down her eyes went. “I’ve already paid my current flat through next week, and I’ll not be able to get it back from my landlord. So if—if you were to offer, I mean—if I could wait until then to move, I’d just as soon have the time to pack up. I could begin right away, though, working during the days.”
“All right.” Arabelle made a note. With Sarah here, and then Mrs. Camden set to arrive in a few more days, that wouldn’t be so bad. She looked back up with a smile. “Have you a telephone where I can ring you up with my decision, or should I send a note round?”
“I haven’t a telephone, no.” Kath stood, nervously tucking a stray wisp of red behind her ear. “I thank you for your time, Miss Denler. Your housekeeper has my direction.” Her gaze swung over to the window and snagged there.
Arabelle glanced that way too. There was a fair view of the palace from this room, and of the street below, though Father’s study had the best prospect. Even so, Ara could understand why it would grab her guest’s attention. She’d spent countless hours over the years looking out at Buckingham Palace.
Kath shook herself and made a quick exit with a muttered thanks.
Arabelle let out a long breath. She wanted to help. And yet had a feeling this choice wouldn’t be the easy path. Still—the best paths were never the easy ones.
She turned over a fresh sheet of paper and prepared to meet the final candidate . . . even as she mentally composed the note she’d send round to Kathleen Reed tomorrow.
26
Diellza froze, her hand still reaching for her bedroom door—the door cracked open when it should have been closed and locked. Her pulse was already galloping simply because it was Wednesday. Wednesday, the thirteenth of March. The day that would see all her plans put into motion. The day that began the fulfillment of her every dream.
But the gallop turned to a hammer that made a headache break upon her skull. Because her door was cracked open. Which meant that something was wrong, though everything had seemed to be going right. The officers they’d met with on Monday had heard them out. They’d believed their story—even if the looks they’d given Diellza had been more condemning than sympathetic. They had even accepted their advice on when and where to move.
Kath had been hired and had worked her first day as the ugly Miss Denler’s domestic yesterday. She would be in position today when the Military Police came marching down the street. All had been going according to plan. So what had gone wrong?
A shuffling sound came from within her room, along with a hum that at once made Diellza’s shoulders relax and her frustration bubble up. She pushed the door open, and the look she sent to Faith—who was fiddling with her pots of cosmetics—was far from the warm one she usually gave her. “What are you doing in here?” Then, when the girl spun, she forced herself to add something to maintain her trust, splaying a hand on her chest. “You scared me to death!”
“Oh, I’m sorry!” Faith rushed forward, cheeks nearly as pink as Kath Lewis’s had gone when she’d recounted how Miss Denler had looked at her with one of the things she hated most: pity. “The door was unlocked, and you’d said you needed that brooch back this afternoon, so I was just putting it away.”
Diellza glanced at the brooch, now right where it had been before she lent it to Faith—amid her cosmetics—then back at the door. She’d locked it that morning, hadn’t she? She always locked it. It was habit. Rote. Survival.
Perhaps she’d been so distracted with thoughts of the Military Police that she’d forgotten?
Or perhaps Faith wasn’t quite the innocent she seemed. Diellza forced a smile. “It is all right. My pulse will settle back to normal eventually.” Though probably not today. How could it? This evening was the most important one since she’d stepped foot back on English soil. Everything hinged upon it. Everything.
Faith offered a sheepish smile. “Sorry to have frightened you.” She stepped past Diellza, into the doorway. “Are you coming down to dinner? Shall I wait?”
“No. Thank you.” Another forced smile. “I am meeting a friend.”
Faith nodded and slipped down the corridor without another word—probably as startled by Diellza’s interruption as she had been by the girl’s presence.
Diellza curled her fingers into her palm, savoring the bite of nails on flesh as a distraction from the unease in her chest. After closing the door behind her, she sent her gaze over the room, looking for anything out of place.
There. The latch on her trunk. She always kept them fully closed, but one was lifted, the wire caught in place but the lever attached to it raised rather than lowered. Dread curling through her stomach, she eased over to it, half expecting someone to jump out from under her bed and arrest her.
Foolishness. The room was empty. Now. But it hadn’t been, clearly. Someone had been in here today. Faith? Or someone else, someone who had left it unlocked so that Faith could come in?
She flipped up the second latch, lowered both hooks over the knobs, and lifted the lid of the trunk.
At first glance, all was exactly as she’d left it. The tray still rested on the top with her extra scarves and shawls and a pair of stockings that had snagged last week. Everything in exactly the places she’d put them, including the toe of the stocking tucked between the tray and the side of the trunk—which she’d done deliberately. A trick she’d learned back when it was just Friede she was trying to detect snooping. Only her diary she was hiding.
She removed the tray, the items under it, and finally the false bottom.
Her breath fisted in her chest. Again, everything was exactly as she’d left it.
Everything except that little slip of white resting like a snake atop the barrel of her pistol. Paper, with typed text upon it.
Tut, tut, Diellza. You know better.
A German curse spilled from her lips. She pulled out the weapon’s action, checking it for obvious tampering. Everything looked right, and even her ammunition was still there. She’d have to check it all more carefully later, but she hadn’t time for that now. She had to get out of here. She didn’t know who had been in here, but if they knew her real name . . .
Alwin would kill her if she ruined this for him. What was she to do? Tell him she’d been compromised? Admit defeat and run?
No. No, it could still be salvaged, surely. Once the wheels were set in motion, there was nothing anyone could do to stop it other than physically stop her. So all she had to do was stay a step ahead. Safe. Out of the reach of whoever had discovered her.
She tossed a few items into her small valise, mostly to cover the weapon, still in pieces, that she tucked into the bottom, along with all the accessories and ammunition. The rifle barrel just fit. She’d chosen the valise specifically because she knew it would. She’d left the wig at the Lewis home anyway, so she needn’t worry with that. Just the necessities. Anything she’d need between now and whenever Phillip Camden would first appear in court.
Satisfied, she slid back out into the hallway and locked the door behind her, saying a mental farewell to everything else in that room. She never meant to step foot in it again.
“Is everything all right, Friede?”
She barely kept from jumping at Mrs. Humbird’s voice, but she managed it. Managed even to fasten a smile to her lips as she turned and saw her landlady standing at the landing, concern on her face. “Why would it not be, ma’am?”
The woman glanced down the stairs. “Faith seemed a bit embarrassed. She hasn’t overstepped, has she? I know she has been so grateful for all your attention.” Then her gaze settled on Diellza’s bag, and she frowned. “Are you going somewhere?”
“Oh. Just overnight.” She patted the case and kept her smile in place. “A friend of mine has landed a new position as a domestic and is expected to take up residence there. I offered to stay with her children tonight until she could find a more permanent solution for them.”
Mrs. Humbird relaxed at the partial lie. “How very kind of you.”
“It is little enough to help.” She started for the stairs at a sedate pace. As if she had nothing to hide. As if she even relished a few more minutes in the older woman’s company. “I am lucky to have made such a good friend in my time here.” Lucky to have found such a willing conspirator, anyway.
Mrs. Humbird patted her arm. “I’m glad you have. Friends make all the difference, don’t they?”
They could, sometimes. They could be useful. It was why she’d befriended Faith—but that may have proven a huge mistake. The girl seemed innocent, so bright and fresh and unassuming. But was it all just an act, like the one Diellza put on? Was there even a corporal she was trying to impress, or had it all been a ruse to get close to Diellza? Perhaps she’d been watched since the moment she stepped foot back in England. Perhaps it had all been part of someone else’s plan.
“You won’t be here for breakfast tomorrow, I assume? Do let me know if you’ll still be away in the evening, or if you’d like your dinner waited.”
Always so accommodating, Mrs. Humbird was. But was that also just part of the plan? Perhaps she was the one who had seen through her. Perhaps she’d even tasked Faith with investigating her.
“How kind of you, ma’am. I certainly will.” Careful to keep her smile bright, Diellza checked the hat she hadn’t even had a chance to take off, tightened the belt of the lightweight coat she’d been wearing all day, and made for the front door.
No one waited to pounce on her when she stepped outside. No authorities, no police, not like that time months ago. No one to put her under arrest and bring her in for questioning. No one to force her onto a boat back across the Channel—or worse, which was what they promised would happen if she returned.
She gripped her valise and hurried down the street toward the nearest tube station. Let them do what they would. The worst possible punishment was being away from Alwin anyway . . . and that was a consequence he would enact himself if she failed him.
Well, she wouldn’t. That was all. She’d succeed. And she’d start tonight.
Camden gave the enormous globe a spin, hiding behind it so his mother and Ara didn’t see his grin. The tour of Ara’s house had ended here, on the topmost floor, where her father’s absence was so keenly felt. Already Cam missed spending so many hours in this room, with its rich woods and endless theories, and her father had only been gone a week. Even with no maps carpeting the floor, adventure seemed to saturate the paneling.
Caddie obviously agreed. The pup must not have seen this room yet, because she was sniffing every single nook and cranny, occasionally punctuating her discoveries with a happy yip. She’d already raced over to Ara half a dozen times, tail wagging, as if to say, “Come and see this!” but then taking off again to chase down another scent before Ara could even lean down to pet her silken ears.
“And what is this?” Mother had stationed herself at the shelves and was leaning over now to inspect a turquoise-covered head. Or mask, perhaps? Camden had never gotten the story on that particular artifact to know exactly what it was.
Ara bent over to study it as well. “I . . . have no idea,” she admitted on a laugh. “Though it doesn’t exactly have a welcoming look on its face, does it?”
Mother laughed too. “Rather fierce. Look at all those teeth. What are they made of, do you think?”
“Good question. It doesn’t look like ivory. But it’s so white. Perhaps some sort of shell?”
Camden slid around the desk, jamming his hands in his pockets. Mother had whispered to him on the ride here that she’d brought the ring, but they hadn’t exactly dug it out on the train. And Ara, Caddie on her heels, had met them at the door when they arrived here and immediately taken his mother on a tour while the new ginger-haired maid was given the task of unpacking his mother’s belongings in a spare bedroom.
Though his fingers itched to get ahold of the ring, to examine it and imagine it on Ara’s finger, he wasn’t about to interrupt the women. Mother would probably get it out tonight when she retired and slip it to him tomorrow.
Soon enough, he supposed. Even though it wasn’t. Once he’d made up his mind to ask Ara to be his wife, he’d wanted it already done. He’d etch it in stone if he could. Bind her to him forever, before she could change her mind and realize what a bad decision it was.
A short bark at his feet drew his gaze down. Grinning, he scooped up the puppy for a scratch, laughing when she strained up to lick his chin. “Have you been keeping our girl company? Hmm?”
The lolling tongue and sparkling eyes were answer enough, he supposed. One couldn’t be lonely when one had a curly-eared puppy. It just wasn’t possible. Caddie leaned against him for a beat and then squirmed to be put down again and raced over to Ara.
His lips twitched as he watched Ara, so long and lean and confident, crouch down to pet her puppy. She’d argue with him if ever he mentioned what a bad decision loving him was. And he’d let her, because he was at the core a selfish man. And he couldn’t imagine going back to life without her.
The ladies moved a few steps to another artifact on display, and Camden drifted over to the window. He loved the view from up here of Buckingham Palace.
A flash of red caught his eye, dragging his gaze down from rooflines to the street again. Even before his brain had really registered exactly what it was, his stomach had knotted.
He knew that shade of red. The red covers on the peaked caps of . . . A curse slipped out.
“Phillip! Watch your mouth!”
