Page 90 of Ashes and Understanding
She had meant to ask. She had meant to ask the colonel what it meant—what he thought the message could be. But with all the talk of espionage, of Benjamin, of suspects and schemes and shifting loyalties, the words had slipped from her mind.
She sat up slightly, heart pounding.Tell the raven it was the crow.
They meant something. Theyhadto. A message from the last breath of a man who knew he was dying was no empty poetry. Who or what was the raven? The crow? Were they names? Code names? Enemies? Allies?
She shivered and lay back down, drawing the blankets up tightly beneath her chin. The fire was nearly dead now, and the chill had crept into the room, but it was not the cold that made her tremble.
She would ask. Tomorrow. First thing.
She closed her eyes once more, but sleep came slowly, and her dreams were tangled with wings and smoke.
∞∞∞
It was early still, the pale autumn light filtering weakly through mist-hung trees as Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam rode through the quiet lanes toward the militia encampment. Frost clung to the hedgerows, and the breath of their horses rose in white plumes as they trotted along the rutted path.
“Charming countryside,” the colonel remarked, adjusting his reins with gloved fingers. “Peaceful. One would never guess a murder and an international scandal are quietly brewing beneath all this pastoral calm.”
Darcy did not reply. His gaze was fixed ahead, jaw tense, his mind already on the task before them.
The encampment lay just outside Meryton, still partially shrouded in morning fog. They found Colonel Forster near the officers’ tents, in the midst of directing the day’s drills. The moment he spotted them, his stern expression shifted to one of polite curiosity.
“Mr. Darcy!” he said in surprise. “What brings you here so early? You are not joining the militia, I trust?” His smile widened in jest, but then his eyes shifted to the colonel, noting the scarlet of his coat, the bar of rank at his collar, the composed military air—but with no spark of recognition.
Darcy dismounted and handed his reins to a waiting lad. “Colonel Forster, may I introduce Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam of the Regulars—currently attached to the Home Office. He is also my cousin, and he has requested an introduction.”
Colonel Forster blinked, then gave a hasty salute. “Begging your pardon, Colonel. I did not—well, I did not realize.” He straightened his posture at once and added with a hint of flustered pride, “It is an honor, sir, to meet a man whose reputation so precedes him.”
The colonel returned the salute with ease, his tone cordial but businesslike. “Thank you, Colonel. I am afraid this is not a social call. We had hoped for a few minutes of your time in confidence.”
“Of course,” Colonel Forster said at once. “Come with me, please.”
He gave a few orders to a nearby officer, then motioned the gentlemen to follow him into a large nearby tent. Once inside, he brushed off a thin layer of chalk dust from the edge of a rough-hewn table and gestured for them to sit. “You will forgive the disarray—we are preparing to receive more men. There is a great influx lately. Half of them without even proper references, I am afraid.”
Darcy exchanged a glance with the colonel. “We will not take long,” Darcy added. “We have reason to believe that recent events in the area—particularly the incident involvingMr. Smithson—may not be entirely disconnected from certain... more sensitive matters.”
Colonel Forster’s brow rose. “Indeed? I had wondered about that business. The magistrate has been quiet about it, which I suppose is no surprise. The man was an insurance investigator, yes?”
“That was the impression,” Darcy said carefully. “But there may be more to it than that.”
The colonel stepped in, his tone easy but edged with intent. “I serve with the Crown—unofficially, you understand. There is a possibility Smithson was acting in a capacity far more delicate than insurance.”
Colonel Forster blinked. “Good Lord. Do you suspect espionage?”
“We do not know yet. But we are gathering what information we can, as quietly as possible. To that end, I hoped to gain your permission to observe and inquire discreetly among the officers. Nothing official. Just a few quiet conversations and a bit of listening.”
To his credit, Colonel Forster did not balk. He looked between the two men, then nodded. “I do not like the thought of spies—or murderers—in my regiment. You may speak with whom you need, but be subtle about it. And let me know if you find anything concerning.”
“Thank you for your understanding,” the colonel said graciously. “Not every officer is willing to doubt the men under their command.”
Colonel Forster straightened his shoulders and puffed out his chest at the compliment. “My loyalties are to my country first.Although to be entirely honest, before the London Fire, I would have balked at the request. But with so many new soldiers who behave as less than gentlemen…”
“Precisely,” Darcy chimed in. “With the growth of militia members, it makes security difficult.”
“That it does.” Colonel Forster’s mouth tightened. “They send me a list of names, and I do what I can, but the paperwork is patchy—especially after the fire. A number of men lost their documentation. There is no time to investigate every one of them thoroughly. Most are just trying to get work. Some… I wonder about.”
The colonel inclined his head. “But remember,” he said sternly, “this is to be kept in the strictest of confidence.”
“Absolutely,” Colonel Forster said. “What explanation should we give the men?”
