Page 29 of The Knight's Pledge
He gave the house a brief glance. “Walk with me a short distanceif you would.”
Effie sighed but fell into step an arm’s length from the knight as they headed down the sloping alley toward the wharf.
He didn’t make her wait. “I had a visitor from Westminsterthis evening.”
Effie’s heart stuttered in her chest.“About George?”
“No. My own captain, delivering to me this satchel from Iris, containing all of the intelligence about the Hargraves she was able to compile while posing as LadyCaris’s maid.”
“Ah, yes—the faithful Beryl. I wonder, does the king know that your family is so full of liars, Sir Lucan?”
“Of all people, I would think a woman born of the line of Vaughn and Caris Hargrave as well as the man who is most certainly now the most wanted criminal in all of England would be the last to cast disparagement upon another’s lineage.”
“Touché, I suppose. Any matter, I thought all the information had been lost in the fire?”
“Mine had,” Lucan allowed. “The soldiers’ quarters at Darlyrede House was the first structure to burn—all of my personal papers were inside.”
“Iris was assisting you in your investigation,all the while?”
“I suppose she was, although I was unaware of it. I’d left her in France, and didn’t know she’d absconded until she’d been in residence at Darlyrede for six months.”
“It’s surprising she would choose to leave the plush French accommodations in which Vaughn Hargrave installed the pair of you after Castle Dare burned.”
“I wouldn’t describe the abbey as plush,” Lucan said with a frown. “Iris was supposed to remain there until I had secured a safe place for her to come home to. If something had happened to me, she would have a homeat the abbey.”
Effie hadn’t been aware Iris Montague had been interred at an abbey, but the cider hadn’t afforded her enough charity to admit to the man that she’d been mistaken. “Well, while I’m sure it was tempting to live the rest of her life as a nun, she obviously didn’t have much faith in you to return. One might say it was a good thing she chose to take matters into her own hands. Padraig might not be alive otherwise. And you wouldn’t have whatever information is contained inthat satchel.”
“Yes, true,” he said mildly, surprising Effie. “Iris’s portfolio contains scores of details about the Hargraves’ lives that I could never have been privy to. Maps, timelines, accounts of guests, villagers. It’s priceless, to both you and me.” He paused. “Do you wishto examine it?”
“No,” Effie said at once, trying to subdue the shudder that wanted to overtake her. “I’ve enough firsthand knowledge of the goings-on at Darlyrede. But why didn’t Iris give the satchel to Henry?”
“The message she included told of the guest chambers at the palace being repeatedly searched. Perhaps she has reason to believe Henry is also not on our side.”
Effie frowned. “Of course he’s not on our side. If that satchel fell into the wrong hands, all the information could very well disappear before it could be presented in front of witnesses at court.”
“Just so,” Lucan agreed. “Which must be why she sent it to me for safekeeping until we can do just that. But she must also suspect I shall be followed—Iris warned not to travel with the satchel.”
“So it couldn’t be left at the palace, and we shouldn’t take it with us.” Effie thought for a moment and took a chance. “We might hide it in the Strand house until we return.”
Lucan shook his head. “I don’t trust the staff. Stephen, especially.”
“Neither do I,” Effie murmured, relieved.
Lucan appeared surprised. “What reason wouldyouhave notto trust them?”
“Primarily, I haven’t been sleeping with their mistress. And also, one of the stable boys followed us about tonight,” she admitted. “He wasn’t very clever, but he was persistent. He stayed with us until we turned into the alley. Reporting to the steward, perhaps?”
“He must be,” Lucan Montague replied. “Stephen is like God Almighty on the Strand. He runs the world along this stretch of the Thames when Lady Margaret is away.”
“Who ishereporting to, though? His mistressis in Greece.”
“It can only be someone at Westminster—who else would care? There are few in London of rank between Lady Margaret and the king, since her husband’s death.”
That gave Effie pause. “An important woman, your lover.”
“Ex-lover,” Lucan reminded her. “It was her husband who was powerful. A noble diplomat to the Mediterranean states. English by birth, but wealthy in his own right from his family roots in Greece. Lady Margaret still visits there often. The estateis marvelous.”
“A more pleasant place to spend the winters, I suppose. On the Mediterranean,” Effie allowed, clearly hearing the bitein her words.
