∞∞∞
Moira shut the door to Smith’s study and slumped against it, letting out a shaky sigh. She wanted to run—not stop to gather anything, not even the bit of money she kept stitched into her old coat—just run.
But where could she go?
She pushed herself off the door and walked with heavy steps toward the stairs. She’d been feeling sick for three days, ever since receiving Turnbull’s message:
Miss Dunsmuir:
Remember, remember the Fifth of November!This is just a brief note to remind you I shan’t be able to come during the usual time. Would seven o’clock on the 5thbe too inconvenient?
J. Turnbull
It wasn’t exactly creative, but the meaning was clear: Victor and his minions would come for Smith on the evening of Guy Fawkes Day.
While November Fifth was far too soon for her taste, it would be a good evening for Marie’s plan because it was a day when normal routine was suspended and most of the servants had the evening off.
Smith’s armed sentries would still be on duty, of course, but Moira had been working on the problem for weeks now.
None of the eight men who took turns at the door were stupid enough to let their guard down foranyone,butshe had managed to make a certain amount of headway with at least five of them. She’d seized every opportunity to talk to them when coming or going. Whenever she’d gone out of the house she had stopped at a bakery or pastry shop and brought back treats.
Was it nakedly manipulative? Yes, it was, but food—she knew from experience—was often better bribery than money, which the guards certainly would have balked at taking.
While three of the men had thanked her but demurred, the others had—at one time or another—accepted the treats with obvious pleasure. All she needed was for at least one of those men to be on the servant door on the evening of the Fifth.
The men took half-hour breaks four times during their shifts, meaning there were four brief windows of time with only one man on either door. Moira had acquired a harmless, but effective, emetic that would ensure there would be trouble keeping even one man to his usual vigil. Her solution relied a great deal on luck, but there was no other choice.
Victor, who’d been coming and going twice a week for almost eight weeks would come later than usual that day. Instead of departing after the lesson, Moira would hide Victor in an unused cupboard in the music room.
“This is a stupid plan,” she’d told Victor when he’d described how things would work.
His piggy eyes had narrowed. “If you don’t like it, you can complain to those in charge.”
Marie, in other words.
“The guards will check when you don’t leave the house,” she’d told him.
“Not if they’re shitting themselves blind, they won’t.”
Moira had winced at both his crudity and her guilt. She liked Smith’s guards—they were always respectful and kind to her. Indeed, she liked them a great deal more than she liked Turnbull.
“What if one of themdoesdecide to come looking for you?” she’d persisted.
“Well, then you’d better hide me good, hadn’t you, girlie?”
Moira had stared at the loathsome man, closer than she’d ever been to putting a stop to the mad plan and confessing everything to Smith.
Naturally, she had done no such thing.
It’s not too late. You could run away—far and fast—and not be here on the Fifth, her inner voice urged her now as she made her way from Smith’s study to her room.
Moira snorted softly as she opened the door to her bedchamber, relieved that Luke wasn’t inside. It wasn’t that she didn’t like him—not at all. In fact, she’d come to rely on his unfailing good humor and kindness—but she needed some solitude to collect her wits.
She needed to root out the doubts that seemed to plague her more each day. She would have given everything she possessed for just five minutes with Marie and theComteand the chance to make them explaineverything.
You should have done that before tossing your life aside and coming to England.
Yes, she should have. But she’d been so gutted about Sandrine—and so vengeful—that she’d been an empty vessel they’d filled with whatever they’d wanted. Now, with time and distance, more and more questions wormed into her mind.