The Elusive Bride

Tristan smiled, a gesture very like Jack’s. He tipped his head at his friend. “So are we. And once we locate, we eliminate.”

Gareth’s brows rose. “I see.” He popped the last of his gravy-soaked bread into his mouth, chewed, swallowed, then nodded. “All right. So how are we going to do that?”

14th December, 1822

Early evening

Our chamber at the inn in Dover

Dear Diary,

I need to dress for dinner-for the first time in forever-but am seizing these moments to note the salient personal points arising from our plan to remove to Mallingham Manor.

First and foremost, we are clearly no longer alone in our battle against the fiend and his forces. Both Trentham and Warnefleet are undeniably able men, very much like Gareth. The addition of two such warriors to our party makes us, I judge, well-nigh invincible. Which is an enormous relief.

Even more heartening, I have learned from Trentham that there are ladies at his manor-not just his wife and Jack’s wife, but many others, too-his great-aunts and various cousins and dependents. From all I could glean, for the first time since leaving Aunt Selma in Poona, I will have ladies of my ilk with whom to converse-and from whom I might gain further insight into living with, and being married to, males of Gareth’s ilk. That will be a boon I will be glad to seize. One should never close one’s ears to advice from the experienced.

More, I am conscious of a buoying of my spirits, a greater certainty that Gareth’s mission, complicated by being that of a decoy, will indeed end successfully enough to satisfy him, which will allow him to, once it is over, turn his back on the recent past and focus with all his heart on shaping our joint future. I know his feelings over MacFarlane’s death run deep, and a successful outcome to this mission is essential to permit him to lay those feelings to rest-to leave that last part of his past behind him.

I have just heaved another relieved and happy sigh. After being trepidatious and tense for more days than I can count, in looking forward to tomorrow, it is amazing to feel only eager and intrigued interest.

My only quibble in all this is a nebulous niggle that somehow, in some way, Gareth is yet uncertain. Not of me, or our future, but of something between us. I cannot put my finger on what it is, but I will.

But now I must hurry and dress!

E.

Their move to Mallingham Manor was accomplished in three stages through a morning that was gloomy and gray, cold, but not raining. At ten o’clock, Mullins, Dorcas, and Watson set off in the inn’s gig as if to visit some house in the countryside to the west. Twenty minutes later, Mooktu, Arnia, and Jimmy set out in a cart laden with all the bags and trunks, and headed north. Half an hour later, Gareth, Emily, and Bister departed in another gig, and took to the London Road.

The cultists in Dover, already scrambling to reorganize in light of their unexpected arrival, had to scramble again, but two cultists succeeded in trailing the first gig, another followed the cart, and one settled to shadow the gig Gareth was driving.

Tristan and Jack watched, noted, then acted. Those handling the reins-Mullins, Mooktu, and Gareth-had instructions not to drive too fast, but to eventually head north and west into Surrey. Ultimately, after halting for lunch along the way, all would climb a certain hill not far from the Manor.

Mounted on good horses, Tristan and Jack removed the cultists, then raced across country to that hill. In mid- afternoon, when Mullins tooled his gig up the long, open rise, Jack and Tristan were in position, watching from the hilltop, from where they could see spread before them all the surrounding land.

When an hour later Gareth finally drew rein on the crest of the hill, Tristan and Jack walked their horses out of the trees, satisfaction writ large on their faces.

“Ahead and take the first turn right.” Tristan pointed to where a collection of old and massive trees blotted out the horizon. “The Manor’s in there-it can’t be seen from anywhere, so once among the trees, you won’t be spotted. The others are ahead of you. Jack and I will wait here, just to make sure, then follow.”

Gareth nodded, met Jack’s eyes. “How many?”

“I got two.” Jack glanced at Tristan. “He got two more. Enough to whet our appetites, but I don’t think there are more, so we’ll be on your heels.”

Gareth nodded, flicked the reins, and sent the gig rolling on.

True to Jack’s word, they’d only just reached the stable yard behind the manor-only just stepped down into a circus of grooms, footmen, and a bevy of ladies, most old, two not so old, all talking and exclaiming-when Tristan and Jack rode up.

While they dismounted and handed their horses to the grooms, one of the younger ladies, a confident matron with dark hair, swept up to Gareth and Emily. “Welcome-I’m Leonora, Tristan’s wife.” Smiling delightedly, she shook hands with Gareth, then squeezed Emily’s fingers. “We’re very glad to see you, not least because those two”-she tipped her head to Jack and Tristan-“have been on tenterhooks for the last week, awaiting your arrival.”

“Indeed.” The second matron, taller and rather stately with dark mahogany hair and an openly commanding manner, joined them and offered her hand. “I’m Clarice, Jack’s wife. I gather you’ve had adventures untold-you must come in and tell us all about them.”

Those words proved prophetic. Before Emily could do more than give her name and touch fingers, she and Gareth were swept up by a wave of older ladies, led by Tristan’s great-aunts, Lady Hermione Wemyss and Lady Hortense Wemyss, carried into the big house and deposited in a large, long family parlor that was clearly the older ladies’ domain.

“I’m afraid”-Leonora angled her head close to Emily’s as they settled side by side on one of the many chaises-“that it’s best-easiest, certainly-to humor them. They mean well. If any of their questions disturb you, just look to me or Clarice, and we’ll rescue you.” She glanced at Gareth and smiled. “You, too, Major-feel free to call on us for aid.”

Gareth met her eye, inclined his head. “Please call me Gareth.”

Once all the ladies had subsided, he sat in the armchair next to the chaise. Emily looked around. “Jack and Tristan?”

“Have escaped.” Clarice smiled from an armchair opposite.

“We don’t need them.” Lady Hortense dismissed her great-nephew and his friend with an arrogant wave. Her eyes, old but bright, fixed on Emily and Gareth. “It’s you two we want to know about-and we’re a great deal too old to waste time being delicate. So, how did you come to be in India in the first place?”

The old ladies were dogged, determined, and quite shockingly direct, but there was no doubt of their sincere interest, or of their shrewdness. There were fourteen in all, an Ethelreda, a Millie, and a Flora among them. All had questions, and with so many minds focused on the task, each and every little detail was winkled from them, and examined and commented upon.

Which should have put them out, put their backs up, but instead the kindness and understanding the old ladies exuded made their interrogation feel more like a confession and absolution.

Almost an exorcism.

Emily found herself responding to their inquisition with increasing freedom. She suspected Gareth, too, revealed more than he’d expected to-possibly more than he was comfortable with in response to their encouraging probing. Certainly, when after half an hour Jack and Tristan looked in, using the diversion of the tea trolley for cover, Gareth seized the chance to escape.

Clarice caught Emily’s eye, and arched a brow.

Emily smiled, all but imperceptibly shook her head. Accepting a cup of real English tea and a plate with real scones, plum jam, and fresh cream, she relaxed on the chaise, and turned to answer Ethelreda’s next question.

The day closed in outside the parlor windows. The curtains were drawn, the fire built up, and eventually the