Gillian couldn’t hold back her gasp. She had prayed so hard that her uncle was innocent. She had not exaggerated about how much he disliked going to the ruins. The only reason he would go there was out of desperation or by force. Moreham was right. Uncle was a traitor.
Moreham looked down at her. “You still want to remain with us?”
Gillian nodded her assent.
Moreham turned his horse to the right and led the way. No one talked during the short ride to the grove where they tied off their horses.
Moreham took her hand and they hurried up the path to the rear gate with Cross following behind. Moreham was the one to open the door. He slowly eased the latch up and pulled the door open only enough for them to each slip through. No one spoke a word as they made their way down the dark corridor.
Just as earlier that day, voices echoed down the corridor from the courtyard above. Moreham recognized the duke’s voice, raised in anger.
“—I have done all you asked of me. Now leave me and mine in peace. You can meet here. You have no need of me.”
“Your Grace, you are wrong. You underestimate yourself and your worth. We have a great need of you. A member of Parliament? A friend to the King? You are very valuable to us. We like to keep those who can assist us with our cause close. Remember, your niece is now a countess. It would not do for her husband to find out about her connection to Napoleon.”
Gillian stiffened beside him.
“You are a despicable man with no honor, my lord. Leave my niece out of this evilness. Now, I have done as you asked. I saw to Percy Arnold’s appointment to the Quartermaster, I introduced him to my niece. And yes, I arranged for your so-called brotherhood of traitors to meet here. Now, have your meeting tomorrow night and leave my property. I will not betray my king. Not even to preserve my niece’s marriage to Moreham.” Whitney declared.
Gillian shook her head in disbelief.
Uncle is being blackmailed.
She had been right. Why would that gentleman believe her to have a family connection to the Corsican? Nothing could be further from the truth. Did the stranger believe she carried French blood in her veins? No one had ever said so. The notion of such was simply unthinkable.
Moreham pulled her into his arms and whispered in her ear. “Don’t take a word the man says as truth.”
He motioned for Cross to take position in the next cell. Gillian, too numb with shock to feel the cold, knew was all around them. She waited for the stranger to explain his comment. Part of her hoped he would not speak.
Gillian leaned forward to peer down into the courtyard. She could make out two men. Uncle was the shorter of the two. She did recognize the stranger’s voice from the day before. When she would have moved further forward, Moreham reached for her and held on tight.
“Gillian, you must help me. We have to listen again. One of us could recognize the stranger’s voice. To do so would be a major coup for us in running this band to ground.”
“But, Moreham that man said I’m—”
“—not now, dearest. Later.”
Gillian leaned against him. Moreham urged her upward to look out the stone opening. As luck would have it, the stranger had his back to them. The man removed a pair of gloves from his greatcoat then tugged them over his hands. She wished the evil man would turn in their direction. Just a glimpse would be of some help to them.
“Whitney, we will see if you can be of further service. Meanwhile, keep your new nephew by marriage away from here. I don’t trust the man. If you don’t want an accident to befall your wife or niece, you will see to Moreham’s entertainment. No rides out without you. Your houseguests are very private men. See to it that Moreham and his friends do not stumble across what we are doing here. Should they discover our meeting, someone will die.”
Gillian appreciated the obstacles of identifying the man. She waited for the gentleman to speak again. This was a golden opportunity for Moreham to identify the leader or one of the leaders of the treasonous group. Between the three of them, they’d spent many hours socializing with members of the Ton in the drawing rooms and ballrooms of Town. To be sure one of them would recognize the stranger’s voice.
Whitney threw his hands up in resignation. “Very well, have your meeting. I will have my guests here at midnight tomorrow night.”
“Excellent, please pass on my best to your duchess.”
To Gillian’s surprise, Whitney did not take exception to the stranger’s reference to Aunt Isadora. The menace in the man’s voice left little doubt he meant her aunt harm. Strange that. She knew without a doubt, Moreham would kill any man who spoke her name in such a threatening manner.
She was so consumed with questions about what she had heard in the courtyard, the silence broke through her thoughts like a cannon firing. Why weren’t the stranger and her uncle still talking? She eased forward and found the courtyard empty.
Moreham took her by the shoulders and turned her away from the window. Cross waited in the doorway. The old abbey was silent once more. They must return home and confront Uncle at once. She would not rest until she knew the truth. Even if the truth brought about her ruin and the end of her marriage.
“Did either of you recognize the man’s voice?” she asked Moreham and Cross once they were back outside the abbey. Both men shook their heads.
Moreham took control of the conversation. “Cross, go after the stranger. We will follow Whitney back to the house. Stay back. Do not approach him for any reason. I’d rather you lose the man than alert him to your presence. We still have tomorrow night.”
Cross
