Julia waved her in without a word, her expression sharp with curiosity. Cressida handed her the pages of notes. “This is from my father’s journal. He kept it while in the army. It was in a code, of sorts, and I’ve been translating it.”
“Goodness, this is from years ago,” exclaimed Julia as she glanced at the first page. “What can it have to do with Alec now?”
She laughed nervously. “I’m not entirely certain, but read it all. There is a man mentioned, an officer, I think. Alec recognized him. Something in these notes led him to the attic and his trunk, and now he’s gone off to do…something, and I want to help but first I have to discover who this person is.”
Julia stared at her. “What?”
“Just read!” Cressida pushed her lightly in the direction of a chair. Julia went, reading as she walked. Cressida pulled out the writing table chair and picked up her pen, taking up the translation where she had left off.
For several minutes they worked in silence. “Do you mean this fellow?” Julia asked, reading aloud, ‘ “a fair, priggish fellow from Hertfordshire?’”
“Yes, that’s the one. He calls him Little Nob, or Nob. Can you guess who he means?” Julia shook her head. Cressida sighed. “He must be someone Alec knows, or did know, and it must be someone who lives within a day’s ride, since he left already.” Julia frowned, and they both turned back to their work.
Cressida’s despair deepened as her pen marched across the page. Worse and worse, her father’s behavior became. “A fine sum collected today,” he noted in June 1815. “Enemy on the march again, lovely to be back in business with my old friend De Lion.” De Lion was his name for the French colonel. “De Lion especially grateful today, informed him of old Blech’s position,” he wrote a day later. Cressida swallowed hard; old Blech was Marshal Blücher, head of the Prussian army at Waterloo. She handed the completed page to Julia and reached for another piece of paper.
And here was mention of the officer again: “Little Nob reluctant, even when de Lion offered considerable sum. Nob agreed after proof of his previous actions was displayed. Always wise to keep proof in secure location.” She was skimming now, looking for the codes that represented Little Nob or De Lion. “Nob snubbed me this eve; must remind him of mutual obligations…De Lion pressing for more information, reward handsomer than ever…Saw Nob with his expensive Castilian. No wonder he’s for sale…De Lion pays in gold now, excellent choice…Rebuffed by Little Nob, pompous arse; had to show him letters retrieved from De Lion to ensure cooperation…”
“Cressida.” Julia was looking at her with fright in her eyes. “This—This is by your father?”
“Yes.” The word almost lodged in her throat.
“But this—this is dreadful, what he says.” Julia held up the pages, her hands stained by the ink Cressida hadn’t taken the time to blot dry. “This is—this is—”
She stretched her cramped fingers. “I know,” she said quietly. “I can’t believe my father—”
“No.” Julia shook her head. She ran across the room and put the paper in front of Cressida, poking it with her finger. “This—This is what the army accused Alec of. This exactly, writing to a French officer and selling secrets. Here, it talks of letters retrieved from De Lion; letters from a Frenchman were found in Alec’s things, clearly implicating him in a correspondence with the man for money. My mother begged and begged for more information when the army said he had turned traitor, because she couldn’t believe it was possible, and finally some colonel spelled it out for her. I read his letter. This agrees with every particular of his account!”
“Are you saying that Alec is the officer my father dealt with?” She felt sick and disoriented. “But no—that can’t be…”
Julia snorted. “It’s not Alec. No one would ever describe him as fair or priggish, especially not then.”
She pressed her hands to her temples. “Then who?”
“Let me see more.” Now Julia was as fevered as Cressida. She read rapidly through the next page, then another, and her face sagged in shock. “Good heavens.”
“What?”
She touched the page. “Castilian. Will Lacey married a Spanish girl while they were in Spain. It caused quite a furor in town because Priscilla Darrowby had set her cap for him before the war, and everyone knew old Mr. Lacey approved the match.”
They looked at each other. “And Will might have given Alec a letter,” Cressida said slowly. “Because they were such friends.”
Julia nodded. “He died at Waterloo. A great hero; Mr. Lacey received a letter from Wellington himself. But this…” She shook the translated pages. “This is Will Lacey, I’m sure of it. He was fair and could be priggish—or rather, he could seem so, even though he was just as much a devil as Alec. But…What if…Is it possible someone mistook Alec for Will?”
“You said the papers were found in Alec’s things.”
She watched the realization sink in. Julia, Alec’s sister, looked at her with dawning alarm. “Could—Could he have…?”
Cressida knew he could have. Her father could have seen an opportunity and seized it while the battlefield was still in disarray. Everything was chaos after a battle, echoed Alec’s words in her memory. The relief that Papa’s journal exonerated Alec was eclipsed by the confirmation that Papa had been responsible for those charges being made at all. She steeled herself and picked up the journal to read some more. The code had become almost as clear as English now, and she didn’t even have to write it down to know what it said. She was still turning pages when a knock sounded on the door, and
