Will’s face relaxed, and he nodded before sending the man on his way. “Ponsonby’s concerned for his horse,” he said wryly, more like the Will of old. “He’s been set on purchasing another to spare his animal any injury but cannot seem to strike a bargain. Perhaps I shall sell him mine and make a tidy sum.”
Alec chuckled, and raised one hand in farewell as Will flicked the end of his cigar into the darkness. The glowing tip of it was extinguished before it hit the ground. “Godspeed, Will.”
His friend looked at him and touched the drooping brim of his hat in salute. “And to you, Alec.”
Chapter 28
1820
But I can’t help,” Cressida said for the fourth time. “I could tell Mr. Wallace the direction and stay behind, out of the way.”
“Nonsense.” True to Cressida’s suspicion, Madame Wallace was proving to be far more than she appeared. She wore a pair of loose dark trousers and a dark, close-fitting jacket. Her black hair was pulled back into a tight braid that snaked down her back. Cressida caught the gleam of a knife, strapped to her forearm, when lightning flashed. She stared at it in uneasy fascination, and wondered what she had gotten herself into. Madame had swept her into the waiting carriage, and now Mr. Wallace was driving them along at a perilous speed toward the Lacey home. “Tell me more. What did you read?”
Cressida shivered again. “My father was responsible for it all,” she said in a small voice. It was horrible to think, let alone say out loud. “He helped another officer commit treason, then he put the incriminating papers in Al—in Major Hayes’s belongings when it appeared the major had been killed in battle. And then he blackmailed old Mr. Lacey, taking money in exchange for keeping silent about the truth.”
“Then what has happened to your father?”
“I don’t know.” But she suspected. Mr. Lacey did not seem the type to be cowed and afraid, and blackmailers rarely met good ends. If Mr. Lacey hadn’t done Papa harm, someone else probably had.
Madame Wallace didn’t appear too concerned. She kept glancing out the window. The lightning was growing more frequent and brighter, and now the distant rumble of thunder rolled across the land. From the strength of the breeze that ruffled the carriage curtains, it was quite a storm coming. “What do you know of Lacey and his home?”
“Almost nothing.” She raised her hands when Madame sent her an irritated look. “I told you I couldn’t help! You ought to have brought Julia instead.”
“No,” Madame said. “You are the steadier one. Do not say you know little; tell me what you do know. You have met Mr. Lacey?”
Cressida took a deep breath and nodded. “Once. He’s an older gentleman, about my height and stooped; he walks with a cane. I don’t think he has any family still living, at least not at The Grange. There is a servant, a very large man named Morris, who attends him to church. That’s the only place I’ve ever met Mr. Lacey. He scowls at everything and everyone, and he practically gave my grandmother the cut direct. He called Alec a traitor to his face in front of all Marston at church one week.”
“And the house?”
“I have never seen it except from a distance. Julia said Alec and Will Lacey were bosom friends as lads, though, so he must know it well.”
“Well, that will have to suffice.” Madame lifted the curtain to peer out the window again, and again Cressida caught the gleam of the knife handle.
“May I ask…” she began timidly. “May I ask how you know Alec?”
Madame’s smile flashed in the dark carriage. “He has not told you; perhaps I should not.”
“Then what…who are you?”
Madame Wallace leaned forward. Cressida leaned forward, too. “I am not someone you should know too much about.”
Somehow Cressida agreed with this statement. It didn’t stop her from asking more questions, though. “Why do you have a knife strapped to your arm?”
Madame gave an elegant shrug. “I hope it might remain there all night.”
Meaning that Madame hoped not to draw it? “What are you planning to do?”
“I shall have a look around,” said Madame vaguely. “Alec may have no need of my help. He is quite capable, when pressed.”
Cressida kept looking at the knife. Madame seemed far too dainty and delicate to hurt anyone with it, small as it was. “Do you have a pistol, too?”
She laughed in genuine surprise. “Of course not. Far too much noise. I prefer a more subtle approach.” She leaned forward abruptly. “Ah, this is the house?”
The Grange, the Lacey estate, lay in the hollow below them, a rambling edifice from the days of the Tudors. Cressida nodded. Madame tapped on the side of the carriage, and they halted at once. Madame pushed open the door and leaped to the ground, moving up to talk to Mr. Wallace. Cressida leaned out the window, searching for any sign of Alec during the frequent lightning flashes. The grounds appeared to be deserted, and light glowed in only a pair of windows in the house. Thunder crackled more ominously now, and the wind was sending leaves swirling from the trees. The horses were just as spooked as she was, to judge from their stamping and snorting.
Mr. Wallace jumped down from his perch and waved Cressida forward. “You’ll have to hold the horses,” he said, raising his voice over a boom of thunder. “The storm’s put the fear of the devil into them.” He held out the reins, and she took them uncertainly. “Lead them down the road a bit, there’s a stand of trees. Just don’t stand too close, else the lightning might get you.” He laughed as he said it, looking remarkably jolly given the situation. Cressida scowled at him
