A Shadowed Charade (The Lockwood Family #4)

Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

Melody awoke to a pounding headache, her temples throbbing as if they were being hammered from the inside. She groaned softly, bringing a shaky hand to her head, but kept her eyes closed, the weight of sleep still clinging to her.

“Melody!” a familiar voice called, sharp with worry.

She recognized that voice. It was Elodie. Her sister’s voice cut through the haze, and fragments of her memory began to return with it. The gardens… the figure approaching… the sudden pain as she was struck. Before she could piece it all together, Elodie spoke again, more urgently, “Wake up, Melody.”

But Melody didn’t want to wake up. She tried to sink back into the comforting darkness, where the pain was distant, and the confusion didn’t matter. Just a few more moments of rest…

This time, Elodie shook her firmly. “Melody! I need your help.”

The desperation in Elodie’s voice jolted Melody awake. She forced her eyes open, blinking against the dim light. The first thing she saw was Elodie’s face, pale and tense with worry.

“Where are we?” Melody asked, her voice hoarse as she slowly pushed herself into a sitting position.

“We are in a cottage,” Elodie replied. “Somewhere in the woodlands, I think. It looks like it used to be the old gamekeeper’s cottage, but it has been abandoned for years.” She paused, biting her lip. “How are we going to escape?”

Melody’s mind was still reeling from the blow to her head. “Escape?”

Elodie nodded, her eyes darting to the small, grimy window across the room. “The windows are nailed shut, and the only door is locked from the outside. We need to figure something out, and quickly.”

Melody’s gaze swept over the room. It was bare and small, with only the straw mattress she had been lying on and little else. The papered walls were stained with years of neglect, and the air was thick with dust. She felt her stomach churn with dread.

Holding up a rusty, bent nail, Elodie said, “I found this. It might help us—somehow.”

Melody instinctively reached into the folds of her gown, searching for her pistol. Her heart sank when her fingers found nothing. She must have dropped it when she had been struck in the gardens. Drats. How was she supposed to protect them now?

“I tried to remove the nails in the window, but they won’t budge,” Elodie continued, a trace of frustration in her voice. “If we can’t get out that way, we will have to fight our way through whoever comes for us next.”

Melody groaned softly as she swung her legs over the side of the mattress, trying to gather her thoughts. But the pounding in her head made it difficult to think clearly. Each pulse of pain reminded her of the mistake she had made—the reckless decision to meet Elodie’s abductor in the gardens alone. She had walked straight into a trap.

“Are you all right, Melody?” Elodie asked, her voice softer now.

No.

She was not all right. She had made a mistake. She should have known better than to trust the cryptic note luring her into the night. Now, they were both prisoners, and it was all her fault.

Elodie gently placed a hand on her shoulder. “Perhaps you should rest a little longer.”

“I am fine,” Melody insisted. “I just need a moment.”

Sitting back, Elodie offered her a sympathetic look. “I understand. I have had plenty of time to think since I have been here. I knew something was wrong with Mr. Durand from the moment I met him.”

“Why do you say that?”

Elodie waved her hand dramatically as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Why else would he abduct me? The man is clearly up to something nefarious.”

Melody stifled a sigh. What should she tell her sister? Could she trust her with the truth? Would Elodie even believe her?

As Elodie started pacing the small room, she said, “Ever since I was taken, I have been left alone in this room. No one has told me anything until you arrived. What do you suppose Mr. Durand wants with us?”

Melody bit her lip, knowing it was time. She had no choice but to tell Elodie the truth. She gestured for her sister to sit beside her on the mattress. “Come sit.”

Elodie stopped pacing and sat beside her, her expression expectant and curious. “What is it?”

Melody took a deep breath, gathering the courage to say what needed to be said. “I know why Mr. Durand abducted us. It was never about you. It is all about me.”

“Why would you say that?” Elodie asked.

Melody exhaled softly, steeling herself for her sister’s reaction. “I am a spy.”

For a moment, Elodie just stared at her. Then, she burst into laughter. “You? A spy? That is impossible!”

Melody should have anticipated her sister’s reaction, but she pressed on. “I am being earnest. I am an agent of the Crown. Mr. Durand—well, the man we thought was Mr. Durand—is a French spy. That is why he took us.”

Elodie’s laughter died in her throat, her eyes widening in shock. “You… are being serious,” she said, her voice suddenly soft.

Melody nodded, feeling the weight of her confession settle heavily between them. “Yes. And now, because of me, we are both in danger.”

Her sister’s brow furrowed. “How is it possible that you are a spy?” she asked, her voice incredulous. “None of this makes sense. You are perfect.”

Melody let out a small laugh. “I am far from perfect, Elodie. I was recruited when we were at boarding school. I am not the cloak-and-dagger type of spy, but rather one that deciphers codes.”

Elodie rose from the bed and walked to the small, grimy window, her footsteps heavy on the wooden floor. The silence between them grew louder, and Melody wondered if her sister would ever truly believe her. It was, after all, a near-impossible truth to swallow.

After a long moment, Elodie turned back to face her. “Is Lord Emberly your partner?”

“He sends me the codes to decipher under the guise of ‘Josephine.’ It is all done in secrecy,” Melody replied.

Elodie bobbed her head slowly as if digesting the information. “I believe you,” she finally said.

Melody’s brow shot up in surprise. “You do?”

Crossing the room, Elodie came to stand beside her. “Yes, because I know you. You wouldn’t lie to me about something like this. Besides, I am a little frustrated that I wasn’t recruited as a spy. I would have been brilliant at it.”

Melody couldn’t help but smile, despite the gravity of the situation. “You would have been,” she agreed.

A bright smile came to Elodie’s lips. “I can’t believe you are a spy. Father would be furious if he ever found out.”

Melody’s expression grew serious. “You must never tell him or anyone. No one can know.”

Elodie nodded her understanding. “Your secret is safe with me. But I want to know everything.”

Before Melody could answer, the sound of a key turning in the lock echoed through the room. The door swung open, and there stood the man they had known as Mr. Durand. His sharp eyes swept over the sisters as he stepped inside.

“Good, you are awake,” Mr. Durand said, stepping into the room.

Elodie moved swiftly to place herself between Melody and the man. “Let us go,” she demanded.

“Sit down, my lady,” Mr. Durand ordered. “I am here to speak to Lady Melody, not you.”

Melody stood, gently placing a hand on Elodie’s shoulder. “It will be all right,” she said, hoping it was not an empty promise.

Mr. Durand advanced further into the room, his movements deliberate. He produced a folded piece of paper from his jacket and held it up. “This code,” he said. “You created it. I need you to tell me how to read it.”

Melody’s stomach dropped as she recognized her handwriting. It was a crucial cipher meant for Wellington’s troops. If she revealed the key, it could cost thousands of lives.

“No,” she replied, her voice steady despite the fear twisting inside her.

A cruel smile came to Mr. Durand’s face. “I’m afraid you don’t have much of a choice. If you refuse, I will kill Lady Elodie.”

Elodie gasped softly but held her ground, standing silent beside her sister.

Melody’s heart raced. She had no doubt that Mr. Durand meant what he said. Slowly, she held out her hand for the paper. Her eyes scanned the familiar code, dread sinking deeper into her bones. Giving him the solution could alter the course of the war, but refusing might cost her sister’s life.

“I can’t do as you ask,” Melody said, forcing the words out.

Without hesitation, Mr. Durand pulled a pistol from the waistband of his trousers and aimed it directly at Elodie. “This isn’t a negotiation,” he said, coldly. “You will tell me how to crack the code, or your sister dies—slowly and painfully.”

Melody moved to stand protectively in front of Elodie. “This is between you and me. My sister is innocent in all of this.”

Mr. Durand chuckled, but the sound held no warmth. “Innocent?” he sneered. “Your code has led to the slaughter of many French soldiers. Our best minds have tried to decipher it and failed. You will tell me, or I will make sure Lady Elodie suffers.”

Melody’s mind raced as she tried to buy some time. Could she even bargain with this man? “If I give you what you want, you will let my sister go?”

Mr. Durand smirked, and for a moment, a flicker of something dark passed through his eyes. “Oh, I promise,” he said, his voice dripping with false sincerity. “But you are not going anywhere. Napoleon has plans for you in France.”

A shiver ran through Melody as she squared her shoulders. “I am not going anywhere with you, least of all to France.”

Mr. Durand’s smirk twisted into a mocking grin. “I’m afraid you don’t have a choice.”

Elodie touched Melody’s arm and whispered urgently, “Don’t tell him anything. He is going to kill me anyway.”

“You don’t know that,” Melody whispered back, though in her heart, she feared Elodie might be right. Mr. Durand was not a man who seemed capable of mercy.

Mr. Durand scoffed. “I tire of this. Perhaps I should just kill Lady Elodie now and be done with it.”

“No!” Melody put a hand up to stop him. “I won’t tell you anything unless I have your word that Elodie will be unharmed.”

Mr. Durand took a step closer, his voice low and threatening. “You are in no position to be making demands, my lady.”

Melody held her ground, meeting his gaze with steely determination. “I will not let my sister die because of me. This is my fight, not hers.”

Mr. Durand’s amusement grew. “You truly are na?ve. As a spy, your friends and family are nothing more than liabilities. Surely, your dear Lord Emberly warned you of this.”

“He did, but why should they suffer for my mistakes?” Melody shot back.

His expression shifted to one of false pity. “You truly have no idea what you are involved in. Your codes have killed innocent French soldiers. And now, you will face the consequences.”

Melody stared down the barrel of his pistol, knowing full well she would rather die than betray her country. But the thought of Elodie being killed because of her made her stomach churn. She couldn’t let that happen—not to her sister. But how could she protect both Elodie and the lives of thousands depending on that code?

“Time is up, my lady,” Mr. Durand growled. “What did you decide?”

Elodie spoke up. “Melody isn’t going to tell you anything,” she declared, her voice unwavering. “I won’t allow it.”

A sneer came to Mr. Durand’s lips. “You won’t allow it?” he repeated, cocking his pistol. “I do believe I am going to enjoy killing you.”

Melody’s heart pounded in her chest as the moment stretched out, the air thick with dread. She tried to think of something—anything—to stop him. But just as Mr. Durand’s finger hovered over the trigger, a sharp knock echoed through the small cottage, shattering the tense silence.

Mr. Durand’s head snapped towards the door, his sneer faltering. “Stay here,” he hissed, lowering the pistol slightly as he moved towards the door. He threw a warning glance over his shoulder at them. “We shall see who else came to die today.”

Wesley raised his hand and slammed his fist against the weathered cottage door. This plan was reckless, but time was running out, and it was his only chance. Melody’s and Elodie’s lives depended on it.

The door swung open, revealing a blond man with a hardened face, a pistol aimed directly at Wesley’s chest. “What do you want?” the man barked, his voice rough with suspicion.

Wesley inclined his head slightly. “You must be the footman that we have been searching for.”

The man’s eyes narrowed as he went to shut the door. “Go away.”

Putting his hand out, Wesley held the door open. “I have come to barter.”

The man snorted, a derisive laugh escaping him. “Barter? You have come to die, then.” He cocked the pistol. “Why should I not shoot you right where you stand?”

Wesley didn’t flinch, his eyes locked on the man’s. “Because, as I said, I am here to barter.”

A voice came from inside of the cottage. “Who is it, Pierre?”

The man—Pierre, apparently—didn’t lower the pistol as he called back. “Lord Emberly.”

Another figure emerged from the shadows, stepping beside Pierre. Wesley immediately recognized the sharp, calculating features of Mr. Durand. “Shoot Lord Emberly and be done with it,” he ordered.

Wesley shook his head. “I promise you will want to hear what I have to say.”

Pierre hesitated, his gaze flickering to Mr. Durand. “What do you think, Marceau?”

“Let him in,” Mr. Durand—no, Marceau, as Wesley had learned—ordered coldly.

Taking a step back, Pierre opened the door wide but kept the pistol trained at Wesley. “Come in, my lord,” he sneered, his voice thick with contempt.

The room Wesley entered was stark and empty, save for the thick tension that clung in the air. Marceau moved to the center, his posture exuding authority. “What do you want?” he demanded.

“I have come to barter for Lady Melody and her sister,” Wesley replied.

Marceau’s lip curled. “Save your breath. Lady Melody is coming to France with me, whether you like it or not.”

Wesley clenched his jaw but kept his voice calm. “That is not something I can allow.”

“You have little choice in the matter, considering you are a dead man.” Marceau removed the pistol from the waistband of his trousers and aimed it at him. “You have saved me the trouble of hunting you down.”

“Hear me out first,” Wesley said.

Marceau let out a dismissive huff. “You have one minute. Not that it will change anything.”

Wesley leaned forward slightly, his voice low but clear. “If you release Lady Melody and Lady Elodie, I will pay you a hundred thousand pounds.”

Pierre’s mouth fell open in shock. “That is… a fortune.”

“It is,” Wesley agreed, his eyes never leaving Marceau. “In exchange, you will walk away and leave us in peace.”

“That will not happen,” Marceau said. “Napoleon has plans for Lady Melody.”

Pierre’s eyes lit up with greed. “Think of what we can do with that money. We would be rich.”

“You are forgetting our mission,” Marceau said firmly. “We are loyal to Napoleon.”

Lowering his pistol, Pierre’s tone turned defiant. “I am tired of scraping by. I want to be rich, and now we have the opportunity to be so.”

Marceau’s face twisted with anger. “You are a fool if you think Lord Emberly will keep his word. The moment we lower our weapons, he will kill us.”

Wesley kept his voice steady. “I am a man of my word. All I want is to ensure Lady Melody’s and Lady Elodie’s safety.”

Pierre glanced back at Marceau, uncertainty in his eyes. “We could disappear. No one would control us.”

Marceau’s hand tightened around his pistol. “You are being insubordinate. You are forgetting who you are.”

“How can you not be tempted by this? We could escape this life, free and rich,” Pierre said, his jaw set stubbornly.

“I am loyal to France. Loyal to Napoleon. That is more important than money,” Marceau replied.

Pierre’s lips pressed into a thin line. “You are a bigger fool than I thought.”

Turning towards Pierre, Marceau pointed his pistol at him, his eyes cold and calculating. “If you take that money, you are a traitor and will be hunted down and killed.”

Pierre matched him, raising his pistol as well. “No one would know if you died here tonight.”

Marceau’s gaze shifted briefly to Wesley, suspicion etched across his features. “This is what he wanted all along. To turn us against each other.”

“When can I get the money?” Pierre asked, ignoring Marceau’s warnings.

Wesley allowed himself a small smile. “As soon as my man of business arranges it. It might be a few days, but I give you my word.”

Marceau spat. “His word? He is a spy, a liar. How can you trust him?”

Pierre looked uncertain. “And you won’t turn me in for my crimes?”

“As I have said,” Wesley responded, “I have come to barter. I have no interest in your past.”

Marceau’s expression was one of steely resolve. “Think of your family. They will be branded as traitors, too.”

Pierre’s face hardened with determination. “Then I will take them with me. We will live like kings.”

“You are a fool, Pierre,” Marceau shouted, his voice rising with disbelief. “You would betray your country, betray Napoleon, for money?”

Pierre didn’t hesitate. “I would.”

Marceau pointed his pistol at Wesley. “The plan was always to kill Lord Emberly. We were to leave no witnesses.”

“The plan can change,” Pierre responded.

“And what will you tell Coralie?” Marceau snapped. “Do you think she will look kindly upon you betraying your country?”

“Leave Coralie out of this,” Pierre snapped.

Marceau took a step towards Wesley. “You would never get the money, Pierre. He is lying to you.”

With a shake of his head, Wesley replied, “I am not lying.”

“All Englishmen are liars!” Marceau exclaimed.

Wesley huffed a bitter laugh. “And all Frenchmen are murderers, I suppose. You have killed people I loved.”

Marceau gave a careless shrug as though it meant nothing. “I do what I must to survive.”

Despite having a pistol pointed at him, Wesley took a step closer to Marceau, his voice sharp with purpose. “Do you remember Dinah?”

“No,” Marceau replied.

“She was one of your victims,” Wesley continued, his anger simmering beneath the surface. “You murdered her by dropping oleander in her fire.”

A smirk crept across Marceau’s face. “You will have to be more specific. I have killed many people with that method.”

Wesley’s fury boiled over, his voice thick with emotion. “Dinah was special. She never wronged you, yet you killed her.”

Marceau's smirk grew, his indifference palpable. “Her death brought me no joy, I assure you. It was just another assignment.”

Wesley clenched his fists, fighting his composure. “I have loved two women in my life. One you took from me, and the other I kept at arm’s length while trying to protect her. But I would rather die than lose Melody.”

“I will gladly oblige you, my lord,” Marceau declared.

Before Marceau could act, Wesley spoke again, his voice calm despite the storm inside him. “One last question before you kill me—did you murder my father, the late Lord Emberly?”

Amusement flickered in Marceau’s eyes. “Ah, yes, I almost felt bad about him. A miniature portrait of a woman was on the table next to his bed. He loved her deeply; that much was clear.”

Wesley’s voice dropped, barely a whisper. “That was my mother.”

“Well, we both know how that ended,” Marceau mocked.

Wesley turned his gaze to Pierre, his voice low but commanding. “This is your last chance, Pierre. Side with me, and you will be a rich man.”

Pierre’s brow furrowed in doubt. “Marceau is right. You would never give me the money.” He straightened. “I side with Marceau.”

Wesley let out a sigh. “That is a shame because you have already lost.”

Marceau threw his head back and laughed, the sound harsh and triumphant. “No, Lord Emberly, it is you who have lost.”

Wesley’s eyes shifted to the staircase just as Melody appeared, her delicate hand clutching a pistol aimed directly at Marceau. Her once pristine gown was rumpled, her hair had come loose from her chignon, and her face was smudged with dirt. Yet, despite her disheveled state, she had never looked more beautiful to him.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Wesley swiftly pulled the pistol from behind his back and aimed it at Marceau. “As I said, you have lost.”

Marceau grinned, undeterred. “And what exactly is Lady Melody going to do with that pistol? Intimidate me?”

Wesley’s expression didn’t waver. “Oh, did I forget to mention? Lady Melody has a marksman’s aim.” He paused. “But she is not the only one.”

A moment later, Rosella emerged silently from the second level, positioning herself beside Melody, a pistol drawn and ready.

Wesley met Marceau’s gaze. “My job was to distract you long enough for my associates to rescue Lady Melody and Lady Elodie.”

Rosella interjected, “Actually, Lady Melody insisted on speaking to Marceau. And she made her wishes very clear.”

Lady Melody’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I wanted to personally thank you, Marceau, for how you treated my sister and me.”

Marceau’s smirk faded as he lowered his pistol. “What is your plan, exactly? Shoot us? That won’t solve anything. There will be many others who will come for Lady Melody.”

“I will protect her, no matter what,” Wesley declared.

“You are a fool if you think that,” Marceau snapped. “As long as she is alive, she will have a target on her back.”

Lady Melody tilted her chin. “Let them come. I will be ready.”

Marceau’s gaze grew thunderous, his hand tightening around his pistol. He raised it suddenly, violently, aiming directly at Melody. “Or I could kill you right now.”

Without hesitation, Wesley hurled himself at Marceau. A gunshot rang out, the sound deafening in the enclosed space. Pain laced through Wesley’s arm as he slammed into Marceau, knocking him to the ground. Ignoring the burning sensation in his left arm, Wesley drew back his fist and delivered a powerful blow to Marceau’s face, knocking him unconscious in one brutal strike.

Breathing heavily, Wesley stood and turned to Pierre, who was being subdued and led away by Rosella. “You made the wrong choice,” he informed the spy.

Pierre groaned. “I always do,” he muttered.

Melody hurried over to Wesley, her eyes filled with concern. “I’m sorry I shot you,” she said, pointing at the blood seeping from his left arm.

Wesley glanced down. “It is nothing,” he said, offering her a weak smile. “I have had much worse.”

“You should have a doctor look at it,” Melody suggested.

“Doctors are useless,” Wesley replied dismissively. “Watkins will stitch me up just fine.”

She came closer, stopping right in front of him. Her voice softened, her eyes holding his transfixed. “Thank you for coming to save me.”

Wesley’s smile grew. “I made you a promise, did I not?”

“You did,” Melody whispered, biting her lower lip as she looked up at him.

The door swung open and Elodie ran into the room. “Is it over?” Her gaze darted to Marceau’s limp form. “Is he dead?”

“No,” Wesley replied, shaking his head. “Just unconscious.”

A mischievous glint appeared in Elodie’s eyes as she marched over to Marceau’s body and delivered a swift kick to his side. “That is for taking Melody and me hostage.”

Wesley chuckled. “You two should go home at once. I have no doubt that your parents are worried sick.”

In a low voice, Elodie leaned in and said, “Just so you know, my lord, now that I learned you are a spy, I like you even more.”

Melody laughed. “Let’s go home, Elodie.”

With a final glance at Wesley, the two sisters turned and made their way towards the door. He watched them go, his heart swelling with relief and something deeper—something he finally was ready to put into words.

Love.

He loved Melody. And now he needed to do something about that.