Chapter 21
Arch was breakfasting with Renforth when the note arrived.
The hour was early enough that the house had not yet settled into its usual rhythm of purposeful movement, and for a brief interval, the illusion of calm held.
Renforth had already been attending to his papers before Arch entered, which was not unusual; that he had brought them to the breakfast table suggested that the day would not allow for idle separation between thought and action.
Arch had just taken his seat when O’ Malley entered.
“A note, sir. For Major Manners, sir.”
Arch held out his hand. The servant placed the folded paper upon his outstretched palm, then Arch broke the seal at once.
Meeting with Kendall at iron-works at 10. No time to refuse.
—FV
He read it twice, though it required only one reading to comprehend.
“No time to refuse,” he repeated quietly.
Renforth set aside his paper. “From Miss Vale?”
“Yes.”
Arch passed the note across. Renforth read it without expression, then laid it flat upon the table as though its significance might be reduced by the neatness of its placement.
“Tell the messenger to wait,” Arch said.
O’Malley inclined his head and vanished.
Renforth tapped the note once with his finger. “Ten o’clock. That gives us—”
“No time at all,” Arch finished for his senior.
They sat in silence for a moment.
“What should we do?” Arch asked.
Renforth did not answer immediately. He reached instead for his coffee, took a measured sip, and set the cup down again with deliberate care.
“Fielding is following Kendall,” he said at last. “Wait until he sends word, or you will be seeking a needle in a truss of hay.”
Arch did not like the answer. He wanted to run through the door and give chase.
“Indeed,” Renforth continued, as though anticipating the objection, “we need all men on watch tonight.”
The reminder settled heavily. “It is unfortunate that she has gone with him,” Arch said, “but there is nothing odd in and of itself in her attending a meeting with him at the iron-works.”
Renforth inclined his head. “No.”
“I suppose not,” Arch said, though the words sat ill with him as he had been implicit in his instructions.
They resumed breakfast, though his appetite had quite deserted him. He forced himself to eat something, if only to preserve the appearance of normality, but his thoughts had already moved beyond the table, beyond the room, beyond the hour.
Francesca would not have written so briefly without cause.
“No time to refuse.”
It suggested pressure, urgency, and possibly coercion, though she would not have used the word if she could have avoided it.
Renforth rose first. “We proceed as planned,” he said. “If Fielding sends word, we will adjust. Until then, we assume nothing.”
Arch inclined his head. He understood the logic, whether he liked it or not.
The house did not remain quiet for long.
Within the hour, men in similar positions began to arrive in succession, each bringing some fragment of intelligence, some adjustment to timing, some refinement of the design.
Maps were spread across the central table; diagrams were layered over them; notes were compared, discarded, amended, and rewritten.
The fabricated dinner at Grosvenor Square occupied the centre of all discussion, its execution requiring a precision that admitted no indulgence for distraction. Arch took his place among them.
He did everything required of him, yet the absence of communication from Fielding began to press upon him with increasing force.
Ten o’clock passed, then half past. Then the clock struck eleven.
Arch stood at the table, one hand braced lightly against its edge as he considered the sequence of carriage arrivals.
“The second interval must be longer,” he said. “If the first two appear too close together, it invites comparison. We want assumption, not scrutiny.”
One of the men nodded. “Four minutes?”
“Yes.”
“Do we delay the departures as well?”
“They remain immediate. There is no reason to linger.”
His voice was firm. His mind was elsewhere. He became aware, at some point, that Renforth was watching him.
“You are dividing your attention,” the Colonel said.
Arch did not look up. “I am attending to affairs.”
“You are attempting to attend to them.”
Arch lifted his gaze then. “With respect, sir, there is reason.”
“There is always reason,” Renforth replied. “The question is whether or not it alters the action.”
Arch held his gaze, then shook his head.
Renforth inclined his head slightly. “Fielding will send word when there is word to send.”
“Yes, sir.”
Arch returned his attention to the table.
Time moved on. The room grew warmer with bodies and conversation, yet the cold of uncertainty remained. By noon, his unease had formed into something less easily contained. There was no use in constructing possibilities without evidence, but his mind did it anyway.
At last, he stepped back from the table. “I will go to Sir Percival’s house,” he said. “If she has returned—” He did not finish the sentence.
Renforth considered him for a moment, then nodded.
“Very well. Do not linger.”
Arch inclined his head and turned towards the door. He had taken no more than a few steps into the passage when a servant appeared at speed.
“A message, sir.”
Arch stopped.
“For you,” the young man added.
Arch took it and knew at once it was not Francesca’s hand. He broke the seal.
FV taken to cottage near Clapham by TK. Has maid with her. Does not appear to be held against her will, but left there for her safety. Could only hear her told to stay out of the way until he returned for her tomorrow—when England will be free again, he said.
Arch read it once, then again. The words did not change. He turned and went back into the room.
Renforth was bending over the table with several men, reviewing a diagram of the evening’s arrangements. Arch crossed to him and placed the note at his elbow.
Silence spread outward from the centre of the table as Renforth read.
“Fielding?” one of the men asked.
“From one of his contacts,” Renforth said. He read it again, more slowly. “Perhaps he thinks she might try to join in the events this evening?” he suggested.
“Or he thinks we would use her against him?” Arch asked.
Renforth did not answer immediately. “Who can say?” he said at last. “There could be a host of reasons.”
Arch abruptly lifted up his head.
Renforth looked at him. “Perhaps he believes a riot may ensue. Perhaps they have ordered the people to incite one. Removing her from London removes her from immediate danger.”
“It also removes her from us,” Arch said.
“Yes.”
The simplicity of the answer was almost offensive.
“Therefore we just leave her?” Arch said.
“Yes,” said Renforth.
The word fell with quiet finality. Arch felt something inside him resist it, fiercely and instinctively.
“She is—”
“Alive,” Renforth said. “We may assume she is also unharmed and provided for. Kendall seems protective of her at least.”
He held Arch’s gaze. “She is also not in the path of what will occur tonight, nor associated with it.”
The logic was flawless, Arch knew.
“If we move now,” he said, forcing the argument into clarity, “it is possible we will alert him. He abandons the plan and, potentially, we lose them.”
“Possibly. It does make me wonder what he might have tied her to, but that is for later.”
The room, which had, moments before, been filled with movement and discussion, now seemed to hold itself still around the decision.
Renforth spoke again, more deliberately. “Send one of the junior men along to guard the cottage so Fielding can return.”
Arch exhaled slowly.
“You may send Miss Vale a note of explanation,” Renforth added. “It is best to play along with Kendall for now. I need you tonight, and the fewer distractions, the better.”
Arch inclined his head once. “I understand.”
He crossed at once to the writing desk. For a moment, he stood with the pen in his hand and did not write. What could he say? He could not tell her the full extent of what was coming. Had Kendall told her what he was about?
He could not promise immediate rescue. He could not risk a message that might be intercepted and misunderstood. He wrote:
You are not forgotten. It is best to remain where you are. You are guarded, and you will be retrieved when it is safe to do so. Trust that we act with your safety in mind. —AM
He sanded it, folded it, and sealed it. A young officer was summoned and given precise instructions.
“Deliver this when you are certain it is safe to do so. Do not approach the house directly unless necessary,” Arch said. “Observe first and keep out of sight. If she attempts to leave, ensure she is not alone. If Kendall returns, send word at once.”
“Yes, sir.”
Arch watched him go. Then he took up another sheet and wrote to Sir Percival, more fully and formally, explaining what had occurred without revealing more than was necessary.
That done, he set both matters aside. There was nothing more to be done for her now. He must give all his attention to the night ahead.
Renforth was already speaking again when Arch returned to the table.
“The first carriage arrives at seven precisely. There will be no deviation. The second follows after four minutes. We will maintain the illusion of normality—”
Arch took his place and tried to concentrate on the matter at hand. If Kendall believed himself on the brink of remaking England, then tonight would decide whether he succeeded—or whether everything he had built would collapse around him.
Somewhere beyond London, in a small cottage near Clapham, Francesca waited. Hopefully, his note would reassure her. Arch did not allow himself to dwell on it. He would see her safe. First, though, he would end this affair.
The hours between decision and action passed with a swiftness that left no room for reflection.