Chapter 46
Two days passed before the rain cleared and the ground dried enough that Lucy was able to argue for travel.
She did not wish to explain her destination to her family, instead suggesting that she was sick of being trapped indoors and wanted to go for a ride.
With her face now on the mend, and no further incidents of any kind for several days, her father consented, though with the conditions that she stick to the regularly used roads and return well before evening.
The Elliots had two horses for riding. Horatio loathed Lucy with a vengeance and Daisy stubbornly tolerated her when necessary, a sentiment Lucy reflected.
She seldom rode for pleasure, but given the past days’ weather and the experience after the ball, perhaps it would do her good, she thought, to get out.
Lucy approached the white-and-yellow mare as the stablehand prepared her.
Horse and human eyed each other, unconvinced.
‘Listen,’ said Lucy, ‘I don’t like you and you don’t like me. But you’ve been cooped up here all week too and I bet you want a good gallop. This way we both get what we want.’
Daisy snorted.
Lucy shrugged. ‘Close enough.’
Thankfully, any equine animosity was forgotten once they were on the open road, with Lucy letting the horse find her own pace on what she had to admit was a fine early summer day.
The fields and trees sped by, and Lucy had only to nudge Daisy left or right at each intersection as she steered them towards Elsworth.
It was not speed as Lucy enjoyed it, for she found riding uncomfortable, coaches being far more civilised.
But under the circumstances, she was glad for the creature, who seemed to be enjoying herself.
The manor was quiet as Lucy drew up to the front door. Dismounting, she led Daisy on foot towards the stables, and while she did not expect to see Jim there, she was surprised to see neither horses nor coach.
It seemed Captain Dashwood was out on an errand. Yet the day was still young and she saw no reason why she might not wait for his return.
‘Miss Elliot?’
She turned to see Thomas Marbrook sauntering towards her.
‘The master suggested you might be around at some point. Here, I’ll take her if you want.’
She handed him the reins with a nod. ‘She has been inside for several days. I believe fresh grass would be a treat.’
‘Well, we have no end of that at this time of year. You’d best head to the cottage. My wife has something for you.’
She wondered why she had been directed to the cottage rather than the manor, but if Dashwood was to be away some time it made more sense for her to find company there.
As she walked, she felt circulation return to her legs unevenly, shaking off pins and needles as she tapped lightly on the front door.
It was opened some moments later by Mrs Marbrook.
‘Oh, Miss Elliot. I am pleased to see you looking so well. I have been told you were injured?’
‘A light burn. If you did not notice it, then I am well recovered.’
‘I see now. I passed it off as seeming a little flushed from the heat. What brings you this way?’
‘I was hoping to see Captain Dashwood. Do you know what hour he plans to return?’
Mrs Marbrook frowned. ‘You haven’t heard?’
‘Heard what?’ Lucy asked, her heart skipping. ‘Is he ill? Was there another robbery? Some aggravation to his wound?’
‘Nothing so dire. He was in fine health when he left. The same cannot be said of his father. He has returned home to see him.’
‘Returned home? For how long?’
‘Indefinitely, I believe. He’s had us pack the place up. He suggested he might be returning again in autumn.’
‘But … but …’ Lucy tried in vain to voice her many thoughts.
‘I know you two were fond of each other. He was sorry to go so suddenly. Here.’ She opened an old cookery book and withdrew an envelope from between the pages.
It was sealed with wax, but had no name upon it.
‘He said to give this to you, and only you, by hand. For you to read alone. Here, use the sitting room. I have to finish lunch.’
Unsure of what else to do and desperate for answers, Lucy sat in a well-worn, comfortable chair in the sunshine, broke the seal open and began to read.
To my dear Lucy,
I regret that I cannot deliver this letter to you in person and cannot provide an opportunity to discuss the last evening we saw each other. Events have unfolded rapidly and there are several reasons preventing our meeting in person.
While it is true that my father is in ill health, it is not wholly the reason for my departure.
He has been an invalid for some time, but under the circumstances it made for a useful and verifiable explanation as to my sudden need to leave.
With the deaths of the criminals who attempted to rob our coach and St Martins Hall, my superiors are convinced that those responsible for the earlier hijackings have been identified and eliminated.
There is, I suspect, political pressure to bring the whole affair to a close.
I am unconvinced. I should not be surprised if you have come to similar conclusions. As it stands, I might have pressed harder to remain at Elsworth had it not been for the suspicions I have since formed.
I do not believe the events of the night we were assailed were coincidence.
It appears that the men who robbed us intended from the outset to kill me, and had it not been for the intervention of you and your sister, they would most assuredly have succeeded.
I now believe the other coach robbery was a diversion and that I was the target.
The only reason for this would be that someone suspected my true purpose here and arranged to have me killed in a manner that appeared to be random violence.
However, I believe the robberies at St Martins Hall and Rathbone Manor were not random.
Both men are involved in different aspects of military matters, particularly the development of something called the Iron Adder, which Napoleon would pay a fortune to acquire.
Our adversary in this is playing a long game of espionage with the robberies, such as the brandy, a diversion.
The men who were killed that night were merely paid to act on behalf of another, one far more cunning and above the brutish work we encountered.
This brings me to the primary reason for my departure.
If my cover has been penetrated and my quarry is still at large then I am no longer safe at Elsworth.
Were the risk only to myself I might abide it, but it endangers others.
Jim knew of the danger but Mr and Mrs Marbrook do not.
Closer to my heart, there is you, Lucy. Already this investigation has nearly cost your life.
It would not be a leap of a great order to assume an affection between us and that you would be a prime means of either harming me or securing my compliance.
That is a risk I cannot take, though it robs me even of the chance to say these words to you face-to-face.
This mystery is not yet solved, but I regret that, for now, I must solve it from afar and bereft of your aid.
I know you well enough to know you will think over this mystery, and I shall offer what else I know.
Longburn Mire is an abominable place. One might hide an army there as well as a body.
I uncovered some trace of tracks that suggested it might be home to several, but no proof could I find, nor, I suspect, may ever be found.
You are well to stay clear of it. However tempting you may find it, please do not expose yourself to further danger.
I know you will puzzle this out, but keep these thoughts private lest a threat turn your way.
I wish I could tell you when or if I shall be able to return.
I am a man driven by my duty and my loyalty to country.
As a result, I am perhaps unobservant of the real connections to those around me.
It was not until I realised I must separate myself from your company that I felt the strength of my affections.
You are a singular and remarkable woman. It has been my great pleasure to spend time with you and it is my greatest wish that I might do so again some day.
I hope that I do not presume too much with these words. I wish all the best for you and your family. Look after your sister. Stay safe and stay strong.
I pray that the last request I am to make to you may not seem the cruellest of all, for if ill tidings come to pass, you may look back upon these words as a fond recollection of me.
I ask that you do not allow this to be. Any letter kept is a letter that may be read, and our adversary has already shown a willingness to take a life.
I ask that you burn this letter once you have read it.
Had I known the ball would be our last opportunity to speak together in private I should have seized eagerly upon it without hesitation. But life is often akin to the Night Races, the road ahead too dark to see until the moment it is upon you and the need for decision too swift.
I hope we shall ride together again some day.
Yours, with dearest regards,
James Dashwood
Lucy finished, paused, then read the letter twice more, once quickly and once with deliberate slowness so that she might hold it in her mind.
When she was done, she took the letter through to the kitchen, opened the stove and threw it within.
The paper flared briefly, flashing bright before curling down into embers.
Lucy closed the stove. The words were hers alone now. What she might do with them she could not yet say.
They were not all he had left her. The man, it seemed, had tempered his pragmatism with sentimentality. Within the envelope she held was a small chain with a silver charm in the form of a night owl. For flying through the night.
The Marbrooks had returned, but Lucy declined their invitation to lunch, instead retrieving Daisy from the hitching post.
On the ride home, she let the animal gallop at her own pace. The spring air stung her face, but Lucy didn’t care. If she went fast enough, the wind in her eyes and the blur of the fields made it hard to think, and that was exactly what she needed right now.