Chapter 2
Chapter Two
“If you don’t find the source of these rumors soon, the government will be forced to act and it’s our soldiers that will get mashed in the middle.
What with France and the New World, Scotland, we can’t afford to be spread thinner.
We have to nip this in the bud,” the chancellor of the exchequer said.
Silas nodded. “I know the stakes, Lord Chancellor, and I will find out what we need as soon as possible.”
“The late Lord Downfield was close to learning the truth. His death was either a very fortunate happenstance for them or a very inconvenient accident for us. You need to find out which.”
Silas sifted through the papers on the desk. “How is he supposed to have died?”
“Illness.”
“Illness? Was he known to have suffered from…?” He cocked an eyebrow, waiting for the exchequer to fill in the blank.
“He was a healthy man as far as we knew.” The Lord Chancellor gave him a significant look.
Silas cleared his throat and nodded. “I see. Well, I suppose I know where to start now.” He got to his feet.
“Highcliff,” the exchequer said sharply.
Silas met his eyes. “Yes, my lord?”
“Be careful. These people are very dangerous.”
He nodded. “I am aware. It will not be an issue.”
Being a spy was very different than Silas had thought it would be. When he’d decided to follow in his father’s footsteps, he’d assumed that he would be spending a lot of time communicating with counterparts around the world and reading communiques sent from the Crown.
Now, nine years after he’d joined the national service, that expectation was continually shattered.
As for this current case, Silas was determined to speak to one Helena Porter, daughter of the late Earl of Downfield, the agent who had died while investigating this information leak.
If his suspicions were correct, her remaining family had something to do with the treasonous plot he’d uncovered.
He expected to be stopped at the gate of his destination. He was not disappointed; a burly gentleman blocked his way, forcing him to come to a stop.
“Are you lost…” The man looked Silas up and down. “Sir?”
Silas straightened his back. “I think not. I am here to see Sister Frances. We have an appointment.”
The man frowned. “She has sent no word of this.”
Silas inclined his head. “I suggest you do not detain me any longer. I suspect Sister Frances would be upset were I, the Duke of Highcliff, to leave without dropping off the substantial donation I am bringing to her.”
The man blanched. “Oh… uh, of course, sir.” He scrambled backward. “Let me open the gate for you.”
He proceeded to match action to word, and Silas spurred his horses, driving his phaeton through the gates and down the long driveway to the abbey.
On either side of him were fields planted with vegetables; a few cows grazed in the distance as the sun rose slowly in the west.
He came to a stop in front of the abbey house and stared up at the stone building. It seemed cold and forbidding. He could not imagine having to live in such a place.
He alighted from the phaeton and walked slowly towards the door, lifting his hand in a fist to knock. He waited for a few minutes and was just lifting his hand to knock again when he heard the sound of the deadbolt moving.
“Excuse me, can I help you?” a high voice said from behind him and he turned to see a nun approaching, a frown on her face.
“I am here to see Sister Frances. I am the Duke of Highcliff,” he said with a polite smile, the kind he offered to charm his targets. “Would she be available?”
The nun continued to stare suspiciously at him. He made sure to keep his face as unassuming as possible.
The woman smiled in return. “Pardon me, Your Grace. I am Sister Philomena. I am afraid Sister Frances is at matins at the moment. Perhaps I can help you with whatever it is you need?”
Silas cleared his throat. “Well, I was hoping for a tour, Sister Philomena. I have it on good authority that St. Margaret’s does good work, and I had it in mind to support you monetarily. I came to see if what I’d heard was true.”
The nun stared at him a bit more before gesturing for him to join her. “I’d be glad to give you a tour of our facilities, Your Grace. Though not all of them, of course, for the sake of propriety.”
“I understand. Please, lead on.” He fell in step beside her and they began to walk down the corridor, footsteps echoing on the cold floor.
“How many girls are you currently harboring?” he asked.
She flicked a glance at him then away. “The number varies; some girls might be here for a season, others are here for the duration.”
“How many are they currently?”
Sister Philomena cleared her throat. “Well…around a dozen. The hope is that they will eventually join the order, but that does not always happen. Some of the girls are not in their right mind, but we try to take care of them as much as we can.”
Silas stopped himself from narrowing his eyes and instead raised an eyebrow to show he was believing her.
“I see,” he said softly. “That must be quite difficult.”
“Yes, well, with God’s help, we are able to prevail,” the woman said after a sigh.
He nodded. “Of course. Where do the girls sleep? Are they housed separately or with you and the other nuns?”
“Why do you ask, my lord?” the nun arched an eyebrow.
A suspicious one. I can handle her.
He plastered another polite grin on his face. “Pardon me. I meant to offer a donation so you can build a separate wing for the more…unstable girls. For your safety and the other nuns,” he responded smoothly, keeping a steady tone.
Sister Philomena’s face lit up instantly. “Oh no, no, there is no need to worry, Your Grace,” she replied. “For security reasons, the unstable girls are locked in their cells at night. But your generosity is noted, of course. Perhaps your donation could be utilized for something more practical.”
“You said they are locked in?” he asked, trying to school his features into innocent curiosity once more.
“Yes. Well, some of the more wicked ones might find a way to open their doors, but really, even if they tried to run, they would not get far enough to endanger anyone,” she answered in an assuring tone.
Silas kept himself from frowning. From the nun’s description, one would think this was a prison.
“Why would they try to run? Are they not happy here?” His voice was smooth, almost conversational, each word carefully measured, a subtle hook baited into the air.
“Considering you have generously provided them with food and shelter.” He leaned in slightly, eyes never leaving hers, letting the silence press against her, coaxing, testing, guiding her into giving more than she intended.
The nun scoffed, her mouth twisting in derision. “Happy?” she shook her head. “Most of the girls are too willful for happiness. Heaven knows we try our best to instill in them the gratitude and goodness of God. Unfortunately, for most of them, the devil has his claws embedded deep.”
Silas raised a surprised eyebrow. “I see. It must be quite disconcerting.”
“Indeed, Your Grace,” she nodded graciously, clearly believing that they were in total agreement.
Even though he’d managed to lower her wariness about him, Silas felt deeply perplexed.
What had he walked in on?
The Crown needs to be alerted about this.
They came up to a large oak door which the nun pushed open. “If you wait here, Sister Frances will be with you shortly.”
He peered inside, and realized that it was some kind of office.
He nodded. “This will do nicely. Thank you, Sister.” He said stepping in.
“May I bring you some tea or coffee?”
He smiled, and raised his pitch ever so slightly to make himself seem harmless, “Yes, I am quite parched. Perhaps you would be so kind as to include some biscuits as well? I find myself a bit peckish after a long journey.”
She bowed her head. “Of course, Your Grace. You may have a seat and wait. I shall be back as soon as possible.”
“Thank you,” Silas said and made a show of settling in the uncomfortable wooden seat.
He waited until she had left to stand up again and headed first for the desk. He paused, trying to gauge where the abbey might be keeping records.
When he pulled at the first drawer, it did not budge; locked. All the other drawers were locked, too.
He sighed in frustration.
He couldn’t waste time. Even if he did manage to get a hold of Sister Frances, he doubted that the nun would give up any information about Helena Porter.
Silas needed to find the woman. Today.
And so, he headed to the door and cautiously pulled it open.
Fortunately, the corridor was empty. He knew he had to be careful, lest someone see him, and so he walked as if he had every right to be there.
He peered into the rooms he passed, hoping to find one of the fabled girls that had the devil in them.
He had spanned the entire length of the abbey before he happened upon a young woman, cleaning the stairs.
“I say there,” he called and she looked up in surprise. “I am in search of one of the residents here. Her name is Helena Porter. Do you know her? It is about a most urgent family matter.”
“Helena?” the woman said, her eyebrows almost reaching her hairline as she straightened up. “Yes, I know Helena.”
“Where might I find her?”
The woman shrugged. “She could be anywhere, sir. Not one to stay where she’s put, if you take my meaning.”
Silas hummed in acknowledgement, looking around in frustration. “Where might I start looking?”
“Well…” the woman bit her lip. “I suppose you might try the stables. She does love those horses.”
“Thank you.” He nodded to her.
She made an awkward curtsy. “You’re welcome, sir.”
Silas made to go and then paused. “Might I ask where exactly the stables are?”
“Oh, just behind the kitchens. If you round the building, you cannot miss them.”
“Thank you,” he said again before turning back.
He walked cautiously to the front door, relieved to encounter no one except another young lady carrying a mop and pail, her head down, who hurried past him without a word.
He slipped out the door, and stopped short, taken aback to find that his phaeton was not where he’d left it.
Damn this place.
Wasting no time, he headed for the stables.
With a gentle wind on his face, the green grass sawing gently in the breeze as the cows lowed from a distance, the compound seemed so peaceful. Yet Silas found that he was uneasy, even though he could not pinpoint why.
He rounded the corner of the abbey, and caught sight of a wooden building ensconced between two trees just opposite the back entrance to the abbey. He concluded that it must be the stables
His phaeton was parked outside next to it, though there was no sign of his horse.
There was an open kitchen next to the abbey. Several women were hunched over the table kneading dough.
Silas moved as quietly as he could and slipped past them, going straight to the stables.
A groom was in the first stall, rubbing down a horse as he spoke soothingly to it. Silas snuck past him, peering into the other stalls. Some contained horses, others didn’t.
A low whispering was coming from the stall to his right. He moved as soundlessly as possible to press his ear to the door of the stall.
“There, there,” a woman whispered, “You like it don’t you? You like the apple? If you carry me away from here, I’ll give you more, all right? You will, won’t you? Yes, that’s a good boy.”
Silas peered over the door of the stall only to see his horse, and a woman. Her face rang familiar. Feminine and tempting, yes, but it also reminded him of a man he’d once met. In fact, of the man his investigation centered on.
The late Earl of Downfield.
At last.
He smirked in triumph, pushing open the stall door to step inside.
The young lady let out a quiet gasp. Her eyes were the color of a stormy sea. A sea in whose waters any man would delight in drowning. The cap on her head hid most of her hair, but a few black wisps hung over her face.
Silas’s smirk widened.
“There you are. I have been looking for you.”