Chapter 5 #3
“Spread out,” Hargrove mumbled. “Suvla, Anzac Cove, Helles … trying to hold what little ground we’ve got. It’s a bloody mess …” And with that, his head dropped back, sleep overtaking him.
“You poor dear.” Nurse Rivers patted his hand and stood. “You just rest now.”
Blake stepped back quickly, slipping into the shadows of a nearby alcove as Nurse Rivers emerged from the room. She moved down the corridor with a spring in her step, humming softly to herself—the picture of a cheerful young volunteer pleased to have helped comfort a wounded soldier.
But Blake had heard the questions and the way she’d extracted information from a drugged, vulnerable man.
He’d been so focused on Evie and the mysterious Nurse Wilson, so certain the spy must be someone with more experience, more skill.
But what better cover than an eager young VAD nurse?
Someone above suspicion, someone who could move freely among the patients, someone whose questions would be dismissed as naive curiosity rather than calculated intelligence gathering.
The Midnight Angel, hiding in plain sight as an enthusiastic amateur.
Or—Blake’s mind churned through possibilities—was she a genuine amateur who simply didn’t understand the sensitive nature of what she was asking?
Some young women did have an unfortunate tendency to ask wildly inappropriate questions out of sheer curiosity, without any understanding of operational security.
His mind immediately went to Lady Astley.
He could envision her enthusiasm and curiosity taking over.
But the specificity of Nurse Rivers’ questions nagged at him. Battalion numbers. Officer locations. Weaknesses?
Those weren’t the questions of someone making polite conversation.
Blake waited until the nurse had disappeared around the corner before stepping out of his hiding place. He needed to find Grace, needed to warn her to be careful, needed to—
A soft sound behind him made Blake turn.
Evie stood in the corridor, partially concealed by the shadows near the linen closet. Her eyes were fixed on the doorway Nurse Rivers had just exited.
His breath stalled.
She’d been watching too.
Their eyes met, and for a moment, neither moved.
Oh, if only he could read her thoughts. Believe she wasn’t on the wrong side.
Then Evie dipped her head in acknowledgement, the corner of her mouth tipping ever so slightly, before melting back into the shadows and disappearing.
He almost followed her.
Had she been watching Nurse Rivers or … him?
Was she registering his movements? Keeping an eye on him as someone else collected information?
Was she here as a mere distraction, because if she was, it was working too well.
He breathed out a frustrated growl.
Two women who might be spies. Three, if he added Nurse Wilson.
And one woman among the lot who definitely was.
Oh, where was Grace?
His assignments usually didn’t involve keeping track of a whimsical American countess turned amateur detective who didn’t even know she was pregnant.
Thank heaven! His life was careening into territory he wasn’t quite certain how to navigate.
A faint scent of mint and rosemary reached him before a soft voice did.
“Blake?”
He turned just in time to see Grace standing in the corridor, cheeks flushed from the wind, leaves clinging to her skirt, and Zeus’ head visible behind her. Zahra peeked around Grace’s other side, dark eyes bright.
Relief washed through him.
“There you are.” He schooled his features to be calm and moved toward her, the limp returning to his gait. “I’ve been in search of you, dear Lady Astley.”
Without ceremony or warning, she took him by the arm and drew him down the hallway toward the morning room, Zahra trailing just behind them with Zeus lumbering along.
“I found something not half an hour ago,” she whispered as soon as she’d closed the door. “In the chapel.”
Of course she did.
And then her words registered fully. “You’ve been to the chapel? Alone?”
The emotion in his voice slipped past his control. The utter lunacy of this entire situation was clearly putting him off his guard.
“Not alone.” She shook her head, waving toward Zahra … and Zeus. “I was with them.”
A girl and a dog. He felt infinitely better.
Wonderful. Perfectly safe, then.
“Lady Astley, I know as the sleuth you are, you understand the seriousness of our situation, surely.” Perhaps teasing her would not only curb his frustration but encourage her awareness. “There are potentially dangerous people about.”
“Of course, which is why I took Zeus.” She nodded with a bright smile that suggested she thought this logic was utterly sound.
And Blake understood with fuller awareness how his cousin Freddie had become ensnared in all these adventures in the first place.
Grace’s enthusiasm for mystery was absolutely contagious. And completely maddening.
Eyes gleaming, she stepped nearer, reaching into her pocket to produce a small brass button. “I found this.”
Blake took the item from her, turning it over in his palm. Standard British Army issue, the Royal Crown and Arms still bright. Recent, not antique. And the thread still clinging to the shank was khaki wool—uniform fabric.
His gaze shot to hers. “Where exactly did you find this?”
“At the base of the baptismal font in the chapel.” Grace leaned closer, lowering her voice further. “And, Blake, there was a scent—cologne, quite fresh. Cloves and cedar. Someone had been there recently. Very recently.”
Blake’s mind immediately began cataloguing the male servants and patients at Havensbrooke, running through mental files. He’d met everyone at least once, but he certainly hadn’t filed away each man’s cologne.
He’d never needed to before.
Now, Evie’s perfume? That he remembered. Lavender and something darker. Intoxicating.
He ruthlessly pushed the thought aside.
“And you think the thief may want something with the chapel?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “But to have the sketch taken and then this?”
The sketch of the chapel? What did it mean?
The spy at Havensbrooke wouldn’t need the chapel, would she? And the thief? What good could that old chapel do for a wounded soldier?
It didn’t make sense, and he didn’t like it.
“Lady Astley, in the meantime, perhaps you might consider not wandering off to isolated chapels without informing anyone of your whereabouts?”
“I had Zeus,” Grace pointed out reasonably. “And Zahra. We were perfectly safe.”
“Zeus once lost a fight with a curtain,” Blake said dryly. “And Zahra, delightful though she is, weighs approximately seven stone. Neither inspires confidence in matters of personal security.”
Zahra frowned at him with all the dignity an eleven-year-old could muster. “I know where to kick a man to make him fall down and cry like a baby.”
“That’s … actually quite reassuring.” Blake blinked. “Thank you, Zahra.”
Grace bit back a smile. “You’re beginning to sound like Frederick.”
“Your husband has excellent instincts about keeping you out of danger,” Blake countered. “It’s one of his few redeeming qualities.”
“He has many redeeming qualities.”
“Yes, well, the rest of us must suffer by comparison.” Blake gave a crooked grin. “Though I do my best.”
She laughed and then sobered. “I know I’ve smelled that cologne before. Here, at Havensbrooke. And wouldn’t it be just like a thief to enter into a house disguised as a patient?”
A thief … or a spy?
“It’s brilliant actually,” Grace continued.
“I’ve always wanted to go undercover on some investigation.
I think I could act very well now that I’ve had some practice sleuthing.
But there’s never been a real opportunity to try it just yet, except when Frederick and I went to meet my sister’s former maid.
” Her eyes gleamed with a renewed smile.
“I pretended to be a new detective in training.”
“It’s a regular card played in those mystery novels of yours.”
“But it must happen in real life too. For people to write about it so well.” She looked up at him, and then something flickered in her eyes. Her attention dropped to his leg, brow furrowing. “I know spies in books do sometimes.”
Her gaze flew back to his and held.
No, certainly she didn’t know.
He grinned. “Exactly.” He shrugged. “Hiding in plain sight certainly increases the tension of any good novel, I should think, spy or not.”
Those curious eyes studied him.
Blast. She’s too observant by half.
Gratefully, a maid entered the room with tea, breaking the moment.
Blake’s mind continued to turn over the pieces. The button at the font. The stolen sketch. The cologne scent Grace had noticed.
And through it all, the ghost of Evie Montgomery moving through Havensbrooke’s corridors with purposes he couldn’t quite divine.
One problem at a time, he told himself firmly. Find the spy. Sort out the thief. Deal with the impossibly alive woman later.
Something told him those three problems were about to become hopelessly entangled.
Sadly, in his experience, problems usually did.