Chapter 19
In which a butler proves evasive
In times of great peril, one must act with cunning and decisiveness. Obviously, this is better done when not Bemused.
— from Lady Avely’s Guide to Guile and Peril
After her ignominious retreat and a fitful sleep, Judith awoke an hour later, groggy and hungry.
Her first thought was for Dacian. He remembered her.
And he was cuffed and trapped, a pawn in some game she didn’t understand.
And poor Wooten was in danger too, laid low by his attempt to save his companion.
The curtains were open, showing a cloudy sky. A soft breeze floated into the room. It was not that which had woken her, however, but a tapping at the door.
“Yes?” she called blearily, sitting up. “Come in!”
The door opened a few inches, showing the anxious face of Miss Onslow. “My apologies, Lady Avely. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“No matter,” said Judith, though she could hear the bell of untruth in that declaration. “What is it? Have the captain and lieutenant left?”
“They have.” Miss Onslow edged into the room and shut the door, her usual ease of manner markedly absent, her shoulders tense. She didn’t even cast a curious glance around the Captain’s Room. “I have come to speak to you about something rather concerning.”
“Oh?” Judith rubbed her eyes. Wasn’t there enough to concern her already? “What is it now?”
“It regards the Duke of Sargen.”
Judith’s sleepiness vanished. “What about him?”
Miss Onslow gave a portentous pause. “His grace was in the latest dispatch that Captain Drumpellier wished me to memorise.”
“Sargen? In the dispatch to France? What does it say?”
Miss Onslow tentatively sat down on the wooden chair next to the bed. “Brace yourself, Lady Avely. I am afraid to tell you that Captain Drumpellier intends to send the duke into Austria. He has intelligence of Bonaparte’s whereabouts, and he means to send his grace to try an assassination.”
Judith’s draw dropped. “What?”
Miss Onslow nodded sombrely. “Apparently, Drumpellier thinks he has obtained a level of compliance from the duke, alongside a dosing of Lethe, and that makes him an ideal candidate to send into enemy territory. They intend for his grace to use raw Impact to kill Bonaparte. The reasoning is that even if he should be captured, his lack of memory should guard against any intelligence being lost.”
Rage clutched at Judith’s throat, making it difficult to breathe. “They are sending him on a suicide mission!”
“Yes,” agreed Miss Onslow. “They want someone who cannot be tortured for information, but I have little doubt that his grace will be captured and executed.” Her mouth turned down bitterly. “Like my brother.”
“Your brother?” Judith stared. “Was he an Impactor?”
“No, but he was sent on a similar mission by Drumpellier.”
Judith was quiet for a moment, in sympathy. “But how is the captain ferrying soldiers into Austria?”
“By Travel, of course,” Miss Onslow explained. “In stages—first from here to Jersey, and then to safe houses in France, across to Germany, and then into Austria. Though they may well use mundane forms of travel for some of it.”
Judith clenched her hands so tightly that her nails bit into her palms. They probably had never intended a trial: this had been Drumpellier’s plan all along.
No wonder he had not known who was to preside over the court, for there was to be no trial!
That was why he had been so eager to ignore her evidence and hustle Dacian into captivity.
He was desperate to snuff Bonaparte out in a dishonourable, cowardly attack.
Miss Onslow bowed her head in sympathy. “I’m sorry. You cannot know how much I empathise.”
Judith threw her blankets aside and paced the room. “Yet surely this is all strictly confidential. Drumpellier would be furious if he knew you had told me.” She paused. “Why did you?”
Miss Onslow folded her hands in her lap rather nervously. “I found your letter,” she said. “The one you wrote to the duke.”
“You were the one sneaking around my room?”
Miss Onslow’s eyes widened in surprise. “You knew of it? How?”
“Never mind,” snapped Judith. “What gave you the right to snoop through my things?”
“I am a spy,” Miss Onslow reminded her. “I thought it wise to find out more about you. I thought the captain would like to know anything I could discover. But instead, what I read turned my sympathies to you.” She drew a deep breath.
“Also, I find that I am rather tired of Drumpellier’s disregard for mercy.
He sent my brother off to his death without a second thought.
I could not bear the same to happen to your friend. ”
Judith squeezed her eyes shut, trying to ward off the images that rushed through her mind: Dacian thrust into the icy Austrian landscape, alone and exposed, and expected to somehow exert his Gift in fatal violence.
Whether or not he managed to kill Bonaparte, he would be captured, tortured, and executed by the French.
But Dacian was not as witless as Drumpellier might suppose. Judith opened her eyes. Would he somehow go along with the plan, reach the safety of Jersey, and then escape?
She chewed on her lip. He would be well guarded and continually monitored for signs of insubordination. Drumpellier could feed him Lethe at any point. Dacian might well lose the ground he had gained.
An even worse thought occurred to her: that Dacian might want to serve the Crown in this manner.
God knew that Bonaparte threatened English sovereignty, and the very safety of its people.
Dacian might decide that the risk was worth it, even though an assassination would not appeal to his sense of honour and a fair fight between nations.
Especially if his mind was compromised and he didn’t truly understand what was being proposed.
She must rescue him before it came to that, before he could make that awful choice. She must remove him from Pendennis before Drumpellier could force the issue. And she must think more on her mad plan, the first inklings which had occurred to her this morning.
Judith looked at Miss Onslow, who sat pale and downcast. “Do you know when Captain Drumpellier intends to enact this plot?”
“He must wait for confirmation from Jersey, but I think he intends to move the duke in two days’ time.”
“So soon!” Prickling panic ran along Judith’s arms. “I need time to think! Please go tell Robert what you have told me—he will need to know.”
Miss Onslow nodded. At Judith’s impatient look, she stood hastily and withdrew. The door clicked shut behind her, and Judith sank onto the bed. Her mind was working feverishly.
She had an idea: a preposterous one, but the circumstances might require it.
It had first occurred to her earlier that morning, when hearing of Miss Onslow’s arrangement with the ships out of Jersey.
Miss Onslow met secretly with British officers who had Travelled from a ship far out in the English Channel.
Officers who somehow managed the jump all the way from mid-sea to Castle Lanyon.
Judith also knew of a ship that was currently, possibly, also traversing the English Channel. A ship that was returning from Sark, another island near Jersey. And on that ship was another Travellor: her very own son, Peregrine.
If she could somehow reach Perry and gain his assistance, they might have a chance to rescue Dacian.
She strode to the window. It was past midday, and the sun was infuriatingly high in the sky, the water sparkling to the west. It would be many long hours before Marigold could wake and attempt to find the Crescent, Lord Beresford’s ship, upon which Elinor and Peregrine sailed.
In the meanwhile, Judith could set other things in motion.
Her stomach growled. She could eat, and gather her strength, and scheme with Robert.
Dacian might be within her grasp, after all.
At all costs, she must save him from Drumpellier’s mad plot.
She eyed the big silver bell, wondering if this was the occasion to use it: a moment of emergency.
Placing her hand on the thick rope, she gave an experimental tug.
The bell barely moved. Losing her nerve, she rang the little servant bell set in the wall and waited impatiently for Trebellow to respond.
When the butler finally ducked through the door, she was pleased to see that he had anticipated her needs.
He bore a tray of luncheon, piled high with cold meats, thick bread, cheese, and even a slice of a jam tart.
The crowning glory was a teapot, this time ensconced in a woollen cosy of warm yellow, a dainty teacup at its side.
Judith sat down by the windows and poured the tea immediately. Trebellow began edging out of the room.
“Wait a moment,” she said.
Trebellow stopped, looking uneasy. Judith took a long sip and sighed. She looked at her butler, remembering the circumstances in which she had last seen him. Fortunately, her Bemusement had now completely subsided.
“Is Baron Quarles well settled, Trebellow?”
“Yes, ma’am. I carried his telescopes and luggage to his room and served him further refreshments.”
“Tell me, Trebellow, do you know what Gift the baron possesses? For it seems to me that he is quite cognisant of the Musing.”
Trebellow shifted. “He has not seen fit to inform me of his Gift, ma’am.”
His voice rang true. “Indeed,” said Judith. “And have you found out who fired upon poor Ltn Greene?”
Trebellow straightened. “No, ma’am. But I discovered that a pistol is absent from the gunroom.”
Judith took another sip and layered some butter onto her bread, thoughtful. “And do you have any idea how someone could have taken the gun?”
“Any one of the castle inhabitants might have entered the gun room, ma’am, for it was unlocked,” Trebellow confessed.
“And do you have a suspicion as to whom it might have been?” Judith took a large bite of chewy bread and stared at her butler. He appeared to be sweating slightly.
“No, ma’am.”
She finished her mouthful slowly. “I should tell you now, dear sir, that I am a Truth Discernor.”
He went slightly pale. “Really, ma’am?”
“Yes.”
He said nothing.
“Which means that I know you just lied to me.”
Trebellow opened his mouth, shut it, then said, “If I have my suspicions, ma’am, you must allow me to keep them to myself.”
“Why is that?”
“Loyalty, ma’am?”
She took another bite, this time of a morsel of beef. The food was certainly helping. When she finished, she said, “Loyalty to yourself, a friend, or a niece?”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “A friend, of course.”
It was the truth. The whole truth? Was he protecting Miss Isla? Or Mrs Ulrich? Or Miss Isla’s beau, Kade?
“You cannot,” she said, “want to protect a friend who is a killer.”
The butler swallowed. “Perhaps this friend only meant to frighten Ltn Greene.”
“Two shots?” Judith raised her brows sceptically. “I somehow doubt it.”
“Perhaps this friend now realises the error of such an attempt,” he persevered.
“I wish I could believe that.” She took another sip of tea. “But we must also account for Sgt Finlay’s demise. That is not a failed attempt, but a very dead body.”
Trebellow again said nothing.
Judith sighed. She wanted to believe that her butler had a good reason for his silence.
Perhaps Sgt Finlay had been a villain and forced himself upon Trebellow’s niece.
That might very well explain his reluctance to reveal his killer.
But then why had someone shot at Ltn Greene?
She examined another slice of bread, this time with ham and cheese, letting Trebellow stew a little.
Perhaps he was protecting Cador, believing it possible the fisherman was involved.
Yet Cador had only moved the body, not dealt the killing blow.
Then she tutted to herself. Drumpellier had asked her to investigate with a false promise. She found it hard to care much now about Sgt Finlay’s death, though she hoped that Ltn Greene would manage to keep himself out of harm’s way.
“Quite frankly,” she said eventually, “I confess that I am not as concerned as I ought to be about the matter right now. We can discuss it later, if needs be.” She put down the slice of bread and made a decision.
“Call Mrs Ulrich,” she told Trebellow. “I have something important to say to both of you.”