Beyond a Doubt(23)

Admiral Gaspard was a friend. They and the Admiral had spent time together in France.

Everyone who knew the Admiral discouraged any public announcement of the Huguenot colony. They felt the timing was wrong, but the Admiral disagreed. More and more people died because of their faith, and logic deemed they be moved to a safer, more acceptable location — hence the Admiral’s idea to colonize in Brazil.

Behind the scenes, friends worked to find solid proof the Admiral’s life was in immediate danger; with the finding, they hoped he would cancel his plans. Everyone knew a plot to eliminate the Admiral existed, but he wouldn’t accept the possibility. Olga understood her husband’s pain. So much death and no way to stop it.

“Max?”

“Ja?”

Olga stepped around the desk. She sat on his lap, resting her head on his shoulder. His lips grazed the top of her head.

“Olga, Gustav will be here in a few hours. We need to review what we’ve learned. We have to be missing something.”

She placed her hand behind his neck, drawing him closer. “What we need to do is rest.”

He removed her hand and then lifted her from his lap. A sigh left her lips as she took the available chair in the room.

Skirts settled, she spoke her honest opinion. “If we must review, then I believe it is the woman.”

“But why?”

Olga shrugged. “I think it would be obvious. The men are too old. They have wives and families. Besides, one of them sported a limp.”

“But Olga, the woman? She was young and had the huge burly man with her. Besides, I believe the woman is a collector. Did you study the house?”

“Of course I did. Remember, she invited me inside.” Had he already forgotten their conversation from a few hours past? Perhaps the man needed more rest than she’d thought.

“And what did you think? Was the man there on a personal visit?”

“Max, I don’t know. I already gave you my opinion. The woman was friendly but hid a little too much emotion when I spoke of someone following her. Besides, how much can one learn while accepting a drink?”

The next few hours they sat in silence. The quiet caused her eyelids to droop. Her body jerked at the pounding upon the outer door. Max jumped from his seat and raced to the front entrance before Olga rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

Gustav entered. Olga retrieved refreshments. When she returned, Gustav and Max huddled in deep discussion. Their voices silenced. The items on the tray rattled as she forcefully placed it on the table.

“Have you not explained my involvement, husband? Or are there new secrets you wish to keep from me?”

Gustav came forward and kissed her brow. “Dear sister, I’m sorry. I forget you two share everything.”

“We do. And what of Teresa? Does she know where you rest your head?”

“She does.” His smile of genuine affection melted her hardness.

“Good. I assume Max told you our findings?”

“He did.”

“Did he tell you about the people we met?” She gave him time to nod before continuing. “I believe it is the lady. It would be the perfect ruse. Who would suspect a lady of means to be passing on secret messages?”

“Perhaps.”

“Gustav, you know I’m right. Those two old men could never travel and retrieve the information—“

“We don’t know that. Lyle Lamar travels to Scotland to visit his daughter on a regular basis. While there, Lyle is known to frequent similar activities as those of Joshua. I dare say the man attends at least half of the places in question. We believe if we continue to follow the clues Joshua’s left behind, we will discover the contact eventually.”

Her husband frowned. “Dear brother, have you yet to hear?”

“Hear what?” asked Gustav.

Olga’s mouth formed an “o” of shock. Maximilian proceeded. “Gustav, Joshua is dead.”

Gustav searched their faces for any conflicting thoughts between them. “B-but this can’t be! He was in France last week! He assured Jean and I that he would acquire the message upon his next visit to London. What happened?”

As Olga listened to her husband relate the story of Joshua’s, or rather Reginald Spalding’s, demise, worries beset her. Gustav shouldn’t have been surprised by the spy’s death. After all, hadn’t he been the one to send the directive to search for L.L. amongst the patrons of the private art collection?

Olga chewed on her fingernails as she fretted. Something was amiss. If her brother didn’t know of Joshua’s death, then perhaps he hadn’t sent them the message to search for L.L. That could only mean someone else had. By following the orders, had they just revealed all their leads? And if so, who had they revealed them to?





Chapter Forty




The afternoon spent in the park was both wonderful and depressing. Wonderful in the sense that their relationship grew with each passing moment, depressing in the sense no one appeared who could perhaps be the new contact.

Although most of Lucy’s attention was focused on Bryce, she also managed to scan the grassy fields for passersby wearing familiar signs. For one in particular, that of the compass.

Each special member of their Huguenot movement received a small compass that they kept on their person as identification. Normally the item was worn, sometimes as a necklace or as cuff links. It was the only sign Lucy knew to look for.

As the afternoon waxed on and Bryce gathered their things back into the basket, an uneasy feeling descended. With a turn of her neck and a swoosh of her hair, Lucy caught a man paying them an undue amount of attention.

With a smile on her face, Lucy whispered to Bryce, “Don’t look now, but we have a watcher.”

“Is it yer contact?”

“I don’t believe so. Let’s pack our stuff and head for home, and see what happens.”

For the entire trip, Lucy squeezed Bryce’s arm. Even though this made Bryce aware of her turmoil, she knew there was little he could do. Covert glances revealed the stranger still followed. Behind a corner of a building, peeking out from a carriage, everywhere they tried to hide, the man could still be seen. At one point he seemed to leave them and head down an alley. Lucy released a pent-up breath yet the relief was short-lived, as the man once again appeared only a few steps behind them.

They reached the front steps of Lucy’s home but Bryce held back. “We did close the door, didn’t we?”

“Aye,” she whispered.

Bryce led the way inside, slowly pushing the already-ajar door further open. A rush of air escaped his throat. “Lucy, I’m sorry.”

Tears slipped down her cheeks. The house had been ransacked. Portraits had been split by knives, their gilded frames broken and splintered. Papers ripped from the desk drawers littered the floor. Clothing, which had once resided in the bedrooms, now lay scattered about the room.

Bryce placed his finger across his lips and pointed along the hallway. They heard footfalls. Stepping gingerly, they walked through the house and out the back door. The horses were in the stable, hay hanging from between their teeth as they chewed. Bryce saddled the horses, grabbed the lead ropes, and led the horses through a gate that connected with Winifred and Winnie’s yard.

They eased around the neighboring house. When they reached the street, Bryce studied the area. The man who had followed them from the park stood on the house’s landing with one foot inside the door.

“What do ye think they’re doing?” whispered Bryce.

“Who knows? Perhaps they suspect I’m who they are looking for. But my best guess is they are probably looking for the message,” said Lucy as she peeked over Bryce’s shoulder.

Bryce continued to lead them away at a slow pace. Out of sight, they slung their legs up and mounted. The animals clopped away in the afternoon light. Lucy looked over her shoulder one last time. Would she ever see her home again?

****

Bryce led them away at a normal pace. Once away from Lucy’s street, Bryce found them a place to hide. He tied the horses and walked Lucy toward a huge home, which functioned as an inn for travelers. When they opened the door, a small man with a stooped back approached.

Mustering up his best English accent, Bryce spoke. “Room for Mr. and Mrs. Bard.”

“Do you have a note?”

Bryce blinked. What note?

With curiosity, he watched the elderly man walk to a nearby table. He opened a book and flipped through the pages, studying the written words intently. The elderly man’s neck moved and creaked as it lifted to look at them. “Sir, I do apologize, but I see no Bard listed. Here at the inn, if you are not in the book, then you must have a note.”

Spine erect and enacting a haughty tone, Bryce said, “Of course not. I’m here because I want a — a note.”

The man’s head twisted from side to side. “This is highly irregular. Highly irregular. This hotel has rules. And the rules require someone to vouch for you, but I must say you are in luck. There is one room available at the moment. I’ll have your bags taken to your room posthaste.”