“Late night?”
I suddenly wanted to tell the truth. A truth I hadn’t even told William, the weight of which made me feel sick to my stomach. What would he think of me if he knew where I’d come from and the kind of people I’d been born to? Would he understand? Would he stick around to hear how I’d been against them and their ideals, as had my aunt, who’d been working against them right under their noses for years? Or would he find me disgusting and no better than them, merely for being their daughter?
And what would he think when I told him I’d left my little sister behind, and had assumed, in a strange twist of fate, that she had been killed just as my parents had been made to believe I’d been killed.
I couldn’t tell William. And I most certainly couldn’t tell Theodore.
I shook my head. “No. Just another early morning.”
He yawned then and I laughed and pointed to the deck of cards poking out of his chest pocket. He nodded, pulled them from their box, and started shuffling.
21
The next dayI stood outside the Hare and Hound Hotel. It was one William and I had nearly stayed at the first time we’d decided to spend a night together. But then we’d seen the Rose Cottage, with its sprawling garden and picturesque countryside views and we’d chosen that one instead.
“Excuse me,” I said to the gentleman at the counter. “I’d like to leave a message for someone staying with you.”
“Of course, miss,” he said and shifted some things on his side of the counter before proffering a piece of paper and an envelope. “Feel free to have a seat in the lobby if you need.”
“Thank you,” I said, taking the items and turning toward the lobby where a single man in a hat sat in a chair near the fireplace, a book open in his lap, a cup of tea on the table beside him.
He looked up and smiled as I sat in a nearby chair.
“Miss Campbell?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.
“Yes?” I said, my own gaze taking in his plain face...the sandy-colored hair beneath his hat. “Oh. You’re—”
“Lee Baker,” he said. “You can call me Lee.”
“How—” I looked to the gentleman at the counter, but he was busying himself dusting the shelves behind him. “How did you know it was me?”
“I’ve seen your picture. Also, you look a lot like Victoria. It would be hard not to figure it out.”
I smiled. He wasn’t wrong. We were often mistaken for mother and daughter.
“My aunt said you have a package for me?” I said, getting up and moving to the chair nearest him.
“Indeed I do. Can I interest you in some lunch? We can discuss the contents of the package I’ve brought while we eat if you have time.”
“Of course.”
“I found a lovely restaurant just down the street a ways that does a half-decent sandwich. Will that do?”
“Lead the way.”
As we walked, he talked, reminding me a lot of my uncle. He was informed on a variety of subjects, deftly moving from one to the next. He asked questions and listened intently to the answers. And there was a warmness to him that contradicted what I could only describe as a wall. My uncle Frank had the same wall. I’d mentioned it once to Aunt Vic and she’d laughed and nodded.
“It’s part of what drew me to your uncle,” she’d said. “He was so mysterious. And handsome, of course. Friendly, kind, attentive, intelligent...but there was a space between us I could never quite get past. Eventually, I stopped trying. I knew he loved me and assumed it was only because of his job that he was the way he was.”
I’d often wondered if that was the truth, but had never asked. I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk now, my head tilted as I looked up at Lee with curiosity.
“Is it because of your job that, while you are friendly and talkative, you also seem far away?”
He chuckled. “You’re observant like your aunt, I see,” he said and nodded. “And to answer your question, yes. We are trained well in a variety of things and encouraged to keep up on events of the world, no matter how big or small. We’re well-read, are good cooks, great drivers, enjoy a good whiskey or bottle of wine, and can ride horses with the best of them... All so that we always have something to discuss and never succumb to awkward silences that might get us questioned. But at the same time, we have to observe. The expression on someone’s face, their body language, the telltale signs of a weapon hidden beneath clothing...”
“Well, that explains how my uncle knew I was hiding an extra cookie in my pajamas when I was eighteen, and how he knows how to make such a great mutton chop and lemon chiffon pie.”
Lee laughed. “Exactly.”
