Page 14 of The Wallflower Ruse

Lucinda dug in her reticule and passed a slip of paper to her friend. “Here it is. I have no idea what it means. It’s a verse from the Bible in Anglo-Saxon—very old English—with a few extra words inserted. I underlined the words which don’t belong; perhaps they are the message, but it doesn’t make any sense. In any event, I thought you might know to whom to give it.” She glanced at the door again. “I’m afraid Lord Restive is a traitor.”

Dorothea read the message, frowning. “I too wonder what it means.” She shook her head. “He’s not a traitor, darling. Unfortunately, I can’t say more, but—”

“If he’s not a traitor, why is he receiving secret messages? Why was he helping a fugitive—one who wouldn’t hesitate to shoot someone to protect himself?”

“The fugitive pulled a gun on you?”

“No, he was polite to me, but he would have shot his pursuers if necessary. Not that I entirely blamed him, at least about Mr. Wharton, who is vile. But as for poor Mr. Huber, our neighbor...” She was rambling. “Restive is working for our side, then? How do you know?”

Dorothea said nothing. Apparently, she wasn’t allowed to reveal...whatever it was.

“But if he’s on our side, why was a woman following me today?” Lucinda asked. “I can’t be certain, but—"

“Oh, dear,” Dorothea said. “He will be so chagrined.”

“Who? Lord Restive?”

“No, Yolanda—that’s his, or rather her name when he’s dressed as a woman. Well, possibly Restive will be chagrined, too,” Dorothea admitted. "Or perhaps just relieved. One never knows when it comes to men, does one? I think we’ll have to explain it all to you, but I’d better ask Cecil.” She went to the door and opened it.

A male voice sounded—neither Restive’s nor Cecil’s. “She eluded me.”

“She’s here,” Restive said. Lucinda followed Dorothea across the entryway to Cecil’s study, a smallish room crowded with a desk, several chairs, and a great many papers and books.

A slender young man stood by the fire. Next to him on the floor were the dove grey gown, the straw bonnet, the basket, and a blond wig. He grinned at her. “Well done, Miss Belair.”

“You make a convincing woman,” Lucinda said faintly. Heavens, it was the fugitive from Lord Restive’s house—but his face was clean, and his hair was reddish and tied back in a neat queue, rather than dark and stringy.

“And you’re unusually observant,” the fugitive said. His accent was much more cultured than the night before.

“I was on my guard,” Lucinda said.

“You even changed your appearance,” he said. “Again, well done.”

Dorothea smiled. “That explains why you were wearing a cap and shawl that didn’t go well together, Lucy. I wondered.”

“I didn’t have room to pack much clothing,” Lucinda said. “I just wanted to look different from the last time she—he—saw me.”

“Quick thinking,” the lad said. “It wouldn’t have fooled me, but leaving by a different door did, because it was so unexpected. The mews?” She nodded, and he grinned and stuck out a hand to shake hers. “Davis and/or Yolanda. Pleased to make your acquaintance again, Miss Belair.”

Dorothea handed Restive the paper. “Lucy decoded the message. Isn’t that brilliant?”

Restive narrowed his eyes at Lucinda. “It was you, just as I thought. You replaced the message with nonsense.”

She put up her chin. “Of course.”

“Was traitor to be added to my list of faults?” he growled.

“I didn’t want you to be a traitor,” she retorted. “But how could I know for sure?”

“You couldn’t.” A hint of chagrin crossed his face, and then it dawned on her: he had suspected her of being a traitor, too!

How dared he? Visions of oubliettes and torture instruments crossed her furious mind. He deserved to suffer.

And she was being ridiculous. Perhaps he felt just as badly as she did, and if he didn’t, that wasn’t her problem.

Restive glanced at the message. “Damnation, it’s in Old English again. What ails the fellow?” He read it silently, mouthing the words. How astonishing that he could read it at all—but it was a familiar passage, so it wouldn’t take much exposure to Anglo-Saxon to work it out. However, boys were taught Greek and Latin at school, not ancient versions of English.

“Another bit from the Bible,” Restive said. “Jolly wench, yes, no huge surprise and what a bore. Moonrise on Beltane Eve is clear enough. Something will happen in the evening, latish, but before midnight.”