Soon he would be free.
The next morning found him leaving his sweet wife abed with a gentle kiss to her forehead. When faced with her disappointed sigh, he reminded himself why he was doing this.
These counterfeiters were undermining the economy, threatening the newly restored monarchy. He owed this to his country; he’d made promises to his king.
If a tinge of unease stayed lodged in his gut, he was determined to ignore it.
An hour later, he arrived at Garrick’s estate to find Pendregast waiting along the road, he and his horse hidden behind a hedge that concealed them from the mansion.
“What gives?” Trick asked, reining in Chaucer. “Why aren’t you inside?”
“We cannot just walk in and make an arrest. We need some damning evidence first. Have you any ideas how to gain entry?”
“We might try knocking on the door.” Trick peeked through the hedge. “Is Garrick in on this or not? How many men has Charles roped into this operation?”
“Just we two. Garrick is the suspect.”
“John Garrick? A counterfeiter?” When Trick jerked upright at the thought, Chaucer danced beneath him. “Are you certain?”
“Not entirely. He could be just another link in the chain. But that description you gave me that sounded familiar? I asked around, found the man, and followed him for two-and-a-half days, until finally he led me here. Was in and out in five minutes. Then I hid for a while, and another man arrived. Didn’t match any of your notes, but he was in and out in five minutes, too.”
“So if Garrick isn’t doing it himself…”
“I’m assuming he’s involved in the distribution at the very least. But we need proof.”
Trick’s mind reeled, remembering Garrick’s preachiness, his edginess, the way he always seemed to be snooping around. A closet Parliamentarian?
Damn. It could very well be. Trick should have known better than to move into an area and start blindly socializing with the neighbors. He could have brought Garrick and the others to the cottage someday. They could have seen his props.
Damn.
“We need an excuse to get in,” Pendregast said. “He has too many servants to simply wait until he leaves. People are always around.”
“I can gain us entry. I know him. And he owes me a meal.”
“Pardon?”
Trick patted his stomach. “Breakfast.”
Seventy-One
“MRS. KENDRA?Were you not going to tell us about Clytie?”
With a sigh, Kendra flipped the page in the wonderful book of lesser-known myths she’d discovered in Amberley’s double-leveled library. At least she’d thought it was wonderful last month when she found it. Today, reading from it, it didn’t seem so wonderful at all.
Once she’d thought that attaining her dream, the orphanage, would be enough. But she’d been wrong. Working with the children was fulfilling, but it didn’t mend the hole in her heart that had opened when Trick left her this morning.
Dragging her attention back to the children, she smiled at their rapt expressions.
“Clytie loved the Sun God—”
“Apollo?” Andrew asked.
“Excellent memory,” she said, trying not to sound annoyed at the interruption. Every little thing seemed to annoy her these past few days. “But for this story we think of him as the Sun God. You see, he found nothing to love in Clytie, and so she pined away, sitting on the ground out-of-doors where she could watch him. And she would turn her face, following him with her eyes as he journeyed over the sky. And so gazing, she found herself changed into the sunflower, which ever turns towards the sun.”
“Did he ever love her?” a chestnut-haired girl asked.
Kendra met her big brown eyes. “I’m afraid not.” She sighed. “Clytie loved him with all her heart, but he could never return her feelings.”
