“I do.”
“Go on in then, he’s waiting.” The man turned to Willow. “You too, young lady.”
“But I…” she blinked.
“He wants to see you both.”
“Very well, sir. Come, Willow.” Harry nodded at her, his face calm.
She wished she was as calm as he appeared to be, because her insides were tumbling over themselves.
But she dipped her head in acknowledgement, dredged up a smile for the gentlemen looking at them, and went to his side.
“This way,” Harry walked them both through the open door, and Willow heard it shut behind them.
A pleasant room, she thought, as her feet sank into rich carpeting. Very much a man’s surroundings, with a fire burning and large leather chairs on either side of it. Opposite was a desk. The biggest desk Willow had ever seen, covered with books and papers.
Behind it sat a gentleman, with another man standing beside him, reading something.
“Ah, Chalmers.” The seated man rose. “And a charming guest as well, I hear.”
“Were it not for her, Sir Sydney, I would not be here.”
Willow’s mind screeched to a halt. Sir Sydney. Could it be Sir Sydney Hadley, the man alleged to be behind the largest spy network England had ever seen? The man who had an extraordinary gift for codes and cyphers?
“In that case,” he said, smiling at Willow, “I, and in fact, all of England, are in your debt, Ma’am.” He turned back to Harry. “You have it?”
She couldn’t miss the focus and intensity of that question, and neither could Harry.
“I do, Sir. A moment please.” He crossed the room to one of the chairs, seated himself, and then—to her astonishment—leaned down and removed the heel of his boot. Apparently, it was hollow, because he extracted a curl of paper, and then slipped the heel back into place.
“Here sir. Still in one piece.”
Sir Sydney accepted it with a nod, and walked back to his chair, seating himself and unfurling the paper, spreading it carefully on the desk. Then he pulled two other sheets and a pen near, and silence fell, broken only by the scratch of his writing as he worked.
Willow felt as if the entire room was holding its breath. What was going on? What was on that piece of paper Harry had stuck in his heel? She’d never noticed anything like that when he was sick, and she’d removed his clothes. But then again, getting him well had been her first objective, not looking for mysterious hiding places in his boots.
After what seemed like an hour, but was probably only a few minutes, Sir Sydney leaned back in his chair. Then he looked at Harry, and a smile creased his lips. “It worked. It’s done.”
Harry’s chest rose and fell as he took a deep breath and released it on a sigh. “Thank God.”
“Take these, Edgar. Make sure it gets where it needs to be.”
The other man bowed, accepted the papers, and left the room.
“Well now,” Sir Sydney leaned back and looked at Willow. “This must have been quite confusing for you, my dear. But please know that there are many in your debt for keeping this rascal alive.”
“I…” she swallowed. “I’m not sure what to say, sir. I’m very happy I was able to help Harry with…um…whatever it is he does. And I’m glad it all worked out for the best.”
“As am I, sir,” added Harry. “It could have failed dismally though, were it not for Willow and some good luck.” He walked to her side. “We are both curious as to who could have delayed our passage here. I could have arrived much earlier if our carriage hadn’t been stolen.”
“Yes, I just heard about that,” frowned Sir Sydney. “You have no idea who might have been behind it?”
“Well, hardly anyone knew we planned on leaving when we did.” Harry’s voice was level, but she could hear an undercurrent of anger. “And neither Willow nor I can think of someone who would be interested in us or know exactly where and how we were travelling. Except for one person…”
He glanced at Willow, and she nodded. “Sir Sydney,” she said quietly, “the one person who knew our plans, who in fact facilitated them, was…”
Before she could finish, a door opened at the other end of the room, and someone walked in. Both Willow and Harry gasped.
