Falcon eyed Phoebe marked intelligence in her eyes. “This wasn’t the only reason you wanted to meet, was it?” Falcon said.
CHAPTER 23
Phoebe sat forward, her adrenaline surging as she squared her shoulders and confidently gazed at Falcon, who knew her only too well. An opportunity had just presented itself, and she would grab it.
“No, it isn’t. TheDaily Courantreports Bolingbroke’s first and second lieutenant generals, Hughes Cope and Walter Hawley, are moving north to Scotland. It’s highly likely one or both will show up at Glenfinnan and other parts of the Highlands to conduct illegal raids on former rebels,” Phoebe said.
Phoebe cleared her throat, then sat back against her chair, her relaxed countenance deceptive. “I, myself, was thinking to return home to the Highlands to warn Glenfinnan of the raid and my father of the English move to break the power of the Scottish Landowners. And keep an eye on Hughes Cope and Walter Hawley,” Phoebe said.
Falcon’s lips stretched into a pleased smile. “You have the Movement’s full support, financial and otherwise, to thwart both their plans.” Falcon then leaned further forward in her chair, regarding Phoebe with a sharp pointed look. “But be prepared. We don’t always get what we want, my dear. If you ever losecontrol of any situation. What matters is how you move forward. You must?—”
“—remain calm, stay focused on my purpose and continue with the available resources,” Phoebe finished; her lips lifted in memory of another one of Falcon’s mantras.
Falcon gave a low chuckle, and her expression softened. “You are correct, of course. I think my dear Albert would have liked you as much as I do.”
Phoebe absently smiled at Falcon’s comment about her late husband. But her mind lingered on the wordsif you ever lose control.Was there any guarantee one would never lose control? A cold and gnawing tremor snaked through her body.
Phoebe inhaled a cleansing breath, forcing herself to keep up with the conversation. “I would have liked to have met your husband,” Phoebe said.
As a sexagenarian, the elegant and shrewd Lady Naveau had not been quelled by age, nor had she become settled in the security of all she’d accomplished. Winifred Meaux, Dowager Countess of Naveau, matriarch of the Meaux family, spymaster for the Movement’s south region, code name Falcon, was as disabused, disgusted, and enraged as Phoebe was with the brutalities committed by the English. Falcon blamed their band of bloodthirsty redcoats for her husband’s death during the illegal raid of an Edinburgh shipyard. Notdeathbut murder, she’d said.
After Falcon had told Phoebe her story two years ago, during a stroll in a private garden soiree being hosted by Aunt Penelope, Phoebe had revealed her own story. Her soul had been shattered in 1740 when a redcoat named Faye Ross had hurt her. Her dignity and body stained, her peace of mind gone, her virtue tarnished, and control taken away. Control over how she dressed, who she interacted with and where she went. It wasthen that Falcon explained what she did for the Movement and asked Phoebe if she wanted to fight back.
Phoebe had said yes. And the Movement had trained her to fight with various weaponry, to lie, to protect herself, and how to escape and evade capture. Learning about spy craft had been the most entertaining.
Falcon’s sharp eyes now scrutinized Phoebe. “I assume you feel safe with Slade MacLean, and you trust him, or you would not have turned to him for protection.”
“Egan trusts Slade unreservedly. And my gut tells me I can trust him as well,” Phoebe said, then explained that Lucia and her maid were staying with them at the lodge.
Falcon considered her for a breath then smiled in a reassuring way. “Well, the important thing is you are safe, my dear.”
At the winding down of their discussion, Falcon rang for supper, after which Phoebe was escorted by Blue Jay to a comfortable and private bedchamber at the back of the suites. It took Phoebe hours to fall asleep, because thoughts of her mission were intruded upon by Slade and Swindlehurst.
The next morning, after Phoebe awoke and completed her toilette, she exited her chamber. She found Falcon in resplendent form, reading theDaily Courant, the musky-sweet scent of exotic tea filling the dining room of her suite.
Falcon glanced up from her gossip column. “Sit and have some breakfast. The tea is excellent, fresh from the Orient, recently arrived on one of our ships. The Orientals not only can teach us about teas but about the wonderful art of silent warfare.”
Phoebe smiled at Falcon’s conspiratorial grin and raised right brow, recalling her own introduction to blow darts during her training and their origin. She served herself from the sideboard, then sat down across from Falcon.
Falcon motioned towards a headline in the gossip column then handed it to Phoebe. “You might find this of interest.”
Phoebe took the gossip column and eying the article titledFormer maid of Camberley Manor accuses General Sir Henry Bolingbroke, Baronet, of unsolicited attentions, she read on.A former maid of the Bolingbrokes claims she was forced into intimacies with the general leading to her pregnancy out of wedlock.Phoebe’s breath quickened as she took note of the article’s source.Harbert and Company, Private Inquiry Agents.
She supposed Harbert and Company had countless clients, but the fact that Slade MacLean was one of them seemed a bit too coincidental.
Phoebe leaned back in her chair, disbelief gurgling in her belly. “I don’t doubt for a minute Bolingbroke coerced his maid, but someone must have taken great care to ensure this story reached the gossip columns. It’s a bit unusual.”
“I agree. This article does good work of tainting Bolingbroke’s character and reputation,” Falcon said.
After a few minutes of contemplative silence, Falcon raised her chin. “While you are in the Highlands, you must make the acquaintance of Donald Lochiel, spymaster of the north region at the Movement, code name Bullfinch. Lochiel or one of his agents will provide you with any resources you might need.”
“Where might I find him?” Phoebe asked. Donald Lochiel was one of the seven men of Moidart, closest advisors to Prince Charles Edward Stuart himself. He was a well-known Jacobite and a hero in the Movement but was currently being hunted by the English.
“He’s gone underground. But you can make contact on the isle of Beinn na Faoghla. He’ll emerge if it’s safe for him to do so. If not, he’ll send someone. Lochiel is a wily one. He keeps the names of those who work for him secret, even from me, claimingit’s for their safety. So keep your wits about you when dealing with him or his agents.”
CHAPTER 24
Slade pushed up through the chilly water and waded out of the lake. The pebbles and stones pricked his feet as he padded towards the cluster of small boulders where he’d left his possessions. The morning was brisk, despite the sharp flaxen sun. Droplets of water sluiced down his naked body, raising gooseflesh on his skin. He grabbed the linen, toweled himself dry, donned his clothes and boots and strapped the trident dagger to the belt at his waist. The weather was becoming too cold to swim outside, but he still preferred it to using a tub in his chamber.
