The code had been Charles’s—ingenious, layered, impossible to break without the key.
Only Elise and Blake knew it.
Charles had taught Elise ‘to recognize danger’, as he had said with a troubled smile.
‘Someone is asking questions.’ could only mean one thing.
The wind struck the roof hard enough to groan through every beam. Elise flinched.
“Go. Before the storm pulls you into the sea,” he gasped.
She had obeyed.
Now, back at Belair House with the girls’ voices warming the hall and Cook’s bustle a faint comfort, the folded warning burned at her through her pocket.
When thunder cracked, several younger girls shrieked. Elise steadied them with calm efficiency—hands gentle, voice soothing—though her heart beat too fast. She guided them up the stairs, room by room, tucking in blankets, smoothing pillows, offering reassurance she did not feel.
Once the last was settled, Elise slipped away into her chamber, shut the door, and let her hand tremble at last.
The storm howled around the gables like a wounded beast.
Only then did she open Blake’s note.
Someone is using the cipher.
Elise’s breath left her.“How can this be possible?” she whispered. No one else knew about it—and what an infuriating lack of information!
Her thoughts spun.
If someone knew the cipher, they must know Charles had not worked alone. Did they know Blake had survived? Did they know she knew it? She pressed her hand to her mouth. Then, inevitably, her thoughts turned to the newest arrival in town.
Mr. Leigh, who had arrived the day before Blake’s warning.
Mr. Leigh, who walked with the quiet certainty of a military man.
Mr. Leigh, who had known Charles—and Singleton—at school.
Her stomach knotted. She had read the reports when Charles still lived. She had known Singleton was suspected of betrayal—of selling British arms into foreign hands, jeopardizing British soldiers, trading principles for coin. Charles had hunted Singleton relentlessly, and yet the man, Mr. Leigh, had spoken Singleton’s name with a casual air.
Was his presence here a coincidence? Had he been one of Singleton’s men?
The shutters banged with furious insistence, shaking the window-pane. Jane’s quick step hurried down the corridor.
“Elise?” she called. “The south gate is gone—and a branch has come down against the garden wall! We must secure the shutters before the next gust takes the windows right out.”
Elise folded Blake’s note with shaking hands and slid it behind the lining of her jewellery box—safer than any drawer.
“I will be there in a moment.”
She stepped into the corridor, gathering her skirts as the storm hammered against the house once more.
But even as she joined Jane at the window, bracing it shut against the howling wind, one thought kept returning, as relentless as the sea: If someone was using the cipher… how long until they discovered she knew of it?
The thought dragged its cold fingers down her spine, but there was no time to dwell on it now.
Wind struck the house with renewed force, rattling shutters in their frames like bones clattering in the dark. Jane gripped the edge of the window-shutter with both hands while Elise leaned her weight against it. The storm’s fury redoubled, as if offended by their interference.
“Pull!” Jane cried.
