The candlelight had caught the tension in his features—tension he had tried to hide.
“You will,” he had murmured, “if Singleton keeps slipping through the net.”
Singleton.
A man Charles had respected once… before evidence began to mount, too damning to ignore. A man who had used coastal channels Elise herself had walked, turning them into conduits for stolen munitions.
Singleton had gone down. Then had Charles’ ship.
The Crown had announced the matter concluded, but Blake had survived the wreck—barely.
She read the message again, slowly, as if it would say something different if she read it enough.
Her mind supplied unwelcome questions: Did this someone know the cipher belonged to Charles? Did they know Blake had lived? Did they know Elise knew it?
Outside, the wind screamed around the chimney. The walls shuddered. Somewhere downstairs, a shutter tore free and banged like a pistol shot, causing Elise to startle violently.
Her breath became ragged for a moment before she forced it to calm.
She tucked the note back into its hiding place, covered the box again, and paced the length of her room, skirts whispering in the candlelit dark.
There was another thought—one she disliked even admitting to herself. Mr. Leigh.
If someone was using the cipher… was it him?
His presence lingered in her mind. He had appeared the very day Blake whispered his warning. He had spoken Singleton’s name with familiarity. He had known Charles at school.
She halted by the window, gripping the sill.
“No,” she whispered. “It would be too much of a coincidence.”
Nevertheless, fear already prowled the edges of her thoughts, as restless as the gale.
A soft rap sounded at her door. “Elise?” came Jane’s voice, muffled by the storm.
Elise opened it. Jane slipped inside, her cheeks flushed from wind and exertion. “The shutters are holding. Cook has moved the kitchen girls into the pantry because the chimney is sounding as though it means to fly away entirely.”
Elise managed a faint smile. “Thank you. Is all of downstairs secured?”
“Yes…” Jane hesitated. “… but I came up because—you ought to see this.”
Elise followed her to the corridor window. At first she saw nothing but darkness, rain, and wind-tortured branches. Then lightning ripped open the sky. For an instant—as brief as a heartbeat—she saw the entire slope toward the Admiral’s cottage. The garden wall was half gone, and a tree lay across the path leading to the cottage’s front door, also blocking the path down to the town.
Jane caught her arm. “Hopefully it was only that tree.”
Elise’s breath caught. The Admiral. He was half lost to memory even on the best of days.
“What if his fire has gone out?” Elise whispered. “What if the chimney is blocked? What if the cottage?—”
“He has weathered worse storms than this,” Jane said gently.
Yet Elise saw the worry in her friend’s eyes.
A violent gust shook the entire hall. Something outside cracked—loudly.
Elise flinched. “If the tree has destroyed the roof—or worse?—”
“We cannot help him tonight,” Jane reminded her. “Nor can anyone. No man could stand steady on that cliff road now. Not even a sailor.”
