Or perhaps... She darted a glance to her side. Had the man by those chestnut trees been looking in her direction, only to suddenly turn away?
Nonsense. But she quickened her step and took the less popular fork in the path, assuming he would continue straight down the way, and she would know that she was being foolish.
But instead, she saw him again a short time later. He was still behind her and closer to her than he had been. When the same thing happened at the next turning, she admitted the truth: The man was following her.
He was of average height, slender and dark, with a gold hoop in one ear, and determined smile upon his lips. It was the Gypsy that Marc had warned her about, making no effort to hide himself from her, stalking her like a fox might stalk a hare as she walked amongst the trees.
What had Marc expected from this man? She was not sure, but she hoped he was not a mortal threat. The turn had been a mistake, for the way she had chosen was not well travelled. Without thinking, she had wandered farther away from help, should she need to call for it. She glanced around her, looking for anyone who might offer assistance, should the man try to take her purse or physically accost her. But the path was empty.
The Gypsy must have guessed her thoughts. He smiled at her, teeth startlingly white, hands held at his sides, palms open and facing her as though to show he meant no harm. 'Miss Price?'
She turned to face him. 'How do you know me?'
'Suffice it to say, I do know you. And I mean you no harm.'
'I have been warned about you. By Lord Stanegate.'
'What I have to say to you has nothing to do with Marcus Carlow or his family. It concerns you alone.'
She felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. She could think of several reasons why a stranger might want to talk specifically to her, and she liked none of them. 'Why should I believe anything you might say to me?'
He laughed. 'It does not really matter to me, either way. If it makes you feel more at ease, I will not approach closer. If you do not gaze at me, no one need know that we are even speaking, should they view us from a distance. I have some information for you. Nothing more than that.'
'Then give it and be gone.'
'There is a man, come recently into your life. He is not as he appears. Do not trust him.'
'You are the man come most recently into my life, sir. At your own advice, I had best not remain here.' She made as if to go, but the route home would take her closer to the Gypsy, if only to pass him.
Realizing her dilemma, he stepped off the path to give her room. 'Very well, then. But I came to you because we have a common enemy. Did your father ever tell you of Mr Wardale?'
She swallowed her shock at hearing the name, and said nothing. But her steps slowed to hear what he might say.
'You are right that you have no reason to listen, even if I tell the truth. But if you pay an unexpected visit to your old home, everything will be clear to you.' He turned and walked away into the trees, leaving the path clear for her.
She went slowly, one foot in front of the other, knowing that when she left the park, she would hail a cab for Hans Place and do as the Gypsy suggested. She did not know what she would do if she found Nathan Wardale in residence there. But she had to know--one way or the other--if the man was alive.
And as to the Gypsy's warning about a man come recently into her life?
A possibility occurred to her that was too horrible to contemplate.
Nate sat at the desk in his study, chewing on his lip and absently rearranging the items listed on the paper before him. Although he should not tarry over the execution of the duties, there was no reason that he shouldn't tackle them in an efficient order. And much as he might like to go haring after Robert Veryan's mysterious cipher, it was ranked at the bottom.
The important thing was that he take action. Any kind of action at all. He would not spend another day sitting at this desk, drawing pictures, sketching on the blotter as his life passed away. After years of hiding and remorse, it would feel good to be doing something. He could almost feel his mind stretching for the possibilities, as though waking from a long sleep. He had lain down as Nate Dale. But he would arise as Nathan Wardale. And a glorious morning it would be.
Should he go to the Admiralty first? It would ease his mind considerably to know that he need not fear arrest, nor was he likely to find himself locked in some hold and on his way back to America.
Once he was safe from the Navy, he would place an advertisement in the Times, seeking information on Rosalind, Helena and their mother.
And on the very next Tuesday...