Beyond a Doubt

chapter Eighteen




The arduous journey across the Scottish lowlands began in earnest the following morning. No sooner had the sun peeked over the hills than they mounted their horses and set off. The days flew by. Too many passed. Would her arrival come too late?

Lucy’s bottom swayed on the horse. Saddlesore and weary, she couldn’t wait for the day to end. Each morning it was harder and harder to climb back on the beast. How she longed for a covered carriage with its soft, plush seats. To have a coachman wield the reins and guide the horses in the desired direction, allowing her to ride in royal style.

Closing her eyes, she could almost envision London. Horses’ hooves echoed upon the cobbled streets. Townhouses with doors open welcomed visitors. Father at home to greet her with a smile plastered upon his face, the maids curtseying and attending to her every need. Her home filled with people telling stories and laughing loudly. One room filled with smoke, another reeking with perfume.

Sorrow washed over her as she realized these memories were passing fantasy. At one time this had been her life, but no more. Father’s extra activities had changed everything. Now nothing waited for her. All was lost.

****

“Sir, sir, Gustav has sent word.”

Jean examined the letter before him. The wax seal was secure. With pains, Jean opened the missive and broke the seal. Spectacles rested upon the tip of his nose as he read.

Dearest friend,

There is no word from London as of yet. The container proved a dead end. The process of finding our mutual acquaintance is underway. Send any word you have. G.

Jean removed his spectacles, leaned back in the leather chair, and propped his legs upon the wooden desk. With his hands cupped behind his head, he proceeded to think.

In his mind he summarized the clear message behind the words. Charles was a dead end and their only hope rested in L.L. Now Gustav sought information on the agent’s identity.

What could Jean tell Gustav that he didn’t already know? The answer was simple: nothing. No one knew L.L.’s identity.

Some theorized L.L. was a woman of means, but the idea had been rejected by virtue of its ludicrous nature.

Another rumor held that the agent was a servant in an influential household with access to private information. Yet another idea held that L.L. was an elderly gentleman, perhaps an older man who frequented circles beneficial to their cause.

Rumors regarding L.L.’s identity amounted to naught. The agent had never been seen in person. The agent never met his contact in the same place twice. Nor did the means of leaving his message ever match with the one before.

One message found its way into a bottle and bobbed along until discovered by a passing contact. Another time the agent embedded a small scrap of paper inside a hat destined for his contact. L.L encoded a message in a handbill for men’s footwear. By pure happenstance the agent’s contact saw his name spelled oddly with the lettering and thus took time to decode the message within.

Scratching his brow, Jean realized that not even L.L.’s contact knew the agent’s identity. Indeed, the thought of finding the agent would be like finding a needle in a haystack.

Gustav would have to find another way. Perhaps finding Joshua, the agent’s current contact, would help.

Parchment and quill in his hand, Jean struggled with the words to write. The Admiral wouldn’t cancel his speech without proof his life was in danger. L.L. was the only one they knew of who could acquire such proof. If L.L. didn’t show up, what would they do?