“You shouldn’t have any wear on you at all,” he grumbled.
Phoebe would have commented, but he turned and headed down the hall. “Well,” she bestowed a smile upon the remaining staff, “I shall begin with a bath. Will you have one prepared for me in my room, Mrs. Harkin?”
“Molly,” the housekeeper shot the girl a stern look, “there's water on the fire. Take it up and begin another pot—but for goodness sake, pick up these linens first.”
The girl quickly gathered the linens, then scampered off to do her mistress’ bidding.
“Thank you, Mrs. Harkin.” Phoebe turned to leave, then stopped. “Gaylon, are any messages for me?”
“A package came for you,” he replied. “It's in your bedchambers.”
“From whom?”
“There was no return address on the envelope.”
Phoebe nodded. “It would seem all has been quiet.”
“There was that message from the Duke of Ashlund,” Mrs. Harkin commented.
Phoebe jerked her head in the housekeeper's direction. “Message?”
“The letter was for your uncle, Miss,” Gaylon said.
“Where is this message?”
“The messenger insisted on delivering it personally. I gave him your uncle’s direction in Carlisle.”
Phoebe swallowed. “When did this message arrive?”
“Yesterday morning.”
“I see,” Phoebe mumbled. “Nothing else, then?”
“No, Miss. Hardly seems anything else was needed."
Phoebe’s stomach flipped. He was right. Not a blessed thing more was needed.
Phoebe dropped her shoulders and allowed her dress to slide onto the carpet beside the tub in her bedchamber. She stared at this last piece of Highland garb she had worn. Could she shed the memories of that place and time as easily as she had the dress? She thought of David MacEwen and his people and knew she would never forget the innkeeper's derision, or the confusion on the children’s faces. Just as she would never forget Kiernan MacGregor; the flash of his smile when he appeared in her coach doorway, the smell of sandalwood, and the steel of his arms around her.
By now, Alistair would have shared with Lord Briarden the information concerning the assassination attempt against the duchess, which she sent when the duke allowed her to send a letter to her uncle. What might Alistair have already uncovered in his investigation into the marquess' affairs? Phoebe was suddenly very tired, more tired than she could remember being since her mother's death. She picked up the dress and tossed it onto the chair left of the fireplace. A fire crackled in the hearth as she stepped into the tub and sank chin deep into the blessed water. The door opened and Molly entered.
The maid crossed the room to the chair and gathered up the dress. “Do you need anything else, Miss?”
“That will do for now,” Phoebe answered.
“You’ll want this.” Molly placed a package on the table beside the tub.
“The package Gaylon mentioned?”
“Yes, Miss.”
“Thank you, Molly,” Phoebe said.
A moment later, the door clicked softly shut. Phoebe thought about opening the package, then closed her eyes.
The chime of the grandmother clock brought Phoebe bolt upright in the tub. She blinked the room into focus before realizing she was in her own chambers in Shyerton Hall. She shivered. The water had grown cold. She glanced at the grandmother clock in the corner. Eleven o’clock. An hour had passed. She rose from the tub. Goosebumps raced across her arms when the chilled flesh collided with the warm air of the room.
Phoebe grabbed the towel from the table beside the tub, knocking the package Molly had left there to the floor. She picked it up and her gaze caught on the London postmark before she tossed it onto the bed. She began drying herself. As Gaylon had said, no return address. Phoebe grabbed the robe Molly had laid out and picked up the package as she stuffed an arm into one of the sleeves. She tore open the package and slid the other arm into the remaining sleeve, then pulled out several documents folded around four letter-sized envelopes. When she unfolded the documents she startled upon seeing the date at the top of the first page.
April 26, 1820
April 1820 was two months after her father disappeared and the month he sent the letter to her mother. Phoebe lowered herself onto the mattress as she began reading.
In early February of this year word reached me, John Stafford, chief clerk at Bow Street, and head of the Bow Street officers, that Arthur Thistlewood, leader of the radical Spencean Philanthropists Society, planned on February 15 to assassinate the king's ministers…
…So I was surprised when Lord Mallory dispatched another spy from the Solicitor General's office, Mason Wallington, Viscount Albery.