A few years back, Elred mentioned about a firestarter from Andor that can dispel the darkness in the blackest of nights that even the stars abandoned. It had a very high value, but was not freely sold. Rumor had it that the manufacture and distribution of the item was monopolized by Andor. Therefore, if their little group could manage to come across one, they should consider its value and spare not a moment in acquiring it.
Ysabel couldn’t believe how stupid she was walking away from such an opportunity. Perhaps there were others of the same kind hidden in one of the men’s packs. She could almost hear Gyles growling in her ear and Cilia exhaling exasperated sighs while Symond argued to her defense, except that she could never hear any of it ever again. Their voices were ghosts haunting her memory. She would mourn them, but not yet that night for she needed to live long enough to mourn her friends.
The stolen package was heavy, but the burden added a much needed warmth to her back. She slowed down to a jog when she realized that nobody was pursuing her. They might be busy tending to their injured brother. It was something she was thankful of, something she could not afford to feel sorry for. It was his misfortune that made way for her to escape anyway.
Hours might have passed by, or perhaps it was just mere minutes. The woman lost count of time in her search for a cave or even a big boulder that would shield her from the wind and its icy wrath until finally she found a hollowed space on the mountainside. It was in that space where, some time later, a small fire from the pitiful dried twigs that was tied to the package she stole crackled in front of Ysabel’s sleeping form. The shelter she found was not wide enough to accommodate her lying down. Therefore, after she filled her stomach with the food she was lucky to have been in her loot, she fell asleep with her back to the cold rock facing the direction where she came from. Her sword lay down beside her, but she doubted if she could react fast enough if anything came up. She was exhausted, and her body constantly trying to mend itself, was not helping her conserve her strength.
True enough, Ysabel did not wake up until a booted foot was nudging her leg. Even then, she failed to react as one should when traveling alone on the open. Instead, she stared at the black boot then up to the man who owned it. The sky was still tainted with red though darker than it had been when the Winter’s Children unleashed the flare. The effects were wearing off, she thought. Then her eyes turned its attention to the man looming over her. His face was hidden beneath the shadow of the hood of his thick black cloak, but the blade of his sword reflected the crimson night. Her eyes traced the line from the hilt to its point poised at her chest.
Her hand instinctively fell to where she left her sword only to find that it was not where she thought it was.
“I took care of it,” said the man. One of Cannor’s orphans, judging by his accent and the similarity of his clothing to the men she ran away from. Behind him was another one. He was kneeling on the ground rummaging through the pack she stole from another orphan.
“Ask here where she found this.”
The man standing over her jerked his chin briefly to his brother. “You heard the question. Where did you find it?”
Ysabel stared up at him. “I can show you the way,” was the answer she said. “You are looking for your lost brothers, I know where they are.” She allowed a small smile as she looked up at the waning light.
The man was silent. Behind him, the other one got to his feet, and slung the bag over his shoulder. “We have men patrolling the pass, Olivere,” he informed.
Ysabel nodded. “Five of them,” she supplied if only to convince Olivere that she did meet the men they were talking about. “Four of them are still alive. One is gravely injured and if you don’t hurry there will only be three left.”
“You will get up and show us the way,” he instructed lowering the point of his sword. The man standing behind him started to move. She followed his movement to where two horses waited. “Derrin, take her sword and meet with the rest of the riding party. Tell them we have found somebody to guide us. Get up, woman.” She didn’t want to, but he had no intention of allowing her to refuse so she did as told and followed him to his horse. Her plan to reach Andor without notice was already compromised.
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No worries. Real life comes first, of course. :) Do your best and good luck with your test!
Nicholas was almost surprised at how relieved he felt when the two gentlemen failed to make an argument as Claire asked them to leave. He found himself staring at his wife when she slipped her gloved hand from his and got up to the door, showing the officers the way out of the room.
“Excuse me gentlemen, I would like to be with my husband now. Our doorman will show you the way out. I do hope you find something, for my friend’s sake,” she said.
Detective Morse and his escort both turned to Nick, as if silently asking him to contain his wife. Nick, in turn, twisted in his seat to look at Claire who was imperiously holding out the door for their two visitors. She did give them answers and there seemed no more reason for the two to stay. Besides, he was having a headache and he didn’t really feel like dealing with the government if he could do something about it so he shrugged and let Claire shoo their guests.
Having nothing else to ask or do about the situation, Detective Morse declared, ”Thank you for being so cooperative, Mr. and Mrs. Rochford. I will be back if we have anything else to ask, anything you could help with.”
Nick and his father got to their feet and shook hands with the officers. “We will be glad to be of your assistance, Detective Morse, Sergeant Browning,” he said.
Mr. Bennett added, “Please feel free to let us know how we can help solve this case.”
After a few minutes, Nick leaned against a window pane overlooking the driveway where the carriage of the officers had just driven by. He let the curtain fall and turned to the remaining occupants of the room. His father still occupied his winged chair, sipping on his cup of tea while Claire stood holding her hands together. “Shall I order us something to eat? My lands, what time is it…Perhaps we should wait to see Lucy. I…I just want to stay home.”
“It is a rather pleasing weather outside, don’t you think? I suggest we go have a picnic,” Nick offered, crossing the room back to the sofa where the couple sat earlier. Although, based from experience, the brightness of the sun and the sound of hooves against the road would not do any good to his headache, he would rather be outside breathing fresh air than cooped inside their house. Besides, it would do them good to be as far away as possible to the house. He turned to his father, who nodded ever so slightly.
”I just want to be with you,” Claire added, seemingly oblivious of the brief exchange that happened between father and son. Nick smiled and, in front of his father, closed his eyes and rested his head on his wife’s shoulder.
“As do I,” he murmured. “But I’ve been confined inside this place for two days. Another day without the sun will drive me mad.”
Mr. Bennett cleared his throat. “Surely my presence is not anymore required,” he announced. “I shall go back to the townhouse and deal with business, Nicholas. Should you need my assistance, you know how to reach me.”
Nick opened his eyes and started to get up. “Yes, father. I shall walk you to the door.”
Normally, Mr. Bennett would argue with Nick for moving around so much, but that afternoon, he didn’t. He allowed his agent to accompany him out the front parlor and into the hall. “Where do you plan to take her?” he asked in a voice barely above whisper.
With a shrug, Nick answered, “Riding to Hyde Park? To the banks of Thames? I’m not so sure myself, but we will be out of the house until the sun is down. You can have the house to yourself until then.”
“Good.” He nodded, retrieving his hat and coat from the butler. “Then I shall be on my way for now, my son. Take care that you do not overexert yourself. It has only been two days.”
“I understand, father. Take care of your health.”
Nick watched him go up his carriage then he watched the horses led the carriage away. He sighed, thinking how big a liar he was.
“Hopkins,” he called to the butler. “Please inform Cook to prepare food for two. Claire and I are going on a picnic.”
The butler answered affirmation to his request then bowed. Nick, on the other hand, strode back to the room where he left Claire and sat by her side again. At first, he let the silence stretch for a few moments before turning to face his wife. “You did well, Claire,” he commented, touching her face with one hand. Not many had the courage to speak to detectives the way she did, he just knew that there was something very unique in his wife. He couldn’t help but smile as he recalled the look on both officers’ faces. Then his hand traveled to the back of her neck and he kissed her lightly on the forehead.
He didn’t like that her eyes looked so sad, that it was red and just a bit puffy because of tears. He would have stopped the inquisition if he could, but what happened that afternoon might be important to the future of his own investigation. Nigh hoped not, but it was a possibility.
“Now, I would like us to enjoy the lovely weather,” he whispered as he pulled away just enough to look at her face. “I have asked the kitchen to prepare something for us, but if you don’t want to go, we can spend the rest of the afternoon in the bedroom.”
“Excuse me gentlemen, I would like to be with my husband now. Our doorman will show you the way out. I do hope you find something, for my friend’s sake,” she said.
Detective Morse and his escort both turned to Nick, as if silently asking him to contain his wife. Nick, in turn, twisted in his seat to look at Claire who was imperiously holding out the door for their two visitors. She did give them answers and there seemed no more reason for the two to stay. Besides, he was having a headache and he didn’t really feel like dealing with the government if he could do something about it so he shrugged and let Claire shoo their guests.
Having nothing else to ask or do about the situation, Detective Morse declared, ”Thank you for being so cooperative, Mr. and Mrs. Rochford. I will be back if we have anything else to ask, anything you could help with.”
Nick and his father got to their feet and shook hands with the officers. “We will be glad to be of your assistance, Detective Morse, Sergeant Browning,” he said.
Mr. Bennett added, “Please feel free to let us know how we can help solve this case.”
After a few minutes, Nick leaned against a window pane overlooking the driveway where the carriage of the officers had just driven by. He let the curtain fall and turned to the remaining occupants of the room. His father still occupied his winged chair, sipping on his cup of tea while Claire stood holding her hands together. “Shall I order us something to eat? My lands, what time is it…Perhaps we should wait to see Lucy. I…I just want to stay home.”
“It is a rather pleasing weather outside, don’t you think? I suggest we go have a picnic,” Nick offered, crossing the room back to the sofa where the couple sat earlier. Although, based from experience, the brightness of the sun and the sound of hooves against the road would not do any good to his headache, he would rather be outside breathing fresh air than cooped inside their house. Besides, it would do them good to be as far away as possible to the house. He turned to his father, who nodded ever so slightly.
”I just want to be with you,” Claire added, seemingly oblivious of the brief exchange that happened between father and son. Nick smiled and, in front of his father, closed his eyes and rested his head on his wife’s shoulder.
“As do I,” he murmured. “But I’ve been confined inside this place for two days. Another day without the sun will drive me mad.”
Mr. Bennett cleared his throat. “Surely my presence is not anymore required,” he announced. “I shall go back to the townhouse and deal with business, Nicholas. Should you need my assistance, you know how to reach me.”
Nick opened his eyes and started to get up. “Yes, father. I shall walk you to the door.”
Normally, Mr. Bennett would argue with Nick for moving around so much, but that afternoon, he didn’t. He allowed his agent to accompany him out the front parlor and into the hall. “Where do you plan to take her?” he asked in a voice barely above whisper.
With a shrug, Nick answered, “Riding to Hyde Park? To the banks of Thames? I’m not so sure myself, but we will be out of the house until the sun is down. You can have the house to yourself until then.”
“Good.” He nodded, retrieving his hat and coat from the butler. “Then I shall be on my way for now, my son. Take care that you do not overexert yourself. It has only been two days.”
“I understand, father. Take care of your health.”
Nick watched him go up his carriage then he watched the horses led the carriage away. He sighed, thinking how big a liar he was.
“Hopkins,” he called to the butler. “Please inform Cook to prepare food for two. Claire and I are going on a picnic.”
The butler answered affirmation to his request then bowed. Nick, on the other hand, strode back to the room where he left Claire and sat by her side again. At first, he let the silence stretch for a few moments before turning to face his wife. “You did well, Claire,” he commented, touching her face with one hand. Not many had the courage to speak to detectives the way she did, he just knew that there was something very unique in his wife. He couldn’t help but smile as he recalled the look on both officers’ faces. Then his hand traveled to the back of her neck and he kissed her lightly on the forehead.
He didn’t like that her eyes looked so sad, that it was red and just a bit puffy because of tears. He would have stopped the inquisition if he could, but what happened that afternoon might be important to the future of his own investigation. Nigh hoped not, but it was a possibility.
“Now, I would like us to enjoy the lovely weather,” he whispered as he pulled away just enough to look at her face. “I have asked the kitchen to prepare something for us, but if you don’t want to go, we can spend the rest of the afternoon in the bedroom.”
Welcome back!
The site was down for a few days. I'm not sure if it got back online before or after I left for a short out of town trip. Anyway, I'm back with a short reply. Sorry for that, I thought that little detail had to be asked to complete the detective's investigation. But please feel free to kick the cops out of the scene in your next post, if you want to. :)
The site was down for a few days. I'm not sure if it got back online before or after I left for a short out of town trip. Anyway, I'm back with a short reply. Sorry for that, I thought that little detail had to be asked to complete the detective's investigation. But please feel free to kick the cops out of the scene in your next post, if you want to. :)
“It’s alright, Claire,” Nick whispered, patting her on her arm. His wife was tensed and obviously stressed out by what to Nick was unreasonable questioning. They ought to put the witness at ease first before firing question after question, but this was outside his jurisdiction. Besides, now that his cover was not in the danger of being compromised, he was interested to hear what his wife knew about Matthew’s death. Judging by the looks on the other three gentlemen in the room, they were thoroughly interested as well.
“I will go with you to visit Mrs. Hawthorne after Detective Morse and Sergeant Browning are done,” he promised. “I’m sure she is not placing the blame on you. Nobody is.”
At least nobody was blaming her yet. However, was it indeed possible that this woman had something to do with the poisoning of Mr. Hawthorne? He looked over at her pleading, panic-stricken eyes. There were a number of variables to consider and it was true that one of the guards sampled her sandwiches before they proceeded. The guard turned out to be very alive and there were no more sandwiches which they could sample and test to prove the hypothesis.
“Do you have any more questions, detective?” he asked just as a servant entered to serve tea and biscuits.
Detective Morse didn’t waver from the flat stare that he was giving Claire. Her panic, stuttering, and high-pitched voice didn’t seem to bother the detective. He continued staring at her with his gray eyes and his mouth in a thin flat line. “I would like to point out again, Mrs. Rochford, that this initial inquisition is meant to hear your side as a witness to this crime. You may or may not be directly involved in murdering Mr. Hawthorne. At this point in time nobody, not even Mrs. Hawthorne, believes you’re your kind-hearted gesture had anything to do with Matthew Hawthorne’s untimely passing. However, since you have admitted to preparing the sandwiches yourself, I feel the need to ask if there is someone else who knew that you planned to visit Mr. Hawthorne yesterday.”
Nick turned to Claire. If there was another person then the suspicion might be diverted to that person. “And perhaps you can share with us how the sandwiches were transported to the prison? Did someone else handle it apart from either you or Mrs. Hawthorne?” added the detective.
“I will go with you to visit Mrs. Hawthorne after Detective Morse and Sergeant Browning are done,” he promised. “I’m sure she is not placing the blame on you. Nobody is.”
At least nobody was blaming her yet. However, was it indeed possible that this woman had something to do with the poisoning of Mr. Hawthorne? He looked over at her pleading, panic-stricken eyes. There were a number of variables to consider and it was true that one of the guards sampled her sandwiches before they proceeded. The guard turned out to be very alive and there were no more sandwiches which they could sample and test to prove the hypothesis.
“Do you have any more questions, detective?” he asked just as a servant entered to serve tea and biscuits.
Detective Morse didn’t waver from the flat stare that he was giving Claire. Her panic, stuttering, and high-pitched voice didn’t seem to bother the detective. He continued staring at her with his gray eyes and his mouth in a thin flat line. “I would like to point out again, Mrs. Rochford, that this initial inquisition is meant to hear your side as a witness to this crime. You may or may not be directly involved in murdering Mr. Hawthorne. At this point in time nobody, not even Mrs. Hawthorne, believes you’re your kind-hearted gesture had anything to do with Matthew Hawthorne’s untimely passing. However, since you have admitted to preparing the sandwiches yourself, I feel the need to ask if there is someone else who knew that you planned to visit Mr. Hawthorne yesterday.”
Nick turned to Claire. If there was another person then the suspicion might be diverted to that person. “And perhaps you can share with us how the sandwiches were transported to the prison? Did someone else handle it apart from either you or Mrs. Hawthorne?” added the detective.
Immediately was apparently not quick enough to do something to stop an attack from the warg. By the time Ysabel was up to her feet, the warg’s fangs already found the part between one of the men’s neck and shoulder. He fell, gurgling in his own blood. Ysabel hacked at the beast, which promptly let go of its victim to face her.
The scene was painfully familiar. An arrow wheezed past her, forced her to look back and see the three more of Cannor’s children spring into action. Two held heavy blades while the other backed them up with well-aimed arrows. Then again, the warg, as was the creature’s nature, did not come to hunt alone. From the storm came two more pairs of menacing eyes, advancing on the humans with wide grins on their wolfish face, before the first beast was even taken care of.
Ysabel, always the one with initiative, broke away from the men who clearly had years tuning in on each other’s battle maneuvers, and issued a challenge to one of the two new comers. She banked on her speed more than the strength of her arms as she met one of the wargs. It leapt for the woman, but she twisted her body at the last moment to dodge its sharp fangs. At the same time, her sword arm made an arc, injuring the creature’s foreleg. It crashed to the snowy ground, but the second of the pair was on the move, leaping from behind its fallen comrade and latching its jaw on a bearded man.
It was a fight ruled by pure instinct until an explosion brought Ysabel to the ground with her eyes shut and her hands desperately covering her ringing ears. When she opened her eyes, it was to the sight of the wargs’ retreating hinds. Surprisingly, the darkness was dispelled by whatever these men did. The ringing in her ears wouldn’t go away though, and she learned, as she tried to get back to her feet, that her balance was not as it used to be. She tripped and extended her previously injured arm to a boulder to steady herself.
”Someone!” yelled one of them.
Ysabel was standing on her feet by then, her bloody sword still held on one hand. She assessed the situation. Out of the five, one was dead and one would probably die soon, three still looked like they were well enough. They were busy tending to their brother that none of them seemed to remember that there was an intruder in the camp. The struggle with the wargs pushed back her hood and she hadn’t managed to pull it back up over her face yet. Her red hair was sprinkled with snow and her cheeks were flushed from exertion. The growling of her stomach was more urgent than before.
She could volunteer her help and heal the injured, but why would she risk the discovery of her unique skills? These people were strangers. Who knew what they would do to her after they learned what she could do?
Her other option was lying not too far away in the form of packs she could carry on her back – provisions that could keep her alive until she completed her trek to Cannor. It was a rather stupid plan. Even she agreed that she might regret it in the next hours, but there was a chance that she could get away with it rather than expose herself to strangers and entrust them her fate once she healed their brother.
So, quietly returning her sword to its sheath, Ysabel inched closer to the bags by the fire. She snatched one without inspecting what was inside then ran behind a boulder. The injured man’s howls of pain and his brothers’ fussing over him gave her all the cover she needed. Her remaining problem, then, was that the mountain pass was no longer dark. Should they decide to hunt her down, she had no doubt that no shadow was deep enough to hide her. Well, she had to rely on her speed.
And so she ran with all that she got, even through the thick snow. She would put off eating once more, but this was for her general safety so her stomach could wait.
The scene was painfully familiar. An arrow wheezed past her, forced her to look back and see the three more of Cannor’s children spring into action. Two held heavy blades while the other backed them up with well-aimed arrows. Then again, the warg, as was the creature’s nature, did not come to hunt alone. From the storm came two more pairs of menacing eyes, advancing on the humans with wide grins on their wolfish face, before the first beast was even taken care of.
Ysabel, always the one with initiative, broke away from the men who clearly had years tuning in on each other’s battle maneuvers, and issued a challenge to one of the two new comers. She banked on her speed more than the strength of her arms as she met one of the wargs. It leapt for the woman, but she twisted her body at the last moment to dodge its sharp fangs. At the same time, her sword arm made an arc, injuring the creature’s foreleg. It crashed to the snowy ground, but the second of the pair was on the move, leaping from behind its fallen comrade and latching its jaw on a bearded man.
It was a fight ruled by pure instinct until an explosion brought Ysabel to the ground with her eyes shut and her hands desperately covering her ringing ears. When she opened her eyes, it was to the sight of the wargs’ retreating hinds. Surprisingly, the darkness was dispelled by whatever these men did. The ringing in her ears wouldn’t go away though, and she learned, as she tried to get back to her feet, that her balance was not as it used to be. She tripped and extended her previously injured arm to a boulder to steady herself.
”Someone!” yelled one of them.
Ysabel was standing on her feet by then, her bloody sword still held on one hand. She assessed the situation. Out of the five, one was dead and one would probably die soon, three still looked like they were well enough. They were busy tending to their brother that none of them seemed to remember that there was an intruder in the camp. The struggle with the wargs pushed back her hood and she hadn’t managed to pull it back up over her face yet. Her red hair was sprinkled with snow and her cheeks were flushed from exertion. The growling of her stomach was more urgent than before.
She could volunteer her help and heal the injured, but why would she risk the discovery of her unique skills? These people were strangers. Who knew what they would do to her after they learned what she could do?
Her other option was lying not too far away in the form of packs she could carry on her back – provisions that could keep her alive until she completed her trek to Cannor. It was a rather stupid plan. Even she agreed that she might regret it in the next hours, but there was a chance that she could get away with it rather than expose herself to strangers and entrust them her fate once she healed their brother.
So, quietly returning her sword to its sheath, Ysabel inched closer to the bags by the fire. She snatched one without inspecting what was inside then ran behind a boulder. The injured man’s howls of pain and his brothers’ fussing over him gave her all the cover she needed. Her remaining problem, then, was that the mountain pass was no longer dark. Should they decide to hunt her down, she had no doubt that no shadow was deep enough to hide her. Well, she had to rely on her speed.
And so she ran with all that she got, even through the thick snow. She would put off eating once more, but this was for her general safety so her stomach could wait.
That will be Monday for me. :)
The two gentlemen waiting at the front parlor were Detective Inspector Morse and Sergeant Browning. The former was a middle-aged man with light brown hair and gray eyes. A thin layer of moustache lined his upper lip, which seemed to be used to smiling quite generously. He was obviously older than Sergeant Browning who looked to be only in his mid-twenties. The sergeant, though taller than the detective, lacked the confidence that his older partner must have mastered through years working as a police. Although what the younger officer might have lacked in apparent confidence, he paid for with the amount of physical strength his tall and well-built body implied.
The pair of officers got up from their seats when their hosts entered the room. They waited for the door to close before formally introducing themselves to the older Rochford first then to the younger. Nicholas raised a brow and turned to his father for an explanation.
The explanation, however, was supplied by Detective Morse. “We managed to coax the division to pass on the case of Mr. Hawthorne to our people,” he elaborated in a low voice. “We will take over the investigation. But I am surprised to see you already up and about, Mr. Flanagan.”
“I am glad to hear that,” Bennett replied, sighing in relief.
Good, because he could worry less that their cover might get blown. Now that people in the service, who were hand-picked by the Prince Regent to participate in the operation, were handling investigations regarding Matthew Hawthorne’s death, Nick felt more at ease. “I cannot stress enough how important it is to exercise, Detective Morse. I’m afraid that lying in bed for two whole days made me and my muscles bored,” Nick mentioned as an answer to the detective’s question. “Is there anything I could get you? Tea perhaps?”
The two officers nodded in unison, but it was only Detective Morse who answered, “Tea would be great, but if you can fetch your cook for us, that would be even better. Thank you, James.” He turned to Mr. Bennett. “Tests made on the body came back this morning. Our laboratory partners had been up all night.”
Mr. Bennett nodded. “And the most probable cause of death is?”
“Poison, Mr. Bennett,” the detective readily supplied.
Nick, who was half-way across the room and was on his way back to the conversation after ordering tea and his cook to come to the front parlor, stopped in his tracks. Instead of joining the other gentlemen, he retreated and leaned against the wall beside the door, with his arms crossed about his chest. Though he did not voice his concern, he hoped the tests on the body would show that Matthew died of other reasons. Any other reason would do except for poisoning, which would place Claire in a more awkward position.
As if on cue, the lady in question burst through the door. Her attention went straight to the three gentlemen in the middle of the room. "I do hope I'm not interrupting, but I wanted to know if everything was all right. Is this about Nicholas?"
Detective Morse first met Nick’s eyes behind Claire, then with very little hesitation or regard to her gentle upbringing, blurted out, "No, Mrs. Rochfoard, this is actually pertaining to you."
Nick cleared his throat and pushed himself off his spot on against the wall. “Claire, I would like to introduce you to Detective Morse and Sergeant Browning,” he said walking up to her. He was once again dressed as a gentleman – with his jaw free from stubbles, and his hair, though still wet from his most recent trip to the washroom, was presentable. If one didn’t know he was still recovering from a gunshot wound, one would not suspect it. There was nothing in his movement but the casual grace of a gentleman, even his expression was very similar to the one he wore the night they first met.
He held his wife’s gaze a moment longer, then he placed his hand at the small of her back and led her to the sofa. “Please, gentlemen. Let us all have a seat.”
Everyone obliged. The detective and the sergeant sat on an opposite sofa, while Mr. Bennett took a winged chair. Nick and Claire sat beside each other. “Everything is going to be alright,” he explained in a soft voice, his blue eyes staring into hers with reassurance. Then his hand found hers and entwined their fingers together. “Remember Matthew Hawthorne? He passed away last night, dear.” He didn’t know how Claire would take it, but just the same, he held her hand firmly. Were they close friends or did she only befriended Matthew’s wife?
“We are here to try and learn as much information as we can, Mrs. Rochford, regarding the circumstances preceding Mr. Hawthorne’s death. Do you confirm meeting with Mr. Hawthorne yesterday? Until what time did you stay? How did he seem to you, did he seem ill? Was there anything worth noting that he mentioned to his wife while you were there? Tell me everything there is to know about your visit.”
“Isn’t this a bit overwhelming, detective?” cut in Nick.
Detective Morse smiled a wry smile, regarding Nick for a short moment. “Unfortunately, we don’t have the luxury of time, Mr. Rochford. And I believe I missed out the sandwiches. Please do tell us about the sandwiches you brought with you. Mrs. Hawthorne swore that it came from the kitchen of this house.”
The pair of officers got up from their seats when their hosts entered the room. They waited for the door to close before formally introducing themselves to the older Rochford first then to the younger. Nicholas raised a brow and turned to his father for an explanation.
The explanation, however, was supplied by Detective Morse. “We managed to coax the division to pass on the case of Mr. Hawthorne to our people,” he elaborated in a low voice. “We will take over the investigation. But I am surprised to see you already up and about, Mr. Flanagan.”
“I am glad to hear that,” Bennett replied, sighing in relief.
Good, because he could worry less that their cover might get blown. Now that people in the service, who were hand-picked by the Prince Regent to participate in the operation, were handling investigations regarding Matthew Hawthorne’s death, Nick felt more at ease. “I cannot stress enough how important it is to exercise, Detective Morse. I’m afraid that lying in bed for two whole days made me and my muscles bored,” Nick mentioned as an answer to the detective’s question. “Is there anything I could get you? Tea perhaps?”
The two officers nodded in unison, but it was only Detective Morse who answered, “Tea would be great, but if you can fetch your cook for us, that would be even better. Thank you, James.” He turned to Mr. Bennett. “Tests made on the body came back this morning. Our laboratory partners had been up all night.”
Mr. Bennett nodded. “And the most probable cause of death is?”
“Poison, Mr. Bennett,” the detective readily supplied.
Nick, who was half-way across the room and was on his way back to the conversation after ordering tea and his cook to come to the front parlor, stopped in his tracks. Instead of joining the other gentlemen, he retreated and leaned against the wall beside the door, with his arms crossed about his chest. Though he did not voice his concern, he hoped the tests on the body would show that Matthew died of other reasons. Any other reason would do except for poisoning, which would place Claire in a more awkward position.
As if on cue, the lady in question burst through the door. Her attention went straight to the three gentlemen in the middle of the room. "I do hope I'm not interrupting, but I wanted to know if everything was all right. Is this about Nicholas?"
Detective Morse first met Nick’s eyes behind Claire, then with very little hesitation or regard to her gentle upbringing, blurted out, "No, Mrs. Rochfoard, this is actually pertaining to you."
Nick cleared his throat and pushed himself off his spot on against the wall. “Claire, I would like to introduce you to Detective Morse and Sergeant Browning,” he said walking up to her. He was once again dressed as a gentleman – with his jaw free from stubbles, and his hair, though still wet from his most recent trip to the washroom, was presentable. If one didn’t know he was still recovering from a gunshot wound, one would not suspect it. There was nothing in his movement but the casual grace of a gentleman, even his expression was very similar to the one he wore the night they first met.
He held his wife’s gaze a moment longer, then he placed his hand at the small of her back and led her to the sofa. “Please, gentlemen. Let us all have a seat.”
Everyone obliged. The detective and the sergeant sat on an opposite sofa, while Mr. Bennett took a winged chair. Nick and Claire sat beside each other. “Everything is going to be alright,” he explained in a soft voice, his blue eyes staring into hers with reassurance. Then his hand found hers and entwined their fingers together. “Remember Matthew Hawthorne? He passed away last night, dear.” He didn’t know how Claire would take it, but just the same, he held her hand firmly. Were they close friends or did she only befriended Matthew’s wife?
“We are here to try and learn as much information as we can, Mrs. Rochford, regarding the circumstances preceding Mr. Hawthorne’s death. Do you confirm meeting with Mr. Hawthorne yesterday? Until what time did you stay? How did he seem to you, did he seem ill? Was there anything worth noting that he mentioned to his wife while you were there? Tell me everything there is to know about your visit.”
“Isn’t this a bit overwhelming, detective?” cut in Nick.
Detective Morse smiled a wry smile, regarding Nick for a short moment. “Unfortunately, we don’t have the luxury of time, Mr. Rochford. And I believe I missed out the sandwiches. Please do tell us about the sandwiches you brought with you. Mrs. Hawthorne swore that it came from the kitchen of this house.”
When Nicholas woke next, it was to the sound of his handler’s voice. He would much prefer waking up to Claire’s voice, but then he remembered that he shouldn’t prefer Claire over business. “Father,” he murmured, blinking back sleepiness. Sleep had done nothing to improve his headache and he still felt as if it was summer and he was under the sun. Nevertheless, it was not as if he had ever let a hangover stop him before. But just the same – just as any other morning after he drank too much – he vowed that not a single drop of alcohol would ever touch his lips again.
“The fabrics arrived early and I’m very eager to have them fitted,” the older gentleman read from a card, which Nick assumed might have come from his wife. Lawrence Bennett wore a gray waistcoat that morning, with his cravat tied in a simpler knot than it was at Nick’s wedding. If he had anything to say about Nick’s hangover, he didn’t Nick hear it. Instead, Mr. Bennett stood at the foot of the bed, fixing his agent with a very serious look before he continued reading. “I’ll be at Olden’s Custom Tailors if you need anything, won’t be but a couple hours. You may not even wake before I come back!” He looked up from the note again, possibly enjoying the slight discomfort on his agent’s face upon having read the note aloud. He was probably hoping Claire wouldn’t mention or that she hadn’t yet discovered about his recent exploits involving two bottles of whiskey.
“With love,” Bennett finally continued, “Claire.”
Nicholas quickly switched to defensive mode. “That is most probably just an expression,” he sat up and ran his hand through his tousled hair. “Did you finally want to let me back in the operation?”
The gentleman shrugged. “Is a father not allowed to visit his sick child? How are you doing, Nicholas?”
“We had a fight last night,” Nick answered. It was a small, petty fight and it shouldn’t have bothered Nick, and still when Bennett asked about him, he mentioned about the fight. “Which is why I’m in a different bedroom, which also means I can stand and walk on my own.”
Bennett sat at the foot of the bed. “It seems to me that you two had already made up with each other. ‘With love,’ it said.”
Nick grunted. It would have been worse if Timothy was the one who found the innocent note. “However, the real reason I came here this morning is this piece of gossip reported by your cousin last night.”
“Our lead is dead,” he supplied. Both the man itself and the said lead was dead. “Which was why I resorted to drinking.”
“That is not how Timothy reported the chronology of events.” Of course, he saw Nick with a bottle of whiskey even before he broke the news.
“That is irrelevant information, father,” he objected. “I don’t believe I’ve mentioned this already to you, but I did receive the mission of Hawthorne. They are after the specifications and perhaps the blueprint of the weapons that England and France are developing. Have you heard of such a thing?”
Bennett nodded. “Of course. About time they target those. Do you have a plan?”
Nick grinned. “Yes. Last night I was relaxed enough to think of a plan. I will steal the plans and mess up the logistics to throw them off our tracks. Just let me in on some more confidential information.”
“I have good reason to doubt your ability to be discreet at the moment, Nicholas. Let Timothy do this job.”
Whatever Nick was about to say next was cut by a knock on the door. It was the butler, who informed them that there were a couple of police officers looking for Mrs. Rochford.
“Thank you, please tell them to wait a few minutes. I will be with them,” Nick instructed, getting up from the bed with the help of the bedpost. He would have to be quick to dress as these people were rarely patient.
“No, don’t get up,” Bennett instructed, getting up himself. “This is the other reason I came over. I will be talking to them in your stead.”
“Father, I need to exercise.”
The argument went on, but in the end Nick had it his way. He thought his handler might have wanted it to end that way as well. In a few minutes, the father and son tandem arrived at the front parlor to entertain their guests.
“The fabrics arrived early and I’m very eager to have them fitted,” the older gentleman read from a card, which Nick assumed might have come from his wife. Lawrence Bennett wore a gray waistcoat that morning, with his cravat tied in a simpler knot than it was at Nick’s wedding. If he had anything to say about Nick’s hangover, he didn’t Nick hear it. Instead, Mr. Bennett stood at the foot of the bed, fixing his agent with a very serious look before he continued reading. “I’ll be at Olden’s Custom Tailors if you need anything, won’t be but a couple hours. You may not even wake before I come back!” He looked up from the note again, possibly enjoying the slight discomfort on his agent’s face upon having read the note aloud. He was probably hoping Claire wouldn’t mention or that she hadn’t yet discovered about his recent exploits involving two bottles of whiskey.
“With love,” Bennett finally continued, “Claire.”
Nicholas quickly switched to defensive mode. “That is most probably just an expression,” he sat up and ran his hand through his tousled hair. “Did you finally want to let me back in the operation?”
The gentleman shrugged. “Is a father not allowed to visit his sick child? How are you doing, Nicholas?”
“We had a fight last night,” Nick answered. It was a small, petty fight and it shouldn’t have bothered Nick, and still when Bennett asked about him, he mentioned about the fight. “Which is why I’m in a different bedroom, which also means I can stand and walk on my own.”
Bennett sat at the foot of the bed. “It seems to me that you two had already made up with each other. ‘With love,’ it said.”
Nick grunted. It would have been worse if Timothy was the one who found the innocent note. “However, the real reason I came here this morning is this piece of gossip reported by your cousin last night.”
“Our lead is dead,” he supplied. Both the man itself and the said lead was dead. “Which was why I resorted to drinking.”
“That is not how Timothy reported the chronology of events.” Of course, he saw Nick with a bottle of whiskey even before he broke the news.
“That is irrelevant information, father,” he objected. “I don’t believe I’ve mentioned this already to you, but I did receive the mission of Hawthorne. They are after the specifications and perhaps the blueprint of the weapons that England and France are developing. Have you heard of such a thing?”
Bennett nodded. “Of course. About time they target those. Do you have a plan?”
Nick grinned. “Yes. Last night I was relaxed enough to think of a plan. I will steal the plans and mess up the logistics to throw them off our tracks. Just let me in on some more confidential information.”
“I have good reason to doubt your ability to be discreet at the moment, Nicholas. Let Timothy do this job.”
Whatever Nick was about to say next was cut by a knock on the door. It was the butler, who informed them that there were a couple of police officers looking for Mrs. Rochford.
“Thank you, please tell them to wait a few minutes. I will be with them,” Nick instructed, getting up from the bed with the help of the bedpost. He would have to be quick to dress as these people were rarely patient.
“No, don’t get up,” Bennett instructed, getting up himself. “This is the other reason I came over. I will be talking to them in your stead.”
“Father, I need to exercise.”
The argument went on, but in the end Nick had it his way. He thought his handler might have wanted it to end that way as well. In a few minutes, the father and son tandem arrived at the front parlor to entertain their guests.
The passing of time did not improve the weather. If anything, the wrath of the mountains seemed to grow fiercer as the night went on. She would have blamed it on the gods had they been alive, but unfortunately they died before her time and all that was left to blame was her questionable decisions. Nevertheless, she forced herself to keep on moving. The people ahead of her were certainly moving forward, not looking back. Unless she had given up all hope and decided to die, she would have to keep asking her feet to carry her with one step ahead of the other.
She had no way to tell who the people in front of her were. Even if she first saw them when there was just enough light to distinguish a jutting rock from a person, they were too far away and the snowfall too thick. As the darkness in the mountains deepened, she worked with all she got to close the distance between her and the group. If it got too dark, she would lose them altogether and the snow on the mountain would swallow her whole.
But what would she do once she caught up on them? Would they find it in their hearts to spare her cold food? She could pay. She would pay with the collected from the corpse of the people she had sworn to protect. They never had to know that the coins were stolen. Money should be enough motivation for these people to share what they had. Besides, due to the lack of information, she had to assume that these people were travelers just like her, who had questionable decision making skills unless…
The difference between them, she decided, was that they apparently knew what they were doing even if, for no obvious reason, they started to run, which in turn forced her tired legs to work harder.
It soon became clear why the three remaining black lumps began running as it was hard to miss the light spilling from a rook carved out from an outcropping rock formation. Ysabel paused in the shadows catching her breath as the wind whipped her cloak. Her dark eyes watched the five men, all in black cloaks and fur huddled around the fire. She then understood the reason why they seemed acquainted with the mountain. Winter’s Children of Cannor.
Well, she had no choice if she wanted to live through the night. The weather was not about to stop its tantrums and the fire called to her. So warm and bright. She needed to get close, just a bit closer and closer still. Until a sound like an animal’s roar tore through her thoughts.
“You!” one of them bellowed, his voice rising over the mountain’s aria. The other four stirred, and she found herself the subject of five strangers’ eyes. “I told you I saw four figures approach, Ranor.”
The one who called her attention got up from his perch on a rock and started towards the opening of the cave, walking up to her. He was a bear of a man, tall and broad, and perhaps with as much muscle as Gyles. Nevertheless, Ysabel stood her ground just outside the little camp. She doubted these men would hurt her unless she gave them a reason, but she could never be sure so she kept one hand resting on the hilt of a dagger.
“Show your ha –“
He didn’t get to finish. The warg didn’t let him finish. In the darkness, these beasts were hard to see until it was ready to pounce. And just as travelers like her were drawn to the light, they were attracted to the warm glow of the fire. It leapt from the boulder adjacent to the mouth of the rook, landing a few feet from where Ysabel previously stood. The woman, thank her unhappy childhood for her good reflex, was able to dive away from that spot and landed somewhere beside the tall man. She immediately rolled to her feet and drew her sword.
She had no way to tell who the people in front of her were. Even if she first saw them when there was just enough light to distinguish a jutting rock from a person, they were too far away and the snowfall too thick. As the darkness in the mountains deepened, she worked with all she got to close the distance between her and the group. If it got too dark, she would lose them altogether and the snow on the mountain would swallow her whole.
But what would she do once she caught up on them? Would they find it in their hearts to spare her cold food? She could pay. She would pay with the collected from the corpse of the people she had sworn to protect. They never had to know that the coins were stolen. Money should be enough motivation for these people to share what they had. Besides, due to the lack of information, she had to assume that these people were travelers just like her, who had questionable decision making skills unless…
The difference between them, she decided, was that they apparently knew what they were doing even if, for no obvious reason, they started to run, which in turn forced her tired legs to work harder.
It soon became clear why the three remaining black lumps began running as it was hard to miss the light spilling from a rook carved out from an outcropping rock formation. Ysabel paused in the shadows catching her breath as the wind whipped her cloak. Her dark eyes watched the five men, all in black cloaks and fur huddled around the fire. She then understood the reason why they seemed acquainted with the mountain. Winter’s Children of Cannor.
Well, she had no choice if she wanted to live through the night. The weather was not about to stop its tantrums and the fire called to her. So warm and bright. She needed to get close, just a bit closer and closer still. Until a sound like an animal’s roar tore through her thoughts.
“You!” one of them bellowed, his voice rising over the mountain’s aria. The other four stirred, and she found herself the subject of five strangers’ eyes. “I told you I saw four figures approach, Ranor.”
The one who called her attention got up from his perch on a rock and started towards the opening of the cave, walking up to her. He was a bear of a man, tall and broad, and perhaps with as much muscle as Gyles. Nevertheless, Ysabel stood her ground just outside the little camp. She doubted these men would hurt her unless she gave them a reason, but she could never be sure so she kept one hand resting on the hilt of a dagger.
“Show your ha –“
He didn’t get to finish. The warg didn’t let him finish. In the darkness, these beasts were hard to see until it was ready to pounce. And just as travelers like her were drawn to the light, they were attracted to the warm glow of the fire. It leapt from the boulder adjacent to the mouth of the rook, landing a few feet from where Ysabel previously stood. The woman, thank her unhappy childhood for her good reflex, was able to dive away from that spot and landed somewhere beside the tall man. She immediately rolled to her feet and drew her sword.
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