Therefore, since he had disappeared without a trace, he was either guilty or dead.
Rafe was silent as he returned Maggie to her town house, his brows drawn like thunderclouds. She could only be glad that he refrained from saying "I told you so."
As soon as she reached home, she sent a message to Helene Sorel, asking her friend to join her for a light luncheon. With matters reaching a crisis, she needed a confederate who might be able to see things she herself had missed.
Then she withdrew into her bedroom for two hours of pacing and tortured thought. She cared too much for Robin to hope that he was a dead patriot rather than a live traitor-but if he had betrayed his country, she never wanted to see him again.
Helene appeared promptly, mild inquiry on her face. As soon as they had taken the edge from their appetites, Maggie filled her in on recent events, including Robin's disappearance.
Helene listened gravely, her brown hair drawn back in a modest chignon. She looked like any other pretty young French matron, except for her precise, intelligent questions.
When Maggie ran out of words, Helene said, "The picture is larger and darker than I knew. With Talleyrand out of power and Castlereagh confined to his bed, it would seem that Wellington is the most likely target for assassins, n'est-ce pas?"
"I'm afraid so. Candover has gone to speak to Wellington, to warn him to take special care. They know each other, so Wellington may listen, but he is notorious for ignoring danger. A warning might not make much difference."
"It is time we reduced the number of suspects," He1ene said. "I have finished my inquiries about Colonel von Fehrenbach, and this evening I will call on him. When I am done, I think he will no longer be a suspect."
"I can't afford to lose any more friends," Maggie said soberly. "Candover is asking Wellington for the use of some soldiers, so please take him and an escort, for safety's sake."
"I will if you insist, but they must wait outside and not come unless summoned." Helene's brown eyes showed amusement as she selected a pastry from the tray between them on the dining table. "They will not be needed."
Maggie wished that she shared her friend's faith. If she could be disastrously wrong about Robin, Helene could certainly be wrong about a man she barely knew.
"If von Fehrenbach is eliminated, that will leave General Roussaye as the most likely prospect." Maggie sighed. She wanted to retire to her room and sleep forever, and not have to face a world where she had lost Robin, where Rafe despised her, and the fate of European peace might be resting on her weary shoulders. Planting her elbows on the polished mahogany table, she buried her face in her hands and rubbed her aching head, telling herself not to be melodramatic.
A knock sounded, followed by her butler and a female caller. The butler said apologetically, "I know you didn't wish to be disturbed, my lady, but Mrs. Northwood said it was most urgent."
Pulling herself together, Maggie got to her feet. "Very good, Laneuve."
The butler stepped clear of her guest, and Maggie gasped at the sight of Cynthia's violently bruised face. In a shaky voice, the girl said, "I didn't know where else to go."
"My dear child!" Appalled, Maggie walked over and put her arms around her guest.
Cynthia sagged against her for a few moments, then resolutely pushed herself away. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that. I must talk to you." She looked doubtfully at He1ene, who had poured a glass of brandy and now offered it.
Maggie said, "Don't worry, you can speak freely before Madame Sorel. She and I are close friends, and she can be trusted with anything. Now, what has happened to you?"
Accepting both the assurance and the brandy, Cynthia sank into a chair and set down the small portmanteau she carried. "I was able to search my husband's desk."
"Did he catch you and beat you?" Maggie exclaimed, feeling horribly guilty for having put Cynthia up to it.
"No, he beat me for quite different reasons," her guest said bitterly. "When I searched the desk yesterday, I had ample time to find a secret drawer, copy everything inside, and leave the papers as I found them." She pulled half a dozen sheets of writing paper from her portmanteau and handed them to Maggie. "I didn't dare bring the originals, but I thought you might be able to make sense of these."
Maggie set the papers down for later examination.
"If Northwood didn't know of your search, why did he beat you?"
"I had finally decided to leave him. To stay was insupportable, and Michael swears that he is willing to face the consequences, no matter what Oliver might do. However, Michael was sent to the fortress at Huninguen and won't be back for several more days, so I had to wait. Unfortunately, reaching a decision made me almost giddy with relief, and I think that Oliver guessed that something was in the wind."
She looked down at her hands, with their short-bitten nails. "This morning Oliver came into my room unexpectedly when I was dressing, and immediately saw that I was increasing. He knew the baby couldn't be his, and he was enraged. He made my maid leave and began to beat me, calling me horrible names and saying that he hoped I'd lose the filthy brat, and if he was lucky, I'd die, too. Then he locked me in my room."
She began weeping, but managed to say through her tears, "I can't go back there, he'll kill me! Please, Maggie, can I stay with you until Michael returns?"
"Of course you can," Maggie said warmly. "He'll never find you here. How did you escape from the locked room?"
Cynthia smiled with a touch of pride. "I was quite the tomboy when I was a girl. After he left for work, I tied the bedsheets together and climbed down, then came here in a cab."
"That was resourceful," Maggie said with genuine respect. "But now it's time for you to rest-you must be exhausted."
Maggie installed Cynthia in a guest room and sent for a physician to check the girl's injuries. Then she settled down with Helene in the dining room to study the papers Cynthia had brought. Most consisted of cryptic phrases, the kind of jottings a person doodles while thinking, and which are almost impossible for another person to decipher. There was one list of gambling vowels, and another that detailed sums of money in francs, possibly from winnings or losses.
Though Maggie was disappointed, she supposed that even a dolt like Northwood was unlikely to leave anything too incriminating around-always assuming that the man was guilty of anything more than ordinary beastliness. Secret compartments were common in desks, and one of the first places that would be searched. Maggie's own desk had a secret drawer; she had filled it with scorching but synthetic love letters that would support her reputation as a brainless doxy if anyone discovered them. She and Robin had gotten helpless with laughter when they had composed them…
The memory made her ache, so she turned to the next page. A phrase scrawled in the middle jumped out at her: "Anderson-spy? Possible danger."
She and Helene saw it at the same time. Voice tight, Maggie said, "This doesn't prove anything about Robin."
"No, it doesn't," Helene agreed. "You still believe in his innocence, don't you, mon amie?"
"Yes," Maggie said bleakly. "I think that he disappeared because he got too close to the fire once too often." Eyes stinging, she laid out the last sheet of paper.
The drawing on it caught both women by surprise, for it was one of the crests that Maggie had traced at Madame Daudet's: the three-headed serpent of the d'Aguste family. Underneath was written, Le Serpent, and a triumphant Eureka!
After a long moment, Maggie said, "Obviously Northwood is involved in some secret work. The question is, for whom?"
"And what did this crest mean to him? If this is indeed the crest of Le Serpent, the puzzle is solved once we understand who it is connected to," Helene said thoughtfully.