Amaya looked up at Del with liquid brown eyes. “It is very very cold here, Colonel-sahib. Colder than my cousin’s house in Simla in the winter. I am being very very glad I was buying these shawls from Kashmir. They are just the thing.”
Del smiled. Both Amaya and Alia were well wrapped in the thick woolen shawls. “When we stop at a big town, we’ll have to get you some English coats. And gloves, too. They’ll help keep out the wind.”
“Ai, yes-the wind, it is like a knife. I am understanding that saying now.” Amaya nodded, plump hands folded in her lap, thin gold bangles on her wrists peeking from beneath the edge of one shawl.
Despite her sweet face and matronly disposition, Amaya was quick-witted and observant. As for Alia, she would instantly obey any order from her uncle, aunt, Del or Cobby. When necessary, the small group operated as a unit; Del wasn’t overly worried over having Amaya and Alia with them, even on the upcoming, more dangerous leg of their journey.
Regardless, knowing the Black Cobra cultists’ vindictiveness, he wouldn’t take the chance of leaving the women anywhere, even with Mustaf to guard them. To strike at him, the Black Cobra was perfectly capable of wiping out his household, simply to inspire fear, and to demonstrate his power.
Human life had long ago lost all meaning for the Black Cobra.
A shrill whistle pulled Del’s attention back to the dock. Cobby caught his eye, snapped a jaunty salute. All clear.
“Come.” Del took Amaya’s arm and helped her to her feet. “Let’s go down and head for our inn.”
Cobby had commandeered a man with a wooden cart. Del waited with the women while their luggage was ferried down the gangplank and loaded in the cart, then he set off, leading the way off the dock and straight up High Street. The Dolphin wasn’t far; Mustaf followed with the women close behind, with Cobby bringing up the rear, ambling alongside the carter, eyes constantly shifting this way and that as he chatted.
As Del walked up the street, he found his gaze drawn downward-to the cobbles that covered the ground, to the first steps he was taking on English soil after so many years away.
He wasn’t sure what he felt. An odd sense of peace, perhaps because he knew this time his travels were over, a sense of anticipation over what his new and as yet unstructured future might hold, all tinged with a healthy dose of apprehension over what lay between this moment and being able to get started on shaping his new life.
Their mission to bring the Black Cobra to justice.
He was in it now. There was no going back, only forward. Ahead, through whatever fire the opposition might send his way.
Raising his head, he filled his lungs, looked about. It felt exactly like the moment after the charge began.
The Dolphin was a town landmark. It had stood for centuries and been refurbished several times; it currently sported two wide bow windows fronting the street, the solid front door in between.
Del glanced back along the street. He couldn’t see any likely cultists, but there were plenty of people, carts, and the odd carriage thronging the cobbled thoroughfare-plenty of cover for anyone watching.
They would be watching.
Reaching the inn, he opened the door and went inside.
Securing suitable rooms was no difficulty; his years in India had left him very wealthy and he wasn’t of a mind to stint either himself or his small household. The innkeeper, Bowden, a solidly built ex-sailor, responded appropriately, cheerily welcoming him to the town and summoning lads to help with the luggage as the others joined Del in the foyer.
With the rooms organized and their bags dispatched, and the women, Mustaf and Cobby following the luggage up the stairs, Bowden turned to Del. “Just remembered. I’ve two letters waiting for you.”
Del turned back to the counter, brows rising.
Reaching beneath it, Bowden produced two missives. “The first-this one-came on the mail coach nearly four weeks ago. The other was left last evening by a gentleman. He and another gentleman have looked in every day for the last week or so, asking after you.”
Wolverstone’s escorts. “Thank you.” Del accepted the letters. It was midafternoon, and the inn’s public rooms were quiet. He sent an easy smile Bowden’s way. “If anyone should ask for me, I’ll be in the tap.”
“Of course, sir. Nice and quiet it is in there at present. Just ring the bell on the bar if you need anything.”
With a nod, Del sauntered into the dining room and through an archway into the tap, a cozy room toward the back of the inn. There were a few patrons, all older men, gathered about small tables. He went to a table in the corner where the light from the rear window would allow him to read.
Sitting, he examined the two missives, then opened the one from the mystery gentleman.
The lines within were few and to the point, informing him that Tony Blake, Viscount Torrington, and Gervase Tregarth, Earl of Crowhurst, were holding themselves ready to escort him further on his mission. They were quartered nearby and would continue to call at the inn every evening to check for his arrival.
Reassured that he would be moving forward, in action again soon, he refolded the letter, tucked it inside his coat, then, mildly intrigued, opened the second missive. He’d recognized the handwriting, and assumed his aunts had written to welcome him home, and to ask and be reassured that he was, indeed, heading up to Humberside, to the house at Middleton on the Wolds that he’d inherited from his father, and that remained their home.
As he unfolded the two pages, crossed and recrossed in his elder aunt’s spidery script, he was already composing his reply-a brief note to let them know that he had landed and was on his way north, but that business dealings on the way might delay him for a week or so.
Reading his aunt’s salutation, followed by an enthusiastic, even effusive, welcome, he smiled and read on.
He wasn’t smiling by the time he reached the end of the first page. Laying it aside, he deciphered the rest, then tossed the second sheet on the first and quietly, but comprehensively, swore.
After staring at the sheets for several minutes, he gathered them up, rose and, stuffing the sheets in his pocket, made his way back to the inn’s foyer.
Bowden heard his footsteps and came out from his office behind the counter. “Yes, Colonel?”
“I understand a young lady, a Miss Duncannon, was due to arrive here some weeks ago?”
Bowden smiled brightly. “Yes, indeed, sir. I’d forgotten-she asked after you, too.”
“Indeed. I take it she’s left and headed north?”
“Oh, no, sir. Her ship was delayed, too. She didn’t get in until last week. Quite relieved, she was, to learn you’d been delayed, too. She’s still here, waiting on your arrival.”
“Ah. I see.” Del suppressed a grimace and started making plans. “Perhaps if you could send word to her room that I’ve arrived, and would appreciate a moment of her time?”
Bowden shook his head. “No use at present-she’s out, and she’s taken her maid with her. But I can tell her as soon as she comes in.”
Del nodded. “Thank you.” He hesitated, then asked, “Is there a private parlor I might hire?” Somewhere where he and his unexpected burden could discuss her onward journey.
“I’m sorry, sir, but all our parlors are presently taken.” Bowden paused, then said, “But it’s Miss Duncannon herself as has the front parlor-perhaps, seeing she’s waiting to see you, you might wait for her in there?”
“An excellent notion,” Del responded dryly. “And I’ll need to hire a carriage.”
But again Bowden shook his head. “I’d like to oblige, Colonel, but this close to Christmas all our carriages are spoken for. Miss Duncannon herself took the last of our post chaises.”
“Fortuitous,” Del murmured. “I was wanting the carriage for her.”
“Well, then.” Bowden grinned. “All’s well.”
“Indeed.” Del pointed to the room to the right of the foyer. “The front parlor?”