Carl waving at him from the other side of the French doors interrupted his reverie. How long had he been out there? Shermont realized he’d allowed Eleanor to distract him from his duty again. He concentrated on ending the game quickly, lured her into a foolish attack, and swooped in for checkmate.
“I suggest you try to get some sleep,” he said as he returned the chessboard to its former position and reset the pieces for the next players. “Tomorrow will be a busy day and will start early.”
“Will you be attending the picnic?”
He ignored the question. “Shall I ring for a maid to escort you back to your room?”
She picked up her book, turned on her heel, and rushed out of the room. But not before he saw the look on her face. Her confused and wounded expression caused feelings he couldn’t name and didn’t want to examine. Instead he opened the French doors and let Carl into the room. The man was soaked and shivering.
“It’s about bloody time,” he said through chattering teeth as he rushed to hold his hands to the small fire.
Shermont apologized as he ascertained the footman was still asleep. “Let’s go upstairs. You need dry clothes.”
While the valet changed, Shermont built a fire in the sitting room grate and poured two fresh brandies. Carl returned and took the seat nearest the hearth.
“Anything?” Shermont asked, handing him one snifter.
“I hid in the bushes for hours, and no one came to the tree for any reason.”
“Weather may have been a factor. We’ll have to try again.”
Carl groaned. “This might change your mind.” He pulled a scrap of paper from his dressing gown pocket and handed it over. “I found that at dusk before it started to rain.”
Shermont examined the scrap about an inch square. “Rough edges, obviously torn.” He rubbed it between his fingers. “Good quality paper. The ink is a bit smudged, but the writer is educated.” The word “midnight” was clearly visible as was a partial word below it. “Damn cocksure. Didn’t even bother to use a code.”
“The delicate writing and curly endings to the letters indicate a lady’s hand. I told you it was a trysting place. Probably said ‘Meet me at midnight.’ ”
“This second partial word ‘oordina’ probably was ‘coordinate.’ Not a word I would expect used in a lover’s note.”
“Coordinate meeting times. Coordinate stories. Maybe coordinate elopement plans.”
Shermont sniffed the paper. “This smells like your soap.”
“I had it tucked in my shirt. What? I was trying to keep it dry.”
“Did you check it for perfume residue before you stashed it against your heart?”
“No,” Carl admitted sheepishly.
“Too bad. An identifiable scent might have pointed us directly to the female writer.”
“Then you agree it was a lady?”
“Yes, but that doesn’t change anything. I’m more certain than ever the oak is being used as a drop point.” Shermont sat back in his chair and tapped his chin with two fingers. His recent chess game had reminded him of the value of an oblique offense. He rose and went to the desk to write a note. “I want you to get this message to our contact at Court. Planting a news article in the Times should scare up activity among our quarries.” He handed over the note.
Carl read it. “The Times is going to want confirmation before they run an unbelievable story like this.”
“Who says it’s not true? Don’t worry. They’ll run it in the morning edition.”
“You want me to go now?” Carl asked with an unbelieving expression. “It’s four o’clock in the morning.”
“Well, I can’t go. I’d never get back in time for the picnic.”
Carl narrowed his eyes. “Too bad you don’t have a sample of that female’s handwriting.”
They both knew to whom he referred.
“If there is nothing else, I will prepare for my journey,” Carl said.
He wished Carl Godspeed, and the valet left him alone with his unsettled thoughts. Other than social obligations, Shermont had spent little time alone with a female that had not been a prelude to bedding her. And yet he had enjoyed the hour he’d spent with Eleanor—not that he didn’t want to bed her—but that had not been his main goal. He wanted to get to know her. He tried, unsuccessfully, to convince himself that he found her fascinating due to the possibility she was involved in the selling of secrets to the French. Foreign agent or not, she was not like any other female he could remember.
“Hurry up,” Deirdre called from inside the open landau. “Everyone’s waiting for you.”
Eleanor took one last look at the picturesque scene. Two carriages, women in their colorful summer dresses and bonnets, men of the party on horseback, all lined up for the parade to the picnic site. Down the drive, a wagon with supplies and servants went ahead to set up for their arrival. She ran down the front stairs, and a footman offered an arm to steady her climb up the steps into the second conveyance. The carriage lurched forward as soon as she’d settled next to Mina on the seat facing backward. Deirdre and Beatrix sat across from them.
The other ladies of the party were in the larger, more comfortable closed carriage, much to Fiona and Hazel’s disappointment. Mrs. Holcum had allowed her daughter to ride without a chaperone, but warned she would keep a sharp eye. She’d threatened the coachman. If anything untoward happened, runaway horses or any such nonsense, she’d have his job. She also promised him a half-crown bonus if he maintained a close distance from the leading carriage and all arrived safely.
The gentlemen, including spry Uncle Huxley, were mounted and rode alongside the carriages when the road width permitted.
“You girls resemble a lovely summer garden,” Huxley said, referring to the various hues of their dresses.
Eleanor wore her sunny yellow muslin with a sprig of green leaves embroidered on the length of the skirt, ending in a border of tangled vines and tiny purple flowers. She’d debated whether to wear the yellow. Back in L.A., the color had accented her marginal tan beautifully, but when paler was considered better, the dress did nothing for her. She finally opted to wear it because she had a limited number of dresses, and it seemed absolutely necessary to change clothes several times a day. She covered her arms with long gloves and a white muslin shawl with embroidered tambour work that she borrowed from Mina.
Mina was in pink with rose accents, Deirdre in blue with orange accents, and Beatrix in white with red embroidery and ribbons. Each carried a parasol for shade, Eleanor having borrowed an old one from Deirdre. Small talk passed the time as the lead coach kept the pace to a crawl.
The horses, kept to the same pace by their riders, appeared to resent the slow walk.
Shermont pulled his mount, a beautiful black Arabian thoroughbred, next to Teddy’s horse. “Dabir is restless. I’m going to give him a run to settle him down.”
“Dabir seems a strange name for a horse,” Deirdre said before Teddy had a chance to speak.
“It’s Arabic for teacher.” The horse danced a few steps sideways, and Shermont reined him in. “So named because he does his best to teach me patience.” He smiled at Deirdre before turning back to Teddy. “We’re racing out to that promontory. I call it a mile and a half. Five quid each to the winner. Are you in?”
“No, thank you. Messenger seems content to keep gentler company, as am I.”
The lieutenants maneuvered their horses forward and begged the women for a favor to carry for luck. Mina giggled and gave Parker a small pink feather from the decoration on her straw bonnet. He tucked it in his hatband.
“I like your gray,” Deirdre said as she tied a blue ribbon around Whitby’s wrist.
They all looked to Beatrix who shook her head. Obviously, she didn’t want to give her red ribbons to anyone other than Teddy, and he wasn’t racing.
“Come on. It’s just for fun. It doesn’t mean anything.”