Queen (Regency Refuge 3) (9 page)

They rode hard all day long. Isabel's mare wasn't meant for such a long journey and had to be traded for another horse at one of the stops they made. Time was of the essence, and they couldn't dilly dally for the sake of the beast.

Isabel couldn't help but glare at
Despiadado
from time to time. He was relentless, and even if he were slower, Owen would never consider leaving him behind. The two obviously had a close relationship. The animal seemed to anticipate what Owen intended even before he gave the signal, so closely in sync were man and beast.

After she gave Penelope up, Isabel didn't bother to learn the new horse's name. She didn't have the blunt necessary to purchase a horse capable of riding all day without tiring, which meant the new one would have to be traded in eventually, too.

"You said we'd be there soon, but it's been hours." She couldn't help the whine crawling into her voice.

Owen threw a grin over his shoulder. "That was five minutes ago. Would you care to borrow my timepiece?"

Isabel glowered at him. She wasn't used to riding such long distances sidesaddle. In the past whenever she'd needed to travel far, she'd disguised herself as a man for the ride. She didn't suppose that would be well-received by Owen, though, and so had dressed as Iola the poor barmaid. Which meant she'd had to wear a dress and use a woman's saddle. Halfway into the day she'd begun to question the wisdom of her choice. "If I had a rock handy, I'd throw it at you."

"What good would that do? Then you'd never find the manor."

Owen reined in his horse, and Isabel, intent on getting ahead of him, even for a few minutes, gave her horse a small heel kick to spur her past
Despiadado
. The poor girl showed her timidity by shying away from the big horse.

By the time she coaxed the mare around
Despiadado
, Isabel felt childish for making such a production of taking the lead. She, too, reined her horse in. Looking back at Owen, she tucked her chin down. "We shan't arrive at all if you dawdle the day away."

The sparkle in Owen's eyes should have been a clue, but Isabel was too fatigued to pay it any mind.

"Are you honestly going to sit there and ignore me?"

When he still said nothing, Isabel circled around with a
harrumph
and the tightening of her mare's reins. Then she glanced up, and her mouth fell open. Chakal Manor stood, a castle backlit by the setting sun. It wasn't the largest castle in all of England. Nor was it the most elegant. Nonetheless, with the sun-painted sky setting the backdrop afire and lighting up every surface, the castle looked to be dusted with rubies, golden apatite, and citrine.

"Breathtaking." As if her whispered words had been the permission needed, the sun sank over the horizon, and the brilliant colors faded to a faint yellow glow.

"Now, my fair lady, may I introduce you to Chakal Manor?"

"You never told me it was mystical."

From the corner of her eye she caught Owen's smile. "Not mystical, no. Safe. Which is its own kind of magic, wouldn't you say?"

Together they rode toward the castle. Years had passed since Jackal had shared the tale of Chakal Manor with her, one night during her stay at the Queen's court. She'd been too frightened to fall asleep that night, and he'd entertained her with stories of his past. Some were about missions, but one was of his family estate. He'd described it to her in such great detail that as soon as she'd caught her first glimpse all these years later, she'd known.

Isabel gritted her teeth. She was no longer that helpless, frightened child, and Jackal could take much of the credit for that. He'd trained her to defend herself, and he'd taught her to believe in herself. He'd seen value in her at a time when it felt as if everyone wished to throw her away.

"You said Jackal has gone on to London?"

Owen nodded.

"Will… will I be able to see him?"

She sensed rather than saw Owen's thoughtful gaze on her. "I'll arrange it."

"I don't even know his real name."

She caught the flash of white teeth in the fading light. "I'll let him introduce himself. He spoke too highly of you for me not to allow him the honor."

****

They left their horses with the stable boy, and Owen carried both their satchels as they approached the manor's entrance.

The door swung wide to admit them, and Isabel followed Owen into the grand foyer. "You are expected. A light repast awaits you in the blue salon." The butler's stiff words reminded Isabel of Chambers, the Rutherford's servant. Yet upon closer examination, she noticed the twinkle in this butler's eyes. "I believe roasted pigeon is on the menu."

Isabel ran a few steps further into the house before coming to a sudden stop. Turning back to the butler, she asked, "Where would I find the blue salon?"

"Come along. I'll show you." Owen took the lead. He marched, a soldier going to battle. Or to face his death. Isabel had the distinct feeling Owen dreaded coming face to face with Pigeon. But how could he? Pigeon was brilliant and amazing, a legend.

Owen strode through a door and stopped, causing Isabel to run into his back.

"Move, you oaf." She pushed him out of the way and stepped into the room. A table was set with a spread of food and two intricately designed plates. The woman who sat in a chair near the window wheeled around and looked at them, and Isabel was shocked by her age. In her mind, Pigeon was vibrant, powerful, and mighty. This woman must be at least eighty years old.

The woman waved her hand in dismissal. "You may leave us, Mr. Loring. Your friend and I are going to indulge in an evening of girlish, idle chatter. I'm sure you'd faint from the boredom. A room has been prepared for you, and a bath ordered. Go relax. You'll be making an early morning of it, no doubt."

Owen gripped Isabel's elbow and pulled her out of the room. "Are you sure you want to be alone with that woman?"

Isabel nodded, excitement bubbling up inside of her.

"You'll tell me what this is all about tomorrow, yes?"

A quick step up onto her tiptoes let Isabel press a kiss against Owen's cheek. Then, without a word, she slipped back into the blue salon and closed the door in Owen's face.

She swung back around then to find the woman smiling at her, eyes alight with laughter despite their age. "You've got to keep that one guessing. He spends too much time buried in books and filled up with knowledge. It will be good for him to have a woman he can't predict."

Isabel took a hesitant step forward.

"Sit, child. Eat your fill. You and I have a lot to talk about."

Isabel, plate full, nibbled at the food before her as she listened to the old woman talk.

"You need to call me Mrs. Burnham. That's who I am these days. That's who I've been for nigh on thirty years now."

"Why did you retire?"

"I went to work for the War Department once I discovered my husband worked for them. What he did fascinated me, and I had a knack for it. He was delighted we could share that part of his life with no need to keep secrets from each other." Mrs. Burnham contemplated the room's reflection in the window, the soft sounds of reminiscence in her words. "He used to call me his little pigeon. That's where the name came from."

Isabel wasn't sure she was ready for the answer, but she asked the question anyway. "What happened to your husband?"

"Killed on assignment. I stayed with the War Department because I couldn't face life without him, and because I wanted his killers brought to justice. This is a dangerous job we do. For men, it's physically dangerous. They keep their work and personal lives separate. For women, though, everything's all wrapped up together. This job consumes us. It takes a physical toll, an emotional one, and even a spiritual one if we're not careful."

"I'm sorry for your loss." Isabel's heart ached for the woman whose love had been taken from her.

Mrs. Burnham offered a sad smile. "One never quite recovers from such a loss, but life does go on. My husband's best friend also worked with us. His sister was married to an agent but didn't realize it. Fitz was a good man. Had the timing in our lives been different…"

Silence settled for a moment before Mrs. Burnham brushed it away. "When his sister found herself with child, he asked me to hire on as nursemaid to keep an eye on them and help protect the family. The day Miss Juliana Clairmont was born was also the day Mrs. Burnham came to be. I ended up falling so in love with that little girl and her family, I never once considered going back."

"This Fitz — he meant a great deal to you?"

"Aye, he did. He's gone now, also a victim of the job we do."

Isabel winced. "I'm so sorry. You're right. This life we've chosen takes more from us than it should."

"Ah, dear, but you didn't choose this life, did you?"

Isabel gave a small shake of the head, not quite sure how to answer. True, she hadn't chosen the life, but she no longer knew any other. She enjoyed the work, too, thrived on it even.

"I was against it from the start. Everyone was. Granted, I was no longer active, but I still attended some of the important meetings. I happened to be in London with the Clairmonts, and Tobias sent me a message demanding my presence."

Isabel quirked a brow, and Mrs. Burnham chuckled. "He felt so strongly, you see. Tobias may not seem too commanding, but he has his ways. He wanted you kept out of service. You were too young, and Tobias didn't trust the minister. So he called a meeting and required the presence of several agents and advisors. Including the minister, ten of us were there that night."

"But the minister got his way."

Mrs. Burnham nodded to the food on Isabel's plate. "Eat, child. You need your strength, and I always take the long way around to telling a story."

The moment Isabel picked up her fork and speared a strawberry, Mrs. Burnham continued.

"The meeting got heated. Pistols were even drawn at one point. And that's after everybody supposedly gave up their weapons." Mrs. Burnham shifted in her seat and lifted her skirt ever so slightly. Isabel grinned as she caught a glimpse of the small muff pistol strapped to the woman's calf.

"I wear shorter serviceable gowns for my current job." Isabel tapped a hand against her thigh. "I'd have to be indecent to show you mine."

Mrs. Burnham winked at her before picking up the tale. "The vote was nine to one at that meeting, but the minister's word was law. Nobody dared cross him. That's the first time I knew he couldn't be trusted. Everyone felt it. Seeds of discontent were sewn that night, and agents soon began leaving. Tobias did everything he could, and he's done an admirable job all these years despite having to work with the minister. Doubts about the minister's integrity never entirely went away. Some things can't be undone, and sending an innocent and untrained child to do a job most seasoned agents would be wary of — it was too much for most people to stomach."

Isabel set her fork down again. "I had no idea people had such strong feelings."

The older woman nodded. "And rightly so. No matter what doubts one may have about a mission, it's not to be shared with the agent who's in the thick of it. You needed to believe everyone had complete confidence in you. Otherwise you never would have believed in yourself."

"Jackal told me stories about you, about Pigeon. He said he'd never met you, but he knew the legends. I used to dream about the day I'd be as brave as you."

Mrs. Burnham's warm laughter filled the room. "Ah, child. I was young and impudent, not brave. Then, after my husband was killed, I got angry and brash — but still not brave. People have a way of retelling history to paint heroes and villains while much of the time it's nothing more than ordinary people making foolish choices."

Quite full, Isabel pushed her chair back and rose from the table. She moved to the blue tufted divan and sank into it. Her feet tucked beneath, she leaned forward to hear more.

"There is much I could tell you, dear Queen, but we will meet again, and I will share more stories with you then. For now, before young Mr. Loring becomes too impatient, I must tell you a few things."

Isabel bit back a chuckle.
Young Mr. Loring, indeed!

"Neither Jackal nor his family know who I am, and I need you to keep my secret."

"But you were at a meeting together. About me. And your butler knows, I'm certain."

Mrs. Burnham nodded. "This was once Fitz's home. The man you know as Jackal recently inherited it. As for the other, well, it's easy enough for a woman to change her appearance. I was in disguise and hidden by a heavy cloak. He's not recognized me yet, and I doubt he ever will. The only one you'll meet who knows my true identity is Tobias. Others might suspect, but it's easier for them to think I'm a crazy, eccentric old woman, and that suits my purpose just fine."

"I don't know if I trust Tobias. He sent me away to America."

Mrs. Burnham struggled out of her chair and walked over to Isabel, sitting next to her on the divan. She reached out a bony hand and rested it on Isabel's. "You can trust him. I give you my word. He's going against all of Parliament to help get to the bottom of what happened to your parents."

The older women gave her hand a squeeze before adding, "Nobody is aware Mr. Loring is returning to London to go through the minister's papers. Tobias has kept it a secret because he doesn't know who to trust. And you need to know, Tobias saved your life by sending you to America. An execution order was about to be issued. He put his life at risk to save yours, but he'll never tell you so himself."

Isabel's world tilted on its axis. "An execution order?"

The older woman nodded. "From the minister. You need to know Tobias has been protecting you since the day you came into the agency, but if anybody ever realized, you'd have become an even bigger target. Trust Jackal, too. He's not much good in a street fight these days, but he's a solid strategist, and if my eavesdropping ears have served me well, he thinks of you as a younger sister. You may not always appreciate what these men decide, but you can trust they make their decisions with your best interests in mind."

"And what of Owen? Can I trust him?"

Mrs. Burnham's mouth lifted in a gentle smile. "He's keeping secrets from you, but he's doing so because he's afraid you'll hate him if you know what he thinks he knows."

"What does he know?"

"Very little, but he thinks he knows something. I need you to make me a promise."

Isabel nodded.

"If the two of you don't find the answers you seek in London, make Owen visit his father. The two of you together, go see the senior Mr. Loring. Owen won't want to, but you'll need to."

Isabel nodded. "I'll make sure."

Mrs. Burnham tapped her cane on the floor, causing the room to echo with the rumble of thunder. "Now we have one remaining piece of business to which we must attend." She rose slowly from the divan and started walking toward the door. "Follow me, child. We must outfit you for London."