The coach rattled into the Bloomington Inn courtyard. Lucy had not ventured here in the past, but she had heard tales of its beginnings from fellow agents. The inn had initially belonged to a Scottish lord but had been seized and gifted to an English one. After several generations of neglect, the large manor had been abandoned and left to rot. That is, until entrepreneurial Mr. Bloomington found, purchased, and refurbished it. Upon first sight, he decided to modernize the manor to accommodate and attract the ton. Agents had expounded ad nauseam on how spacious the rooms were, how there were even a few with adjacent sitting areas, and had compared the inn to the king’s palace.
Lucy alighted from the coach. Stepping back, she took in the sight of the inn; early morning rays of light glinted off the two rows of windows. Taking the steps up to the entrance, Lucy’s mouth fell open. Large double doors were of Viking proportions. Blake would be able to easily walk through without hunching to enter. Why had she brought Blake to mind? Doormen swung the doors open for her. She smiled at each of them as she entered. Slowly turning in the foyer, she was astounded by the sheer size and grandeur of the reception area.
“Miss Jones?” a clerk inquired.
Closing her mouth, she nodded and approached the desk.
“We were not expecting you until much later. You and your party must have traveled throughout the night and be exhausted.”
She rapidly initialed the register. The clerk motioned for a footman, who escorted her and Carrington up to her room. Over the years, her dealings with the Home Office had taught her to never underestimate her intuition. She couldn’t shake the feeling something was amiss. Entering the lavish chamber, Lucy ignored the beautiful decorations, the rich textured wallpaper, the plush carpets under her feet, and the inviting bed covered in silk pillows and soft cashmere throws. She walked through the two adjoining rooms and assessed the doorways, windows, and overall layout. Why had Archbroke sent her to this luxurious location? Knowing the man, it couldn’t have been out of consideration for her comfort. Or was it?
Carrington entered from the adjoining room and spun around in wonder. “My lady, this is perfect for your needs. I shall go belowstairs and bring up a tray. Coffee or tea?”
“Coffee, please. I’d like to begin working as soon as possible.” Lucy stopped Carrington with one more request: “And please keep your ears open.”
In a tone that indicated Carrington was offended, she stated, “As always.”
Lucy had best reward Evan as soon as practical. Carrington’s quick changes in disposition were leaving her flummoxed, and she did not care for the feeling one little bit.
She approached an extraordinarily elegant desk near the window. Settling into the chair, she retrieved the missives from her satchel and arranged the papers to her liking. Grateful for the sunlight streaming in, she began to study the words carefully. Without thought, Lucy reached for her writing instruments, which Carrington had already arranged. The girl was going to receive a beautiful ring indeed.
Lucy’s head rested in the crook of her arm on top of the desk that she had occupied for the past two days. Wisps of hair had long ago escaped her chignon. A stray strand moved back and forth with each breath, tickling her nose. But it was the warmth streaming through the window that brought Lucy out of a deep sleep. She rubbed her eyes. Despite having worked through the night, she still had not broken the code.
Conflicted, she was frustrated at her progress while simultaneously thrilled to be challenged. The complexity of the missives led her to believe the content must be significant, for no one went to such lengths otherwise. The frequency patterns used were elaborate and unfamiliar to her. Lucy was curious as to who could have designed the code, for the French had a terrible habit of being somewhat lax in their use of cryptography. These seemed to be using numerals not only to represent words or phrases but also something Lucy was just not able to determine.
She found herself questioning what Blake would think of this or that. The man had interrupted her peace of mind, and she needed to rid him from her thoughts.
Stretching her arms out caught Carrington’s attention. “My lady, you are awake. I’ll ring for a bath.”
Lucy sniffed and agreed a bath would be a grand idea and would do wonders to relax her sore and tired muscles. “Carrington, a light repast and a bath would be nice.”
Carrington flashed her a quick smile and then abandoned her project of organizing the discarded notes.
It wasn’t long before Lucy was soaking in a warm bath. Mr. Bloomington had devised a system where hot water was now accessible on the upper floors, allowing maids to prepare baths for patrons efficiently without the assistance of footmen to bring up buckets of hot water.
Closing her eyes, she rested her head back, picturing the contents of the missives. She had already ruled out keys she had successfully used in the past. There was a familiarity in the design, yet she was unable to definitively identify the missing link. She distractedly took the sandwich Carrington placed in her hand, sloshing water as she began to eat.
Carrington broke the silence. “My lady, I have a new riddle for you. What is flat and round, has two eyes, but cannot see?”
Lucy loved solving Carrington’s often wayward word puzzles. Grinning, she mulled over this latest as her maid rinsed the soap from her hair.
Carrington splashed soap and water into Lucy’s eyes. “How am I to figure out the answer if you keep blinding me?”
“My lady, I’ve never known you to make excuses,” Carrington was trying her best to stifle a giggle but failed.
Hearing Carrington’s giggle, Lucy decided to tease her more. “Is it a… pie?”
“A pie? No, my lady, it’s not a pie.” Carrington was now drying Lucy and trying desperately not to laugh.
Stepping out of the tub, she pretended to be deep in concentration. A smirk appeared as Lucy tightened her lips to prevent the chuckle from escaping. “Alas, it has to be a… button!”
Carrington inhaled deeply and swallowed her laughter. Shaking her head, she said, “Yes! I’ll have to try harder to befuddle you.”
Seated, Lucy’s mind began to refocus on her task while Carrington tugged and combed her hair. The riddle had given her an idea. The code contained an item she could not see.
“Carrington, I must return to work.” Lucy turned to face her maid. “Thank you.”
With a fresh perspective, she was close to deciphering the missive. She could feel it in her bones. Lucy walked back to the antique desk and began to review the pile of notes she had made.
Blurry-eyed, Lucy asked. “What time is it?”
“It will be time for supper soon, my lady.”
Had she been working all day without interruption? Blinking, she tried to focus her weary eyes. Carrington was on her hands and knees, surrounded by papers. Had she caused that mess?
“What are you doing?”
Carrington huffed her reply. “I’m trying to put these papers in order.”
Lucy should help clean up. Scrapping the chair back, she stood. But her legs buckled, and she had to lean on the desk for support.
“Carrington, you can cease organizing. I’ve figured it out. Certain numerals and combinations are blanks, disrupting the flow of the pattern.”
“Did you not devise something similar for the Home Office, my lady?”
“Yes, and I should have recognized it days ago, but I was unaware the French had used that method in the past.” Lucy was questioning the source of the missives.
“Well, what does it say?”
Lucy leaned closer to the lamp and read aloud the decoded message:
“Imperative. Apprehend and disarm. Target: Lord D. Ensure he is not harmed. Must be in good health. Deliver on June 19. Lone Dove.”
Odd that the rendezvous point would be the Lone Dove. It was not known as a locale where French operatives convened. She suspected the Home Office was in search of a traitor.
Further, the recipient of the missive must already know the identity of the target, for it only stated Lord D. There were multiple Lord Ds among the ton.
Lucy’s frown deepened as she considered whether Blake, the only Lord D she was acquainted with, could be the target. Nauseated at the notion he might be at risk, she determined to find out for sure.
The missive had a target date of June 19. That gave her a month to figure out who Lord D was and formulate a plan to ensure his safety. She prayed it would not turn out to be Blake. Why she had such strong feelings for the man, she did not understand. But there was a bond that had been established when he had held her in his arms.