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CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

I racked my brain for any way out of this situation as Milton escorted me back to Laetitia’s house in silence. It seemed that Laing’s hired muscle was a man of few words. It felt like a bit of a cliché to me, to have a strong silent henchman follow you about.

I knew that Laing had to have a far larger scheme than the one he had shared with me. For one thing, there was the matter of the anarchists and the bomb-making materials. For all his talk of power and chess matches, he’d been extremely light on details, but then I supposed one couldn’t hope an arch-villain was going to happily lay out all his plans.

When we reached Laetitia’s house, I was informed by a doleful Smythe that she was out at the college. He eyed Milton with great suspicion, but as he looked at everyone that way, it seemed unlikely I would be getting any help from that quarter.

“My friend has asked that I return to London at once,” I said carefully, sticking to the script Laing had impressed upon me. “She sent Mr Milton here to accompany me. Please pass on my thanks to Laetitia for having me to stay. I’ll be certain to write to her when I get home.”

“As you like,” Smythe sniffed, already shuffling away.

I packed my few belongings – the ones Ash had purchased for me – under the watchful eye of Milton, and as slowly as possible. I needed time to think. There was no way to alert the Aviary – Laing had made sure of that. They were being watched, and I couldn’t risk their safety.

That was when it hit me: there was one name that Laing hadn’t mentioned. Someone he probably didn’t know existed.

“I’d better write my letter to Mari,” I said as casually as I could manage, striding towards the small writing desk.

Milton’s hand closed round my shoulder, his fingers like iron bars, and I longed to hurl him across the room as Sylla would undoubtedly have done.

“Nice try,” he jeered. “Laing already told you; you aren’t allowed to warn any of your friends about what is happening.”

“And I’d be a fool to do so,” I said primly. “If you know anything about me, I should hope it’s that I am no fool. Marigold Lockhart is a friend of mine. I’m supposed to be leaving here to visit her in Yorkshire tomorrow. If I don’t write her a letter to cancel the engagement, she’ll worry and ask questions. Mr Laing will not like that.” I eyed him coolly.

Milton made a sound of annoyance. “Write your letter, but I’ll read it before you seal it. And don’t try any funny business.”

“I have no desire to place my friends in danger,” I said. “Mr Laing has already made his threats to their safety clear. I can promise you, I won’t do anything to upset him. You can read the letter, and you’ll find nothing amiss. You’re welcome to tell him all about it.”

I set pen to paper and chewed on my lip.

Dear Marigold,

Thank you for your charming letter. I was sorry to hear you are having trouble with the begonias, but I’m sure the rhododendrons will perk up beautifully. Cambridge has been lovely – though there are not so many flowers here as in your glorious gardens. Tell me, is the peach blossom in bloom? I expect the place is full of butterflies – I saw a particularly fine Aricia agestis here yesterday, but I’m sure it’s nothing to your summer visitors.

Thinking about your home makes it harder for me to tell you that I will have to postpone my visit – Mother has called me back to London so that I can attend Queen Charlotte’s Ball. You know how much I hate these social events, but she is determined.

I will write to you with more later, but I remain your friend,

Felicity

“There,” I said, handing the letter to Milton. “I think you’ll agree there’s nothing at all incriminating in that.”

“What’s all this stuff about flowers?” Milton’s brow creased.

“Mari used to be a florist,” I said. “Her gardens in Yorkshire are a wonder. We talk about flowers all the time. I’m trying to sound as I normally would, rather than like someone being threatened and held hostage. I’d have thought you’d approve.”

“What’s this?” He tapped the paper. “Aree… Arick…”

“ Aricia agestis ,” I said promptly. “The Latin name for a type of butterfly. We can look it up in one of Laetitia’s books, if you like.”

Milton read the letter once more, taking his time, and I felt as though I were holding my breath. Then he nodded.

“All right,” he said. “You can send your letter, but don’t think I won’t be reporting back to Mr Laing.”

I could only continue to hope that Laing had no inkling of Mari’s links to the Aviary. There was no reason he should – Mari lived in a gothic castle out in the Yorkshire moors with her husband, a noted recluse.

“That is your business.” I wrote out the address on the envelope, and Milton checked that too, sealing the letter himself with a look of satisfaction.

I got to my feet, dusting off my skirts. “Now, will you help me downstairs with my trunk? I don’t like to ask Smythe; it might be the end of him.”

Milton glowered at me, but hefted the trunk up on one shoulder and strode for the stairs. I followed behind, calling for Smythe when we reached the bottom.

“Thank you again for your hospitality,” I said, pressing the letter into his hands. “I wonder if you would mind sending this out in the post as soon as possible.”

“Certainly.” Smythe gave a stiff bow. “Madam has several letters that need delivering today, so I will put it with those.”

“Thank you, Smythe,” I said, and we walked away from the house where I had experienced a brief and surprisingly wonderful respite.

I could only cling to the desperate hope that Mari would get my message – and that she would know what to do with it.