Page 18 of A Time Traveler’s Masquerade (A McQuivey’s Costume Shop Romance)

T he wind was cold. Guy pressed his stovepipe hat more firmly onto his head and eyed the tree line up ahead. Once they were within the Royal Forest of Epping Chase, they would be better protected from the elements. And from curious onlookers.

Tresham had accepted Catsby’s invitation to meet at Barnet. He’d surely thought it was a friendly meeting of cousins, with Catsby footing the bill for whatever victuals they consumed. Indeed, there was a good possibility that Tresham had actually looked forward to it. Unfortunately for the gentleman, that positive outlook had likely not lasted long after his arrival at the local inn.

Guy’s presence would have been Tresham’s first warning that this was not merely a social gathering. His suspicions had undoubtedly redoubled when, after perfunctory pleasantries had been exchanged, Catsby had suggested a walk to the forest. Given that Catsby had been resting his hand on the hilt of his sword at the time, it could not have escaped Tresham’s attention that both Catsby and Guy had weapons hanging from their belts. Tresham did also, but Guy thought it possible that his was more a statement of fashion than a threat.

Guy studied the man walking directly ahead of him. Anxiety radiated off his stiffened shoulders, but to his credit, he had yet to balk at their steady pace or the peculiar nature of the outing. Catsby had taken the lead and was guiding them toward the forest entrance. Tresham followed, with Guy close behind. It was an odd sight, to be sure, but Tresham had to be questioned—and if this silent march was any indication, Catsby desired a setting that offered both privacy and an opportunity for intimidation.

The breeze tugged at Guy’s cloak. It flapped noisily. Guy snatched the fabric and pulled it closer. He wished to know who had sent the traitorous letter to Monteagle as much as Catsby and Wintour, but with the damage already done, his concern centered on whether Cecil would unravel the cryptic clues rather than on listening to the confession of a cowardly betrayer. Guy had carefully monitored activity at the House of Lords for the past three days. No one had shown undue interest in the building or the undercroft, and he was beginning to think Cecil was not quite so clever as the gentleman would have his associates believe.

Up ahead, the snap of a twig underfoot marked Catsby’s arrival at the forest’s edge. Moments later, Tresham and Guy were also under the cover of tall, almost-leafless branches. Catsby did not pause. He continued into the forest, past dense bushes and evergreen trees that served as barriers to the wind and the outside world, until, at last, they reached a smallish clearing. There he took a position with his back to the trunk of a tall ash tree and turned his eyes on Tresham.

“Why are we here, Catsby?” Tresham asked.

Guy owned to being surprised. For someone who was facing an accusation of disloyalty, Tresham had more courage than Guy had supposed.

“I believe you know,” Catsby replied.

“Then, you credit me with more intelligence than you should.” Tresham’s gaze flashed to Guy. “I would suppose that since Fawkes has joined this woodland party, it has something to do with your plot to change the face of English politics.” He shrugged. “That is all the intelligence I can muster.”

“A letter was delivered to Monteagle some four nights ago,” Catsby said. “Did you pen it?”

“Why would I write to Monteagle?”

“He is your brother-in-law, is he not?”

“Of course. Which makes your question all the odder. If I wished to speak to the fellow, I have only to stop by his house. To the best of my knowledge, I am welcome there at any time.”

“I am not speaking of a trivial letter containing material suitable for a social call, Tresham.” Catsby’s voice had become menacing. “This particular missive was written by someone who broke a solemn oath made before God and men.”

Guy caught Catsby’s subtle nod and withdrew his sword. The blade left its sheath with a zing of grazing metal.

Instantly, Tresham swung around, his face pale. “If you are accusing me of betrayal, you must know that you are sorely mistaken.”

“I know no such thing.” In one practiced move, Catsby removed his sword from its sheath. “But because of our familial ties, I shall offer you three minutes to prove it to me.”

“We are cousins!”

“Indeed. And your sister is married to one of the very nobles who should be in attendance at the House of Lords when Fawkes plans to light the fuse. Which of those loyalties is the strongest, Tresham?”

“How can you ask such a thing when you know full well that we have enjoyed a unique bond since childhood?”

“So I thought.” Catsby took a step toward him, his eyes narrowing. “But you have yet to persuade me that it remains intact.”

“This is monstrous! Do you not recall my service during the Essex rebellion? I was jailed for my dedication to the Catholic cause. Why would I forsake that now, when we are on the cusp of making real and lasting change in this country?”

“Why indeed?” Catsby circled him, the tip of his sword pointed at Tresham’s chest.

Tresham pivoted, setting his desperate gaze on Guy. “I am innocent, I tell you. Whatever was shared with Monteagle did not originate with me.” He waved his arms. “You must believe me!”

“Who else would have written it?” Guy asked. “You are the newest member of our group and have yet to fully prove yourself.”

“Then, allow me to prove myself now!” Tresham cried, dropping to his knees. “If I am lying, may God strike me down before you.”

His plea ascended upward through the trees. A bird took flight in a flutter of wings, and then there was nothing but the hiss of wind cutting through branches.

Guy looked to Catsby. He was eyeing his cousin narrowly. Tresham’s head was bowed, as though awaiting his end. Was this merely theatrics, or was the man’s faith in God so great that he would commend his soul to Him in this way? Guy did not know him well enough to make a fair assessment. But Catsby did.

Guy waited, watching Catsby for a signal. A creature shuffled through a bush behind him, and the sound seemed to rouse Catsby from his pondering. He squared his shoulders and met Guy’s questioning gaze with another slight nod.

“Get up, Tresham,” he ordered, sliding his sword back into its sheath.

Tresham’s head bobbed up, the look in his eyes a mixture of doubt and relief.

“Up, I said.” Catsby moved forward and offered his cousin his hand.

Tresham took it and staggered to his feet. Not bothering to brush the twigs and dead leaves from his knees, he stumbled back a pace. “You have judged fairly,” Tresham said. “You need never fear my breaking my oath.”

“If you hear of anything that would lead us to the traitor, I would have you come to me straightway,” Catsby said.

“Understood.” Tresham took another step back, and Catsby grunted.

“You are free to go, cousin.”

Tresham needed no second invitation. He swung around and hurried away through the trees. Catsby and Guy watched him go.

“You believed him?” Guy asked.

“I did.” Catsby’s jaw tightened. “But if I am correct, that means there is another deserter amongst us.”

“It matters not.” Guy sheathed his sword. “We move forward regardless of the whispers abroad. No one has visited the undercroft since Cecil read Monteagle’s note. We have only four days more until it is over.”

Catsby clapped a hand on Guy’s shoulder. “Four days and you shall be hailed as the man who saved England.”

A spark of pride lit Guy’s chest. He would light the fuse and then disappear. Until the government was fully overturned, it was the way it must be. But when word spread of what he had done, no one—not even a king—would have the power to prevent his name from being spoken in awe-filled whispers.

Simon entered his sister’s London townhouse with newfound eagerness. It had been three days since he’d kissed Isla at St. James’s Park. Three days since she’d given him reason to hope that his feelings for her were reciprocated. And three days of coming to love her even more than he had before. Allowing himself to nurture rather than suppress his feelings had somehow seemed to encourage Isla to do the same. And although the fear that she would suddenly disappear still lingered, it was muted by the knowledge that if Isla were given the choice, she might yet stay.

“Good day, Grantham.” Simon handed his hat and cloak to Maidstone’s manservant. “Is Maidstone about?”

“No, my lord. Although I believe he is expected back within the hour.”

Simon was fairly certain that his brother-in-law had gone in search of Suffolk. Martha continued to be the most vocal regarding her desire to know that Cecil was acting upon the information hidden within Isla’s letter, and so Maidstone had pledged to obtain answers today. His assurance had cut Martha’s pacing to a minimum last evening, but if it were to stay that way, the gentleman would need to deliver.

“What of my sister and Miss Crawford?” he asked.

“I believe Miss Crawford is in the parlor, and Lady Maidstone is abovestairs, my lord. Would you have me send someone to fetch Her Ladyship?”

“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.”

A few moments alone with Isla would be welcome. If he knew his sister—and he did rather well—she would not give them long before she made an appearance.

“Very good, my lord.”

Leaving Grantham to take care of Simon’s outerwear, Simon moved swiftly down the narrow passage to the parlor. The door was open, so he walked in. Isla was standing at the window, gazing out at the rainy day. She was dressed in a green gown with lace at her neck and the ends of her sleeves. Her hair was piled atop her head in tiny ringlets, and as he watched, she absently reached up to tuck an errant curl behind her ear.

“I believe you may be the most beautiful young lady in London,” he said.

“Simon!” She swung around, her lips curving into a welcoming smile. “When did you arrive?”

“Just now.” He crossed the short distance between them in a few long strides and wrapped her in his arms. “I missed you.”

“You were here until late last night.” She laughed.

“I was indeed, and yet that was almost twelve hours ago.” He ran his forefinger gently across her cheek. “Which, in case you were unaware, is altogether too long.”

“It is rather,” she whispered.

“I am glad you agree,” he murmured, and then he lowered his lips to hers.

Her arms rose to wrap themselves around his neck, and he pulled her closer, drinking her in as he deepened the kiss. Footsteps sounded in the hall, but he gave them no heed.

“Ahem.” Someone cleared her throat at the doorway. Someone who sounded remarkably like Martha.

Slowly, Simon raised his head and looked over his shoulder. “Good day, Martha.”

She was standing with her hands on her hips, glaring at him. “ Good day, Martha? You enter my house without so much as a ‘by your leave,’ accost Isla, and then have the audacity to greet me with ‘Good day’?”

Smothering a grin, Simon turned so that he was standing beside Isla with one arm firmly around her small waist. “First, I was under the seemingly erroneous assumption that I did not need an invitation to enter your house. That is how we have functioned since you were first married. Second, I was not accosting Isla; I was kissing her. And third, given that you interrupted said kiss, I thought it was remarkably decent of me to greet you so politely.”

“Isla,” Martha said, ignoring Simon completely. “Do you wish me to throw him out?”

“Not really.”

Simon pulled a face. “Not really?”

Isla’s lips twitched, and he knew she was battling laughter. “Very well. Not at all.”

“Better,” he said.

“Enough, Simon,” Martha said. “I wish to hear Isla’s side of this, and if need be, we shall have the conversation without you.”

It was the best threat she could have used, and Simon knew that if he were wise, he would wait for her fondness for ordering people around to pass. He tightened his hold on Isla’s waist and closed his mouth.

“I know proper young ladies don’t conduct themselves this way in the seventeenth century,” Isla said, “but I’m afraid I regressed to the twenty-first century for a few minutes. Please, don’t be too cross with Simon. He did kiss me, but I kissed him too.”

It may have been his imagination, but Simon thought he caught a flicker of amusement in Martha’s eyes.

“Am I to believe that you have developed real feelings for one another?” she asked.

“Yes,” Isla said.

Concern lined Martha’s forehead. “But at any moment, you may be called back to your time.”

“I realize that. And so does Simon. But it is just as likely that I will remain here.”

“Do you wish to stay?” Martha asked.

“If I am given the option,” Isla said, “I will choose to stay with Simon.”

Martha gasped, the consternation on her face melting away. “That would make us all so happy.”

“Can I say something now?” Simon asked.

“Not yet,” his sister said, moving toward them.

Simon released Isla and stepped away so that Martha could embrace her.

“I suspected Simon was developing feelings for you,” she said, “but I was so afraid that no matter your inclinations, he would be hurt again by your leaving.”

“So, you do like me after all?” Simon said to his sister.

“Only on occasion. But my boys adore you, so I suppose I must offer you leniency on the day I catch you kissing your betrothed in my parlor.”

With a chuckle, he leaned forward and brushed his sister’s cheek with his lips. “Thank you, Martha.”

“No more kissing,” she warned.

“None,” he promised. “At least, not in your presence.”

Martha gave him a long-suffering look, but before she could lecture him further, the sound of the front door opening and closing reached them.

“I did not hear a knock,” Martha said. “It may be Hugh returning.”

Sure enough, moments later, Maidstone appeared at the parlor doorway, still wearing his cloak and hat.

“Do you have news?” Simon asked.

“I do.” He removed his hat. “I spoke to Suffolk. He remains skeptical that the letter is anything more than a prank, but Cecil disagrees. By way of compromise, Cecil agreed to do nothing until he had spoken with the king. The king returned today, and upon reading Isla’s missive, he insisted that a thorough search be made of the entire Palace of Westminster.”

“Thank goodness,” Isla breathed.

“Indeed,” Maidstone said. “The news was a long time coming, but thankfully, it is what we wished to hear. Suffolk was asked to conduct the search. He will begin at daybreak tomorrow and will be accompanied by Monteagle. He has vowed to send word when they have completed the assignment and has agreed to inform me of what they find.”

“Your connections to these gentlemen have been invaluable, Maidstone,” Simon said.

“I am glad that I have been able to contribute to this essential effort in some small measure.” He sighed. “We have but one day remaining until November 5, but God willing, we shall yet beat the conspirators at their game.”