Page 42 of The Elusive Phoebe (The Widows of Lavender Cottage #1)
Chapter Thirty
T he carriage wheels clattered against London's cobblestones in the pre-dawn darkness, but Archie's mind was far from the familiar sounds of the city waking around them.
The memory of that dark figure watching them at Brighton had lodged itself like a splinter under his skin, impossible to ignore and growing more painful with each passing hour.
He had spent the journey from Brighton composing and dispatching a series of urgent express messages—one to Mrs. Thornbury at Rosemont, another to the housekeeper at the seaside cottage, and a third to the steward managing Phoebe's London townhouse.
Each message contained the same terse instructions: implement maximum security protocols immediately, trust no one without proper authentication, and assume hostile surveillance of all properties.
"You're brooding," Phoebe observed quietly from the seat beside him. Mary dozed in the corner, but Phoebe had been watching him with those intelligent eyes that missed nothing.
"I'm planning," Archie corrected, though she wasn't wrong about his mood. "The watcher at Brighton changes everything. They're not just searching randomly anymore—they're tracking our movements with precision."
"Which means they know about the estate visits."
"Exactly. And if they know about Brighton and Rosemont, they certainly know about London.
" Archie pulled out his pocket watch—still two hours before their planned arrival at the townhouse.
"We're walking into the most dangerous part of this puzzle with enemies who are no longer content to search from the shadows. "
Phoebe was quiet for a moment, her gloved hands folded in her lap. "Are you having second thoughts about helping me?"
The question hit him like a physical blow.
"Never," he said fiercely, turning to face her fully.
"Phoebe, I would walk into hell itself if that's what it took to keep you safe.
But I need you to understand—London is different.
This is where Robert's enemies have the most resources, the most connections, the most ways to trap us. "
"Then why are we going?"
"Because it's also where we have the most allies," Archie replied, pulling out the list Robert had hidden in the Brighton cave. "Your husband was careful about who he trusted, but the people on this list have resources that could protect you better than anything I could arrange alone."
As their carriage turned onto the fashionable square where Phoebe's London townhouse stood, Archie felt his nerves tighten with anticipation.
The house was magnificent even in the dim morning light—four stories of elegant Georgian architecture, with iron railings and window boxes that spoke of wealth and taste.
But more importantly, it represented the final piece of Robert's puzzle and possibly their last chance to understand what enemies would kill to obtain.
"There," Phoebe said softly, pointing to the imposing front door. "My London home."
"Our London home," Archie corrected without thinking, then caught himself. "That is, if you—I didn't mean to presume?—"
"I know what you meant," Phoebe said with a smile that made his heart skip. "And I think I like the sound of it."
The carriage drew to a halt, and immediately the front door opened to reveal a dignified man in his fifties with the bearing of a military officer turned butler.
"Lady Smalling," he said with a deep bow as Archie helped her down from the carriage. "I am Hollings, your butler. We received Lord Lytton's express message and have implemented the requested security measures."
"Thank you, Hollings. This is Lord Lytton, and my maid, Mary."
"My lord, miss." Hollings's sharp eyes assessed Archie with the efficiency of someone accustomed to evaluating threats. "If I may, sir, we've had some concerning developments since receiving your message."
Archie's attention sharpened immediately. "What sort of developments?"
"Three separate inquiries about Lady Smalling's residence in the past week. A gentleman claiming to be from her solicitor's office, a man representing himself as a government official, and a woman asking the kitchen staff about Lady Smalling's travel plans."
"All refused entry, I hope? "
"Naturally, sir. But their interest suggests that Lady Smalling's London residence is under active surveillance."
As they entered the house, Archie was struck by the obvious care Robert had taken in its arrangement. Every detail spoke of thoughtful preparation for Phoebe's comfort—from the feminine touches in the décor to the strategic positioning of furniture that provided clear sightlines to all entrances.
"Hollings," Archie said as they paused in the elegant foyer, "I need to send several urgent messages. Can you arrange for absolutely trustworthy messengers?"
"Of course, sir. Might I ask the nature of these communications?"
Archie pulled out Robert's list of trusted government contacts. "I need to arrange meetings with these gentlemen. Today, if possible. And I need to send word to Somerset—specific people who should know we've arrived safely in London."
"Lady Joanna," Phoebe added, understanding immediately. "And the others who are... managing our affairs while we're away."
"I'll see to it immediately," Thornton promised. "And sir? The staff has been informed that Lady Smalling possesses certain sensitive materials that may be of interest to hostile parties. We are prepared to defend this house and its occupants."
"Defend?" Archie looked more closely at the butler, noting details he had missed before—the way the man stood, the slight bulge beneath his well-tailored coat, the calluses on his hands that spoke of weapons training.
"Lord Smalling recruited his household staff from... unconventional sources," Hollings explained with a slight smile. "We are all committed to Lady Smalling's protection."
As Hollings departed to arrange the messages, Archie felt some of his tension ease. Robert's network was even more extensive than he had realized, and London suddenly felt less like walking into a trap and more like entering a fortress.
"Shall we explore the house?" Phoebe suggested. "I suspect Robert left us clues about where to search for the final piece."
They began their exploration with the main reception rooms, which were elegant but yielded no obvious secrets. The dining room, morning room, and various parlors were beautifully appointed but contained nothing more mysterious than excellent furniture and carefully chosen artwork .
It was when they reached Robert's study that Archie felt the familiar thrill of discovery.
The room was clearly a gentleman's private sanctuary—leather-bound books, a massive mahogany desk, comfortable chairs arranged near a fireplace. But dominating one wall was a portrait that made Phoebe gasp with surprise.
"That's me," she said, moving closer to examine the painting. "But when did he... how did he..."
The portrait showed Phoebe as she appeared now, not as the young bride Robert had married.
Her face had the maturity and strength she had gained through her trials, her eyes held the intelligence and determination she had developed during her isolation.
It was painted by someone who knew her deeply and loved what he saw.
"He painted this from memory," Archie realized, studying the brushwork. "During your separation. He was imagining what you would become."
"It's beautiful," Phoebe whispered, then louder: "But look at the frame."
Indeed, the ornate gilt frame contained subtle mechanical elements—small gears and levers that suggested it was more than mere decoration.
They ran their fingers over every part of it, touching grooves and corners, pressing indentations until finally, something slid under Phoebe’s fingers and revealed a small compartment just large enough to hold a key.
“The detail, the intricacy of everything is awe inspiring really.” Archie shook his head.
They lifted the portrait to peer at the wall behind.
A singular key hole did not surprise them. Their key fit and then a panel of the wall swung inward like a door, revealing a concealed chamber.
"Extraordinary," Phoebe breathed as they stepped into the hidden room.
The secret chamber was smaller than the cave at Brighton but no less impressive.
One wall contained an enormous safe, its door standing open to reveal neat stacks of documents, gold coins, and jewelry.
Another wall held maps of London marked with safe houses, escape routes, and what appeared to be the locations of government buildings.
But it was the contents of the desk that made Archie's breath catch.
Spread across its surface were detailed surveillance reports on dozens of individuals—government officials, military officers, and members of Parliament.
Each file contained evidence of treasonous activities: correspondence with foreign agents, financial records showing payments from French sources, and documented meetings with known revolutionaries.
"This is it," he said grimly, lifting one of the files. "This is what Robert discovered—a complete network of English traitors working with Irish revolutionaries and French agents."
Phoebe picked up another file, her face pale. "There are so many of them. Some of these names... they're prominent members of society, respected officials..."
"And this," Archie said, lifting a small mechanical device from the center of the desk, "must be the final piece of the cipher."
The device was more elaborate than the first two pieces—a complex arrangement of gears, dials, and crystal elements that clearly served as the central component of Robert's puzzle. When assembled with the music box from Rosemont and the compass from Brighton, it would create something significant.
"We need to put them together," Phoebe said, carefully unwrapping the other two pieces from her traveling case.