We did not speak of anything of consequence until we had entered the safe house on the chance we were being followed.

"Dinah, you were magnificent!" I said as Roger shut the door after taking one final look outside.

"He was very good. Did you notice how he attempted to play to my vanity while giving you the majority of his attention? To play two games at once so well!"

"I daresay, it sounds as though you might admire him," Quentin teased.

"On the contrary, I quite detest him. Using someone's grief to manipulate them into joining your faith is a vile betrayal. And attempting to use Mina and I against each other all the worse. He flatters me and then showers her with attention while witholding flattery from her which should breed envy between us while at the same moment making us both seek his approval. And he is just handsome enough that it might be an effective technique, but not so much so that it might be expected. I have seen scores of preachers and missionaries attempt the very same but with not half his skill."

"But he was no match for yours," I laughed. "It was a brilliant stroke to have me play the doubter."

"I was afraid you would not notice my signal."

"I almost didn't."

"Do you really think he might be our man then?" Quentin interjected.

"He was a Millenerian. That was certainly consistent with the Munsterite teachings."

"And the clothing was similar to the man we saw in Brighton. You were able to get one of the pamphlets?"

"Yes." She produced it from her sleeve and placed it on the table.

"The Trumpet of Tekoa," Quentin read the large print on the top of the document.

"Any idea what the meaning of that could be?" I asked.

Roger shook his head.

"It's a reference to the Book of Jeremiah." Quentin said pulling a small Bible from his coat. He began flipping through the pages, finally slowing until he found what he had been seeking, "Here." he pointed to a passage of almost indecipherably tiny text. "Flee for safety, people of Benjamin! Flee from Jerusalem! Sound the trumpet in Tekoa! Raise the signal over Beth Hakkerem! For disaster looms out of the north, even terrible destruction."

"That does not portend well," Roger said.

Quentin replied, "No, it certainly does not."

"What is the significance of Tekoa?" I asked.

"Tekoa was a town to the south of Jerusalem where the Prophet Amos was from, in those times it was used as an military outpost from which trumpets might be sounded to raise the alarm of invasion," Dinah supplied. "The pamphlet title would be meant to serve as a warning of impeding disaster to those who would know the reference."

"Jeremiah and Amos... weren't those both minor prophets who warned of the destruction of Jerusalem?" I asked.

"Well, I'm glad to see those Sunday services aren't entirely lost on you." Quentin smiled in a warm, quietly teasing manner all his own. "Yes. In fact the remainder of the chapter of Jeremiah goes on to describe the Lord's judgement of destruction against Jerusalem. The pamphlet further references Jeremiah here." Quentin read from the first line of text, running his finger below the words, automatically translating them from German as he spoke, 'Hear the word of the Lord, all you people of Judah who come through these gates to worship the Lord. This is what the Lord Almighty, the God of Israel, says: Reform your ways and your actions, and I will let you live in this place. Stand at the crossroads and look; ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is, and walk in it, obey me, and I will be your God and you will be my people. Walk in obedience to all I command you, that it may go well with you and you will find rest for your souls.'" He balked, picked up the document and reread the text silently; picking up his Bible he compared the two a moment.

"Quentin, the back!" I cried.

He turned it over that we might all see: printed on the back of the pamphlet on the bottom third in the place of a publisher's seal was the image of the 'A' in the circle with the picture of a sheep's head central and the small letters 'K' and 'M' flanking it to either side.

We stared at the image in silence until Roger finally spoke,

"Were there any doubt, I think it is quite vanquished."

Quentin nodded in agreement. "I am very troubled by the verse at the top."

"Why is that, brother?"

"Because it is not just one verse, it is three. Jeremiah 7:3, Jeremiah 7:23, and Jeremiah 6:16. They've been combined to form a single passage in such a way it would be difficult to notice it if you were not familiar with the text."

Dinah frowned.

"What is troubling about that?" I asked.

"They are willing to manipulate the Biblical texts in order to support their doctrines. That is a very dangerous thing. When properly rearranged and altered it is no difficult task to use verses to justify even the gravest of sins. The Word of the Lord is designed to strike at chords of the heart, to be a balm to the mind - when perverted and twisted it can be the most depraved seducer. You two girls will have to be on your guard."

"But won't you be with us?" Dinah asked, nervously.

"Not in the beginning. He'll trust us more if it appears you have coerced me to come with you after hearing and discussing his message. If I come with you to the first meeting he may take it as a challenge for I was not receptive to him initially - it would be odd for me to have so quickly changed my mind and become amenable to him."

"What about Roger?"

Roger sidestepped from the fireplace careful to avoid the chair, "Uncle Johan will not be joining the meetings at any point. It will serve us best if they were to believe I am a host hostile to their beliefs."

"They'll wish to rescue us from his attempts to recapture us from their fold," Quentin explained.

"They are a large group," Roger said. "We can estimate at least one hundred eighty-three based on the agents killed but I suspect there are a good deal more from which they are drawing their assassins and bombers. A group of such significant size would require its own land - possibly they have their own commune or have overrun a small village. It would have to be somewhere that is a good distance from normal society so they might not be noticed. They would be insular, unlikely to trade or communicate with the rest of the world beyond recruitment. If they see that you are in danger of being stolen from them they will speed up your admittance into their inner sanctum. And aside from that one of us must keep an eye on things here."

"According to the pamphlet they meet every Wednesday evening at 6pm at the Royal Theological and Philosophical Academy in the Fürstbischöfliche Schloss," I read. "That gives us four days to prepare."

"We'll need to spend the majority of it making this house look livable," Roger said. "Tomorrow Quentin and I should set about repairing the roof."

"Mina and I will clear the garden," Dinah volunteered us with not the least concern for my consent to the odious task or gardening.

"We will also need to get furnishings come Monday. And while you're at it, Dinah, see what you can do about Mina's German. We should be speaking it at all times in town to avoid being too conspicuous."

"Agreed," Dinah said. "We can start tonight, or tomorrow if you prefer?"

"Tomorrow, I think. I am far too tired to recall anything tonight."

"Then you should start tonight," Roger less suggested than ordered. "It will be like priming a pump. When you hear it again tomorrow it will be that much easier."

I deflated at his pronouncement, I had not exaggerated my exhaustion - if anything I had underplayed it. "If I must."

"I insist," Roger smiled in that way that only served to make me hate him more. "Quentin and I will leave so that you can get to it without distraction. Goodnight Miss Moore."

Quentin took his Bible and put it back in his pocket. "I suppose I should do as he says. Goodnight dearest," he said, kissing me on the cheek. With that, both men went to their rooms leaving me to my torment in peace.


The very next morning I was awakened by a loud knocking upon my door.

"Mina, are you awake?" Quentin's voice came through the wood.

I pulled the pillow over my head, responding in a muffled voice, "If I did not answer would you simply accept I was not and cease your knocking?"

"No, dearest." I could tell he was smiling even without being able to see his face.

"Then I am awake," I said, rolling over onto my back, still not willing to open my eyes. I could feel the dewy chill of the morning on my face like a thin fog. The air was fresh, cold, still with the scent of snow from the flurries the previous night. Or possibly this morning. Had it snowed overnight? I instantly hoped beyond hope it had snowed great piles of heavy white fluff.

"Did it snow last night?" I called.

"Only a light dusting. It should be gone by noon. You will not be able to get out of the gardening that easily."

"Rats!" I cursed to myself.

"We have much to do today so hurry up and get ready."

Opening my eyes to the pale grays tinted with the whitish blue of breaking dawn I sighed as I listened to his footsteps trail off into the kitchen. I hated to leave the warmth of my bed but now that I was up it seemed a cruel chill, stirred by my movements, was determined to seep under my quilt and drive me from the bed. In the other room I heard the crackling of the fire in the fireplace. Deciding it better to venture into the breach that promised future warmth than to attempt to bear the ever encroaching cold I wrapped my blanket about me and moved to the water bowl.

I tipped the pitcher over expecting a stream of water, but nothing came. Righting the object I looked inside. A bubble bobbed and danced just below the surface of an icy plate covering. I sighed once more. Taking a brush I jammed the handle into the ice breaking a jagged hole into the surface from which water could freely flow. I gritted my teeth as I dipped my fingers into the frigid water. I could ask for more water but vanity and exhaustion demanded that such herculean efforts not be spent. The shock of the liquid ice upon my face caused me to wince. Had I not been awake before I certainly was now! I splashed myself twice more before toweling off and beginning my preparations for the day in earnest.

It was only fifteen minutes before I was ready to rejoin civilization. Dinah sat alone at the table drinking a cup of strongly scented tea.

"Where are Quentin and Roger?" I asked, seating myself across from her and pouring a cup for myself. While we had arrived in town far too late to purchase groceries, Dinah had been able to persuade the restaurant owner to part with some of his stock for a few pfennig and her good regard. It was amazing the favors a pretty face might inspire.

"They are outside looking at the roof."

I sipped my tea, "I didn't notice there were any problems with the roof."

"There is a large hole in the roof over Roger's room."

"There is?"

"Yes, it's quite bad, I don't know how he manages to tolerate it. The entire corner is open to the elements. I offered to let him stay with Quentin and I would share with you, but he said it was fine, that cold air is good for the lungs and you needed your sleep."

"That is nonsense. You should have told me! I would have been more than glad to share my quarters with you."

"He told me not to tell you. But as the problem will be soon rectified I see no reason to maintain secrecy further." She took a sip of tea as if she had said nothing of consequence. "If you could spare the time I should like to spend an hour this morning concentrating on your German."

Despite that they had mentioned the roof needing repair yesterday I had not even thought to ask about it. It had been so very cold last night! It would have been no bother for me to share with Dinah! Why would he employ such a senseless measure? We were practically sisters!

Dinah placed her teacup on the saucer before her, regarding me quizzically, "Well, Mina?" I was still so befuddled by the confession of Roger's surreptitious generosity I had not even heard Dinah's proposal.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"About working on your German for an hour after breakfast."

"Oh yes! Of course!"

"Good."

The door opened and the men entered with a frigid wind at their heels. Quentin, without even sparing a moment to remove his hat and scarf, immediately came to my side and planted an icy kiss on my cheek.

"Good morning, dearest."

"You're freezing!"

"It's not so bad, it is only the wind that is cold," he said, divesting himself of his top hat, scarf, and coat (how strange it was to see him in a top hat instead of his humble shovel hat!). "I imagine it should almost be warm by midafternoon if the wind stops."

"How is the roof?"

"It has a few places where it needs to be patched but it should not take us more than a day. Did you sleep well?" he asked, still standing for want of a chair, as he poured himself a cup of tea.

"Quite well, and yourself?"

"The same."

"And what about you, Roger?" I turned my attention to the man standing in front of the stove, watching us from a distance, "Did the snow last night give you any trouble?"

"Why would you think-"

Dinah coughed lightly. Roger, suddenly realizing his secret to have been exposed, sent her a dirty look. She did not turn to see it but I knew she was aware of it for a satisfied smile graced her lips.

"I tacked a blanket up so the snow could not get in."

"You might have told me. Dinah could have stayed in my room."

"You needed rest and besides," his tone became quite pointed as he continued, "I've been waking up with a bit of pain in my neck and I thought the cold might be just the thing for it." He rubbed the left side of his neck where it met the shoulder.

My eyes grew wide. I could not have shared a room with Dinah! Not without her discovering where Arthur had marked me! The highnecked dresses, coats, and scarves concealed it well, but in my nightclothes it was wholly exposed! And there would be no mistaking it for anything other than what it was. The Underhills would be understanding, of course, once the tale was laid bare before them. Quentin would forgive the scandal of it and would make no more mention of it. But I could not bear the damage it would do to my virtue.

For had I not known Arthur's reputation, his penchant for turpitude? Had not Elizabeth come crying to me that he had confessed to her of a child conceived out of wedlock that was claimed to be his - a claim he could not refute! And Elizabeth dearly had wished it not to be so, begged me to go with her to the Gilbert's house so that we might see with our own eyes that it was merely the grasping attempt of a scorned and fallen woman to disgrace a former lover. Had I not seen for myself the six year old child, the very image of the now Duke in miniature? Had I not been privy to so many rumors of Arthur's assignations? Heard jokes from other women regarding the ill wisdom of being alone with him? And yet I had allowed myself to be alone with him knowing all these things. He was the guilty party, of course, yet I could not help but hold myself at some fault for it. To have let him - a single man, a peer - be alone with me, a single woman, late at night... it had been an open invitation for scandal and it was only by good fortune madness was all I had been accused of.

Roger was protecting me.

I looked down into my teacup hoping the steam might somehow hide the blush of humility blooming over my face.

"Thank you for your consideration," I said.

"We should get you some linement while we are in town," Quentin suggested.

"There is no need, the cold air did wonders for it. It is barely even a twinge now. Some exercise should take care of the rest, I am certain. Now let's have no more talk of it. It was inconvenient to experience and I don't care to needlessly revisit something so banal." He took a sip of tea, savored it a moment and continued, "We should leave for town soon for there is much we must do today."

"It's Sunday," Quentin said. "Everything will be closed."

"Damnation! We'll just have to see what can be scrounged up."

"Mina and I were going to work on her German this morning," Dinah said.

"Might you be able to do that along the way to town? I do not wish us to be late for the early service," Quentin said.

"Oh! I completely forgot about services! I suppose we can."

Roger let out a breath that could almost have been a sigh and shook his head ever so slightly. Of course it would never cross the minds of either Underhill to simply skip church services given everything that had happened in the past few days.

"So what say you, Dee? Do you want to play the Papist today or Lutheran?"

"Lutheran, I think. It will be better practice for Mina."

"Why so?" I asked.

"The Lutheran Liturgy is in German, while the Catholic Liturgy is in Latin. Even if the Homily is in German it's still only a small part of the service," she answered brightly.

"Right you are, Dee."

"I wish you all the best in finding one in this town," Roger said caustically.

"We'll make do if we must, but I thought we did pass one yesterday."


And it seemed he had for he easily found the location of the little building, more a house than a church. Roger opted to part with us just before the entrance citing a general unwillingness to make a spectacle of himself and a need to see if he could secure, if not roofing tiles, then, at the very least, some wood to cover the hole in his roof. To call the experience uncomfortable would not do justice to it for we were quite apparent in the small group and initially the people appeared unable to determine whether they should welcome us or be suspicious of us but eventually settled on the former. Sunday School preceded services; which, of course, Quentin made such a favorable impression - the English preacher come to visit, who was so well learned and yet of such a humble temperament one would not think it, and such a fine speaker of German! - that by the time we had managed to extricate ourselves from the gathering we had a dozen invitations to dinners throughout the area and Quentin had graciously accepted them all. I suspected this was both out of friendliness and a desire to punish Roger for skipping church. Roger would, of course, be furious. I could not conceal my delight at that prospect.

We met with Roger in the main square for lunch. And, indeed, he was furious when he found out what Quentin had done.

"But it will be excellent practice for Mina," Quentin stated simply, which put an end to the argument once and for all. Dinah and I caught each other's glances and tried in vain to hide our smiles at Quentin's conquest with our food while Roger glared with impotent ire at the victor.

After a few minutes of silence Dinah finally broke in, "Johan, were you able to find something for the roof?"

"No. We'll have to come back tomorrow. We should buy some lime as well; the house has need of a fresh coat of whitewash. And perhaps you and Mina might stop by the charity shops and find us some more furniture that the house might look as though it were actually lived in if Mr. Menning or any of his friends stops by to check on our story. A single man might be persuaded to clean for company, his ego would dictate the house appear well maintained, but he would not invest in new furnishings."


The next day we executed the plan. Furniture was purchased and roofing tiles obtained as well as a secondhand cart and to accompany, a small, elderly, yellow pony named Windpfiefe who may once have lived up to that name but now seemed quite content to plod along and nose at us for his shaggy head to be rubbed. Of course, for Dinah and I it was love at first sight with our little friend and he found plentiful caresses from us.

"He's a working animal, not a cocker spaniel!" Roger cried in frustration as the pony veered off to seek my attention once more which I gladly gave, rustling his white forelock between my fingers.

"He just wants a little love. It's not like we are in any hurry." I gave the pony a kiss on the nose.

Roger turned up his nose in indignation, "What a disgusting display. He'll never take his work seriously if we are not firm with him from the start."

"What work?" Dinah said, running her fingers through the pony's thick fur. "He's as much a prop as the sofa, but far sweeter."

"And more expensive."

"A worthwhile expense if I do say so," Quentin said, patting its head. "It will save us from having to hire a cart whenever we go to town."

"Provided we reserve an extra hour for the journey," Roger muttered as the pony nudged his arm. He attempted to ignore the obstinate creature but it persisted. "Oh all right!" he cried and rewarded the pony with a pat on the nose and a rock of sugar.

I could not help but chuckle at this display, "You're worse than the rest of us!"

"What do you mean? I'm his master. I've owned him his entire life; I'm supposed to spoil him in his old age. You're just my house guests. It is only sensible I should be the favorite."

"I always forget you're a horseman," Quentin said.

"I don't know why you do, it is a gentleman's pastime afterall. My champions are some of the finest in the world. Surely you remember 'Prince Caradoc's Cry'?"

"I can't say that I do."

"Prince Caradoc's Cry is your horse?" I exclaimed, all amazed, forgetting my language for a moment.

"Yes, one of my favorites."

"He's the sire of one of our mares, Greenmoor Rose! We paid a fortune for the match!"

"Ah yes, I recall that match: Lightning Amongst Lilies was the dam, correct?"

"Yes!"

"Not a particularly impressive specimen, but pleasant enough."

"Her bloodline was impeccable, she had an excellent build if you recall."

"But her musculature was lacking. A thin horse lacks endurance in my experience. White hooves as well."

"That is true, but with the combination we hoped to resurrect the best of the line."

"How did the experiment fare?"

"Rosie won a number of championships, but she is since retired. Her foals have thus far fetched us a good sum on the market with a dressage champion this year for Fury of the Rose. My brother swears her newest colt, Mountain Rose, will be a champion, though father is less confident."

"I didn't know Mr. Chester Moore III entertained an interest in horses."

"He doesn't. It is my brother, Avery, who is keen."

"Is Avery old enough to be the word on horses?"

"He's only seven but he seems to have good instincts."

Quentin stretched his arms over his head and leaned back, allowing the sun to shine down on his face and chest, "It's rather warm today. Dinah, you and Mina ought to whitewash the house while we work on the roof. Who knows if tomorrow will be half so pleasant?"

"Agreed," Dinah said. "If we wait it may rain tomorrow and we won't have the chance come Wednesday - it would be too fresh."

"I truly miss my barometers. It is difficult to guess the coming weather just by the feel of it," Quentin lamented.

My mind turned to Quentin's little home built weather station that hung just outside his window of the cottage at Sutton-at-Hone; all shiny gauges and dials and little whirring spoons to measure wind speed and direction all watched by the eager eyes of their master who rarely looked more childlike than when he was about their business. He had made a point to show and describes for me in detail each device, its function and provenience from a recently acquired anemometer he eagerly told me was a replica of DaVinci's design to his very first thermometer, given to him as a present on his sixth birthday from his father who could not have known what he had wrought in that simple gift.

We chatted about what needed to be done about the cottage for the remainder of the walk.


The day stretched long before us as we moved furniture, scoured pots, swept floors, ridded the place of pests and plugged their holes. Roger and Quentin spent much of the afternoon on the roof where we could hear them hammering away in steady rhythm.

"It's starting to get late," Dinah said, running her free hand across her glistening brow while leaning slightly on her broom. "We should start on the outside of the house before evening sets in."

"The whitewash should be ready by now." I gave the thin white mixture a stir to confirm the lye had properly integrated itself with the water. "It's a good thing Quentin knew about the alum powder and glue."

"He's had to whitewash the stable a fair number of times in his day - it should be no surprise he would find a way to make it stick better for longer - if only to avoid expending the effort quite so many times a year." Dinah winked with a smile.

I pulled up on the pot containing the mixture. Despite my best efforts it only lifted an inch from the floor.

"Let me help you with that." Dinah gripped the handle as well and between the two of us we managed to waddle the over laden pot outside.

I rolled my shoulder back a few times, massaging the joint with my other hand, "In retrospect we should have probably mixed it outside."

"We'll remember it for the next time."

I heard the hammering echo through the trees. Looking up to the roof I saw nothing. "They must be on the other side. I wonder how the work is coming along?"

"Hopefully well, I had no idea the roof was in such bad condition."

"Well, we'd best get to work ourselves. I don't want to give Roger an excuse to accuse us of sloth."

Dinah smiled knowingly, "I don't believe that will stop him from doing so, even if we covered the entire house in an hour. It's just his way."

"Perhaps he needs to consider mending his ways so they are less irksome."

Dinah simply smiled and dipped her brush into the pot.


After an hour Dinah took a moment to gaze at the sun which hung just a few fingers above the horizon. "We had best call the boys in for tea," she mused aloud.

"I'll get them," I said, relieving my aching arm of the heavy brush which had seemed lighter when I first picked it up. Stepping back to survey our work I was a bit dismayed to see we had only covered most of the front of the house so far and even that was not completely done. Hopefully Quentin and Roger would soon be finished with their task and able to assist us or we might be forced to paint by lantern light before all was said and done. "Quentin! Roger!" I called as I walked around the house. No answer met me but that of hammering.

Coming to the side where the din originated I saw the ladder leaning against the side of the steep roof. I climbed up the ladder a few rungs and was so shocked by what I saw I nearly lost my footing; for both men were stripped down to their waists, their shirts, waistcoats, and jackets lying in a pile beside the ladder as they worked. I could not help but stare at their forms. Quentin's alabaster form was not especially muscular, his build exactly as I would expect of a gentleman and not exactly unlike a statue of Hermes I had seen at the Crystal Palace in my youth but for a slight hint of pink upon the shoulders where the sun had colored them.

It was Roger who most drew my attention for his broad shoulders and defined back and arms were excoriated by scars, burning various shades of pinks from the exertion. The one that traversed his side to his stomach I recognized but the remainder were foreign to me. A particularly nasty scar on his well defined shoulder glowed a bright red. It could not be that old at all! Less than a year for certain! The body of the scar was straight, no more than two inches in length if that, but the edges had a ragged appearance to them, as though they had been torn and stitched badly (though still with more skill than the twisted scar on his hand).

Quentin turned from his work to pick up another wooden tile when he saw me, head and shoulders above the edge of the roof, staring at them. He smiled, "Oh, Mina. I didn't see you come up."

The sudden presence of talk caused Roger to pull up from his work and turn to face me. His chest was as badly marked as his back, if not more so! When he saw me staring, unblinking eyes large as saucers, he flashed a taunting smile, "Have you been watching for long?"

I could feel the heat growing upon my cheeks. I attempted to gather myself to answer, but my words came out in such a trippingly fast stream as to make the answer sound false despite its veracity, "No-no! I've only been up for a moment. I tried calling you."

"The hammers probably covered the sound," Quentin said. "Anyhow, what brings you up here?"

"Dinah wanted me to, that is to say, it is getting quite late and we were wondering if you would like to join us for tea?" I blurted out, trying with every fiber of my being to look at his face alone.

"Has it really gotten so late? Well, I suppose we'll just finish up here and be right down."

"I will. Thank you." I was relieved to turn my eyes back to the ladder.

"Wait a moment, Miss Moore," Roger called just as I was about to descend.

"Yes?" I said, still trying to avert my eyes.

"What do you think?"

I glanced up quickly and colored even brighter than before, my mind too flustered to grasp what his possible meaning could be. "Think?"

"About the roof?" Roger laughed, clearly reveling in my obvious discomfort.

I turned my eyes to the roof for only a moment before once more staring at the grass below, "I can't say for certain for I did not see the original, but I would guess from the work it has taken it looks very nice."

"Don't let the amount of time fool you. It took Roger the better part of an hour to get a single nail in straight."

"Not that you are one to talk," Roger said, hitting one last nail in. "Did we not almost lose a row of tiles when you failed to hammer them into the gable?"

"I was only an eighth of an inch off, if that!"

"But the gable was four inches wide." Roger taunted.

With a good-natured smile Quentin grabbed Roger's clothes in a bundle and threw them at him. "Get dressed. There's a lady present."

Roger caught the clothes. "Well, Miss Moore, I'm afraid the show is over," he said, pulling the long, white sleeves of his shirt over his scarred arms.

On the corner of the roof closest me Quentin was buttoning up his shirt. He picked through the little pile for his waistcoat, "Ignore him. Tell Dinah we will be down in a few minutes, dearest."

Well, at least they were getting along; I thought to myself as I stepped off the ladder, my face still burning red.


It was well into the night before we had finished whitewashing the outside of the house and it was a good thing we had not put off any for tomorrow for it rained the whole of the day but for the evening when the rain turned to thick, fluffy flakes of snow. Dinah put the time to use, drilling me in German every waking moment until even Roger had to admit I was coming along quite well.

"We've got a long day tomorrow, so we had best turn in," Quentin said, stretching his arms wide. "Goodnight Roger, Mina." He gave me a quick peck on the cheek from where I sat in front of the fire in one of our newly acquired armchairs, reading a little German book of fairytales he had surprised me with earlier.

"Goodnight dear."

"Goodnight Quentin, Dinah." Roger waved from the door of the little interior stable where he was attempting to fix the lock so that Windfiefe would not be able to make another daring midnight escape as he had the night before.

"Dearest, you had best be off to bed as well," Quentin gently chided me.

"As soon as I finish this chapter."

He smiled tenderly at me and, sliding a finger beneath my cheek, he turned up my chin and kissed me. "Don't forget to get some sleep," he said backing off.

"I will."

Quentin's eyes shone with a deep affection such that, for a moment, I felt my heart might burst from within me, "You will sleep or you will forget to sleep?"

"I will sleep," I assured him.

"Don't worry Quentin, I'll make certain she doesn't stay up all night," Roger said irritably.

"As you intend to?"

"Better to be up all night than to be awakened by a pony cribbing at your door. Besides, I don't have any pressing business tomorrow so I may sleep as late as I wish. And don't even think of waking me for morning prayers."

"Duly noted. Goodnight." And with that Quentin and Dinah retired to their room.

I had only had a few pages left in the chapter, but my unfamiliarity with the language caused my progress to be painfully slow. I was jarred from the rescue of Schneewittchen by a cup of tea being placed on the table beside me. Roger sat down in the chair at angle beside mine and took a sip of tea, gazing calmly at the fireplace. I closed my book and put it beside the little china cup. Taking the tea I blew the steam gently and took a sip, watching the snow fall through the window.

"So what is it you want to ask me?" Roger finally spoke after some minutes in silence.

"What do you mean?"

"I've known you for years now, I can tell when you are burning to ask a question."

I swallowed a sip of tea, "How did you get that scar on your right shoulder?"

Roger allowed the hint of a smile, he took a sip of tea before answering, "It's not important."

"Was it in Russia?" I probed.

"No, India."

"What happened?"

"I was spotted leaving the house of a wealthy government official and took a throwing knife to the shoulder from one of his bodyguards."

"That sounds dreadful."

"I was lucky." He placed his cup on the table, eyeing me seriously. It was a few minutes before he spoke again, "I know it goes without saying, but do not underestimate Menning. They would not allow him out if they were not certain of his loyalties and his ability to take care of himself."

This sentiment irritated me, it was as if he thought I were somehow in need of reminding the danger we faced and was in need of reminding. "As can I. There is no need for you to worry about me," I said, taking a sip from my tea.

"But I do."

I looked up from the cup to find his eyes matched to mine. There was something so very deep and serious within them I felt a hollow aching in the whole of my chest so overwhelming tears threatened to spring to my eyes. I searched for some response to parry this blow but found myself at a loss.

Roger pushed himself up from the chair in which he sat. "Anyway, I will see you in the morning. Until then: goodnight, Miss Moore."

He was across the room and through his door before I found my words again.

"Goodnight, Roger."