AN: Some people wanted to see Harry, others wanted to see Ruth - so I've settled for a little bit of both in one go, as was suggested by Jaberwockette, whom this chapter is dedicated to... Hope you enjoy...

Ruth arrived at Kieley late the next evening, still troubled by Sir Henry's abrupt farewell visit, and much fatigued by her journey. Berry had driven ahead that morning with the luggage and John, leaving Miss Evershed and her maid to follow at a more genteel pace. Kieley's large, welcoming entrance hall and its blazing fires were very much welcome - despite it being August, the night was chill - and Miss Evershed would gladly have retired early, had it not been for the fact that her godmother had waited to dine until her arrival. So, after half an hour spent with Samantha, while the latter attempted to find out which of Miss Evershed's gowns was the least creased from packing, Ruth descended to the small family dining room. Lady Radford was already at the table, looking somewhat paler than usual. At Ruth's anxious enquiry after her health, however, her ladyship merely replied that she had had a slight cold but was recovering. Ruth sensed that she was not being told the entire truth, but could think of no way to ascertain the true situation without vexing her much-loved relation. Therefore, she took her seat opposite Lady Radford, and forced herself to concentrate on whatever her ladyship chose to discuss.

Her ladyship chose to discuss the slim portion of their acquaintance left behind in London. The Norths and others were dealt with summarily, but when she reached Sir Henry, her ladyship showed more inclination to lengthen the discussion. At last, Ruth offered, "He called upon me yesterday."

It seemed to her that her godmother's eyes grew sharper and more curious, and that, momentarily, she leant forwards in more eagerness. But her voice was calm and cool when she replied, "Indeed? For what purpose?"

Her goddaughter toyed with some vegetables on her plate before replying. "He came to wish me a safe journey back to you, ma'am, and to ask me to pass on his very best wishes to you. He was leaving London yesterday, to attend to some business away from Middlethorpe."

Her ladyship relaxed in her chair, and a flicker of disappointment, quickly hidden, crossed her face at her goddaughter's reply.

"That was kind of him, indeed. If he is to be absent from Middlethorpe for any length of time, then he shall be all the more welcome here at Christmas, Ruth."

Her companion attempted a smile. "Indeed. I mentioned our plan to him, ma'am, but he could offer me no definite promise of his freedom at that time. He seemed almost… distracted. I hope that his business involves nothing distressing to him."

Lady Radford inclined her head. "As do I."

Soon afterwards, Ruth excused herself and retired to bed. She had expected her return to Kieley to be a joyous occasion, but ironically, her spirits were low and depressed, and as she changed for bed, she was astonished to find her cheeks were wet with tears. Brushing them vigorously away, she stared hard at herself in the mirror. "Stop this nonsense!" she ordered herself sternly. But as she lay down to sleep, she could not help the fact that her thoughts turned inexplicably to a certain baronet. His face swam to the front of her mind, his eyes smiling, his hair curling dashingly over his forehead, his lips… Miss Evershed sat up, shocked at her own unusually lurid imagination, and turned over her suddenly warm pillows, before pressing cool hands to her equally hot cheeks. She covered her eyes. "Oh, dear," she groaned to the dark room. "That is awkward."

Sir Henry had forgotten how much he despised France. The weather was vile, the food and drink even more so. The back of his neck prickled constantly with nerves, the product, he supposed, of too many years spent behind a desk. But, Lord, how good it was to be back in the field, doing worthwhile work for his country once again. His false papers and impeccable French had served him well since the men of His Majesty's Navy had deposited him on a deserted beach by rowing boat, at night the day before. They were sailing further around the coast, transporting more soldiers to where they were needed, but would return in a few days to collect Sir Henry, as long as all had gone well. Until then, he was alone. He had fortunately managed to purchase a horse from a dealer in a small town on the coast. But perhaps fortunately was the wrong word - the mount was skinny, dull-eyed and slow to boot. Any good mount had already been taken for the use of Bonaparte's army.

Luckily, the farmhouse for which Sir Henry was making was not far away, placed about a mile south of a rural village. By sunset, he could see the farm buildings and dismounted from his horse with relief to walk the rest of the way. Golden shafts of sunlight floated down upon the red roof of the main house, and the soft clucking of chickens could be heard as he drew nearer. The picture was one of perfect rural domesticity, and as he entered the farm quietly, Sir Henry found it difficult to believe that this seemingly peaceful country was at war. But then, did England's countryside look so different? Life went on, he realised. Farms continued their work, children were born, the old laid to rest, young couples married… He smiled wistfully. Perhaps soon…

Lieutenant Quinn's reports had mentioned a local agent who lived here, whom Sir Henry assumed would hold any information Lieutenant Quinn had managed to find out, but he was too tired to find them out tonight. He would bed down in the large barn he saw, and announce himself tomorrow. Exhausted, he pushed open the barn door and led his mount inside. The floor was covered in fresh hay, and a workhorse was already stabled there. He looked up from his manger as they entered, inspected them and then returned to his food. Sir Henry dropped the reins he carried in his hand. "Make yourself comfortable," he muttered to his dull-witted mount, and began to remove his coat.

But as he did so, something hard pressed into his back, between his shoulders. Something round. Almost like a gun barrel…

"I wouldn't move if I were you, Englishman."

Damn. How inconvenient.

AN: What's up with Lady Radford? Whose got Harry? And will he ever make it back to England in time for Christmas? Definitely a decent length chapter of Harry up next...