I felt the slow, jarring lunge of the horse as it plodded down the path. He was a large-boned chestnut who seemed to show no interest in the gamboling trots of those younger members of his kind. Others in the stable had been recommended to me, prettier, clean-limbed little things with legs no thicker than twigs - Darby practically tried to force a quick looking Arabian on me but I refused (a man can never understand the pains of sidesaddle riding!), instead insisting on the steady old Don that Darby argued was barely more than a cart horse. Finally Nicholas took a stand for the old hunter, stating unequivocally that if this was the horse I had set my heart on it would be mine. Now, sitting across the horse's broad back I was never more thankful for my choice: it is not that I lack skill in remaining on the saddle, but the added girth of a wide ribbed horse makes me feel infinitely more secure - like sitting on a gently sloping hill as opposed to the edge of a cliff. Nicholas rode his own bay by my side; occasionally clucking lightly at the young animal easily distracted by the other members of his kingdom who gamboled about in the warm sunshine soaking the meadow. Before us, rode Darby on his little dapple-grey Arabian chatting blissfully away with my Aunt Mabel. 'Never was there a more well suited pair!' - the thought forced me to stifle a laugh. "God bless you." Nicholas offered. "Are you feeling well?"

"Oh, quite well. I didn't mean to give you any alarm. I was only just thinking that my Aunt and your brother seem to be quite well matched in temperament." A snippet of their conversation drifted back to us:
"But then I told them No! You cannot plant oak trees in the garden! The acorns would be so unsightly come Autumn. Cherry trees have far more pleasing blossoms."

"Oh, I agree completely! How anyone could dare to think of planting oak trees in a garden is beyond my reasoning!" Aunt Mabel trilled rapturously. Nicholas turned to me with a smile,

"Yes, truly kindred spirits."

"For the life of me I cannot make sense of your relation. He is not at all like you!"

"It is true, there is something about the eyes that speaks to our relation but little else. Still, he is my brother and alike or not I do still love him - even if I am thankful to surrender to another his conversation. He has been on about the landscaping of the garden for weeks now - I have since begun to regret the undertaking."

"I understand, I have a brother myself." I confessed.

"Is he elder or younger?"

"He is younger by two years."

"Are you close to him?"

"Sometimes, I daresay we were much closer in our youth. When he was only an infant I used to call him my 'Little Doll' and lavish attention on him. Of course he was too large for me to carry at such a young age but mother tells me I valiantly attempted to drag him about the nursery with me." At this Nicholas chuckled.

"I imagine under such diligent care he grew quite attached to you."

"Oh yes, extraordinarily so! Until he was four he toddled after me around the house as if, instead of a boy, he were a little yellow-headed duck." I continued wistfully, fully enveloped in my nostalgia. "But then Father decided it was not good for him to spend so much time in the company of women and thus I was moved out of the nursery and Chet was encouraged in his friendship with Artie and some of the other local youths."

"Are you sorry for it?" I started - I had become so lost in my memories I had completely forgotten I was actually speaking them to another. Embarrassed, I fumbled for a response.

"Not entirely. Of course, I was utterly devastated when it happened - I recall weeping myself to sleep every night for a week without the chubby fingers of my little doll to console me. Father scolded me fiercely for my 'hysterical theatrics' as he called them and threatened that he might whip me with a switch if I could not find a way to contain myself." This was all terribly humiliating and yet I could not seem to stop myself from relating it. Not since I had broken down in tears in front of Quentin had I lost so much control over my words - and yet, this felt quite different. It was not out of a bursting need to expel that which had been festering within to whatever ear might be sympathetic to hear; but rather something not unlike a close kinship, as if I had been familiar with Nicholas all my life. There was a great comfort behind the dismissal of my guards. I felt, not judgement, but the embrace of acceptance. His eyes never wavered from me, rapt in their attention to my silly tale of willful youth. "I suppose that is what broke me from my melancholy for the fear of my Father's switch far outweighed any sorrow I might feel at my loss. But I do admit, I often felt pangs of jealousy when I would witness Chet and Artie playing about the house. I wish I could dismiss it as being for the best, but... well, but I suppose the habits of young gentlemen may be somewhat off-putting to a lady." As much as I might consider Nicholas an intimate, my fears for my brother were to stay a fastidiously kept secret.

"Of course, I was that young myself - I am certain I threw my mother into veritable fits with my wild ways."

"I cannot see you as wild!" I laughed.

"Not much more than the average young man, I am certain. But I did tend to scrap more often and I was quite prone to coming home well after dark after imbibing too much with my friends at the pub. But I grew out of it as most men do when their responsibilities begin to loom over them."

"I confess that does ease my mind a great deal. I pray he will grow out of it soon."

"I take it he occupies your thoughts a great deal?"

"Yes, moreso as he has lately taken ill."

"Do they know with what?"

"The doctor said it is pneumonia." Nicholas shook his head.

"That is very serious, I can understand why it troubles you."

"If he must be ill I am glad it is in the summer, when there is no risk of a chill to endanger him further. But still..." I trailed off.

"But still he is your brother and no logic or sense can ease the worry when a loved one is seriously ill." Nicholas finished. It felt as though my heart had grown to bursting within my chest at his sympathy for my fears. He did not condemn or criticize me for my anxiety but instead understood it. Had I not loved him before, now I certainly did.

"Do you have any other siblings aside from Darby?" I asked, changing the subject.

"No, we had a little sister, but she passed from Scarlet Fever in her infancy. She was a dear little thing, too - always smiling and chattering up a storm." his brown eyes filled with sadness as he spoke - he was no longer looking at me: though his eyes had never departed from my face I could see the shadows of the past clouding the brown halos of those orbs. It was no longer I in their focus but the image of a small girl never to be seen again. Then, he was back as suddenly as if he had never wandered. "And you? Are there anymore aside from you and your brother?"
"Yes, I have a sister, Elizabeth, she is eight years my junior; and only just last week I received the announcement of the birth of my new brother Avery Christopher Kepler Moore."

"Kepler?" he furrowed his brows quizzically.

"It was my mother's maiden name."

"So you are in part German?"

"Only a very small part, but then so is the Queen." I defended.

"Your Majesty!" he exclaimed with a slight bow of his head and flourish of hand. "Shall my princess grant me the honor of escorting you about the grounds?" I felt my face afire, sticking my nose in the air I turned from him in indignation (and so he would not see the high color blooming over my cheeks),

"If you continue in that vein of jest you shall have to catch up to me before you could dream of escorting me."

"On the old Don? I should scarcely have to break into a trot!"

"He still has some fire in him, don't you?" I addressed the aging stallion directly, he acknowledged my comment by continuing to plod on at his slow pace. He sneezed, shaking his head.

"If my princess says so." Nicholas teased, eyeing the creature dubiously.

"C'mon Justin!" I urged, letting the reigns fall slack I made a gentle brush against my horse's flank with the riding crop. I instantly regretted my decision. In my impulsiveness I had completely forgotten my mount's profession. We raced ahead of the group as though the fox were well in sight. No sooner did I see the creek than we had cleared it - it took all my skill to simply hold on - that I did with full consciousness of my own mortality. From behind I heard the galloping hoofbeats of another,

"You have made your point!" Nicholas called out. "You may slow down now!"

"I will slow at my own leisure!" I cried back, doing my utmost to sound as though I were in complete control of the situation - which, at the moment, I in no way was.

"Come on now!" Nicholas entreated, catching hold of the slackened reigns slapping along the horse's neck well beyond my reach. He pulled them back ever so gently until both horses were trotting side-by-side. "He does tend to get away from you if you don't know him." he offered generously.

"Thank you." I surrendered. Looking back I saw only trees lining the vast green fields. "How far did we travel?" I could not conceal the concerned waiver in my voice.

"About a mile, a mile and a quarter." Nicholas answered surveying the distance with his arm extended and thumb up. "You are fortunate I chose to ride Buck today or you would still be running. He's the only one who can catch that old Don when he starts."

"If you knew that then why did you challenge me?"
"Well, to be fair, I never thought you'd actually make good on your threat. Most women wouldn't dare."

"Then may it serve as a lesson to you: I am not like most women."

"I will be sure to take note of it." he replied with a smile. I was just beginning to be lulled by the bucolic beauty of the fields when an urgent thought snatched me from it:

"We should ride back, my Aunt will be in a panic! She'll believe it some scandalous conspiracy to be rid of her!" I exclaimed. Unexpectedly, Nicholas broke into a laugh,

"I only wish you could have seen the shock on she and Darby's faces as you raced past them." The image easily manifested in my mind of Aunt Mabel and Darby - for once in their lives mute - staring, stunned, at each other. I could not help laughing as well.

"I-I suppose it must have been quite hilarious."

"Without doubt! Do not worry, I shall return you to your chaperone with all due haste."

"Well, perhaps we might spare some haste; I would rather not trot any longer than is absolutely necessary."

We caught up to Aunt Mabel not twenty minutes later. She had been as frantic and suspicious as I had anticipated. For the rest of the ride I was to remain dutifully at her side while Nicholas was consigned to keep company with Darby. I attempted to look cowed but I could not help casting a pleading glance to Nicholas who returned it with a sorry nod - he had already rescued me once today; a second attempt, under these circumstances, would be impossible. I sighed, resigning myself to my odious fate. "You cannot run off like that!" My Aunt lectured. "You might have been hurt or killed! It is only by the grace of God that Mr. Martin is a man of good character - another man might have taken the opportunity to steal your virtue and leave you in ruin. Then what would you do? You are too proud, you know! And, as the Bible says: Pride cometh before the fall..." Her admonishments continued, unabated, until we had arrived at the stable. Nicholas dismounted his horse swiftly and strode over first to aid my Aunt in her descent, once he had that accomplished he came to my aid. I was astonished by how easily he was able to lift me from the saddle. Concealed by the horse's flank he leaned in close to my ear and whispered, "Thank you for the race, my princess." Before I had time enough to even recognize the words I felt the soft pressure of his lips upon mine. In that instant it was as if the whole of my body burst into a stardust (for I have no other words to describe it than that that is how I imagine stardust must feel) like burning and shimmering and exploding all at the same moment. And just as quickly they were gone - how I instantly ached for their return! As though there were meant to be nothing more in this world than the sensation of his kiss on my lips. Opening my eyes I witnessed the same yearning reflected in his.

"May I call on you next week?" he asked.

"Yes, please." 'Please, I have never wanted anything more in my entire life than to see you again!' I silently added. Then I mentally amended, 'Except that you might kiss me once more.' But my Aunt was already upon us.

"Mr. Martin was asking if he might call next week?" My Aunt looked Nicholas over dubiously - for a moment I feared she had caught us... but no, she was only witness to the afterglow from the theft - "He may call if he wishes, but not on Monday as I am expecting company for Tea, nor Tuesday for that is our visiting day."

"Then I shall call Wednesday." He answered with a tip of his hat.

I less listened than floated through services on Sunday. I know I spoke with Quentin after church had ended but I could not recall a word of it - mere pleasantries, fluff of no consequence I am certain. I was quick to bed that evening, eager to indulge my thoughts of him without interruption and then to pray that I might dream of him. Monday found me restlessly traipsing about the grounds. "Why must Wednesday be so far away!" I lamented to the Weeping Willow in the garden. "Can not my Aunt see that her fondest wish had been realized? That a man of good family and breeding wished for my company? And that I might desire his in return?" I plopped onto the cement bench underneath the tree's cascading boughs "Of course she can." I answered myself, tracing the patterns pressed into the bench's edge with my fingers. "That is the trouble of it - she can see it." This was less trial by fire than trial by time - a forced separation in order to test the flames of love: was it of such a substantial kind that it would lie in red embers waiting for the next meeting to kindle it ever higher, or would it burn bright but just as quickly turn to cold black char like a handful of dried grass? I burned. I smoldered in agony for when next we would meet. I could only hope he was burning as well. My princess he had called me! I leaned my head back rapturously recalling the feeling of his warm breath as he whispered the words in my ear, the touch of his lips on mine. He must know the cruelty he has wrought upon me! I stared up into the hollow of my leafy fortress, guarded from all sides by the hanging tendrils. 'Wait!' the thought rudely cast aside my musings. "The bench under the weeping willow in the corner of the garden!' "This is Sarah's tree!" I cried out, jumping from the bench. It was, without doubt that very tree where she and the gentleman had spent so many late night hours. It had been far enough from the path I had only ever glanced at it before but now I saw it - that haven where their love had been born... and where it had died. I surveyed the place - the branches sat high creating a cathedral ceiling for the lovers to hide under, the bench, Romanesque in mold and scarcely large enough for a single person, where they had sat nestled together. Absently, I ran my fingers across its smooth, well worn surface when something in the corner caught my eye. It had been etched, not by a writing implement, but from the simple process of running a stick of wood across the surface repeatedly in the same pattern until the white of the dust scraped from the wood had formed a shape. I wondered that the rain had not yet erased it entirely - I suppose it owed the willow for its continued existence. I imagined Sarah sitting on that final night, waiting, her nimble fingers tracing again and again the shape. I traced the pale form from just above with my finger, careful not to touch it: a small, rough heart and inside the letters "S + J".

I rushed about the house looking for Sarah but she was nowhere to be found.

"Dale, have you seen Sarah?" I asked the stately old Butler.

"She has gone to town for the day, Miss. Is there something you require?" I quailed in embarassment.

"No, Dale, it is nothing urgent." I blathered hurriedly, eager to be away from him. "I will be in the Library if she should return early."

"Very good, Miss." he answered impassively. I trotted off as quickly as I could hoping not to draw any further attention to myself from the Butler. I had never been wholly comfortable with staff; most treated them as little more than negligible automatons and cared not for what they revealed to these inconsequential members of the household. But under those disinterested eyes I could not help but feel self-conscious, as though I were being examined and judged. I pushed open the Library door and immediately concealed myself behind it, breathing a sigh of relief to be out of his sight. The loud sound of books hitting the floor brought my attention back to the room. There, in the corner, a small pile of books at his feet and staring with eyes as large as saucers, was Lord Norbert!

"I'm sorry, I didn't expect anyone to be here." he sniveled. "Miss Underhill is visiting your Aunt and required an escort as Mr. Underhill and his father were called away to visit an ill parishioner. So I was merely reading to pass the time." I raised my eyebrows and pointed towards the skulls,

"Titus Andronicus is on the other shelf."

"I don't know what you can mean by that." his face seemed an unfortunately constructed mask mixed of hurt and confusion. I narrowed my eyes,

"You are perfectly aware of my meaning."

"No, I honestly cannot account for it at all." there, he had chosen: confusion had won out. It was the safer choice of the two. Surely, I would drop my accusation in a moment - but he was not so fortunate to be able to deceive me as he had the others, for I had grown weary of this game.

"Tell me why you are skulking about my Uncle's house! What is so very interesting to you?" I demanded.

"My dear lady, I do not know what you can possibly mean! I am merely a Lord from Cumberland at this house today only as a favor to a dear friend."
"You may cease acting, you do it poorly. I know what you are: Spy." The first syllable had scarce left my lips before he had me pinned to the bookselves, his hands firmly planted on either side just next to my shoulders. He was tall! Taller than he had seemed as that cowering and simpering fellow he played to the world. He stared down at me, the fire in those dark orbs burning into the very heart of me - I shrunk uncomfortably under their glare.

"How do you know! Who told you!" he hissed in barely a whisper though he could not have shouted it to greater effect. I did not expect I should be so terrified at this moment, yet I had never known fear such as this before - there was a hardness in those features, a blackness shone through those eyes that warned me of grave danger. "Does your Uncle know?" He demanded, pounding his hands against the shelf.

"No, he does not."

"Who sent you?"

"No one!"

"I find that hard to believe. Than how do you know who I am?"

"Tha-that scar on your hand." I stuttered. "I'm the one who stitched it." His arms slackened, a slight smile played on his lips as he turned away, his right hand brushed across the jagged scar centered on the left.

"And a bloody bang-up job you did on it too."

"I was eight!" I protested.

"Yes, you were - though most girls I've known at that age could sew a straight line. I would have thought you would have grown up prettier." My fear was now wholly gone, in its place righteous indignation.

"Tell me what you have been searching my Uncle's house for?"

"Go back to your tea parties, little girl. This business is far too dangerous for you." he spat.

"If you don't tell straight away I will... I will tell my Uncle what you have been about!" As quickly as the last word of the threat was spoke he had pinned me back against the bookshelf.

"Do you think this is some kind of game?" he barked fiercely. "That we all get to go home to our safe beds after a fine day's lark? Little girl go back to your room and forget everything you saw! You have no place here." He turned again to saunter away.

"I will not." I said, my voice barely audible from terror. He stopped dead.

"What did you say?" he asked without turning to face me.

"I will not." I said again, this time louder. I pulled myself up to my full height (still abysmally shorter than he), "Not until you tell me what you have been searching for." I watched his back slacken, his arms drooped limply at his side in surrender, he turned back towards me.

"You win. But, if I tell you, you must tell no one else what you know."

"I won't."

"Swear it!" his eyes blazed intensely.

"I swear."

"Because if you do tell," he smiled wryly. "it could be the last confidence you ever break."

"I understand."

"No you don't, and let's hope you never do." Lord Norbert replied. I couldn't puzzle out what he could mean by that - certainly I understood that there was some degree of danger, some risk of life to this business! How could he say I did not understand? "An old friend and long time associate of mine, a Lord James Bond by name, disappeared about three months back. After a thorough investigation we were able to trace his last known whereabouts to this house but what he was doing here and what became of him we have been unable to determine."

"Perhaps he left the country." I suggested.

"We had considered it, but there is no record of any man fitting his description booking passage at any port nor would he be so long delayed in contacting us. No, wherever he is the clue is in this house. We merely have to find it."

"So you enlisted the aid of the Underhills in this plot? Are they spies as well?" I asked eagerly, picturing the taciturn twins sneaking about uncovering secret plots."

"No, it was they who turned to me for assistance. Dinah was Lord Bond's fiance-"

"JB- James Bond! I knew it!" Lord Norbert shot me a sour glare,

"Don't interrupt. Anyhow, she would never admit to him she knew of his profession, but she was far too astute to fail in recognizing it. When she did not hear from James she turned to me. She had seen my name on a number of correspondences in James's study and believed I might be of some aid. I came as soon as I heard. Quentin was a close friend of James as well, as I would find out James often consulted with him on larger investigation. The man has a gift for planning and invention, not to mention a thorough understanding of the history and culture of a variety of countries. As a clergyman he is able to unlock doors even my title cannot - he has proven rather invaluable to me in seeking out further clues as to the last known whereabouts of Lord Bond."

"Have you found anything in the Library?"

"No." he answered with a sigh of frustration. "Nor in any of the other rooms - excepting the parlor which has been stripped bare and your Uncle's Study which he is always fastidiously careful to lock."

"Even my room?" I turned beet red at the prospect.

"Relax, there is nothing a child might have that would be of interest me. It really is your own fault for leaving the door unlocked."

"I don't exactly expect strange men to come in and rifle through my delicates!" I fumed.

"Perhaps you should not be so trusting of others. From this day forward you should lock your door at all times."

"I will make a point of it." I answered through gritted teeth.

"Good. Now, since you are so intent to help, find me a way into that study."

"You cannot just pick the lock?" I mocked vengefully.

"Not in the time I would have before my activities were noted by the staff - the area has far too much traffic during the day and the window is too high to reach without the aid of a ladder."

"And if my Uncle proves to be innocent of any wrong doing as I suspect he is...?"

"If he is innocent I will find nothing to incriminate him; but ask yourself this: why would an innocent man have a locked door?"

"Perhaps he has important documents!" I protested, but his words had left a sinking feeling in my gut.

"You know he deals in nothing which would require concealment." I could not believe it, not of my kindly old Uncle - not this man I had known from my infancy. But then why would an innocent man have a locked door? The words rang loudly in my head. I felt tears sting my eyes. "Oh, never mind. Forget your heard any of this."

"Why?"

"You are far too young for this business." he muttered making his way to the door.

"I am not, I'll prove it to you!" I cried out, grabbing his wrist. In an instant he had flipped it so that it was my wrist he held.

"And this is precisely why I say you are too young: there is no "proving it to me". If you are to do it, do it as an adult who works for a cause he believes in. Not as a child seeking some adult's approval. In this business you have to sacrifice everything - family, friends, any hope of a normal life - it is no game. Go back to your family you silly little girl and forget this."

"They think I'm mad, you know." I murmured. He dropped my wrist.

"Who thinks you are mad?"

"Everyone. Artie told them how he saw me talking to the moon. The other children called me "Mad Mina" and told all kinds of tales about me around town until even my own parents believed it - they despise me for it I know; I see it in the fear in Mother's eyes, in Father's long sojourns abroad. I suppose it doesn't bother me much - nobody ever questions what I do or why. But as it stands I have nothing to sacrifice for I have nothing. Mr. Underhill is the closest I've had to a friend in a very long time; please let me help him in any way I might." Lord Norbert raised his eyes to the ceiling as though pleading for some divine guidance.

"You'll need to learn to be quicker." he said, finally. "Find a way into that Study and then we'll see."