Chapter 7

A week passed with no other incidents. Richard changed his busy schedule to include only day appointments. He ordered their afternoon meals brought to his office and he and Rebecca returned to his home before dark every evening without trouble. He noticed he was getting the same driver every day. Sir Boniface's doing, he was sure.

He had become the model of a cooperative subject to lessen any chance of a similar attack. Granted–the last attack had occurred in broad daylight in the middle of an afternoon crowd, but Richard thought his changes justified against further danger to himself or the young woman assigned him… more the latter to be truthful.

Misplaced chivalrous notions or not, I won't have her risking herself like that on my account again.

Instead of working in his offices until dark, Richard wrote his many reports and correspondences at home. He stopped at a prescribed time for dinner and dressed properly to be a good host. After dinner, he and Rebecca shared a few games of whist or chess. The woman was exasperatingly good at both. Their games had been unevenly matched until Richard forced himself to concentrate on his game and not his company.

Rebecca sat at their chessboard, not making a word of comment on his change of schedule. One would expect a close shave to motivate a man to be more cautious. Rebecca believed any such motivation was to be welcomed.

I wish my glimpse of the assassin identified him. George Wendell and Raymond White were excellent agents with long experience in this sort of thing. Between the three of them, Richard should be well shielded. Just a matter of being vigilant.

Rebecca moved her queen, enjoying her quiet evenings with Richard. It reminded her of when Phileas had been home. She and her two cousins used to play chess and cards together like this often.

It will be good having Phileas home again. It's been much too long.

"You are putting your knight in jeopardy," Richard said.

Rebecca, all innocence, said, "You think so?"

"Indeed, I do." He moved his own queen. "I take your knight and put you in check."

Rebecca smiled and picked up her queen. She didn't play it. She just held it, letting him deduce what was coming.

Deduce it, Richard did. He suddenly saw the trap that would have him checkmated in two moves. Richard huffed in defeat and tipped over his king in surrender. "Your game, Rebecca."

"Another?"

"No. I think I've been trounced enough for one night. Another glass of wine?"

"No thank you," Rebecca said.

She would have liked another, but decided not to give him any notion of her Fogg family capacity for alcohol after surprising him with the fact that she drank at all. The temperance movement is strong in England, but she had been raised among drinking men.

Rebecca stood, taking her leave of Richard for the night. She headed down the servant's hall on the main floor and into the back bedroom near the kitchen. Mrs. Morgan's room was quite comfortable, if Spartan. The furniture was simple. There were a few landscapes on the walls to make up for the lack of a view through the small window. The only luxuries present were the lace counterpane and matching pillow shams on the bed and the large carved tray holding a delicate tea set on the dresser. Rebecca didn't take advantage of her position as a guest. She left the woman's treasures alone.

She undressed, pulled on her warm flannel gown, and slipped into the silk robe Phileas had sent her from China. It was a beautiful thing of heavy cream silk with flowers and exotic birds embroidered all over it.

While brushing out and braiding her hair, she heard Richard's steps head up the stairs. Her room was near the middle of the house and under the main staircase. It allowed her to hear anyone coming and going about the house.

Rebecca worked in a circle, from the kitchen to the front door and up the stairs in her silk slippers to keep Richard from hearing her. The maid and cook had left the house already. The back door was locked tight. Rebecca gave Richard another ten minutes to settle himself before she went upstairs–a calculated move, retracing his own nightly inspections.

She checked all the upper windows and the views outside. She assured herself of George's position. There were eight rooms on the second floor. The master and mistress's suite with a sitting room in between and four bedrooms set up for the girls. The mistress's room and sitting room had been converted into guest rooms with two beds each for the older girls. Two others were a sitting room and a playroom with lots of toys. The last two rooms were once nurseries adjoining the playroom. Both were abandoned. The furniture there was covered with sheets. She considered asking Richard to lock them. Fewer places for someone to hide. Walking into both unnerved her.

The attic was divided into six rooms; storage closets which were locked, and a room shared by the two nannies. The one beside that served as a workroom and sunny sitting room for the ladies.

She checked the attic windows for a greater view of the neighborhood. Usually, she could find George from here too, if the shadows weren't too deep. Tonight, they were ink black, as the moon was coming to fullness.

It is a fine house. I can only imagine the noise when all the children are at home.

Rebecca's childhood had not been so crowded. Her room at Shillingworth Magna and at Sir Boniface's London home were down the hall from the master's room, and on the other side of the house from Erasmus and Phileas. Not much company in either case.

Rebecca slipped silently down the steps, rechecked the doors and went back to her room. When she turned to close the door, a hand clamped over her mouth. Seconds later, another slipped around her waist, crushing her against a tall, muscled body. Rebecca arched away, to no effect. She slammed an elbow into ribs while attempting to do damage to the foot to her right. The elbow did its work, but the foot was protected within a heavy boot. The effort gained her nothing but a slight grunt of discomfort and a crushing squeeze to the ribs when she was pulled off her feet.

All air left her. Rebecca struggled for freedom… for air… dizzy.

Her knees buckled. Her attacker lifted her in his arms and laid her down on the bed, rolled her face down, and held her there.

A low male voice called above her. "Can you hear me, Frauline Fogg?"

Rebecca nodded weakly. She couldn't talk. Stars were circled as she tried to gulp air behind his loosening hand.

"Good, now listen vell. Zis is ze only varning you vill be given. Hiding away in zis house isn't going to save him. I can be anyvere he is and you and your friend outside vill not stop me. Tell Sir Boniface and Lord Sutton zat zeir plans to manipulate Prussia's future are to end–NOW. Ve vill handle our own affairs visout English interference. I vill not let sentimentality over a voman in ze vay stop me again."

"Yes, zat's right," he said. "I pulled back vhen you got in ze vay. So sorry about ze scratch but jumping into ze path of a knife vas foolish. Convey my message and do not leave anyzing out. I could have killed you and Sutton zis night. Take ze varning."

The pressure on Rebecca's shoulders lifted and the door to her room opened and closed.

Gulping air, she sat up, trembling. Sir Boniface's derringer was out of her pocket, now sitting on the dresser beside her. If she could have stood without falling on her face, she would have gone after him, but bringing her heartbeat and breathing under control was taking too much concentration.