Lord Haversham Takes Command by Heidi Ashworth Page B

Harry was free to reflect on the conundrum of his situation; he was in love with a girl who placed much stock in truth, whilst he earned his daily bread by concealing the very fact that he was employed and by whom. It was enough to undo the sternest of men. By the second day of confinement, apprehensive and unable to do anything about his ailing heart or his assignment, Harry was up for just about anything. When a scratch at the door came at nearly twelve of the clock on a moonless night, he was dressed, armed to the hilt and ready for anything as long as it meant moving forward.
    Donning his greatcoat against the damp of a May night, he descended the hotel stairs and let himself out the front door with a borrowed key. The fact that he hadn’t permission nor the owner knowledge of his having lent it had naught to do with anything. The Queen must be protected at any cost, and the temporary loss of a key was nothing. The possible sacrifice of a life spent with Mira was not so easily dismissed, but dismiss it for the moment, he must.
    He worked his way around to the mews as quickly as he dared and saddled his horse with such stealth even the stable hand hadn’t a notion he had been saved the trouble. He then walked the horse down the lane through the mud of the verge so as to muffle the noise of his departure and waited to mount until he was well down the road. Only then did he think to wonder how many miles he would need go that night and when he might again see his bed.
    He was tempted to wonder as well when he might see Mira again, but he forced the thought aside. He had no idea what would come of this night, where his next assignment would take him, and when. He might have only enough time in London to settle his bill before he was required to head off to parts unknown. Aware that he had given the Crenshaws the impression that he was in London for the Season, he fervently hoped it were true, but what if duty called elsewhere? How could he leave her now?
    Without warning, the skies opened, and the rain poured down as if in accompaniment to his woe. He urged his horse to run faster, ducked his head deeper into his collar, and raced through the night towards the Richmond bridge.
    By the time he sighted the towering Pagoda, his hat and coat were as wet as if he had plunged into the river itself, but at least the rain had stopped. He slowed his horse to a trot, entered the grounds of the gardens and headed for the Pagoda, relieved that the height of the tower made it visible in spite of the black night. He found a stand of trees in which to hide his mount, hobbled it, and reached into his pocket for a handful of raisins. While the horse enjoyed its treat, Harry studied the area for anything untoward but he could see very little below the heavily shadowed tree line. Pulling out his pistol, he cocked it, and moved into the inky blackness with an arm outstretched.
    It seemed a small eternity before he came in contact with the rough brick of the Pagoda, but he had made it and with only one minor stumble when his boot hit the foundation. With his pistol in his right hand and the fingers of his left brushing against the outer wall, he went round the circular building and listened for any signs of life; he was rewarded with the echo of boots striking the inner staircase, step by step. Though he daren’t assume the person inside the Pagoda was his secret service contact, he moved forward without hesitation when he heard a faint nicker of a horse just as his hand brushed against what he hoped to be the entrance.
    If Harry remembered his history aright, the Pagoda was over one hundred and fifty feet tall, and more than two hundred and fifty steps would have to be taken before he reached the last of ten floors, making this the most tedious part of his night. The steps were steep and his need for stealth great, so he took his time, especially since the interior was black as pitch. Shafts of paler dark spilled through the windows of each