Page 29 of The Bachelor Spy
“Near four months, miss,” came the reply to some question Evie had asked the man. A young voice, Scottish accent. Corporal MacLeish, if Blake remembered correctly. “Before they moved us south.”
“That must have been difficult. I’ve heard the conditions near Ypres are particularly challenging.”
“Aye, that they are. Mud like you wouldn’t believe. And the gas—” The corporal’s voice dropped. “Well, that’s why I’m here, isn’t it? Lungs aren’t what they were.”
“I’m so sorry.” Evie’s voice held genuine sympathy, and Blake almost smiled. “Were you involved in the battle there this spring? I understand there was significant action near Hill 60.”
The smile fell in an instant. He slipped back out of view but still within earshot, his jaw tensing. Hill 60 had been a strategic position, and any information about troop movements in that area would be valuable to German intelligence in order to learn more of Britain’s tactical operations. Why was Evie asking about it?
“Aye, we were there. I was just telling Nurse Wilson about it yesterday.” MacLeish coughed, the wet, rattling sound that characterized gas damage. “Lost a lot of good men taking that position. And for what? We held it for all of three weeks before—”
“Before you were reassigned south,” Evie finished gently. “That must have been frustrating.”
“Frustrating doesn’t begin to cover it, lass.”
There was a pause. Blake risked a glance around the hedgerow and saw Evie—Helen—adjusting the corporal’s coat. The man’s bandaged eyes spoke of another impact of the gas. Possibly blindness. Maybe nerve damage.
It was a hideous weapon.
His attention shifted back to Evie. Her expression showed nothing but professional concern.
But her questions …
“I’m sure you did everything you could,” she said. “Now, is there anything else you need? More water? Are you certain you can make it back to the house unassisted?”
“That’s kind of you, miss. But I’ve sorted out the way well enough. Think I’ll just rest.”
“Of course,” she said. “But do ring if you need anything. The windows are open so we can hear you.”
Blake pulled back into hiding as Evie stood and walked toward the house, gaze flitting in his direction for only a second before returning forward.
Had she seen him? He’d been careful to ensure he was undetected, but they knew each other’s strategies too well to assume.
She moved quickly toward the house, her eyes downcast in a properly deferential manner.
But he’d heard her questions. The way she’d gently extracted information about previous troop positions, timing, casualties. Proved how easily it was to gather information from a wounded soldier. Especially information that could be useful for the enemy.
And exactly the kind of intelligence the Midnight Angel would be gathering.
His chest tightened to the hurting spot.
No. Think, Blake. Don’t jump to conclusions.
But the evidence was too damaging. Evie had disappeared after theLusitania.No contact with British Intelligence. No word to Director Lark. And now she was in one of the places to which Intelligence had traced the Midnight Angel, dressed as a maid, asking strategic questions of wounded soldiers.
He had to know the truth.
After another glance about the garden, Blake followed her, staying behind the hedges until she entered the house’s back door. He knew this house. Grew up spending summers with his grandparents here. He could easily disappear if needed.
The corridor grew narrower, simpler. Servants’ territory.
Evie disappeared through a doorway at the end of the hall. Blake quickened his pace.
“Mr. Blake.”
He jerked to a halt—his heart hammering—and turned to find Nurse Wilson standing in a doorway he’d just passed, her arms crossed and her expression decidedly unimpressed.
How had he missed her? Blake was usually more observant than this. And Nurse Wilson, for all her efficiency, wasn’t typically in the servants’ corridors at this hour. In fact, Blake couldn’t recall seeing her in this part of the house at all during his previous observations.
