Page 7 of The Wallflower Ruse

Lucinda groaned to herself. She much preferred dealing with the be-shawled, wronged-by-her-children version of her mother than the determined matron with a Grand Plan.

Mother waved Lucinda to a hard chair—her idea of punishment—whilst she settled herself on the sofa. She prepared and poured the tea, scolding all the while.

Lucinda let Mother’s plan for a huge society wedding wash over her head. Was the code the reason for Lord Restive’s consternation when she’d picked up the book? And why had he had a fugitive in his house?

Was Lord Restive a spy? Or worse, a traitor? It was a horrifying thought, one she could hardly credit. But if it were true, she must do something about it.

She recalled a day in London a year or two ago, chatting at a ball with a group of ladies, amongst them her friend Dorothea, formerly Miss Darsington, now Mrs. Cecil Hale. Something Dorothea had said at the time reminded Lucinda that Dorothea’s father, Sir Frederick Darsington, worked at the Home Office. Lucinda had never met him, but surely he knew how to deal with traitors and spies.

“Are you listening to me?” Mother demanded at last. “Did you hear a word that I said?”

“Yes, Mother, I heard it all,” Lucinda said absently.

“And have you nothing to say for yourself?”

Lucinda looked up from her untouched tea. “Such as what, Mother?”

“Surely that’s obvious,” Mother said. “Doing without supper has made you see reason. You regret your outburst. You will obey me and marry Lord Restive.”

Lucinda shook her head. “No, Mother, I meant what I said. I shall not marry him.”

“Out!” Mother cried. “Get out! No tea for you, and no breakfast either. Nothing but bread and water until you obey!” She tossed the contents of her cup, which fortunately was half empty, and then the cup itself.

Lucinda caught the cup, set it on the table, and walked slowly up the stairs. She had more important matters on her mind than Mother’s erratic behavior (which today, thanks to Susannah’s elopement, was worse than usual).

Lord Restive was arrogant, rude, and amoral, but surely he was no traitor.

But what if he were?

She thought back to Dorothea at the ball. For some reason Restive’s elderly cousin, Lord Wellough, had come up in the conversation. He had died suddenly, and when a matronly woman made a comment about him, a flicker of uneasiness crossed Dorothea’s face. “Good riddance,” she murmured, and to Lucinda’s questioning look, she shrugged and said, “He was a horrid old lecher, and he gambled to excess. Poor Lord Restive.”

Which was true about Wellough, but why would Restive care about that? He was a lecher too, if a young, good-looking one. Had he been obliged to settle some of Wellough’s debts and therefore found himself in difficulties? And committed treason to recoup his finances?

It was a ghastly notion, and despite disdaining Restive, she found it almost impossible to believe. He was her brother’s friend. His family had dwelt nearby forever.

Now, the other fellow—the shabby, ruthless boy with the gun—could certainly be a spy.

She had to work out what the message said.

Lucinda knew quite a lot about codes. Her father, who had encoded and decoded secret messages for the army, had taught her a great deal, and she’d found it much more interesting than lessons in deportment.

It might be a simple substitution cipher. She tried the usual method of which words and letters were most common, but when English words didn’t spring to life, she realized that it depended on which language the message was in. French, she supposed correctly—but after half an hour’s work the message proved to be a love letter! A shockingly explicit one, describing in detail Restive’s prowess in bed and the writer’s desperate hope that the war would end soon, so she could lie with her incomparable lover once again.

Well! How, Lucinda wondered, did Restive manage to support his mistress and illegitimate child in France with a war going on? Perhaps he sent payment via the smugglers, and meanwhile, he disported himself disgracefully in England.

Seemingly, he wasn’t a traitor after all. And yet, why did he protect that disreputable lad?

Ah, well, she thought, gentlemen often associated with people they would never introduce to their mothers and sisters. She shouldn’t be surprised.

She stood, stretching, and rang for Jane to help her undress. She would stick to her original plan, bring the book to Lord Restive tomorrow, and warn him about Mother. He wasn’t likely to suspect that she had decoded the message. Hopefully she could refrain from blushing at the thought of that letter.

“What’s this piece of paper?” Jane asked as she tidied the room and folded Lucinda’s clothing. The folded bookmark had fallen to the floor.

“I’m using it to mark my place,” Lucinda said, taking it and glancing idly at the columns of sums. Restive’s mistress, she mused, must be somewhat educated to know how to put a message in code. Also, her grammar and spelling—in both English and French—were correct. Evidently, she was teaching her young son how to do his sums.

Lucinda glanced idly at the figures. A few were multiplication, not addition, and it was one of those that struck her. Whatever Marie might be teaching Davy, he wasn’t learning it. She knew without even thinking that 15 times 3 equals 45 – not 72. The other multiplication problem was incorrect, too.

She totaled one of the shorter columns of addition in her head. Again, the result on the paper was incorrect.