Free Elizabeth Thornton by Whisper His Name Page A

remember exactly what I said. I just gave him the facts.”
    “And you kept this all a secret from me?”
    “As I said, I wanted to surprise you. Are you upset with me? Have I made matters worse?”
    “Of course I’m not upset with you,” said Abbie loyally. “What you did showed great ingenuity.”
    Miss Fairbairn beamed at Abbie. “Well, I wouldn’t gothat far, but it did seem to me that we had nothing to lose and a great deal to gain.”
    For a few moments, Abbie sifted through everything Olivia had told her. Finally she said, “You said that the book was a present from Mr. Lovatt’s wife. How did you know?”
    Miss Fairbairn screwed up her face as she thought back. “It was inscribed, ‘To my dear husband from your own …,’ now, what was his wife’s name?”
    Goosebumps broke out on Abbie’s skin. She knew what Miss Fairbairn was going to say before the words were out.
    “Her name was Colette,” said Miss Fairbairn. “Yes, that’s it. Colette. Such a pretty name, don’t you think?”
    Her injuries had healed. Her boxes were packed. She’d written notes to all her friends, and just as soon as she had left for London, they would be sent out. Miss Fairbairn had been briefed on what might come up in her absence. She’d told her that the reason for this unexpected journey was to visit a married friend in Hampstead who had fallen ill. The pretext had served her well, providing an excuse for her distraction and low spirits. Abbie did not again mention the books that were impounded in customs at Dover.
    There was nothing to do now but wait for instructions, and the lack of activity was driving her crazy.
    She seated herself on a straight-backed chair beside the fire. If only she could sleep for an hour or two, she would feel better. But she couldn’t sleep. A confusion of thoughts hammered inside her head, and she was powerless to stop them. George, Michael Lovatt, Colette, the British embassy, Miss Fairbairn, Hugh, herself, George’sabductors—they were all connected to Paris, and she still could not make sense of it.
    She wished that there was someone older and wiser she could confide in. She thought of Hugh but discarded the notion. Hugh was a scholar. He dealt in ideas and antiquities. He was more of a diplomat than a man of action, as he’d proved in her quarrel with the customs officers. Hugh had tried to pour oil on troubled waters while she had stood up for her rights. And if she knew Hugh, he would insist that she call in the authorities.
    Her brother Daniel was different. No man trifled with Daniel and got away with it. He wasn’t hot tempered. He didn’t go looking for quarrels or fights, but if they came his way, he didn’t turn from them. If Daniel were here, she would feel so much better.
    She found her handkerchief and blew her nose just as someone rapped on her door. It was Millie, bearing a small silver salver with a letter on it. It was hand delivered by an urchin only moments before, the maid explained. When Abbie was alone, she tore the letter open and scanned it. It was not written in her brother’s hand, but in a beautiful copperplate that George would have scorned to use. She read:
    Dear Miss Vayle
,
    We recommend that you set off tomorrow and break your journey at the Castle in Marlborough, the Pelican in Newbury, and the White Hart in Reading, where rooms have been reserved for you. Take only a maid with you, no one else. Once you reach London, place the following advertisement in
The Times
when you have the package and are ready to make the exchange:
    “
Vicar’s daughter wishes to sell her late-father’s
extensive library. Apply by letter to Miss Smith, Rose Cottage, Mayfield, Sussex.
”
    And Abbie, remember we’ll be watching you. Now burn this letter and the other. At once
.
    She felt as though he were standing right behind her. She read the letter through again, crumpled it into a ball, did the same with the note she took from her pocket, and threw them both into