Free Practice to Deceive by Patricia Veryan Page A

day.”
    â€œIf they were searching,” Penelope agreed. “But this is surely the last place they would look. Especially, sir, were you and Corporal Killiam to ride out, leaving a trail for them to follow.”
    â€œNo, I tell you!” repeated Quentin fretfully.
    The Corporal chuckled. “’Twould be a rare trick to serve your gentle uncle, miss. To hide the Major right under his nose, while he scours the countryside for him. Ar, but I’d give something to see his lordship’s face does he ever find out!”
    Frantic, Quentin demanded, “Have you lost your wits entirely? Think of what will happen to Miss Montgomery if I am found here! Gordon! For the love of God! I am sworn to deliver part of a message they’d stop at nothing—”
    Gordon blanched. “The cypher?” he gasped. Quentin nodded grimly. Gordon turned a stunned gaze to Penelope. “They’d stop at nothing, all right,” he muttered. “I might’ve known you’d be one of the couriers! God!”
    Penelope could not tear her eyes from Quentin. He was wounded, half-starved, exhausted, and too weakened to order his own fate, yet fighting against the one course of action that might save his life, because it must also endanger her. He was gripping his injured arm painfully, and she touched those clutching fingers very gently. “You should be resting, dear sir, rather than worrying so.” She glanced up. Gordon was staring at her with an incredulity that brought a dark blush burning into her cheeks. Her chin went up. “There are a dozen places we can hide him,” she asserted defiantly. “Places where the servants very seldom go; rooms that have been closed since my papa’s death.”
    Wonderingly, he said, “But—Quentin’s hurts will need to be tended. How could you—”
    â€œI’ll be here to help, sir.” The Corporal clapped a hand over Quentin’s parting lips and added with glum pessimism, “And we’d best not jaw here too long, for from what I’ve seen of your lot, miss, only let one whisper leak out and we’ll all die—hid-jusly slow!”
    Penelope nodded, chilled by the possibly prophetic words. “True. No one must know. We shall have to take the greatest care that not a soul—”
    The door burst open. Daffy ran in, took one look at Quentin in his bloody rags, and let out a shrill scream of terror.

IV
    The Corporal was the first to recover. With a muffled oath he leapt at Daffy and swept her up with one strong arm, his free hand clamping over her mouth.
    Gordon ran for the partly open door, but flattened himself against the wall behind it. “Somebody’s coming!” he whispered.
    â€œThen—dammit—render me up!” gasped Quentin feebly.
    â€œBe still!” Desperate, Penelope sprang to push him down on the bed and whip the eiderdown untidily over him.
    Still holding Daffy, who had ceased to struggle, the Corporal bore her to the dim corner beyond the wardrobe.
    Penelope made a dart for the door as a lackey ran up. “Oh!” she cried in a distracted fashion, “thank goodness you are come! There is a mouse under my bed, I think. Please come and—”
    â€œFor Lord’s sake,” the man muttered, barely under his breath. “We are all to go with his lordship, miss. I dare not delay. You should be glad ’tis no more than a mouse in your room.”
    â€œWell!” said Penelope, her knees knocking but her voice indignant.
    The lackey hurried off, his impatience very obvious. Penelope closed the door, leaning weakly against it. Gordon, one fist still clenched for action, sagged back against the wall. “Whew!”
    The Corporal asked dolefully, “What are we to do now? Scrag this baggage, sir?”
    â€œHeavens, no!” Penelope touched her abigail’s arm, and Daffy’s eyes, huge with fright, rolled to her. “Daffy, dear