She ignored his forward manner, sensing that he was deliberately attempting to be rid of her. Why?
Did he fear the men might still be a danger to her? Or was there some other reason for his desire to send her on her way?
“You do not wish me to call for the constable?”
“No.” He gave her a small push down the narrow lane. “I will be fine. I will see you tomorrow.”
Talia obediently headed up the pathway, waiting until she turned the sweeping corner that hid her from Jack’s view before she darted into the nearby copse of trees and started to creep back toward the church.
There was something distinctly suspicious about the strangers. And while she admired Jack for his willingness to offer sanctuary to all who came to his church, she could not bear the thought that his kindness would leave him vulnerable to harm.
Or death.
Holding up her skirts to avoid becoming tangled in the thick undergrowth, Talia weaved her way through the trees, ignoring the odd sense of premonition that clutched at her heart. Who would not be unnerved at creeping through the gathering gloom?
Still, for the first time since she’d left London, she was conscious of the scurry of unseen animals among the bushes and the distant cry of an owl that filled the silence. And even more disturbing was the awareness of just how alone she was.
If something happened, who would hear her screams?
She gave a shake of her head. She would not allow Jack to be injured because she was frightened of shadows.
At last reaching the edge of the trees, Talia squared her shoulders and darted across the open yard to the back of the church. She pressed her back against the bricks, her heart lodged in her throat.
From inside the building she could hear the sound of voices, and before she lost her courage, she forced herself to inch toward the open window, sending up a silent prayer that no one would happen by.
How the devil would she explain the Countess of Ashcombe creeping through the dark and eavesdropping upon the local vicar?
She stopped at the edge of the window and tilted her head to peer into the room, easily recognizing the sacristy. How…odd. Why would the vicar take two strange men into a storage room for the church’s most sacred possessions?
The most reasonable explanation would be that the men had forced Jack to the room in the hopes of discovering something of value. The church might be small, but there were several items made of silver as well as a few rare artifacts that a collector would pay a goodly sum to acquire. Which meant she should be dashing toward the nearest cottage to seek assistance.
But as her gaze shifted toward the three men who filled the room, she hesitated.
Jack did not look as if he were being held against his will. In fact, he appeared to be in charge of his companions as one of the men reached beneath his coat to toss a leather satchel at the vicar.
Jack eagerly tugged open the satchel and pulled out a stack of papers.
“These are the most recent maps?” he demanded, unfolding one of the papers and studying it with deep concentration.
The larger of the two men gave a grunt of agreement. “They were copied directly by a clerk at the Home Office.”
Talia stilled. Dear lord. She might know very little of politics, but she was well aware that the Home Office was headquarters to the various leaders who plotted war against Napoleon.
Jack was nodding, his attention still on the map. “And this clerk is certain no one suspects that he duplicated them?”
“Aye.” The stranger made a sound of annoyance. “Cost me a bloody fortune.”
An icy sense of disbelief spread through Talia as she watched Jack shrug, vaguely recognizing this was not the kindly vicar she thought she knew.#p#分页标题#e#
The glimpse of ruthless authority she had so readily dismissed earlier was in full evidence as he carefully spread the papers across the narrow table in the center of the room. And his French accent was far more pronounced.
It was as if he had been playing in a masquerade, and now the true man beneath the disguise was exposed.
“Do not fear, you will be well rewarded once I can be certain these are genuine,” Jack muttered.
The smaller stranger leaned over the table with a frown on his ruddy face.
“That ain’t France, is it?”
“Very astute, Monsieur Henderson,” Jack drawled, his tone mocking. “It happens to be Portugal.”
“And why would the Frenchies be wanting a map of Portugal?”
A smile of satisfaction curved Jack’s lips. “Because this tells us precisely where and when Sir Arthur Wellesley intends to land his army. And the battle strategy that he hopes to employ.” He stroked a slender finger over the map. “Most informative.”