Cecily rose from the dressing table and began pacing the floor, fists balled at her sides and her rage echoed in the cracking and snapping of her satin skirts. Her thoughts were a gallimaufry of curses, muttered threats and unanswered and unanswerable questions. Their plans had been laid with such care and precision; bribes, threats, and blackmail made people putty in their hands. How could the emerald and the sapphire have slipped through their hands? What happened to the "Sir Galahad-eyed" man in her maid's room, and even more important, just who was he? How was she to wreak her vengeance on her cousins and that vixen, Primat? At the thought of revenge on Primat, she started off on a tangent considering ways and means. Poison? No, that was far too easy and would not make the woman suffer. Disembowelment? Messy, but still not good enough. Mentally she began running through a list of weapons and finally decided that the worst she could do to Primat would be something to cause her the greatest mental anguish possible. She realized that destroying the ones Primat loved would be the only way to satisfy her need for vengeance.

Finally, with a sigh, she sat down and pulled open the drawer with that very enigmatic and slightly mysterious note:

She remembered little of those pain filled days and nights, just bits and pieces of a time she would rather forget. She remembered a tall figure all in black cradling her in his arms as he rode away from the Abbey. Then there was a man with beautiful brown eyes holding her hands while the doctor stitched her wounded face. Most of all there was the memory of the soothing words of comfort and compassion in a deep rich voice speaking cultured English with slight overtones of another accent. It had been a balm to both her physical and mental pain at the time. It made her feel cosseted and protected, something she had really never felt in her entire life.

Cecily's eyes widened in shock! Her mother and father had loved her!!! Yes, they had, they had!!! Unwillingly though, memories filtered through. Her mother had more than once turned away as Cecily tried to kiss her and show her some small treasure, with the words, "Not now, Cecily! Can't you see I am dressed for tea... or a ball... or a drive... or a visit? Go to Nurse and she will take care of you!"

Her father was never there and only started to notice her when she began to show signs of her startling beauty and her cleverness with the sword and the brewing of her potions and poisons. He had used her talents and reveled in her beauty but clearly, was filled only with self-pride and overweening ambition. After all, he had boasted to her again and again, he had Tudor blood and was more deserving of the English throne than that Hanoverian upstart now occupying it.

Cecily's thoughts kept running on in a manner that she couldn't really control or like. Rosemary and Anne, far less beautiful and talented, were loved! Each had an adoring husband and they were able to love Alistair and James wholeheartedly. They had placed themselves in danger for those husbands and their husbands honored them for their courage and warmth. What did she have? A ruined face, David Daventry who was, at best, a very weak character concerned only for his own comfort and riches and who was in constant need of propping up at the slightest hitch in a plan, and Rafe, cruel, seething with hatred at his pompous father and his defeat at the Jewelled Men fiasco. Suddenly, it didn't seem like she had anything at all!

Turning away from the note in the drawer and resolutely putting those warm brown eyes from her mind, she turned to the thought of her Tudor blood and heritage, albeit illegitimate, but entitling her to the throne when the Guardians succeeded. She would turn the tables on the Guardians then and become the Queen of England. No one had more right than she - but the thought really brought no comfort as her memories of that man intruded more and more.

"Nonsense!" she almost screamed. "I will be Queen of England soon and will be a greater Queen than even Elizabeth. I don't need anyone!" She repeated her words over and over, but they did not banish the thought of the man with the brown eyes who had comforted and held her when she needed it most.

Gordon Chandler climbed out of the hired coach and paid off the jarvey driving it. He glanced at the rather grandiosely named Royal Arms Tavern and shuddered at it. It was sagging dangerously to one side, probably propped up only by the layers of dirt it had accumulated through the years. He drew the tattered cloak he had borrowed from one of his hostlers close about him in an effort to disguise his clothing which, though plain enough, was obviously of the finest quality. Then, with a grimace, he reluctantly entered into the murky depths of the place.

The smell was almost as bad as the first sight of the tavern had been. He couldn't identify its component parts but spilled liquors, ale, unwashed bodies, vomit, and other even more noxious odors were part and parcel of the whole that had him wishing he dared pull out his handkerchief and hold it to his nose.

The barman, a beefy red-faced man busily engaged in doing nothing, glanced up as Gordon walked towards him and his eyes widened. Despite the worn cape, the barman recognized quality, something that was rare in that section of town.

Gordon walked over and quietly asked, "I believe you have a Mr. Lamb staying here? He is expecting me!"

The barman sneered and hunched a shoulder towards a staircase on the left side of the bar. "He's in the room right at the top, poor bastard! But I can't imagine why the likes of you would want to see someone like him."

Gordon shrugged and tossed the man a coin, then mounted the stairs, expecting them to crumple at any moment under his weight. He reached for the banister which hadn't seen wax or a dust rag in years, and shuddered as it too rocked and wobbled under his touch. There was no disguising his ascent - the steps shifted and creaked loudly. He reached the top step and breathed a sigh of relief that he had made it that far. Walking over to the door, he tapped it gently and waited to be allowed entrance.

"Wh... wh... who is it?" a thready voice enquired.

"Brooks, it is I, Gordon Chandler. You sent for me."

"A... are you alone?"

"Yes, I am, just as you requested."

There was a shuffling noise and then the door opened slowly, hinges protesting loudly. Gordon's eyes adjusted to the gloom and he could barely conceal his shock at the sight of the man standing cringing before him. Brooks, that once handsome arrogant soldier, was almost skeletal in appearance. He was hunched over, his hands wringing themselves almost unconsciously. His eyes, sunken deep into their sockets, darted all about and he trembled. His face was gray and his clothes were near rags. He moved very slowly over to a filthy pallet in the corner and sat down heavily. "Gordon, I almost began to believe you would not come," he said in a very tired voice, and waving a shaking hand round the tiny room, continued, "I can't offer you much hospitality, but there is a chair of sorts in the corner."

Gordon very gingerly sat down and then said, "Brooks, you cannot stay here. Let me find you a better place!"

Brooks gave a ghastly smile and asked, "You would do that for me after what I have done to Roland and all the others?"

"Yes, I would. You obviously have suffered grievously in Bedlam, and although I cannot like what you have done, I cannot see you remain here. Besides, you said you have something important to tell me concerning The Guardians. That is worth decent food, better clothing and somewhere clean to rest."

"Thank you then. I will tell you all I know and then will ask that you help me get away from England. I would like to gain some strength and leave for somewhere, the Colonies possibly, a place warm and far away. I never want to be cold again. I know that I will be enclosed somewhat in a cabin on a ship but at least, I will be able to walk on deck and see the sea, the sky, and feel the warmth of the sun on my body."

Gordon knew of this man's horrible deeds, yet he could not help but feel compassion for what had become of that madman. The broken figure, trembling and frightened, sitting on that horrible pallet in the half light of a dirty room had paid in ways he could not even imagine for his sins. "I can manage that for you, Brooks. Will you come with me now?"

The man looked up at Gordon and Gordon could see the hope in his eyes. "Yes, I will come since I have nothing to stay for here except trouble."

Gordon's eyes misted over as he watched Brooks reach for a threadbare jacket and plain cap, the kind worn by seamen. Brooks gathered his wits together and in a parody of his old arrogant stance, bowed slightly, gestured towards the door and said, "After you!"

The men descended, walked through the misnamed tavern, and Gordon tossed the barman a coin as he passed him. "My thanks for sending word of my sick friend. I am sending him to Sussex to rest and recuperate!" The barman caught the coin deftly and bit it, testing its worth. Once satisfied, he gave what he thought was a smile, but in reality was bared teeth, and said, "Right ho, Guv! What should I tell anyone who might come looking for him?'

"Just what I told you, my man! He's going to the country to recuperate!"

As they walked out into the alley, Brooks stood for a moment, just looking around. Then he and Gordon started walking towards Blackfriars Road. After a few steps, Gordon had to adjust his pace to the slow shuffle of his companion. He was almost afraid that he might have to carry Brooks if they did not find a hire coach quickly. For once, fortune smiled and there was one at the end of the alley. Gordon lifted Brooks in and he settled back with an exhausted groan and his hands started the incessant wringing motion once again.

"Gordon, I have to tell you what I know. There is serious danger for King George. God knows, I really don't care for the fact that he has retained so many of his foreign ways, but he is the King and I don't want to be any part of the treason planned. I was brought out of Bedlam for two purposes. Rafe and Warburton plan to kill the King and I am to be the one to do the deed. They are sure that I want revenge for what has happened to me. I said nothing to disillusion them. I would have agreed to fly to the moon to get out of that horrible place when my wits started to return. I may have been mad in all that I did, especially to Roly, in my vain pursuit of wealth and perhaps a title, but I am not a traitor. I was obsessed and willing to do almost anything, but now I am a much sadder and wiser man. Regicide is something that not even I, the worst of men, could contemplate doing. I was a soldier, and even in my madness, I have remained a patriot and have never, ever wished to do my country harm! I am also to betray Roly and the rest of you in some way that had not yet been decided upon."

Gordon listened to the tired, thready voice and felt sure that the man was speaking only the truth. "Do you have any idea of how you were to kill the King?"

"The things I do know are this - it was not only the King to be assassinated but the whole family. All the Princes, the Queen, everyone! They were sure that a bomb thrown at one of the major Royal Appearances would do the job nicely!"

"Good Lord, is there nothing they would not attempt?"

"No! That is really all I really know except for one other thing that was mentioned when they thought I was sleeping in the coach bringing me out of Bedlam. They mentioned a huge ruby, called, I think, the Red Heart of Flame." Brooks sat back, exhausted by his long speeches and he closed his eyes.

Gordon said agitatedly, "Are you sure that is the name of the gem?"

Brooks nodded and Gordon then asked again, "Are you really sure? You must be aware that a jewel so named is the center stone in what is probably one of the grandest tiaras in England - and it is owned by the Duke of Marbury's family!"

Brooks' eyes flew open and he began to reply agitatedly, "No, I didn't know. I can't prove it to you, of course, and my word probably doesn't mean too much now, but for what it is worth, I do solemnly swear that I did not know. I have done enough damage to that family and I refuse to do more!"

Sensing the man's sincerity, Gordon rapped on the coach roof and directed the jarvey to an address in Holborn. "An old family retainer, now retired, has a small house where you may stay hidden. She married a city man and has lived here a number of years. She will be glad to feed you well, see that you have decent clothing and several baths, which I must say you really need. Once you are better, I will get you aboard a ship for the Colonies. Have you any idea of what you want to do or where you would like to go?"

Brooks raised his eyes, lit with a warmth and hope that almost blinded Gordon, and said, "I would like to have a small farm where I can work outdoors in the sun and grow green things in the earth. I never want to be boxed in... in darkness and cold again. I need to feel sunshine, fresh air, and most of all, I just want to enjoy peace and freedom. I think a southern colony would be just the place. Is it possible?"

"Amen to that, Brooks. An you promise that you will do no further harm to us, you will have that farm and the freedom you seek."

Brooks sank to his knees on the straw covered coach floor, and with tears rolling down his gaunt grey cheeks, choked out, "You have my most sacred promise, Gordon. I no longer want the trappings of wealth; I just want to be free and to stand out in the sunshine again!"

The coach finally stopped and Gordon almost carried his fellow passenger up the steps of the little house where he would rest and heal. The brisk motherly body living there in retirement opened the door and welcomed her new charge. "Don't worry, Mr. Gordon, your friend is welcome here and I will care for him as if he were my own child," was her response when he explained some of the circumstances.

Gordon left the house finally, knowing that Brooks Lambert would be safe and would soon be on his way to a new life, and then he jumped back into the coach, ordering the man to carry him back to the Seaforth house where he would tell the gallant band of patriots just what he had learned.

Hector stared at the letter in his hand. Joe, the cabin boy, had delivered it and was now standing in front of him, shifting from one foot to another anxiously. Mr. Jeffries owned the ship he sailed on and Joe was worried that there might be bad news in the message. As he watched, a big smile spread over Hector's face and then he threw back his head and gave a great shout of laughter. His Aunt Minnie had married a planter there - sly puss that she was - and was now step-grandmother to a whole brood of small boys and girls. He had worried when he left that she would be unhappy but now he was relieved. She would always love him and worry over him, but now she had other children to care for and he could stay in England, and start to make some reparation for his sins.

He dismissed Joe with a golden sovereign and went into his small parlor. He settled back in his chair, still grinning and laughing over his aunt's wonderful news!

As he stared out the window at the trees, his thoughts returned to his missions here in England. Missions now, rather than the single one that had finally driven him back from the colonies. He knew that his treachery had hurt August Falcon and could even now still do irreparable harm to the country. It would be difficult to undo some of it, but he was determined to try. Finally, after much deep thought and a glass of brandy to fortify himself, he got up and walked over to his desk, picking up his quill from the silver standish. He wrote steadily for a time, then sanded the missive and folding it, sealed it with his signet ring, dipped in the hot wax. Slowly, carefully, he inscribed the name Roland Mathiesen on the outside and rang the bell for his only servant. The letter would be delivered that day!

He reseated himself in his chair and began to think of his other mission. He though of his poor wounded bird and knew instinctively that the fight for his lady and her love would be hard and long! She was worth it, he thought, despite her pride, her willfulness, her wicked ways and her involvement with The Guardians. Weak tea was not his drink and Cecily certainly could not be deemed that! She was a challenge, and he could hardly wait for the tourney to begin!

"I'll be damned!" Duncan Tiele was horrified as Tio finished his story. "Er... your pardon, ladies," he added hastily with a guilty glance toward the assembled women.

Amy merely laughed, but Marguerite smiled graciously at Duncan and loftily informed him that his lapse would be overlooked this time. With a sideways glance at his suddenly haughty sister, Tio hastily continued. "And since the disappearance of Cecily Tilbury and David Daventry, we have been scouring London trying to locate them." Frowning, Tio continued, "It's been a frustrating business."

Duncan turned away from the group and gazed unseeingly out the window. Absently stroking the fabric of the drapes, he spoke slowly, "The woman... at the townhouse... that was Cecily Tilbury?"

"Perhaps." It was a newcomer that spoke. "What was she like?"

Duncan turned and gaped at the woman that had silently entered the room. She was very dark and dressed in an exotic garb the likes of which Duncan had never seen before. The gown was of a dusty rose fabric and hung in straight, shining folds to the ground. But it was her hair that fascinated Duncan. It was black and, left unbound, flowed down her back. Becoming aware that he was staring, Duncan hastily glanced away.

"Primat!" Flora squealed and flung her arms around the woman. "I thought you had left to join Rosemary!"

"No," Primat returned the embrace. "Lady Seaforth asked me to stay. She thought I might be of assistance here."

Glancing back at the silent Duncan, she repeated her question. "What was she like?" Duncan looked at her blankly. "I do not know. She was heavily veiled."

"Granted you did not see her face, but surely there was something about her you noticed. Was she tall? Slender?" Primat queried.

"Oh," Duncan gathered his thoughts. "Her height... I don't know about that. I was lying down..." He stopped as Tio gave a muffled snort of laughter. Aware that his face was burning, Duncan continued haughtily, "I was knocked unconscious. When I awoke, she was there, standing next to me." He glanced sideways at the silent Miss Templeby. She was frowning at the hands clasped in her lap and would not look at him. Flustered, Duncan continued. "She was slender... and spoke in a very refined accent - with a very pleasing voice. And she had beautiful hands. Very beautiful - very soft." Unconsciously he lowered his voice as he remembered that brief interval of pain and delirium, when he had heard the veiled woman - and dreamt of being devoured alive. He paused, struggling to understand his feelings of fear and repulsion in her presence. "And yet..."

"And yet, Mr. Tiele," Marguerite interrupted sharply, "this women with beautiful hands," she spat out the words, "tried to kidnap Flora and myself."

"My god!" Tio leapt to his feet. "That woman - Cecily Tilbury - how do you know it was her that had your carriage attacked? Why didn't you tell me this?"

"Well, it is obvious, isn't it?" Marguerite looked confused. "I mean - our carriage was accosted before Tilbury House..."

"That is true!" Flora spoke up eagerly. "And the men were obviously trying to capture someone specific - for they said something about, 'here's two with golden hair.'"

"And the front entrance to Tilbury House was unlocked," Duncan added slowly. "I remember being quite struck with that fact."

Amy spoke up decisively. "If Cecily Tilbury knew that Flora and Margo were returning, she must know a great deal about our activities. I think we must assume she'll try again." Primat nodded in agreement.

Looking around the room, Duncan felt dazed. To think that a few days ago, his life had been calm and orderly. Now he was caught in this bizarre affair of the Guardians. Yet, in the stately library at Seaforth House, it seemed incredible that such fanatics existed! And that he and his companions should be discussing it in such a matter of fact way! 'It seems so outlandish!' He glanced at his companions, from Tio and Amy's obvious devotion, to Miss Havershaw's eager, vibrant face and Primat's exotic beauty, before stopping at Miss Templeby's face. With a start, Duncan realized that she was gravely regarding him. "Well, we must be on our guard against any further attacks. Er... shouldn't we?"

Miss Templeby frowned.

Marguerite scowled at her reflection in the mirror. "Flora, whyever did you not tell me that my hair looked like a mare's nest?"

Flora glanced up from where she was rummaging in a trunk. Running her eyes over Marguerite's hair, she could see nothing amiss with her friend's hairstyle. "I see nothing wrong."

"I look a fright," Marguerite grumbled. "My hair all coming down - speaking of hair, did you see the way Mr. Tiele stared at Primat?" She said in a studiedly casual voice.

"Mr. Tiele has probably never seen anybody that looked like Primat." Flora said. "Confess, you stared at Primat the first time you met her."

Marguerite laughed, a little sheepishly. "I did indeed! But it appears to me, that Mr. Tiele appears to be very susceptible to female beauty. Primat's hair and Cecily's hands."

"Oh! Is this about Mr. Tiele?"

"I do not want to talk about Mr. Tiele!" Marguerite said snappishly. She turned back toward the mirror. "I hate my hair. It will never stay up."

"Dearest, there is nothing wrong with your hair." Flora said soothingly. "Come over here and help me."

With a sigh, Marguerite seated herself next to her friend on the floor. "What are you looking for?" She looked curiously at the faded fabrics and outdated finery that was heaped on the floor next to Flora.

"These are my mama's possessions. I am looking for her letters and such."

Picking up a fan, Marguerite idly fluttered it. "How pretty! Your mama must have been quite a belle." She coyly looked over the fan at her friend. But her teasing tone faded as she looked at Flora's downcast face. "Flora, what is wrong?"

Holding a packet of letters, tied up with a faded ribbon, Flora spoke haltingly, "Theo and I hated Uncle James when he inherited the title. I thought - David told me - that Uncle James destroyed mama and papa's marriage lines to inherit the title."

"Oh, Flora," Marguerite whispered.

"I had not seen Uncle James for years. I'd forgotten what he was like - or maybe I'd just never thought about what he was really like - as a person, I mean, not just an uncle... But I know Uncle James would never have done such a thing."

"Is that what you are looking for?" Marguerite took the packet of letters from Flora's limp hands. "Her marriage lines?"

Flora nodded. "But Marguerite - what if I cannot find them? What if," her voice dropped, "what if they never existed?"

Marguerite considered. "Well..."

"Theo and I would both be illegitimate." Flora said sadly.

Marguerite spoke slowly, picking her words carefully, "I do not mean to make light of the matter, Flora, but what would change? I mean your uncle is the Marquis and Theo seems to have accepted the fact."

"But would a respectable man wish to marry me? An illegitimate child? My father was the Marquis of Seaforth, but my mother was merely the daughter of a country squire."

"Oh." Marguerite had not thought about that. Flora continued hurriedly. "What about a... a soldier? Would marrying someone like me be harmful to his career? What if his superiors did not approve?"

"But surely a man of character that truly loved you..."

"What if you knew that it would be harmful to him? That his family and friends would not approve?"

Glancing at her downcast face, Marguerite acknowledged to herself that many families would not approve of a marriage to Miss Havershaw. She was beautiful, it was true, but considered by some to be sadly wild. Marguerite felt guilty for admitting as much to herself, but Flora's behavior had been somewhat notorious. What might be excusable in a high born beauty, like... like Naomi Lutonville, was considered intolerable in Miss Havershaw, with a dubious lineage. Marguerite felt somewhat bewildered. While she had been bemoaning her boredom in Bath as she recovered from her illness (the result of her own imprudence in becoming sadly wet during an afternoon walk), Flora had been thinking about marriage and her own place in life. Marguerite suddenly felt as though her friend had grown up, leaving her behind. 'I've never thought about such things - seriously, I mean.' What if she suddenly became, not Miss Templeby of impeccable background and lineage, but Miss Templeby with a dubious background? She winced, thinking of the snubs and unkind whispers that would undoubtedly follow.

Marguerite remembered something suddenly. "But look at Tio and Amy!" She said triumphantly. "He married her in spite of everything."

"True!" Flora brightened. "Perhaps," she continued, feeling more optimistic, "there is something in her after all!"