Eleanor
That evening, I woke in the middle of the night. Glancing at the clock face, I saw it was 8:00 p.m.—the perfect time to sneak out, as everyone in the house, Lillian included, was fast asleep.
I opened the wardrobe, searching for the oldest, least conspicuous clothing to disguise myself as a common villager. I found an old, tattered dress at the very back of the closet—perfect for the purpose. I quickly changed into it and threw a worn-out cloak over my shoulders, slipping silently out of my room without the help of a single candle, feeling my way through the corridors where the lamplight didn't reach.
And so, I managed to leave the house without being noticed. The night was thick with mist, filling the air with a spine-chilling atmosphere. But I had to conquer my fears and find my way—though I wasn't entirely sure which way Piccadilly lay, I recalled vague memories from a past journey to his manor. The place I sought was quite a distance away, and walking there alone at night was hardly safe.
Then I spotted the small stable at the left of the manor's entrance—the one used to keep the family's working horses. Riding into town would be much safer. The problem was...
'I've never ridden a horse before!'
But there was no other choice. Even if Mr. Barker took me to that district by day, the pub would only be open at night.
'Oh well, Ellie. There's a first time for everything.'
With that thought, I headed into the stable and found three fully-grown horses, though I couldn't see their colors in the dim light. Instinctively, my body carried me to the horse at the far end, as if I were already familiar with it. The horse, in turn, seemed quite at ease with me. This strange sense of familiarity had happened before, as if someone else's memories were guiding my actions—or perhaps it was just muscle memory belonging to this body.
Snort! Whinny!
The horse nickered as I stroked its mane but showed no sign of hostility, standing docile and calm.
"Shh, don't be noisy or you'll wake everyone," I whispered, patting its neck. It seemed to understand. I noticed the bridle, saddle, and padded blanket on a nearby rack, fitted the horse with them, then mounted. Oddly, I had no trouble keeping my balance, as though I'd done this many times before. Of course, Lady Eleanor would have been no stranger to riding, as it was a favored pastime among the nobility.
Clip-clop! Clip-clop!
I guided the horse through the dark roads and the mist, taking in the silent cityscape. There were still some strains of music and laughter drifting from the pubs that remained open late for travelers and locals seeking amusement. I rode straight for the heart of London, crossing Putney Bridge into Fulham, then Chelsea, and finally arriving in the familiar district of Piccadilly.
There it was: his manor, looming lifeless in the night—so unlike the lively night of the ball. Now it looked like an abandoned mansion with no sign of life. I rode past and soon found myself in a bustling neighborhood filled with shops and countless pubs, their signs and stalls lighting up the street with chatter and laughter. 'This must be it.'
No wonder the Cavendish family was so fabulously wealthy—even the territory they ruled had been developed for commerce and entertainment, greatly enriching the area.
'Now to find The Boar's Head, as Leo instructed.'
I rode along the crowded street, passing drunken men sprawled on the pavement, others laughing loudly over pints, their raucous conversation echoing through the night. No matter the era, it seemed the English love of merrymaking and strong drink never changed. Anyone who had seen the nightlife in London in my own time would find the scene quite familiar.
At last, I spotted an unmarked pub with a sign depicting a boar's head hanging above the door.
'This must be it—The Boar's Head.'
I dismounted, tying my horse to a tree beside the pub, and went inside. Scanning the room for a woman named Lydia Fairchild, I realized I didn't have the faintest idea what she looked like—not her age nor her features.
The pub wasn't large, just a simple tavern, making it easy to see every patron's face. At the counter, a middle-aged bartender with a bushy beard was polishing a silver tankard. I approached him, hoping to inquire after Lydia.
"I need to ask you something. Could you help me?" I said.
He turned to me, eyes wide at the odd sight of a young woman in his pub at this hour, asking strange questions.
"What do you want, young lady?"
"I'm looking for a woman named Lydia Fairchild. Does she work here?"
"And why are you looking for her?"
"I'm a daughter of her close friend. My mother sent me to deliver a message," I lied, not wanting to arouse suspicion about my status.
"Must be from some well-to-do family, eh? Even if your clothes are old, they're of fine quality. I don't know what a lady like you wants with my wife, but you've come to the right place."
"May I speak with her for a moment?"
"Lydia's in the kitchen. If you want to talk, wait here and I'll fetch her."
He disappeared through the back door. Moments later, a plump woman in her early thirties emerged, wearing a flour-dusted apron and with tousled ash-blonde hair falling to her shoulders, her light brown eyes sizing me up.
"Who are you, my lady? What is a highborn girl like you doing in a small tavern like this, alone at night? Don't you know how dangerous it is without a companion?" she asked, eyeing my tattered disguise with suspicion. It seemed even old clothes couldn't fully conceal the quality of their cut—no doubt she could tell at a glance I was of noble birth.
"I want to ask about the Duke of Devonshire's former fiancée," I said quietly.
She paled instantly at the mention of his name.
"Y-you should go home, my lady. I know nothing! His Grace has a new fiancée now—you should give up such notions." She turned as if to return to the kitchen.
"Wait! Please, I need to know what happened to Lady Chelsea at Chatsworth House. Please, madam, help me!" I called out, my voice urgent enough to make her pause and glance back at my shadowed face beneath the hood.
"Who are you?" she demanded.
"I'm sorry I can't reveal my identity, but I truly need to know."
She returned, peering closely under my hood. "You… You're…!"
She must have guessed my true identity. I quickly motioned for her to keep quiet—everyone here knew the duke's fiancée, and I didn't want my presence revealed. She took my hand and led me upstairs to a sitting room, with just a lamp, a sofa, and a fireplace.
"You're Lady Eleanor, aren't you? Why would you come here alone at night? Don't you realize how dangerous it is, especially with all the robberies lately?"
Now that she had recognized me, I removed my hood for ease of conversation—clearly, I'd underestimated how quickly news traveled in this era.
"How did you know who I was?"
"I used to accompany Lady Chelsea on visits to Wexford House. You were just a child then, too young to remember me. Why do you want to know about your sister now?"
"Because I'm to be married to him in a month's time. I want to know how my sister lived—what happened to her before me."
"I'm sorry, my lady. I was forbidden by His Grace William to speak of the family. If I speak out, my life is at risk. The Cavendish family allows no former servant to speak of what happened within those walls."
"Please, madam. I am not a stranger—I will soon become Duchess of Devonshire myself. As the future mistress of the Cavendish family, I see no harm in sharing with me."
Lydia considered my words carefully.
"I can tell you only what I know of Lady Chelsea herself—nothing of His Grace's private affairs."
"That's all I ask, and I promise not to tell a soul."
She hesitated. "But, my lady, you've been engaged to His Grace for years—why only now do you seek these answers? Surely you know more of the family's affairs than I do."
I shook my head.
"I lost my memory in an accident. Father forbade anyone from mentioning the past or my sister. That's why I had to sneak out to find you, hoping you'd ease this troubling uncertainty."
She looked at me with pity, seeming to understand Lord Barnett's reasoning.
"Was it Leopold who told you where to find me?"
I nodded. She turned away, rubbing her temples, then sighed and looked back at me.
"I don't know how much I can help, my lady, but if I may give you one piece of advice—it's better not to pursue the past. His Grace is not as bad as people claim."
"Thank you for the warning, but I must know, madam. Can you tell me why my sister died?"
Everyone seemed intent on keeping the past from me. Why?
Her expression saddened. "I… I can't say for certain, my lady. She fell ill and passed away within a month. She had always been healthy, loved outdoor activities… I don't know why she fell ill."
"I heard that Lord Alexander poisoned her out of jealousy over a love affair. Is that true?" I asked, determined to get the truth—Lillian and Leo both contradicted each other.
"I don't believe it, my lady. I prepared her meals every day, and often saw Lady Chelsea and His Grace dine together. If there was poison, I'd have been affected first. I was a servant in the Cavendish household—I was never ordered to do such a thing. What you've heard is mere rumor spread by the other maids. That's why, after Lady Chelsea's death, His Grace dismissed many of the servants—including myself."
I considered this new information.
'If what she says is true, then Lady Chelsea likely died from an illness, not murder. That eases my fear of being in danger from him. Leo must have been trying to manipulate Lady Eleanor's feelings all along, using her as a tool for revenge. And the lady herself was so naive, letting herself be misled, never thinking to seek the truth as I do. This seems the most reasonable conclusion for now.'
"Thank you for telling me all this, madam."
"There is one more thing I must warn you about," she said, her tone grave.
I looked at her in surprise—what else could there be to worry about, now that the mystery of Lady Chelsea's death seemed resolved?
"What is it?"
"I don't know what you've heard, but the rumors of an affair between Lady Chelsea and Leopold—there's some truth to them. Be wary of his words; I don't think he could ever truly accept her loss."
'So complicated! Just as I dismissed the murder theory, the love affair—denied by both Lillian and Leo—is now confirmed by Lydia, adding to my confusion. Was this a love triangle or simply a case of revenge born from unrequited love?'
"Why do you believe they were lovers?"
"I saw Lady Chelsea meeting Leopold at night several times, though I never knew what they talked about. I even saw them embrace in the garden, and she sent him letters often."
'Curious indeed. Perhaps it was only Leopold who pursued Lady Chelsea, and she used him as a messenger, nothing more.'
"Thank you."
Speaking of letters, I'd nearly forgotten about the ones I'd taken from her room earlier. I'd been too busy planning my escape to read them—perhaps they would reveal more.
I thanked Lydia and made my way home, worried I'd stayed out too long.
Lydia saw me to the pub door, urging me to ride straight back to Putney as quickly as possible—these were dangerous times for a noblewoman alone at night. There was a risk of robbery, or worse. I'd worried about this the whole way out, but had no other way to escape Lillian's watchful eye.
Not long after passing his manor, I saw vague shapes ahead—two large men standing in the road. I pulled the horse to a stop so suddenly I tumbled off, landing hard on my left leg.
"Ow!" My ankle twisted painfully, leaving me unable to walk.
The two men ran at me, moonlight glinting on their blades. My heart pounded in terror.
Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump!
"Ahhhh!" I screamed, certain this was the end—regretting my stubbornness in sneaking out alone.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
I crossed my arms over my head, bracing for the worst, eyes squeezed shut in terror. But suddenly, something blocked the attack. When I dared open my eyes, I saw a powerfully-built man shielding me. He gripped the assailant's wrist with incredible strength, the blade pressed to his own chest and drawing blood, staining his expensive clothes—clothes not worn by commoners.
'Wait… Lord Alexander!'
He flung the attacker aside, sending him crashing into a wall, then struck him on the head with his cane. The man collapsed, unconscious. The other ran off into the woods, abandoning his comrade.
"What are you doing out here alone at this hour, my lady! Do you realize how dangerous this is? You could have been killed by those thieves!" he shouted, furious. I could only sit trembling in fear, unable to reply.
"I—I'm sorry. Hic…" I wept in terror and relief.
He glared down at me, looking for all the world like a demon—merciless, even though he had just saved me. Seeing my fear, he seemed to struggle to compose himself, sighing deeply before offering me his hand.
"My ankle—I fell from my horse, I can't stand."
He glanced at my swollen ankle, then bent and lifted me into his arms.
"You have a lot of explaining to do. Tonight, I'm taking you to my manor to recover, and tomorrow I'll send for your servants to bring you home."
"I thought you were leaving tonight."
"I postponed my journey. Her Majesty summoned urgently."
"The Queen? Is something wrong?"
"That's none of your concern. Worry about yourself. For now, you have some explaining to do."
I frowned at him—such a brusque manner, chasing away my earlier fear.
'No need to be so harsh. I was only curious about what the Queen wanted with the Cavendish family. If not for the fact that he'd just saved my life, I'd have peppered him with questions until he was thoroughly annoyed.'
His blood stained his clothing bright red. I was more concerned for his wound than for my own ankle.
"Lord Alexander, your wound!"
"Don't worry. It's not deep—Theodore can stitch it for me."
He carried me to his horse, who was waiting patiently nearby. He signaled to someone in the shadows, then rode with me back to Devonshire House, a journey of about ten minutes. The whole way, I couldn't help but wonder what had brought him out in the middle of the night as well.
Alexander
I awoke at three o'clock in the morning to prepare for my journey to Euston Station, intending to take the direct train north to Manchester—a journey that would require nearly nine hours in total, with an expected arrival by noon, or early afternoon at the latest. Yet, before I could depart, I received an urgent summons from Her Majesty, requesting my immediate attendance at court. It was most unusual, for the Queen had never before commanded my presence at so early an hour; clearly, something pressing was at hand.
"Theodore, kindly inform the company that I must postpone my departure until tomorrow," I instructed.
"Understood, your grace. I shall have the carriage prepared and arrange the new itinerary before mid-morning," Theodore replied at once.
Upon my arrival at Buckingham Palace, I was escorted alone into Her Majesty's private study. I bowed low in respect. The Queen was seated at her writing desk, her expression weary, her brow cradled in her hand as if she had not slept a moment. Papers and documents were scattered across the table, evidence of her tireless labors. Prince Albert, her consort, was notably absent from her side.
"Thank you, Lord Alexander, for coming at such an early hour," the Queen greeted me. "I understand you are scheduled to depart for Manchester?"
"Yes, Your Majesty. Do you have urgent business for me?"
"The present economic situation is most chaotic, especially within the railway sector. There is much over-investment, resulting in bad debts and defaulted loans. I am aware that you hold shares in the London & North Western Railway Company. May I ask you to prepare a brief summary of investment results and a debt repayment plan within the coming week? I require preliminary information to discuss the matter with Lord Russell. What say you?"
"I have no objections, Your Majesty. I shall prepare the necessary documents in advance of the next session of the House of Commons."
"Lord Alexander, have you anything else to report to me?" Her gaze was searching and firm.
"I have reviewed the company's procurement accounts since the merger with the two northern railways last year, and I have discovered that the loan ceiling has been increased suspiciously. Many banks, eager to lend, have offered credit all too readily, and these funds have been borrowed in excess, even when the business cannot yet generate sufficient revenue to service the debt. Ultimately, these loans end up as capital tied up in stock, as there is insufficient cash flow to pay them off as scheduled."
"The chief cause of these bad debts lies, in part, with the imprudence of the banks themselves—reckless in their calculations regarding the repayment capacity of their borrowers. And, in some cases, private investors seize the opportunity to misappropriate borrowed funds for their own purposes, rendering them unable to repay," I added.
"Indeed, you are quite right. Are there any other problems currently facing your company?"
"There is, Your Majesty. At present, someone among our consortium has been ordering excessive quantities of railway parts in advance, under the pretext of preparing for a forthcoming expansion. In reality, such steel for construction ought not to be ordered so far in advance—it risks deterioration and unnecessary depreciation. It seems he is doing this only to embezzle funds for himself."
"He must be a fool to take such risks. I have already been informed by Lord Barnett that he is pursuing legal action against the culprit, though intelligence reports suggest the scoundrel has fled to Paris. Is this true?"
"It is, Your Majesty."
"And what is your plan to resolve the matter?"
"My intent in travelling to Manchester is to propose a motion at the partners' meeting on the 9th, to suspend further purchases until current stock is used. If the motion passes unanimously, I will prepare an entirely new construction plan and expedite the use of existing stock. This is my preliminary plan from an accounting perspective; further consultation with the engineers regarding its feasibility will be required as well."
"When is this new connecting line scheduled to begin construction?"
"Under the original plan, construction was to begin at the start of next year. However, circumstances have changed, and I cannot give a definite answer at present. I request Your Majesty's patience until after the partners' meeting, when I shall present a revised plan."
"I shall await your report. I must say, I am grateful that our realm possesses men of such talent as yourself and Lord Barnett, able to lead the development of our nation's transportation with such vigor. Tell me, how do you intend for the railway lines to interconnect?"
"Your Majesty, I merely oversee financial matters. The construction is the work of our engineers. But, simply put, our company's plan is to make Manchester the central hub of the north, so that all lines may enter and leave the city with greater convenience. The first new line will connect west to Liverpool, the second north to Leeds, and the third south to Birmingham—these three lines will interconnect, so passengers need not change stations repeatedly."
"Excellent. I wish you every success in your endeavors, Lord Alexander. Thank you for this information, and forgive me for summoning you at such an hour. I have been gathering reports since yesterday, not having closed my eyes for a moment. I cannot, like my husband, simply leave these problems unresolved and retire to bed in peace."
"I am honored to serve, Your Majesty. Please do take care to rest, lest you fall ill."
"I shall try. That is all."
"Then, Your Majesty, I take my leave."
As I turned to depart, the Queen detained me with another question.
"One more thing, Lord Alexander. How fares your relationship with Lady Eleanor?"
I turned and bowed once more before answering, "All is as it should be, Your Majesty. I shall soon take her north to Derbyshire, once my business is concluded."
"I trust you will find happiness in your union."
"So I hope, Your Majesty," I replied, feeling a stab of guilt at the necessary falsehood. I knew well enough that happiness was unlikely for us both.
"I shall not detain you further. Safe travels, Lord Alexander."
"Thank you, Your Majesty. I take my leave."
I left the palace intent on preparing the requested documents before my rescheduled departure. Upon my return to the manor, Theodore hurried to me, his face grave.
"Your grace, I have received complaints from the local villagers—there are reports of thieves, recently discharged mercenaries from Scotland, preying upon travelers and committing robbery in this district."
I had barely sat on the study's settee when yet another problem presented itself, compelling me to massage my feverish brow before setting aside my cane.
"Has the Metropolitan Police been informed?"
"The villagers have reported the incidents, but the culprits have not yet been apprehended, your grace."
"Arrange for Inspector Hawthorne to meet me here this afternoon—urgently."
"At once, your grace."
I glanced at the clock upon my desk—just after five in the morning. I must hasten to complete the papers for the Queen and send them to the Palace before noon. Afterward, I must devise a plan with the Inspector. I shall not allow the lands my family has labored to develop become a den of thieves—not while I draw breath.
✽ ✽ ✽
A lingering mist from Piccadilly Road drifted slowly, settling upon the curved glass of my study window that afternoon. Inspector Hawthorne sat before me, visibly anxious, having been summoned on urgent business.
"Your Grace wished to discuss the matter of the highwaymen with me, sir?" he began.
"How far along are you in your investigation, Mr. Hawthorne? I have received complaints directly from the local townsfolk, and as I shall soon be away from London for several months, I require these thieves to be apprehended within the night."
"I have been tracing their hideout for several days, sir. They are former mercenaries, making them difficult to track, and their military prowess only adds to the challenge of their capture."
"How many of them are there, according to your information?"
"Only three, sir."
"I have a plan, and I would like your cooperation," I stated.
"You intend to take part in the capture yourself, Your Grace?" he exclaimed in surprise.
"I do. Tonight, I wish to lay in wait for them to show themselves. I will subdue them personally. See to it that your men are positioned to surround the buildings in this district, and bring me a woman willing to serve as a decoy."
"But, Your Grace, it is far too dangerous for you!" he protested.
Theodore cast the inspector a scornful glance, clearly unimpressed by his appraisal of my abilities.
✽ ✽ ✽
Night soon fell. It was now nine o'clock. I had already instructed Inspector Hawthorne to deploy his men, cordoning off the woods and buildings throughout Piccadilly for the past hour. As for myself, I now played the part of a wealthy merchant traveling the road alone in the dead of night. Not a single woman could be found willing to serve as bait; their fear for their own lives prevailed. Thus, I became the decoy myself.
The plan was simple. I would ride my horse at a leisurely pace along the road stretching from my own manor all the way to the Chelsea district to the west. The villagers informed me the brigands typically struck between nine and ten in the evening, so beginning my trap at precisely nine o'clock was ideal.
If they struck, I would personally subdue them, then effect the arrest. Should they flee, Theodore, stationed at a distance, would serve as the second line of defense. If, by some chance, they managed to evade us both, the inspector's men were already in position to catch them—a three-tiered ambush.
I dressed in my usual attire, clothing unmistakable in both quality and social standing—perfect for baiting thieves. Surely, seeing a lone nobleman venturing out at such an hour would be more temptation than they could resist.
I rode along the desolate road for some time, seeing nothing amiss. I checked my pocket watch—9:15 p.m.—just about the hour when the bandits were known to hunt for their prey. No sooner had I resolved to continue than—
"Aaaahhh!"
A woman's scream pierced the silence from behind, where I had only just passed. I turned my horse without hesitation and arrived to see two burly men springing from a roadside shack, brandishing knives as they bore down upon a hapless woman, who screamed and cowered upon the ground. I leapt from my horse and intervened just in time, thrusting myself between them and their intended victim.
The strength of the assailant was immense. His blade slashed across my chest, drawing blood despite my efforts to block his wrist. These were no ordinary thieves but former Scottish mercenaries, as expected. Still, they were no match for me. I hurled the brute against a wall and, with my cane, struck him on the head until he lay motionless.
The other man fled, no doubt to be dealt with by Theodore, while the last would be left for Inspector Hawthorne to apprehend. Turning to check the condition of the woman I had rescued, I was stunned to see her face—it was Her Ladyship herself!
'Heavens! How does she always manage to bring such trouble upon herself?' I thought.
Fortunately, my wound was not deep, but I feared it might hinder my journey on the morrow. Yet, her own twisted ankle was of greater concern. What could possess this frail young lady to wander the streets alone at such an hour, unaccompanied? Was she utterly mad?
I lifted her onto my horse and signaled Theodore to coordinate the remaining operations with the inspector. I would take Her Ladyship back to the manor for treatment and an explanation—there were, evidently, many questions in need of answers regarding her midnight adventure.