The Consequences of Fear by Jacqueline Winspear (speed reading book txt) 📕

bus ticket from a local French town for a man, or a pen sold only in France. The agent would wish them luck, and they would need every scrap of good fortune if they were to survive even the landing in a French field, where they would be hurried away by locals working for the Resistance before the Gestapo even knew they were there—if that luck had crossed the Channel with them. Despite the company, and despite the honor among those they would work with on acts of sabotage and murder, from the time they boarded the aircraft, they were on their own. As soon as they saw their name on the board in the dining room of the genteel country manor house, each agent began to balance the fear inside them. It was a delicate dance with fate.

Upstairs in her assigned room Maisie inspected the door lock, followed by the window latches. She took a moment to breathein fresh air through the open window and look at the land beyond. Her quarters for the next two nights enjoyed a view acrossthe craggy landscape, and she could even distinguish the bothy in the distance. Moving away from the window, she checked underthe bed and in the wardrobe, the first steps in her complete sweep of the room. She had conducted a search on her two previousvisits to the house, though she was not sure what she was looking for—perhaps a means of listening to her conversation, eventhough no one else came to the room and there was no personal telephone. Or there could be a tool for keeping a log of whenshe entered and exited the room. She would know when she found something amiss. Light fixtures and the two table lamps werechecked. She knelt down to look under the desk, then stood up and pulled out each of the drawers. Nothing. She tapped thewooden cladding on the walls and even removed books from shelves situated to the right of the door—a secret means of enteringa room would not be unusual in such an old house. Every wire was examined, every inch of carpet scrutinized, until Maisiewas satisfied that there was nothing in the room to concern her. Not today anyway.

Now she had something else to attend to, something personal. A matter of the heart. She had resisted opening the package fromMark Scott while on the train. She had picked it up, turned it over and held it, but she wanted to wait until she was in aroom and not ensconced in a railway carriage at night. She wanted to have something good to look forward to, prolonging thefrisson of excitement she had felt from the moment the parcel had been handed to her, a sweet anticipation she wanted to drawout for as long as she could.

She unlocked her suitcase, moved clothing aside and drew out the brown-paper-wrapped package. Sitting on her bed, she turned it over. Taking a deep breath, she worked the knotted string free, slid her finger under the seal and pulled away the paper to reveal a plain black cardboard box, also sealed. She felt her heart beat faster as she opened the box, exposing tissue paper and a deep blue velvet presentation case tied with a purple ribbon. She held her breath for a few seconds and with care untied the ribbon and put it aside before lifting the lid.

The single diamond on a gold chain caught the light and took her breath away. It was not an ostentatious gift, not a hugestone meant to impress, but an elegant, graceful cut. A card had been slipped under the delicate chain.

“I cannot wait to be with you again—and soon. With love, Mark.”

With love?

Did those words have meaning for Mark Scott? Or was it just a line that people used—and perhaps even more so when it feltas if affection had begun to evaporate? Maisie read the message again. And again. Holding on to the velvet box with the diamondnecklace inside, she walked to the window and gazed across the land before her, resting her eyes on the swathe of green hillsin the distance. Mark wasn’t the sort of person to say words he didn’t mean. If this were so, it meant she was loved by theman she had come to love in return. Now what were they to do? They were two people from different worlds, not so young anymore, and she with a daughter to consider—a child she had vowed to put before everything else. Everything. But in a time ofwar “everything” seemed to take on a different hue, and keeping loved ones safe meant sacrifices had to be made. Men and womenhad died making that sacrifice in the hope that their children might live in a free world.

Maisie felt the fear settling in as if a great weight had taken up residence in the very center of her being and was working its way through her body. She struggled to hold the flood of emotions steady, knowing that what Gabriella Hunter had called “irrational reasoning” could so easily grow, filling her with an invasive, debilitating dread—a dread that had the power to lead her onto a path filled with errors. And perhaps more than anyone, she knew that the movement of fear along the balance beam could happen so fast. She closed her eyes, in that moment wishing she could wave a magic wand and have Maurice be right there in the room with her—that she could fall to her knees and say, “Tell me what to do. Tell me how I can be all the things I want to be. Please tell me now, how I can be with those I love and still, then, be of service?” What would Maurice say in return?

She set the deep blue box with the diamond necklace on the bed and delved into her shoulder bag to find a letter she kepttucked away in a pocket. It had been with her for years, the folds breaking apart where