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She shook her head."Are you ready to travel?" I asked.She nodded. I held the back door for her and she barely glanced at the grotesque pile of bodies near the wood shed. She stepped up into the carriage, released my hand, and we proceeded, having lost an hour or two. I wondered where George was.As clouds built up in the west, twilight came quickly and early. Soon I found a big, stageline tavern and pulled into its yard. While I tended the rig and the animals, she made her careful way across the step stones and ordered us a good meal and a bottle of dark red wine.After a bit of idle chitchat, she said, "I was wrong."I waited, forking up stew and munching a biscuit."I knew that man, the one who came to the table, the one who, well, who almost." She sniffed and looked away. "He knew my husband too, the bastard, the fool. Loyal militia; that's what he was."I nodded, and she touched her lips with her tiny handkerchief."He would surely have killed me, killed us both." I think so," I. But she needed more than could be told from an empty hotel room or a telephoto lens. Bugging the room, naturally, would have been unsporting of her. If she could just drop by and take a look...A text came in with the answer to her problem. Something she’d ordered yesterday was ready for pickup. Helen finished her cup and smiled as she buzzed for Maria. Somehow, drinking cocoa always made her feel like her luck was improving.Maria arrived and collected the cup. “I make good, Contessa?”Helena sat for a moment before answering. “Excellent, Maria. Not perfect. But that’s not your fault; there’ll never be a perfect cup again.” She tried to push the memory away and concentrate on the present. “The thing I made yesterday is ready to be picked up. I’d like you to do it and deliver it to their hotel.”“Si, Contessa,” Maria said before turning away to take care of the cup and go get the item. La Contessa grabbed the maid’s arm before she could turn away. She rose from her chair.“Let’s take this.
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