Gypsy Jewel by Patricia McAllister Read Free Book Online Page A

slight twist of logic to make it completely invisible to others. For example, I’ve been thinking how much more effective we could be if we planted someone in a less obvious place.”
    “Other than St. Petersburg, you mean?”
    Lord Raglan nodded. “It is far too obvious for my taste. I think we would see results faster and easier if we made an indirect route toward Moscow, skirting the larger towns and provinces, listening instead for the rumors among the common folk. As you know, even the most outrageous rumors usually have a grain of truth hidden somewhere in their core.”
    “Are you suggesting native spies?” Damien frowned as he considered that idea. He’d spent enough years in the East to know how loyal certain factions were. Especially among Russians, who were descended from closely-knit tribal groups, there was a fierce patriotism that could not be easily bought or sold when it came to their country.
    The older man read Damien’s expression and shook his head. “No, I know that would likely only complicate things, or come back to haunt us in the end. But you know the people here better than I. What do you think would be the best way to undertake such a feat?”
    Damien thought a moment while he finished his tea. Setting the chipped cup aside as carefully as if it were fine porcelain, he rose from the crate he had been using as a chair and paced the length of the tent as he spoke.
    “One of our best men, someone who speaks Russian well, could be outfitted as a peasant or tradesman and sent on a circuitous route toward Moscow. His reports would be sent back either by bribes or carrier pigeons, though I think the birds would be the safer route.”
    Lord Raglan nodded his approval. “Go on.”
    “He would have to be convincing enough to get into the confidence of the locals. It would take time — several months to cover a stretch from here to Moscow and back across enemy lines.”
    “Suppose he took a longer route, say through the Caucasus, by way of Rostov,” Raglan suggested.
    “It would mean a month longer, but it might be worthwhile to avoid detection,” Damien mused. “The enemy is expecting us to strike directly at the capital. We’ll have to lull them into thinking we’ve given up. It could work.”
    Lord Raglan allowed himself the luxury of a smile, something he hadn’t done in months. Like Damien’s father, the Earl of Somerset was generally a sober, conservative man who rarely displayed emotion. This war was the closest he had ever come to real despair, but he was careful not to let his men see that. It had been agonizing to watch British ships sitting in full view of Sevastopol with ready supplies while his soldiers died for want of a pair of boots. This bloody, stupid war had tried his patience dearly. Lord Raglan looked older than Damien had ever seen him as he passed his hand over his graying brow.
    “You’ve run with gypsies before, haven’t you? You mentioned it once before in a previous conversation,” he said, gaining Damien’s surprised glance and a hint of a grin.
    “Yes. It was a long time ago, when I was a far more impulsive youth. I ran away from my father to spite him on a trip to Paris, and joined a band camped on the outskirts of the city. I was sowing my wild oats, I guess, and stayed with them for several weeks.”
    Raglan chuckled at the thought. “I can imagine your mother’s reaction.”
    “Marcelle was distressed,” Damien admitted, a twinkle in his blue eyes to recall his beautiful Maman wringing her hands and scolding him shrilly. He had returned long-haired and filthy and wearing a grin a mile wide. It was less pleasant to remember the whipping Edward had given him for worrying his parents so much, but Damien saw now that he’d probably deserved it.
    “Then you know their ways,” Raglan continued thoughtfully. “It occurred to me that gypsies are free to move anywhere, from country to country, without passports and the like. They apparently consider