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Back A Portrait of Loyalty Save as PDF
Chapters (41)
  1. Cover
  2. Half Title Page
  3. Books by Roseanna M. White
  4. Title Page
  5. Copyright Page
  6. Epigraph
  7. Prologue
  8. 1
  9. 2
  10. 3
  11. 4
  12. 5
  13. 6
  14. 7
  15. 8
  16. 9
  17. 10
  18. 11
  19. 12
  20. 13
  21. 14
  22. 15
  23. 16
  24. 17
  25. 18
  26. 19
  27. 20
  28. 21
  29. 22
  30. 23
  31. 24
  32. 25
  33. 26
  34. 27
  35. 28
  36. 29
  37. Author’s Note
  38. Discussion Questions
  39. About the Author
  40. Back Ads
  41. Back Cover

Mrs. Blackwell scooted something along the floor, not so much as looking over her shoulder as she said, “What you take with you tonight will be our gift to you.” Now she sent him a glance. Confident and yet weighted. “Unless you mean you expect to move again and not take with you what we have gathered here? Certainly I don’t want our work left to the next tenant of your flat.”

From the end of the garret, a shaft of sunlight burst through the clouds, catching the dust motes in the air and spinning them to gold. Capturing them there in a frozen, drifting moment. He could hear the familiar words echoing in his ears. Be still and know . . .

He could sense the future, shivering and shaking ahead of him. Elusive as fog. Yet as determined as the wood beneath his feet.

He drew in a deep breath. “I will not stay in this flat forever. But I do not expect to move from London. This will be my home for the rest of my days.”

Both of the ladies went still. Matching blue eyes turned on him. “You are certain of that? Despite how you love Russia?” Lily asked in a voice as quiet as the sunlight.

He traced a finger down the edge of the picture frame. “It is because I love Russia that I will stay here. This is where God has led me. This is where I can do the most good.” He forced his gaze back up to his hostesses. Though it was Lily his eyes seemed to find of their own will. “I have cast my lot with England. With England will I stay.”

8

WEDNESDAY, 3 APRIL 1918
PARIS, FRANCE

There were a thousand reasons for a telegram to go unanswered these days. Nadya shouldered her bag, schooled her face, and wished she could school her stomach so easily. A thousand reasons or more that she’d gotten no response to the short messages she’d sent to Evgeni. The lines could be down. Non-military telegrams could be given low priority. Paul could have simply not given them to him.

All possible. But none calmed her stomach any. Especially not given the news she brought with her. She needed Evgeni to have found his brother. She needed him to have the information from the Prussian informant.

She needed him to be well.

She strode away from the train platform as if she had some idea where she was going, though she’d never stepped foot out of Russia until this trip. She spoke French, anyway. She could read the signs, with a bit of effort. She’d find a map. Find her way to Paul’s flat and demand to know where Evgeni was.

He’d be here. Somewhere. He would.

“It is about time you showed up.”