by Jayne Davis
Henri tied up the unconscious guard, leaving him in a dark corner of the kitchen, and they set off up the stairs. The first floor landing was lit by a lantern standing on the floor, its wick turned down low. A guard snored on a chair, a bottle of wine on the floor beside him. He didn’t move even when Alex held the muzzle of a pistol against his temple. He bent down—there was alcohol on the man’s breath, but the bottle on the floor was still half full.
“Drugged?” he whispered as Henri stopped beside him, then his attention was caught by the movement of a door half-way along the landing. A small hand came out and beckoned. Henri gave him a shove and they moved past the guard and through the door a girl was holding open for them. From her dress, Alex deduced that the girl was Aimée.
This room was better lit. Alex heard Henri’s indrawn breath at the same time as he noticed a livid bruise across Aimée’s cheek and another on the arm she had beckoned with. But there was no time for wondering who or why. Another young woman perched nervously on a sofa, this one clad in well-made and warm travelling clothes, her eyes enormous in a pale face. Beside her slumped a much older woman, breathing heavily but not reacting at all to their presence.
“I had to drug her,” Aimée said quietly. “She does not believe she is truly in danger here—she thinks it is all a mistake that will be put right soon.”
“And her?” Alex jerked his head towards the woman who must be Brevare’s sister.
“She believes me. She will come quietly. But you will have to carry the vicomtesse.”
Alex looked at Henri—Alex was the better shot.
“I’ll take her,” Henri said, and unceremoniously hoisted the sleeping woman over his shoulder. “We need to go now.”
Henri carried the inert vicomtesse down the stairs and out through the kitchen door. The bound guard was beginning to regain consciousness, his eyes glittering as Alex held the lantern over him, but his bonds held firm. He’d be found as soon as his comrade came round, so Alex left him there.
Once they were outside, louder sounds of breaking glass and gunshots indicated that the arranged diversion was getting out of hand. Alex hoped it wouldn’t bring the authorities down on them before they’d made a clean escape. He climbed the wall and took the unconscious woman from Henri, letting her gently down the other side. The two younger women were easily lifted over.
Henri dumped the vicomtesse into the waiting carriage while Alex paid off the lad minding it and scrambled up onto the box. Now they were to pick up the shoemaker and his wife, and wait somewhere inconspicuous until the barricades opened in the morning. Alex hoped Aimée had enough of the drug to keep the vicomtesse unconscious. A sudden vision of Phoebe’s aunt came into his head—if this woman was anything like her, they’d be well advised to keep her unconscious as long as possible.
Tomorrow, he and Henri would be the coachmen for a merchant and his wife and sickly mother, plus their daughter and a maid. Three days’ driving—avoiding towns and villages—and the Lily would be waiting for them off a secluded beach west of Dieppe.
Rubbing a hand over his face, he wondered if he would see Phoebe in London.
Chapter 30
It was well past midnight when Alex drew the hired carriage to a halt into the mews behind Grosvenor Square. Alex helped the two Brevare women down and lead them to the rear servants’ entrance. He tapped gently on the door. A footman answered his knock, nodding in recognition as he ushered them into the kitchen.
“I need money, Brownlee,” Alex said.
“His lordship is still out, sir, but I think Langton is waiting up for him. I’ll fetch him.”
“And wake one of the maids, please.”
Brownlee glanced at the women before disappearing along the corridor leading towards the front of the house. Alex sat the women at the kitchen table, the vicomtesse looking around her with the corners of her mouth turned down. Her daughter looked so tired that Alex wondered if she was going to faint. He found a glass and poured her some water, then went back outside to help Henri turn the carriage round. When he returned, the butler was there holding a purse.
“How much do you need, sir?” Langton asked.
Alex tipped the coins out into his hand then returned them to the purse. “This should be sufficient, thank you. Can you find a room for the ladies? It is not to be known they are here. I’ll need a bed as well. It would be best to get Doctor Cavenor to examine the ladies in the morning—discreetly—to make sure they are well.”
“Yes, sir.”
While Langton headed off to organise rooms, Alex went out to the coach and handed the purse to Henri. “Stop outside the city and find an inn, then send word where you are. I’ll get money and a driver and groom sent to you—they’ll know the way to Marstone’s place in Devonshire. You can manage enough English until then?”
Henri just grunted. Alex put his head into the carriage. The shoemaker’s wife slept on her husband’s shoulder; Aimée sat next to them, wide-eyed and with her hands clenched in her lap.
“All is well,” Alex said quietly. “Only another hour’s travelling tonight.”
“Thank you, monsieur,” Couillard said.
“Madame de Brevare, will she want me to attend her?” Aimée’s voice trembled.
“You need have nothing more to do with her,” Alex reassured the girl. “Unless you wish it.”
Aimée shook her head.
“Lady Marstone will help you. She will find you a job, and help you to learn English. She is very friendly.”
Alex gave them a final nod and closed the door. He suspected that Lady Marstone’s intervention would not be necessary—Henri was showing all the signs of a man smitten. He watched until the carriage left the square again, uncomfortably aware that he was in a similar situation himself.
He staggered slightly as he re-entered the house. The crossing had been rough, making sleep impossible, then he had driven most of the way from Dover so that Henri would be rested for his onward journey. The effects of the whole affair were catching up with him.
Someone had set a jug of ale and a plate of bread and cheese on the table, so he sat down to eat and drink. He asked Brownlee for pen and paper when the footman returned, scribbled a brief note, and gave instructions for its delivery to Berkeley Square in the morning. No doubt Marstone would prefer him not to tell anyone he was back, but he owed it to Phoebe to tell her he was safe.
At least, he hoped she’d want to know. Shaking his head against such thoughts, he finished the food and ale, then took a candle and retired to the room in the attic he used when his presence in London was to be kept secret.
“Wake up, sir.”
Alex’s hand reached for his pistol before he even opened his eyes. The man standing by his bed took a hasty step backwards. Blinking, Alex recognised the small attic bedroom and the earl’s valet.
My apologies, sir,” Harrison said. “His lordship wants to see you in the library in half an hour.”
Alex laid the pistol on the floor beside the bed and rubbed his eyes. He was in a nightshirt, but he didn’t remember undressing himself. The room was dim, the thick curtains closed. “What time is it?”
“Midday, sir. You have slept for nearly nine hours.”
Alex groaned, and reluctantly pushed the bedclothes aside. He would have to explain himself to Marstone at some point—he may as well get it over with.
“I have had a bath filled for you in the next room, sir, and l have laid out some of the clothing you left last time you were here.”
A hot bath might be worth the effort of getting up.
Half an hour later he was clean, shaven—and hungry. He waved away Harrison’s offer of help, quickly dressing and knotting his own neckcloth.
“You asked to see me, sir?” Alex said as he entered the library.
Marstone looked up with his usual welcoming smile, then stood and came around his desk and clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m glad you’re back safely, Alex.”
Alex was about to speak when
the rich smell of roast beef and gravy made him pause, his stomach rumbling. Kellet carried in a tray and set it on one end of the desk. He pulled chairs to the desk, and poured coffee for everyone.
“Eat first,” Marstone said, waving a hand at the food.
He didn’t need to be told twice. He got through most of the thick slices of beef and a large pile of potatoes and vegetables before the earl ran out of patience and cleared his throat.
Alex reluctantly pushed his plate aside and leaned back in his chair, holding his cup of coffee. He started to relate his travels in France over the last few months, and the contacts he had made.
“Yes,” the earl interrupted. “I’ve got the details of your contacts—you did well there. At the moment, I’m more interested in this business with the Vicomte de Brevare. That seems to be tied up in some way with the Calvac women—tell me how you came to escort them.”
As Alex outlined what had happened when he came across the Calvac party, the earl went to stand before the fire. He leaned one arm on the mantelpiece and gazed down at the flames; only an occasional movement of his head indicated that he was listening.
“What possessed you to risk yourself by doing such a thing?” he asked, when Alex finished. “The information you brought back is worth far more than the lives of a few women.”
Alex couldn’t read his expression. “It was an impulse,” he admitted. “Miss Deane had been friendly, and…” He shrugged. “I couldn’t abandon them to their fate.”
“Impulsive decisions can be dangerous,” Marstone said, returning to sit at his desk.
“It worked out well in the end,” Alex said. He’d expected more criticism, and its absence made him wonder what impulsive decisions Marstone had made in the past.
“Possibly better than you imagine.” The earl’s tone seemed amused rather than offended.
What did that mean? Alex glanced at Kellet, but the secretary raised his shoulders in a shrug.
“But you couldn’t have known it would,” the earl went on.
“True. But I would do the same again.” Vague thoughts from the last weeks crystallised in his head. “I think that I’m no longer fit for that kind of work.”
To Alex’s surprise, Marstone didn’t look displeased. “Well, we’ll think about that when you’re properly rested. Now, retrieving the Brevare women, how did that go?”
Relieved at the change of subject, Alex outlined what he and Henri had done. Kellet made notes as Alex spoke.
“The new men you sent details for were useful,” Alex concluded. “I doubt we would have achieved anything without their assistance. The people in Paris whose details I already had are no longer usable. By the way, you have acquired a shoemaker and his wife—a loan to set him up in business would come in useful.”
Marstone agreed, as Alex expected. “See to it, will you, Kellet?” He turned back to Alex. “Doctor Cavenor examined the vicomtesse and the daughter this morning. He prescribed a day of rest before they move on—but they will have had a day by tomorrow morning. The vicomtesse was complaining that you had sent her maid away.”
Alex remembered the way the woman had spoken to her maid on the journey from Dover. Reluctantly, he had kept the vicomtesse drowsy with laudanum for most of the journey through France—one wrong word from her could have sent the whole party to the guillotine. But the last effects of the drug had worn off while they were on the Lily.
“The maid had a bruised face when we got them out of the house in Paris,” he said, answering the implied question. “I assumed at first that she’d got it from one of the guards there, but I think it was actually the vicomtesse. The maid is currently acting as servant to Couillard and his wife, but I suspect Henri Dumont will end up looking after her.”
“You seem to be making a habit of rescuing harridans.” The earl was definitely amused.
“You’ve met the Comtesse de Calvac, then?” Alex asked with a wry smile.
“Only for a few moments at a ball. Bella told me about her. But back to business. I am glad you had them put into the special guest room—I’d prefer to keep their presence in England secret for a while.”
“Have you got any idea who might be blackmailing Brevare?” Alex assumed Phoebe would have already explained their reasoning—possibly sitting in this very chair.
“No, but things have come to light since you left that convince me there is a traitor within the organisation somewhere. I have talked to both the Brevare women, but they don’t know anything that might help us to identify him.” The earl steepled his fingers. “Why did you take Miss Deane into your confidence? Surely it would have been better to maintain your pose as a Frenchman?”
“No doubt, but she worked most of it out herself. I gave myself away when she was stitching up my arm.”
“Stitching up…?” The earl’s eyebrows rose. “Explain.”
Alex described the fight and its aftermath, the earl’s brows, and Kellet’s, rising even further as the tale progressed.
“So,” Marstone said when Alex had finished. “She backed up your improvised fabrication without foreknowledge, stabbed this man Sarchet with a pair of scissors, stole your pistol, handed you a pitchfork, which likely saved you from far worse injury, punched the other Frenchie and damaged him elsewhere, then played doctor?”
“That about sums that part of it up,” said Alex with a grin. It sounded remarkable, but she was the most remarkable woman he’d ever met. His mind filled with the vision of her smiling at him, the firelight in her hair, and the memory of that kiss.
“There’s more?”
Alex brought himself back to the present. “Yes. Braving a tavern-full of drunken fishermen, smugglers, and soldiers, driving the coach—I think that about covers it. Perhaps you should recruit her instead of me?”
The earl’s expression remained suspiciously blank.
“I was joking!” Alex added sharply.
The earl waved a hand casually. “Of course you were.”
“There has been no public talk about… well, about me and Miss Deane?” he asked. “The comtesse held some unfounded suspicions.”
“Not that I have heard—you could check with Bella though, if you wish. I don’t want you to show your face in public yet, but Nick’s staff are discreet.”
Alex nodded, aware that Marstone was studying his expression.
“Would it matter?” Marstone asked. “You could do worse for a wife if her reputation requires marriage.”
Marriage—he’d tried to dismiss that idea when it had occurred to him. Marstone was right; if he were to marry, he couldn’t do better. But she could.
“I don’t want to have to marry anyone,” he said sharply. “Nor should she be forced into a marriage because of rumour.” Marrying someone he wanted but who did not want him could turn out to be the worst kind of hell. And he was not going to discuss it with Marstone, particularly with Kellet as an interested observer.
“No need to get angry about it, Alex. There appears to be no necessity at the moment. Now, the decoy note—Brevare hired an actor to pose as me, and tried to get Miss Deane to give it to him in the park.”
“Tried?”
“She didn’t give me many details, but I gather she played the stupid servant obeying her orders literally.” The earl gave a small smile. “She then persuaded Bella to bring her here without anyone knowing. Kellet helped me to write a replacement that we hope will flush out our traitor.”
“Did you get a look at who she gave it to?”
“It was stolen when she was on her way to an arranged meeting, but unfortunately the watchers did not manage to follow the thief far enough to see who it was finally given to.”
Alex sat up straight. “Watchers? You were expecting the note to be stolen?”
“It seemed the most likely way they would obtain it. She had insisted on being taken to me at the Foreign Office before she would hand it over.”
“You put her in danger from a common thief?” Alex asked, trying to keep the ange
r out of his voice.
“She volunteered,” Marstone said mildly. “And she came to no harm. She had already worked out they were likely to try to steal the note from her before she could meet the fake me.”
“But you let her?” Alex stood up abruptly, making an effort to keep his voice down. It was bad enough that he had done so in France, but there had been little choice then. Surely the earl could have found some other way?
“I suspect she is not an easy woman to dissuade once she has made her mind up.”
Alex’s tense shoulders gradually relaxed, and he gave a rueful laugh. “You could be right, sir. Has it worked? The new decoy note, I mean?”
“Nothing so far. You’ve heard nothing, Kellet?” Marstone’s gaze turned to his secretary, who shook his head.
“The note was supposedly from you stating that you had evidence against certain members of the organisation,” the earl said. “But you needed to confirm a few details before naming them and you needed to go to Paris to do so.”
“So as far as they are concerned, I am still in Paris and they do not yet need to flee?”
“Correct. So your public reappearance may initiate something. Nevertheless I think it best if you escort the two women to Ashton Tracey tomorrow. My wife will ensure they are kept in seclusion while they are there. If someone has been using threats against the women to make Brevare act for them, I’d rather they continued to do so. I wish to choose the time at which I tell him that he no longer needs to fear for their safety.”
“Why don’t you just ask him who’s responsible?”
“Whoever has been dealing with Brevare may not be the only one involved, and may not be the one in charge. I need to get more out of him than one name.”
“You can be rather ruthless at times, sir,” Alex said, although he could understand the reasoning.
The earl did not appear to take offence at this comment. “As you’ve said before. But the greater good, eh?”
Alex sighed. “Very well. I’ll ride escort—I’m not spending two days cooped up in a carriage with that woman.”