Maddening Minx

by Pearl Darling

  “Quite. Now then, Silver, you were going to show me how to clean this gun?” Edward turned away as Silver handed him the flintlock by the hilt.

  Celine huffed. He’d shut her down. The straight-laced emotionless accountant had shut her down. Banging three times on the ceiling, she braced herself as the coach came to a rocking stop.

  “I’m going to make sure we aren’t followed.” Without looking at Edward or Silver she picked up a fur coat from the seat and shrugged it on, before opening the carriage door and climbing onto the coachman’s stoop next to Gunvald.

  Gunvald gave her one long look before turning to face forward again. With a click of his tongue he set the horses in motion.

  After a short while Gunvald relaxed his arms and let the horses find their own rhythm. He turned to Celine. “I did as you asked and dropped that bag of coal at the hostel in Cheapside.”

  Celine nodded. “I know.”

  “Did you know it was for Silver’s father? He tried to question me but I had no idea who he was so I couldn’t tell him where the coal had come from.” Gunvald gave a twitch to the reins to bring the horses back in line.

  Celine gave a small smile and hung on to the coach as it surged forward again. “Was it really? How interesting.”

  “And the most interesting thing is, that the Melinno Society didn’t pay for it.”

  Celine’s smile slipped slightly. “How do you know?”

  Gunvald glanced at her through his long white hair. “You did it again, didn’t you? Used your wages to pay for that coal.”

  “What I do with my money is my affair, Gunvald.” Celine shrugged down inside her coat.

  Gunvald huffed. “You should be out buying extravagant perfume and enjoying yourself.”

  “I don’t wear extravagant perfume,” Celine murmured.

  “No, you seem to do just fine without it,” Gunvald muttered. He fell into a silence that Celine could not break as the coach passed through endless fields, market towns, and hamlets. Celine rocked with the roll of the coach as slowly, endlessly their tired horses ate up the miles towards London.

  On one particularly straight Roman road, Gunvald stretched and handed her the reins. “I’m going to get some sleep. I don’t think Mr. Khaffar and the rest are after us.”

  Celine plucked at her fur coat. “They are probably ahead of us.”

  “Yes, but we took a circuitous route which they won’t have expected. Unless they know where the Melinno Society is, they won’t find us once we are stabled.”

  Celine nodded silently.

  Gunvald stretched and climbed down the side of the coach as it moved slowly forward. Celine stared forward as the road unrolled before her.

  This was her life. It had always been her life since she had been a baby. Left as a foundling outside a church in Bethnal Green, she had been taken in. But her birth mother wasn’t to know that the church didn’t welcome a congregation—it was the headquarters of a shadowy club called the Melinno Society. And the Melinno Society was an odd collection of people whose collective motto was ‘Who watches the watchers?’

  Watching the watchers meant a life of alternate prominence and shadows. Inveigling her way amongst the ton, hitching herself to the arms of prominent War Office ministers and spies, reporting back her findings to the Society who would order her to do this, do that; all for the good of National Interest.

  Amongst others there had been Charles Fashington, Lord Anglethorpe, and then…Edward Fiske.

  “It’s a pleasant view from up here.”

  Celine jumped as Edward pulled his body stiffly up the sides of the coach and into view. He sat down with a straight back next to her and wiped his hands with a handkerchief.

  “Why didn’t you stay inside?” she said shortly. Transferring the reins to one hand, she pulled her coat sharply around her. Whilst the snow hadn’t reached further south, the air had still become bitingly cold.

  And yet despite this, Edward sat there in his thin brown jacket, with nary a shiver.

  “Your Gunvald is a rather large…presence.”

  “He’s not my Gunvald.”

  “He seems to do everything you say. Just like all the other men in your life.”

  “Stop it, Edward.” Celine jerked at the horses’ reins, inadvertently kicking them into a gallop. Slowly she gritted her teeth and pulled lightly at the leather straps.

  “Who is he to you, Celine?”

  A deep breath filled her rib cage. She turned her head incredulously towards him. “Now you ask that question?”

  Edward’s precise features did not relax. He nodded. “Yes.”

  “What about before…when—”

  “—when I caught you with Mr. Standish?”

  Celine stared at him. “You didn’t catch me with anyone. Good god, Edward, can’t you see that I was trying to get your attention?”

  “You certainly got it,” Edward muttered. He clapped his hands to his opposite elbows. “Breezy up here, isn’t it?”

  Celine looked away to the road beyond the horses. “Anyway, Mr. Standish wasn’t what you thought.”

  “No?” Edward’s voice was sarcastic. Strangled and sarcastic.

  Celine pursed her lips. “No. I was merely thanking him for some advice he had given me.”

  “If that is your way of saying thank you…well I suppose you are a courtesan. I should have expected it.”

  Edward’s deep voice caused a roaring fire to start somewhere in the back of Celine’s head. It raged backwards and forwards inside her skull.

  “I think you had better get down below, Mr. Fiske, and call up Gunvald,” she bit out, the anger vibrating in her voice. “We are approaching London.”

  “Yes.” With spiky, ungainly movements Edward tentatively slid away from her and over the side of the carriage.

  She watched him drop over the side of the coach, her fingers frozen on the reins.

  How could Celine tell Edward that despite his precise, boring routine, Celine had formed a deep attachment to him? And never mind her attachment, her orders were to keep an eye on him. But even in the face of her best efforts, he had never appeared interested in her. That’s why she had gone to Bill Standish, a notorious consoler of the fairer sex. To gain advice as to how to win Edward’s attention. But all the bloody man had done was to advise her to talk to Edward openly about how she felt.

  She had tried, but trying to insert ‘attachment’, and ‘spying on you’ into the same conversation had stuck the words to her tongue. Even before she had begun, however, Edward had shut her down with calm, precise words, more interested in trying to explain the art of double-entry accounting than listening to what she had to say.

  Celine opened her mouth and screamed into the empty fields, startling the birds from the passing hedgerows. Why had she ever come after him? He might just have been a boring accountant.

  But he knew just how to push all of her buttons.

  CHAPTER 4

  Edward awoke with a start as the carriage door opened. His body had slumped across the seat, his head resting against Silver’s small shoulder. He sat up and ran a hand through his hair and smiled at Silver.

  “I’m sorry about that. Haven’t had much sleep myself lately.”

  Silver gazed at him open mouthed before shutting her mouth slowly. “Not at all um…Mr. Fiske.”

  Edward stood, bumping his head against the carriage ceiling. Putting out his hand he stepped lithely over the pile of guns in the middle of the coach and made for the open door.

  “Um. Mr. Fiske?”

  Edward stared back at Silver. “Yes?”

  “I can lend you a comb if you like. And your coat is on the seat.”

  Edward blinked, and rubbed the back of his hand against his nose. “Of course, thank you, Silver. Can’t disappoint my staff at home in Islington. They always expect high standards.”

  Silver gave him a strange look and handed him her comb. Quickly he scraped his h
air back into the bowl cut and pulled on his brown coat. Turning, he looked down and purposefully stepped on the leather strap of a large gun.

  Silver winced behind him. “I think you will find, Mr. Fiske, that we haven’t quite reached your home.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Edward stepped to the edge of the coach. They were in an enormous enclosed space that smelt of old stone, wood, and incense?

  “This is my home see?” Silver pushed passed him and swung herself out of the carriage dropping familiarly to the dark ground in one movement. She pulled out the carriage steps for Edward who moved forward mechanically, his mind reeling.

  The bottom of the steps ended on a tombstone, the letters inscribed disappeared under the coach. “Here lies Edward Fi—”

  Edward froze on the steps. “Is this a joke?”

  “Edward Finnegall died years ago.” Edward jumped as Celine appeared silently by his side. She laid a hand on his arm. Immediately he felt better.

  “There are no ghosts here,” she said quietly. “Follow me.”

  With sure steps Celine walked away from the carriage into the gloom. Several large objects appeared in the darkness as Edward followed her, more coaches, some in different states of repair, one upended, a large hole in the undercarriage. Edward stared as he moved.

  “A little more to your left, Mr. Fiske, or you will hit Roland,” Silver called behind him.

  Edward jumped as his feet nudged into a pair of boots that lay in his path. They were joined to a long thin pair of legs that disappeared under the coach that had been upended.

  “Is that Mr. Fiske?” an excited voice echoed out from the flagstones underneath. The legs moved jerkily and suddenly stopped. “Ow fishes and feathers I’ve hit my head again.”

  “You’ll meet Roland later.” Celine had stopped in a light doorway twenty steps further on. “Once he’s cleaned himself up.”

  “But what’s he doing underneath—”

  “Roland fixes things.” Silver prodded him in the back. “If he ever gives anything to you though, check it over first.”

  Edward frowned. “What use is a handyman that gives you things that are broken?”

  Silver prodded him again. “I didn’t mean that you should check it over for that reason…”

  “And Roland is no ordinary handyman.” Celine stood back to let Edward through. The doorway led into the hall of a sumptuously furnished house. “This is the old vicarage.”

  “I don’t need help from the church.”

  “It’s not a vicarage anymore. This—” Celine hesitated as an old woman silently entered the hallway. “Pithadora, might I introduce you to Mr. Fiske? I’m sorry I’ve brought him here. We had nowhere else safe to go.”

  The old woman looked at Edward, and then looked again. A smile crossed her face. But it didn’t reach right up to her eyes. “Mr. Fiske. I am so pleased that Celine was able to bring you back here.”

  “Bring me back?” Edward glanced sideways at Celine and then back forward again. He wrinkled his nose as the scent of lavender began to permeate the room.

  Pithadora cocked her head on one side. Edward fought the urge to shiver and draw breath. The scent of lavender grew even stronger.

  Pithadora nodded. “Why yes. She was very anxious about your safety.”

  Celine stepped forward. “I wasn’t aware that you knew I was going.”

  Pithadora swung her sharp stare to Celine. “When you take my finest carriage and team of workers, Celine, I make it my business to know what you are doing. After all, you do work for me do you not?”

  Edward watched, the cold feeling intensifying within him, as Celine, his magnificent Celine, cast her eyes downwards as if a naughty child. “Yes, Pithadora,” she said in a low voice.

  Pithadora quirked an eyebrow. “Why don’t you all get cleaned up and then come downstairs for food. Mr. Fiske, I will show you to your quarters.”

  Edward pulled at his suit. “But what about going home?”

  “I believe you will find that your man Alasdair has already returned to your lodgings in Bell Street, along with your precious ledgers.”

  Edward gave a sigh of relief, Alasdair had survived. But then he frowned. These people knew where he lived. Obviously they did. Celine had known where he lived ergo they would too. But even with her gone, they were still watching his house.

  It was as if a shower of water rained down on him. “Just who exactly are you?” He planted his feet firmly on the deep rug and folded his arms. Pithadora stared at him. Sighing inwardly he wrinkled his nose and rubbed his eyes. The lavender smell was smothering him. Think, accountant. Despite Celine’s involvement, not one of the people here had set his instincts at rest. “I want my ledgers back.”

  Pithadora stopped staring and turned her back. “We are the Melinno Society, Mr. Fiske.” She walked to the door and turned back. “Follow me and you will find out more. No, not you too, Celine. You can find Mr. Fiske later.”

  Edward forced himself to walk forward towards Pithadora in a marching step. Out of the corner of his eye Silver melted away through another door, and after an instant Celine did too.

  “We were formed twenty years ago.” Pithadora waved a hand in front of herself as Edward crossed beneath the lintel of the doorway into a large room that seemed to be a library. “A prominent…gentleman within the ton came into some money, and dissatisfied with the government at the time and its actions on the Peninsular, decided that the Melinno Society would become a form of check and balance as it were.”

  Edward frowned. He walked towards one of the large glass covered bookshelves and looked inside. Battle Plans of the Peninsular, Italian Court Circulars, Spanish Sieges 1796, all the books were bound uniformly, the titles embossed in gold on their spines, followed by a number, V.I, V.II and so on.

  “I take it you weren’t on the Peninsular?” The now overpowering smell of lavender almost made him retch.

  Edward turned his head to find Pithadora uncomfortably close to his shoulder. She gazed at him intently.

  And didn’t blink.

  Edward turned back to the glass door of the bookshelf and took a shallow breath, watching as the reflection of Pithadora stared intently at the side of his face. He counted in his head as he spoke. “No,” one, “the government asked me to fill a valuable position,” five, “in helping finance the campaign,” ten. Not once did Pithadora blink.

  “Ah.” She closed her eyes slowly and drew in a breath as if inhaling Edward’s essence. “One of them.”

  Edward clenched his teeth together and swung round. Pithadora stepped back slowly and opened her eyes, a crocodile like smile spreading across her face again.

  He was not one of them. He had tried to join up, he’d paid his soldier’s commission. But Lord Granwich had stopped his enlistment. Too valuable to be lost, he’d told Edward. Unstable, Lord Granwich had told Edward’s mother.

  Edward fought hard not to bring his shoulders up, and hunch his neck between their comforting armor. He brought out his best Fiske smile, the small one, the self-satisfied, I’ve-completed-a-ledger-worth’s-of-sums smile and said, “Yes of course one of them. Who would want to be flung into some unsanitary conditions in goodness knows where with people shooting your head off?”

  “Brave people would.”

  Edward turned with a gasp, and immediately regretted it as lavender coursed down his throat. Celine stood in the shadow of the doorway. Her red, voluptuous dress was gone, and in its place she wore a stark dark blue gown that covered every inch of her body. Without the cutaway curves of her previous dresses, it was obvious how slight Celine actually was. Her face was bare of makeup, her high cheek bones and prominent nose caught in the low light.

  And she was still magnificent. More magnificent.

  Pithadora sniffed. “I thought I told you to not come back.”

  “I went to Edward’s room. He wasn’t there.” Celine walked a few more steps into the room and stopped. It seemed
the lavender didn’t bother her.

  “We were having a little chat.” Pithadora smiled and beckoned.

  “Yes. So I heard.” Celine’s voice emerged from her body, staccato, sarcastic.

  “Enough, Celine.” Pithadora gave a gentle smile and turned to Edward. “Celine likes to believe that her father died on the Peninsular.”

  Celine gasped. “Pithadora!”

  “Come, Celine. I was the one to pick you up from the step of the church and raise you.” Pithadora rolled her eyes.

  Edward shivered. This cold woman had raised Celine?

  Celine stepped forward, once. “Angelique and Melinno raised me too, Pithadora.”

  The society? And who in the hell was Angelique?

  Pithadora sniffed. “If you like.”

  Celine’s tones softened. She smiled tentatively and put out her hands. “Pithadora, I believe we have need of your help.”

  “Help? You didn’t ask for my help when you went haring off after Mr. Fiske here.” Pithadora stared at Celine’s hands as if they didn’t exist.

  Celine dropped her hands back to her side. “But you still sent Gunvald and Silver after me. And you chose Edward.”

  “Ye—s.”

  You chose Edward. Edward frowned at Celine, but she wouldn’t look at him. She’d come after him, for him? Hadn’t she?

  Pithadora nodded.

  Celine stepped forward again. “Then you should choose someone else. Because when I rescued Edward, Mr. Khaffar was about to run him through with a sword. There’s no way he’ll be able to find that list now.”

  “What’s on err…what list?” Edward parroted weakly. Good god, they were already onto him. Lord Granwich’s orders echoed in his head. Find Khaffar, find out what information he received from Pedro Moreno. Report back to me at the War Office. Edward’s gaze swung back to the long library shelves. War Office meetings from 1788–9.

  Choose someone else.

  Celine sighed. “There are two lists or notes. One, a list of Crown operatives in every court in Europe, even Russia. It was stolen from the War Office a year ago by the Viper, someone called Bertrand Lisle, who, before he was caught by Earl Harding, gave the list to his despicable assistant Pedro Moreno. Somehow, Lady Colchester obtained the list back from Moreno before he died, but not before Moreno was able to pass another piece of information, a paper to Mr. Khaffar in front of Lady Colchester’s very eyes.”