Edward’s head blanked as Celine casually reeled off the information that nobody, but a few people, including Edward knew. “Um. Why didn’t she stop him?”
Celine frowned at Edward. “Mr. Khaffar had just used that ceremonial greeting sword that you described, to chop the arm off Pablo Moreno, Pedro Moreno’s father.”
“Oh.” Edward laughed nervously. He’d forgotten about that. He was beginning to look an even bigger fool than he actually was in front of Celine. So much the better. So much the worse. “And um. Why do you want this list?”
“Because the Melinno Society watches the watchers, Edward.” Celine gazed at him earnestly. “The watchers being the War Office. And in this case and many other cases recently they’ve seemed to be sleeping on the job. Take the Monsieur Herr affair for example. Lady Guthrie almost killed Lord and Lady Anglethorpe before she was stopped. If I hadn’t stepped in and given them key information that I had learnt from the men that I—” She stopped talking as she caught Edward’s eye.
The men. Edward had always closed his mind to the men that Celine had ensnared, exchanged affections, become intimate with. Gods. Even Lord Anglethorpe was one of them, a man he said hello to in the infrequent times when he went to his club. A man for whom he had sometimes conducted business.
“Ahem.” Celine cleared her throat. “They aren’t doing anything about finding this note, nor keeping an eye on Mr. Khaffar—”
“—we didn’t need Mr. Fiske, Celine,” Pithadora broke in, folding her arms.
Edward blinked.
Pithadora grunted. “You should have left him where he was. He’s tainted goods. Now Mr. Khaffar is going to come after you and the rest of us, you little fool.”
The slight figure of Celine shrunk into the shadows more. “But why?”
Pithadora’s glare could have lit a fire. “Because I already know what is in the note.”
“You do?” Celine gasped “How?”
“Because Gunvald gave it to me.” Edward watched as Pithadora’s gaze sharpened on Celine’s shocked face. “Whilst you were busy worrying about Edward, Gunvald broke into Mr. Khaffar’s rooms and stole all his correspondence. I am afraid that he deemed you too focused on Mr. Fiske to be useful at all in the operation.”
Celine shook her head. “I beg your pardon? Gunvald wouldn’t do something without telling me.”
Pithadora sniggered. “Go ahead and ask him. He will only deny it.” Her eyes bulged. “You know that when I give an order you are loyal only to me.”
Edward waited as Celine stood still. But she still had fire in her. Her voice was quiet and deadly. “The reason why you chose Edward was precisely because we couldn’t get near Mr. Khaffar. He was too well guarded.”
Pithadora stared for a moment. “Gunvald pretended he was Mr. Fiske to the men on guard; said he had a message for Mr. Khaffar from Lord Anglethorpe and Lord Granwich.” Pithadora’s gaze slid sideways to Edward’s hair. “He put a bit of mud through his hair first to dampen down the blond but it didn’t matter because many of the men were new.”
Edward pushed away the lead that lined his stomach at Celine’s cold words, grasping to find the logic behind the conversation that seemed to have clouded his judgement in a sea of lavender. Bloody hell. No wonder Mr. Khaffar had been so incensed and asked about Anglethorpe and Granwich. “And what does the note say?” he asked too quickly, gabbling to avoid breathing in any more cloying scent. “The note that Gunvald stole?”
Pithadora lifted her chin and raised her eyebrows before sighing. “Nothing of any value whatsoever.”
“We should still tell the War Office,” Celine said quietly but firmly. “Despite everything they will need to know that it is not worth looking for.”
Pithadora rolled her eyes. “That little sense of duty you have is rearing its head again isn’t it, Celine?”
Pithadora stepped backwards as Celine straightened imperceptibly and leaned forward. “If I hadn’t disclosed what I knew in the past, then innocent people could have been killed,” she said. Her hands were curled in fists by her sides.
“Oh not this again.” Pithadora looked away. “Well it won’t hurt if you want to go and tell old Granwich, the War Office superior, what’s in the note.” She paused. “It is about him after all.”
CHAPTER 5
Celine stared at the inauspicious front door of the tall thin house behind Neal’s Yard in the descriptively named ‘Tanner’s Yard’ and turned to face Edward. “Are you sure this is Lord Granwich’s residence?” She glanced down at her feet, where rivulets of unidentifiable liquid ran between the badly maintained cobbles, and moved to stand on the front door step.
Edward nodded with a single jolt of his head. He pulled out his pocket watch and glanced at the time. “Yes. I can’t believe you didn’t know where he lived. After all, you seem to have more information on the War Office than the War Office itself.” He looked up and frowned, pushing the watch back into his jacket. “You look different.”
Celine turned back to face the door and lifted the heavy knocker. “I have a new dress.” This one was bright green, a change from the usual red. In truth she hadn’t worn a red dress since Edward had thrown her over in Regent’s Park, only once had she donned one, the day they had rescued him. She was quite glad of the change, it had felt like every time she blinked, the red would stain her retina. Only at the Melinno Society headquarters could she wear buttoned up gowns of any other hue. Pithadora said that the red was part of her image. Celine hoped she wouldn’t catch sight of her in green.
But her dress wasn’t important. Celine’s eyes flickered to the small bulge in Edward’s brown jacket. For, to her confusion, despite the fact that Edward was now aware that Celine had been spying on him, he still had the watch that she had given him. And he was still speaking to her.
Her eyes flickered back again as the door in front of her opened slowly, a long nose appearing before the rest of the manservant. He was old, and bent, but as Celine caught his still youthful gaze, his free eyelid lowered slightly. She jumped as Edward laid a hand on her fur clad arm.
He spoke without waiting. “Mr. Fiske and friend to see Lord Granwich, please.”
“Certainly, Mr. Fiske.” The butler drew back. “Lord Granwich is in his study.”
Firmly, Edward’s hand propelled her over the steps and down the hall. Uncertainly she looked back at him, but he had his head down, and all she could see was the precise combing of the neat parting on the top of his head.
Lord Granwich’s study was cold, and contained only a chair, a desk, an enormous decanter and a stool. Lord Granwich himself leaned against the wall, alternating standing on a leg, whilst balancing a large glass of brandy in his hand. “Fiske,” he said shortly. His gaze swung across the room and caught hers. “Ah. Celine.”
Celine shivered. When she had been…with Henry, Lord Anglethorpe, her second mark, she had met Lord Granwich a few times. And when Henry had shut himself away for meetings with the man, she had taken a glass and listened at the keyhole.
She had reported everything she had heard back to Pithadora, everything the men discussed about the Monsieur Herr affair, their continued failure to find the spy. She had flitted back and forth, all whilst falling in love with Henry, all whilst watching him fall head over heels with someone else, Agatha Beauregard.
And when happily it seemed that Agatha might be the French spy, Celine had reported it far and wide. Not just to Pithadora. Only after, devastated, had Celine finally disclosed to Agatha what she knew about Lady Guthrie.
Celine gulped as the bile rose in her throat. None of it had helped Henry fall in love with her, Celine. He’d married Agatha instead.
Celine glanced quickly at Edward and her heart clenched. How could she have formed an attachment with someone again, so quickly? Was it that every time she became close to a man she became infatuated? Infatuated because she had never had a father, that she was looking for someone to take care of her, to de
pend on, who would be a constant?
“I’m sorry, what was that, Celine?” Lord Granwich cocked his head on one side. “I hope you weren’t laughing at my predicament. I am told sciatica is one of the symptoms of a more mature age.”
Celine shook her buzzing head and took off her fur coat. “You may wish to sit for what we need to tell you, my lord.”
“I can’t just at the moment. I have to take the weight off my spine.” Lord Granwich winced. “All I do is sit and push paper around. Can’t think of the last time that I got out from these four walls and went and just had a walk in the park.”
“Perhaps we should do that now.” Edward picked up the fur coat Celine had laid on the desk.
Celine shook her head. “Lord Granwich, have you somewhere more comfortable…” she paused, embarrassed, “a less harsh environment?”
“Whatever you have to say, you can say it to me here.” Lord Granwich stood away from the wall and put his glass on the desk.
“Celine wishes to tell you something.” Edward spoke quietly.
“She does?”
“Yes I do.” Celine frowned at Edward and took a deep breath. “A short while back, it came to our notice—”
“—Whose notice?” Lord Granwich’s voice whipped out.
Celine licked her lips. “A select group of people I work with who are interested in affairs of a national interest.”
Lord Granwich grunted.
“—It came to our notice that some information had been passed between two underworld figures, one Pedro Moreno and a Mr. Khaffar.”
Lord Granwich’s eyes bored into hers. “Well?”
Celine shivered and wished she hadn’t taken off the warmth of the fur. “The information was about the War Office indirectly.”
Lord Granwich frowned. “Indirectly? Then it can’t have been important—”
“It was about you, Lord Granwich,” Edward broke in.
Celine pursed her lips and shook her head at Edward. There were ways in which this information should be imparted. Not with a sledge hammer certainly. “Apparently the note was speculative, Lord Granwich, but it mentioned the fact that you might have a son.”
“A son?”
Celine stepped forward quickly as Lord Granwich’s face turned an ashen gray. “Edward!”
“I don’t have a son,” the lord murmured, feeling at the wall by his side. His body shook visibly as his movements became more urgent. “Where is my stick? Where is my bloody stick?” he shouted.
Celine darted under his arm and knelt where the ornate stick had fallen on the floorboards. Quickly she pushed the handle into his hand as he leaned heavily forward, his face pushing into hers.
“I don’t have a son, madam. I know exactly who you work for. National interest.” Lord Granwich panted and shook his head. “I don’t know what they are up to now, but you won’t kill me with shock tactics.”
Celine worked her lips, and looked helplessly at Edward, who gazed impassively back. “We didn’t mean to shock you. We did ask if we could go somewhere more comfortable—”
“The note names a Lydia Randall as the mother of your supposed son.” Edward’s voice was a calm in the turmoil.
The anger melted from Lord Granwich’s eyes. With a shaking hand he grasped at Celine’s elbow. “Lydia Randall?”
Celine nodded. “Yes. I don’t know who she is—”
“Was,” Lord Granwich corrected.
Celine blinked. “You know her then.”
“Follow me.”
Celine looked back at Edward who shook his head. She stood back as with unsteady movements Lord Granwich shuffled through the study door and back out into the spartan hall. Instead of turning down the hall, he walked straight ahead, towards the paneling under the stairs. Taking an audible breath he pushed with a stab at a piece of wood in the wall which flipped out to reveal a handle.
“Edward, could you?” Lord Granwich smiled weakly. “I don’t believe I have the strength.”
Edward pulled on the handle, as Lord Granwich held out a hand. “After you, Celine.”
Uncertainly Celine stepped through the doorway into a large room. It had only one window, but the shutters were completely closed across it, the only light coming from a fire burning in the grate. A melancholy tune sounded eerily from a closed music box in the corner, muffled off key notes filling the air.
Lord Granwich grunted. “Please sit.”
The sofas were large, the cushions well sprung, apart from one corner, where the damask coverings were worn, and sagged. A dark patch on the back of the sofa showed where a habitual head lay. Choosing the other end of the sofa, Celine sank down, pushing her knees together and to the side as she did so.
Lord Granwich shuffled towards the sagging end of the sofa and collapsed into its depths. Celine watched as Edward turned and shut the door, before standing four-square in front of it, and folding his hands behind his back. He seemed bigger somehow than earlier, as if he were guarding the room. Celine blinked as he lifted his nose and stared at her down it as if he were staring at a ledger.
She looked back to Lord Granwich who let his head fall back onto the stained sofa. His gaze slipped past hers and fixed on the wall above Edward’s head.
Lord Granwich wasn’t watching the door when he sat in his habitual place. Celine tilted her chin and looked up in the same direction as Lord Granwich’s fixed stare at a tiny portrait, a rough portrait of dabs of paint in an inexpert hand. It was of a girl, no, a woman, whose joyful smile was half hidden behind a large bunch of flowers. Around the small finger of her hand a delicate ring of amethysts gleamed. Her eyelashes were long, covering brown eyes, and her hair, black as the night fell around her in shimmering waves.
Celine drew in a breath.
It could have been her in the portrait.
Edward drew away from the door as Celine gasped. He turned and looked up at the portrait. After a moment of stillness he looked back at Celine. “If it wasn’t for the eyelashes, the eyes, the nose, the face and the dress sense, that could be you, Celine.”
Celine drew in a nervous laugh. He was exactly right of course right. Nothing else matched. It was just the hair that was so striking. And she knew herself that she cultivated her hair because it was one of the things that turned men wild.
Celine glanced back at Lord Granwich. She was no magician, but it took no intuition to put two and two together. “Is that her? Lydia Randall I mean?”
Lord Granwich nodded once. Twice. “We grew up together.”
“Together?”
Lord Granwich put out a hand. It was visibly more calm. “On neighboring estates in Lincolnshire. Her father was great friends with mine.”
“But.” Edward’s voice sounded loud in the small room.
Celine swung her head to Edward. He stared at her emotionlessly. Why had he interrupted so quickly?
“There is always a ‘but’ to these stories.” Edward pulled his hand across his brow covering his face for an instant. “Haven’t you worked that one out yet, Celine? It’s as clear as a line of lead in a ledger.”
“Her father married her off to someone more deserving of Lydia’s fortune,” Lord Granwich said quietly into the silence as Celine’s face heated.
“So you don’t have a son.” Edward turned as if to pull open the door.
Celine stayed on the sofa and took a deep breath before getting to her feet. Quickly she moved across the worn carpet to the music box. “Was this hers?” she asked gently.
Lord Granwich blinked. The barest of tears rolled down a cheek, before a cold hard look entered his eyes. “Yes. It was.”
Celine placed a hand on the box and stared down at its beautifully lacquered lid. “And if this is hers then either she gave it to you, or you stole it.”
“I didn’t steal it.”
Edward sniffed. “I don’t understand where you are going with this, Celine?”
Celine turned round and curled
her hands, pressing her nails into her palms by her side. She raised her head high. “What does every woman have in her inner sanctum, Edward, where no man but a lover goes?”
“Um, I—”
She let him flounder before taking pity on him.
“She has a jewelry box, often a musical box into which she pours her jewels before she gets into bed every night. Usually there is a bird inside that chirps and signs a song.”
Lord Granwich coughed. “It’s an elephant. A troupe of elephants, in fact.”
Celine lifted the lid of the music box, ten elephants, from the largest bull, to the smallest calf trouped around in a circle, their trunks and tails linked in an ever moving merry-go-round as the sad music continued to play.
“It’s quite personal what you are doing, Celine.”
She jumped as Edward pushed the jewelry box closed through her hands. She hadn’t heard him cross the carpet. His warm thumb gently nudged her hands away from the box. For an instant his hand hovered over hers, and then he dropped it to his side.
“I think, Mr. Fiske, that Celine is trying to tell you that whilst Lydia may have been married off to another man, that man might not have been her first lover.” Lord Granwich’s gravelly voice was quiet but firm.
Celine bit her tongue as the words, the coarse words that she would once not have been afraid to use now sounded so dangerous to her ears. Lover. She flicked a glance at Edward, but his gaze was firmly fixed on Lord Granwich. One lock of his hair had fallen out of its usual neat cut, and hung across his forehead. She longed to sweep the lock away from his face and through the rigidity of his immaculately combed hair. Her stomach clenched as an image of her hands entwined in the nape of his neck dropped into her thoughts.
Celine swallowed and turned slowly to face Lord Granwich.
He stared at her hard before flicking his eyes toward Edward. “So yes. Yes I could have a son.” He licked his lips. “But I don’t see what concern this is of yours. I say again, what is the Melinno’s interest in all of this?”
Maddening Minx Page 5