by Lori Bond
Caroline shut her eyes for a moment, nearly colliding with another gentleman escorting his wife into dinner. So, Jerry had noticed her abstracted state after the kiss. Caroline wondered if she could sink through all the various floors of the ship down to the sea floor. “No,” she finally said. She gave him a look and kept her voice as dry as possible, just managing to refrain from heaving a sigh. “I believe I have recovered enough to resume our work.”
Chapter 26
Dinner never seemed to end. Caroline made strained conversation with the Turntons and the ship captain. She did her best to avoid looking at Jerry. Unfortunately, Miss Hayes had decided to take her meal in her room, so she wasn’t available to provide a distraction. She had pleaded ill health according to the captain. In her Interesting Condition, she might have even been telling the truth.
Finally, the interminable dinner ended, but Caroline’s fuming did not. How dare Jerry think her not up to the task of investigating simply because she had acted a trifle overwhelmed by their kiss. A kiss he considered an obligation.
Caroline allowed Jerry to escort her to the Grand Parlor, but she abandoned him within a few feet inside the room. Without even the courtesy of a farewell, she made her way to Mrs. Kimbley. Her target sat alone on a large sofa seeming to contemplate the wall of books behind her. If Mrs. Kimbley had hoped to have a quiet evening lost in a good book, her plans were going to be dashed. Caroline was on a mission to prove herself to Jerry and the rest. She was not a simpering miss to be thrown by a mere business-like kiss.
Seating herself across from the suspect, Caroline gave Mrs. Kimbley her most engaging smile. “Dinner was half empty tonight, wasn’t it?” Caroline said to open the conversation. “I understand everyone is suffering from the Mal de Mer.” Caroline whispered the last bit as if seasickness were not the sort of thing that was discussed in polite company. “My poor little maid has been down with it all day, so they tell me.” For a moment Caroline’s concern for Olive returned, she knew but the maid slept peacefully. As the sea had calmed during the day, so had Olive’s illness.
Mrs. Kimbley turned and gave Caroline a polite smile. It was clear that the older woman would prefer to give Caroline the brush off, but her good manners prevented her. Also, rumors of Caroline’s supposed clandestine marriage had almost certainly reached the woman. Surely, she was curious. “It is a terrible thing to suffer,” Mrs. Kimbley said, referring to seasickness. “My husband’s father suffers horribly. They say he can never attempt the Channel again, and a trip across the Atlantic? Too trying for words.”
Caroline nodded with the deepest sympathy.
“Your new husband, he does not appear to suffer?” Mrs. Kimbley asked with a small smile, confirming Caroline’s suspicions that the rumors had truly made the rounds.
Caroline beamed at the woman. “Oh, so you have heard as well? I told his lordship that keeping this thing a secret was silly, but he did so want to show his father we could make a go of it before the ducal wrath rained down.” Caroline leaned over in the confidential manner she’d discovered people found so appealing. “Lord St. David has such a deep desire to prove himself to his father.”
Caroline had just said it as something to say, to appear to be imparting a confidence that would draw the woman into the conversation. However, as the words drifted out into the room, Caroline realized how true they were. Jerry did want to prove himself to his father. He had all but said it earlier today. She turned to where Jerry stood with Mrs. Turnton near the room’s bar. Both of them laughed at something Mr. Kimbley had said. Apparently, Caroline wasn’t the only one to corner her prey.
“It’s not surprising,” Mrs. Kimbley said, drawing Caroline back to the conversation. “The duke is a formidable man. I imagine it would be hard to emerge from such a large shadow.”
Caroline nodded, thinking over these surprising yet wise words. However, she couldn’t dwell on them now. Jerry wasn’t the only one with a need to prove himself.
“Speaking of my husband,” Caroline said with a small twitter. She didn’t even have to fake the thrill the idea of being married to Jerry gave her. “Lord St. David is an avid art collector. I know nothing about art, of course.” She gave Mrs. Kimbley her most innocent wide-eyed stare.
“Of course,” Mrs. Kimbley murmured. She looked uneasy, as if she watched Caroline creep onto newly frozen ice.
“But someone, I forget who, told me that you are just the expert,” Caroline finished with her most engaging smile.
“They overstated my knowledge,” Mrs. Kimbley demurred.
“I can’t believe that. They said your room was just filled with art all crated up and ready for sale.”
Mrs. Kimbley looked fully alarmed now. Her eyes darted from side to side confirming that no one else was near enough to hear them. Caroline knew it could be foolish to alarm their quarry, but on the other hand, there was only a few more days before they reached New York. They didn’t have months to win the couple’s confidence.
“I must ask who told you such nonsense.”
Caroline tilted her head as if thinking. “Well, it could have been almost anyone I suppose. I have such a reprehensible memory.” Caroline widened her eyes again like she’d been struck with an idea. “I’m sure though that it must have been my maid. I think someone was telling her about it at dinner last night. I think her young man was trying to impress her.”
“By discussing the contents of my room?” Mrs. Kimbley looked aghast.
Caroline considered for a moment. When put like that, it was a bit crass. She giggled. “I suppose so. Servants repeat the strangest things, do they not?”
“Indeed.” Mrs. Kimbley stood, swaying with the movement of the ship. “If you’ll excuse me, my lady, I’m not feeling well. I believe I may be experiencing a touch of the Mal de Mer you mentioned before.”
“Oh, of course.” Caroline rose too. “Do you require assistance?”
“No.” Mrs. Kimbley’s voice rang out for a moment in a sharp retort. “I mean, no thank you,” she said as her training kicked back in. “I will have my husband escort me.”
Caroline sank back down into her chair and watched as Mrs. Kimbley scurried across the room to her husband. She whispered something in his ear, and the color drained from his face leaving him paler than a ghoul. Caroline couldn’t hear from where she sat, but it looked as though he stammered some sort of excuse and then he and his wife all but ran from the room.
Mrs. Turnton and Jerry shared a look before joining her over by the bookshelf. Mrs. Turnton took Mrs. Kimbley’s seat on the sofa, and Jerry sat in the chair next to Caroline.
“What did you say?” he asked. “Those two left their dignity behind in their race to escape the room.”
Caroline sat back unable to keep a smug smile from creeping across her face. “I may have mentioned that I heard their room was filled with art. I suspect they are on the way to change that. If you bribe a steward, I bet you’ll be able to discover where the art has been moved, and we’ll be able to go through it at our leisure.”
There was an astonished silence for a moment, and then Mrs. Turnton barked out a laugh while Jerry shook his head. He grinned and took her hand. “You really are something, Lady St. David.” He stumbled over the last bit since he had nearly called her Lady Caroline.
Caroline squeezed his hand back. “Yes, I am. Don’t go forgetting it.”
Chapter 27
“Ahem,” Mrs. Turnton cleared her throat.
Jerry realized that he still held Caroline’s hand. His instinct was to pull his own hand back as if he’d been caught attempting to lighten a street vendor’s wares. He didn’t though. If he wanted to hold his pretend wife’s hand in public, then her godmother wasn’t going to stop him. He gave Mrs. Turnton a defiant stare and held Caroline’s hand even tighter. Caroline seemed surprised, but she didn’t object. If anything, she held on equally tight.
Jerry hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath. He had worried through the awkward dinner
and beyond that his forward kiss earlier had ruined their tentative partnership. He’d feared that he had so disgusted her sensibilities that his very touch had offended her. She had certainly quit his arm fast enough when he escorted her to the Grand Parlor after dinner.
Now, though, Jerry felt hope. Hope that perhaps their friendship had not been ruined.
Mrs. Turnton cleared her throat again with another pointed look. Jerry continued to stare back.
“Do I have to spell it out?” the woman huffed. “Don’t you have a steward to bribe?”
Jerry’s cheeks burned. She hadn’t been concerned about their hand holding after all. “Yes. Yes, of course.” He rose and gave the women a slight bow. He quit the Grand Parlor and had Wellburn summoned to his room. As soon as his man arrived, Jerry explained what Caroline had done.
Wellburn nodded with approval. “Very clever of the girl. I’ll be sure coin finds the appropriate palms.”
Jerry grinned. “Anything on your end?” Wellburn had been given the task of investigating the servant, Hillard.
Wellburn turned and locked the door to Jerry’s room. Jerry’s eyebrows rose, but he didn’t comment. Instead he waited for Wellburn’s report.
“I searched the man’s room, but as he shares it with another man, a business man from Bristol, I did not expect to find anything. If Hillard stole the plans, he has hidden them somewhere else on the ship.”
Jerry nodded.
“However, the lack of incriminating evidence does not exonerate the man. He is not quite right as a gentleman’s gentleman.” Wellburn stared up at the ceiling as if thinking of the right words. “I have spent the better part of my life impersonating various servants, and I can say with authority that this man is not entirely pulling it off.” As if to emphasize his point, the always-proper Wellburn threw himself down on the room’s sofa. Gone was the stiff-backed servant. Instead, the Honorable Peter Byron, a man Jerry had never met, now lounged on his sofa in the exact same manner as all the young gentlemen at White’s even if Wellburn was several decades their senior.
“Whoever Hillard really is, I expect he would be more comfortable in a role like this,” Wellburn drawled. Even his voice had changed from the crisp pronunciations he usually favored into lazy upper-class speech.
Jerry gaped, aware of how ridiculous he looked. He’d learned this morning about Wellburn’s past, but there was a difference between learning and seeing his man change before his eyes.
Wellburn gave Jerry a lazy grin. “Disconcerting, isn’t it? I think Hillard feels the same. He is close, but he isn’t quite a master of below stairs.”
“Does that make him the spy?” Jerry asked, somewhat recovering himself.
Wellburn gave a lazy shrug as if not very interested in the conversation. “Not necessarily, but his assumed identity in conjunction with his attempt to draw attention to the Kimbleys is suspicious. In fact, it was trying to throw suspicion on the Kimbleys that even brought him to our attention. If he is the Russian agent, he isn’t a very good one.”
“Perhaps he’s just inexperienced,” Jerry suggested, mindful that the man in question wasn’t much older than himself.
“I suppose.” Wellburn stared into space for a moment. Then, with a small sigh, he heaved himself back up. The Honorable Peter Byron disappeared once more, and the impeccable Wellburn took his place.
“How do you do that?” Jerry asked. “You don’t change anything. No wigs or false mustache and yet, you are two radically different people. I’m not even sure I would have recognized you if we passed on the street.”
Wellburn gave a slight nod of his head in an almost regal manner, accepting the compliment. “It is a skill, and it mostly involves one’s bearing. When we have safely seen this matter to its conclusion, I will show you some various ways to alter your persona without physically altering your appearance.” Wellburn paused with a thoughtful look. “I am not sure the duke would approve.”
“Why would Father object?”
“I believe he anticipates you playing a more managerial role, similar to the one he has assumed. I suspect he does not plan on having you exposed on the front line often.”
Jerry didn’t comment. That was a conversation he would need to have with his father later. With a shock, Jerry realized he intended to have it, regardless of how this mission turned out. He still wanted to find the spy and secure the plans, but proving himself to his father was only one of his lesser goals. Instead, he was determined to complete this mission for himself.
“I would like to learn the skills you mentioned. Do you think Lady Caroline would benefit as well?” Jerry wasn’t sure why he asked that, but he had a good idea that Caroline would enjoy the instruction—and that she would be most displeased if she was left out.
Wellburn coughed. “I would be delighted to impart my experience with her as well, but I’m not sure her ladyship requires my assistance. I suspect you have also noticed how Lady Caroline and Mrs. Wickingham differ in manner, posture, even speech? Lady Caroline is rather adept for an amateur.”
Jerry nodded and then sent Wellburn on his way with a small purse to be liberally distributed amongst the stewards. If all went as planned, they would be able to search through the Kimbleys smuggled art tomorrow morning.
Chapter 28
The next morning proved to be better than the last. Olive was on the mend, and Caroline didn’t have to worry about dealing with Mr. Bickle anymore. In fact, the man had made himself scarce after their fateful tea yesterday. He had been present at his table at dinner, but he had neither approached Caroline and the viscount nor acknowledged them in any way. Caroline hoped that once they reached New York, she’d never have to see the man again.
Jerry and Wellburn arrived early in the morning to escort her to the ship’s long-term storage. Like she had predicted last night, the Kimbleys had the art from their cabin sent to the hold within moments of quitting the Grand Parlor. A guard had been posted outside the hold to protect the added valuables, but a small bribe meant he would look the other way when Jerry and his party arrived to “search his trunk for an important document.” The story both explained their presence and would cover any questions in the event they managed to recover the stolen plans.
“I don’t understand why the Kimbleys didn’t keep their art down here in the hold in the first place,” Caroline complained. “It’s much less suspicious.” Caroline didn’t really care about the answer. She was making conversation and trying to judge if they were past the awkwardness from yesterday.
Jerry made a non-committal reply Caroline didn’t regard. She was too busy staring at his lips again. She looked away to the side of the corridor when he caught her looking. He seemed puzzled by her incessant staring, but he was too much of a gentleman to comment.
The guard at the hold didn’t even make a token protest when they arrived at the door. He opened it for them and waved them through. The hold was not well lit, but there were a few portholes providing a dim sort of illumination. The space was filled with wooden crates, a few steamer trunks that weren’t being used by passengers, and the flat art crates from the Kimbleys’ room.
Jerry whistled. “They had all of those in their room? How did they move about?”
Caroline saw what he meant. The flats were stacked twelve to fifteen deep against several large wooden crates. They varied in width, but some were nearly a foot wide. “What are they storing in there?”
Wellburn tapped on one of the flats. “I suspect the thicker ones house multiple items. They are also probably framed, and frames can be bulky.”
“How are we to search them?” Caroline asked. “It’s not as if there are convenient gaps we can peer through.”
As if by magic, Wellburn pulled out a crowbar. He proceeded to pull apart the first flat.
“Not exactly subtle,” Caroline said. “They’ll know we were here.”
“Not necessarily.” Jerry did his own bit of magic, revealing a pair of hammers and iron nails. “We’ll make it se
em as if no one has ever been in here.”
The first flat that Wellburn opened contained several portraits. They weren’t very well done or interesting. They weren’t even signed by artists Caroline recognized. She studied the paintings to see if they had some value she had overlooked.
“Sloppy brushwork, uninspired subjects.” Caroline shook her head. “I don’t understand why anyone would want to smuggle portraits like these. They aren’t worth anything. I can’t see anyone caring if this art leaves the country.”
“The true painting is underneath this hack job.” Wellburn scratched at the dried paint. A red spot broke off and a bright gold shone out from underneath. “This could be anything. The terrible painting is so officials won’t suspect the true value.”
“Clever,” said Caroline. She pawed through some straw that was packed in around another painting in another box.
It took them a good part of the morning to go through all the flats. There were several folios of drawings, but none of them were bayonets.
Jerry reached over and pulled a piece of straw that had lodged in her hair. He handed it to her, and she tossed it in the nearest crate. Somehow, she missed. Caroline bent down to retrieve the piece off the floor. After all, a tell-tale piece of straw would let the Kimbleys know their art had been disturbed. As she went to stand, a stray piece of pale cream caught her eye. It stood out against the dark walnut frame housing a lackluster landscape.
Caroline leaned forward to get a better look. Something seemed to be sticking out from the back of the painting. The item was some sort of paper. She pulled, but the item didn’t budge.
She nudged Jerry and pointed at the paper. “That’s odd, isn’t it?”
Wellburn must have overheard. He appeared next to them and adjusted the painting in its crate so they could all see the back. A sheaf of papers had been stuffed where the canvas met the frame.