by Zoë Archer
“Maybe I should find out,” William said. “See if your inside’s as sweet as your outside.”
“I thought I heard the bell for the Blue Salon, William,” Michael said. “You should go and see what they want.”
“I didn’t hear the bell,” the footman answered.
“You want to take that chance?” Michael pressed. “If the mistress wants something, and you’re not there, who do you think Mr. Keene’s going to blame?”
“Then you go, if it’s so bloody important.”
Michael smiled coolly. “I’m just temporary help. Don’t want to trod on anyone’s toes and think above myself.”
“Maybe you should,” William retorted. “I’d like to watch you climb and fall on your arse.”
William probably thought it was just another sparring match between two professional rivals. He had no idea what motivated Michael’s urge to have him gone. But she knew. And couldn’t tell if she was annoyed, flattered, or both. Michael could always confuse her.
Chapter Six
Thoughts tumbling over each other like river rocks, Ada walked with a sewing basket toward the servants’ hall to do her afternoon mending. Michael suddenly appeared in front of her.
“William’s a greasy oaf,” he said. “When the maids aren’t around, he brags about all the by-blows he’s gotten on local girls.”
“I wasn’t planning on lifting my skirts for him,” she answered. “Did I suddenly lose my memory and forget everything? Some credit, if you please. Besides, I’ve been to enough fairs to recognize a clown when I see one.”
He exhaled roughly and glanced away. Late afternoon light filtering in through the windows cast his face in long, clean angles. “I only want to keep you safe.”
She fought against the softening around her heart. “Where the job’s concerned, I’ll gladly take your protection and guidance. But I’ve been navigating the servants’ hall for almost half my life. I know all about men like William. Anyway,” she added, “clown or no, who I choose to flirt with isn’t any business of yours.”
Regret darkened his face. “I know it.” He fell silent, then said, “It’s killing me. Do you have another man?”
“You keep going back to things that aren’t your concern.”
“Yes or no. That’s all I need.”
For a moment, she considered simply walking away. Or lying. Both would be safer options than the truth. But she wasn’t a liar, and she didn’t run from the things that frightened her. “No,” she admitted.
He didn’t need to know that she’d had offers—kindly, respectable young men she’d met in London who tried to court her. She’d refused them at first because she’d been waiting for Michael, but then as his silence had stretched out, she’d actually taken some of the young men up on their offers and gone on picnics in Regent’s Park and even attended the races at Epsom for the Derby. Yet to her dismay, none of these fine chaps had interested her in the slightest. She hadn’t felt the gleam, the thrum of excitement that she’d had with Michael, and she couldn’t convince her heart or mind otherwise.
But she couldn’t tell him that. She didn’t like admitting it to herself, let alone him. Ever since she’d met him, all her ideas of what she wanted for herself had burned away like morning mist. Once, she’d wanted to eventually become a housekeeper in a grand house. But it had always been a struggle for her to hold her tongue when she’d run up against the walls that kept good people separated from what they truly deserved. When a male servant had privileges a female servant didn’t. Or the masters treated the help with cruelty and disdain.
She hadn’t been able to keep silent when a terrible wrong had been done, though. And it had felt exactly right to let her voice out. Finally.
After that, she’d become a shopgirl, with her family thinking she’d moved up in the world. Ada thought she’d join the ranks of young women who worked until they married, or perhaps continue to work in a shop owned by her husband.
But she’d gone silent again. And she’d felt herself choking—until she’d taken this job at Covington Hall.
Unaware of her thoughts, the tension in his expression eased. Slightly. “I’m searching the ruin tonight. After everyone goes to bed.”
“I’ll come with you,” she said at once. She saw that he was about to object, so she added hastily, “It’s got to be a two-person job. Someone needs to act as lookout in case any of the groundskeepers are on patrol, or if Larkfield and that damned cane of his show up. We already know the Larkfields’ titles don’t mean a thing when it comes to genteel behavior.”
“I don’t like it,” he muttered.
“If they’d partnered you with any other Nemesis agent, you’d expect them to go with you. In this case, I’m your partner.”
After a brief but tense pause, he nodded, though grudgingly.
“Where should we meet?” she asked. “You’re all the way by the stables, and I’m in the attic. I could try to sneak out—”
“Too risky. Meet me at the top of the servants’ stairs in the attic at midnight.”
She looked at him in bafflement. “How are you going to get back in the house without anyone seeing you? And how are we supposed to get out again?”
He flashed her his mischievous grin. “Leave all that to me. I’ve learned quite a few tricks since last we met.”
She didn’t doubt that at all.
* * *
Ada waited on the landing of the servants’ stairs, trying not to make the floorboards creak with her nervous shifting from foot to foot. Getting dressed in the dark while trying not to wake her roommates had been an exercise in careful, slow movement.
There was a window on the landing, letting in the ashen glow of a mist-shrouded moon. She stared at it, willing herself to be calm. But when a silhouette appeared in the window, blocking the moon, she clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from yelping in fright.
The window slid open. A blast of cold air gusted in. Ada stepped back, alarmed, as a figure climbed through the window, like some predatory animal or mythical creature. The kind of being that spirited young maidens from their beds to live forever in an underworld kingdom.
Her breath left her in a rush when she saw that the figure was Michael. He stepped noiselessly onto the landing, stretching to his full height. Like her, he was dressed in warm, dark layers. A knit cap covered his head, and he wore fingerless gloves. He looked shadowed and dangerous. Good God, had he climbed up here?
“We’re three stories up,” she whispered in disbelief.
“Covington Hall’s got a brick facade. Makes for easier going.”
“I’d think the door would make for easier going.”
“My way’s safer. Less chance of anyone spotting me.”
She shook her head. It didn’t seem likely that before he’d joined Nemesis, he knew much about climbing up the sides of buildings. Clearly, their training was quite thorough.
She glanced down the hall, making sure no one was out and could see them. To other servants, it might look as though she and Michael were meeting for an amorous tryst, rather than dealing out justice.
“All fine and good,” she whispered, after ensuring they were alone, “but how are we supposed to leave the house? Unlike you, I’m not part spider.”
“But the spider is strong, and more than happy to carry a ladybug on his back on his way down.”
She stared at him. “Now I know you’re mad. You can’t possibly carry me and climb down the building at the same time.”
“I can, and I will.” He sounded utterly confident. “All you need to do is hold tight. Unless,” he added, “you want me to search the ruin on my own.”
“Just tell me what to do,” she answered.
* * *
The window had a deep ledge, and Ada watched as Michael climbed back out and stood on it. He bent down and stuck his hand through the window. After taking a deep breath, and wondering if she’d lost her mind, she grasped his hand and climbed out.
Despite the
fear that pounded in her chest—I’m fifty feet above the ground and there’s nothing around me—she took in the scene. Behind her were the many gables and chimneys of Covington Hall. In front of her stretched the house’s grounds, the gardens and parkland, and even the gentle hills of the countryside, all glazed in pale moonlight. She’d never had such a view before, as if she were some kind of dandelion seed, borne upon the wind.
“This is…” Dozens of words filled her head. Terrifying. Humbling. “Incredible.” And she meant it. She felt both impossibly small, and large as the night itself. The world seemed huge with what could be.
Michael’s fingers were still interlaced with hers, steadying her. “You’re taking this far better than I did the first time I climbed out onto a ledge. Simon still gives me hell about how I shook and babbled like an opium addict craving his next pipe.”
She could hardly imagine it, the way he seemed so at ease and confident on that ledge. “I’d like to go down now.” Much as she marveled at the view, she felt all too fragile up here, especially with the bitter winter breeze swirling around her.
To her dismay, he let go of her hand, then turned so that his back faced her. “Loop your arms around my neck.” When she did as he directed, he continued. “Now hop up and wrap your legs around my waist.”
As orders went, it was one of the most improper she’d ever heard. She wasn’t particularly eager to do any kind of jumping or hopping while balanced on a ledge, either. Seeing as she didn’t have much choice, she followed his command, and there was a tiny, terrifying moment when she jumped and there was nothing beneath her. But in a moment, she’d gotten her legs wrapped tightly around his waist. He readjusted his stance, but didn’t buckle or sway beneath her weight.
“I’m not too heavy?” she asked.
He scoffed. “I said you were a ladybug, not an elephant. From now on, I just need you to hold on tightly. Link your fingers together. Like that. And cross your ankles over each other. Good. Ready?”
No. “Yes.”
“Then here we go.” He turned, and reached out to grab hold of the brick wall with one hand.
She held her breath as he found a grip in the wall with his other hand, and she didn’t breathe entirely when he repeated the process with his feet, wedging his boots in the worn mortar. He slid sideways, away from the ledge and to the wall beside it. Now there was nothing below them. No ledge. Only open air. And the ground below.
Slowly, he went down the wall. His process was careful, methodical. He’d search for the right hand and foothold, and only when he was sure of them would he move. Through the heavy fabric of their clothes, she could still feel his muscles working. The tension and strength. It was primal and raw, and her own body’s response was just as primal. God help her, but feeling him moving beneath her was arousing.
To make certain she didn’t add any extra burden, she tried to keep her body as lifted high as possible, her own muscles tight as she worked. If she’d ever been grateful for all the physical labor she did as a housemaid, now was the time.
He didn’t make a sound, except for a few small exhalations when he found a hand or foothold. She marveled that not only was Michael climbing down the side of a building, he was doing so with her on his back. For the first time, she realized how capable he truly was. And dangerous.
She focused on watching his climbing technique. How he rejected or accepted certain places for his feet and hands, and how she could feel the way his body shifted and held itself to keep balanced.
It was so fascinating, she was actually surprised when Michael’s feet touched the ground.
“The ferry’s arrived.” At least he sounded a bit breathless, so she knew that he wasn’t superhuman. Only a man who could do some rather amazing things.
She released him, and her feet touched the earth. When she stepped back, she immediately missed his heat and solidity. Her own legs wobbled.
Though he was the one who’d climbed down Covington Hall, he quickly supported her, his hand gripping her arm. “Easy and slow,” he murmured.
She glanced up at the wall looming above them. “I can’t believe that just happened.”
He slanted her an unreadable look. “We’re Nemesis. Almost anything’s possible. If you want it badly enough.”
* * *
Winter had stripped the garden and grounds to their bones. Dead grass crunched beneath Michael’s boots as he and Ada walked toward the ruin.
Easy to see why Christmas would be necessary at this time of year. Warmth and green seemed like far memories. But the holiday could provide a welcome break from the relentless gray and chill.
He didn’t speak until they’d put a goodly distance between themselves and the house. And even then, he kept his voice low. As Ada had pointed out, there could be a patrolling groundskeeper, or someone else who decided on a midnight ramble through the grounds.
“It’s lumping cold out here,” he muttered, his breath misting in front of him. Snow wouldn’t be long in coming. “Meanwhile Marco’s nice and cozy at the village inn.”
“Marco from Nemesis?”
“The same. He’s available should we need a third pair of hands.”
“Comforting,” she answered, but she didn’t sound quite comforted. Michael remembered that she’d never met Marco before, and might not trust him. Marco was a slippery bastard.
“How’s Priscilla?” he asked.
For the first time that night, Ada’s expression softened. “Thriving. And the mother of a healthy little girl. They’re living in Coventry now. Prissy’s mother watches the baby during the day while she works at a ribbon factory. Of course,” she added bitterly, “everyone thinks she’s a widow, otherwise no one would hire her.”
Michael was silent in grim acknowledgment. The burden of unwanted pregnancy always fell on women. Never the men. They seldom, if ever, bore the costs—or shame.
“You did well by her,” he murmured.
“Me?” Ada’s eyes rounded in surprise. “Nemesis found the evidence to blackmail the aristo bastard that raped her. You and Simon.”
“You assisted us. And we wouldn’t have known to help if you hadn’t reached out to Nemesis.”
Shadows darkened her eyes as they finally left the formal garden and entered the rolling parkland. “I’d seen it happen too many times to let it pass again without doing something about it. A house full of young, vulnerable girls, dependent on the family’s good will for a roof and food, and a little money for our work. Some masters are good men, but some think the housemaids are their own personal brothel. Even when the girls say no, there’s nothing to be done. She’s the one who’s at fault. She’s the whore. As Prissy learned.” She exhaled, her breath a soft puff of white in the brittle air. “At least that son of a bitch paid, enough for her and her mother to start over again.”
“Not a lot get that chance,” he said quietly. “But you gave it to her.”
She ducked her head and said nothing, but he knew she was thinking of that time when they’d first met. Through the underground channels, Ada had written to Nemesis, pleading for justice for her fellow housemaid. The case had been immediately taken, and Simon, posing as himself, finagled his way into the country house where Ada and Priscilla worked. Given Simon’s pedigree, it wasn’t difficult to get an invitation as a houseguest.
When not on a mission, Michael served as Simon’s clerk—also part of the ongoing disguise.
“You were Simon’s valet when you came to Drayworth Court,” she said. “Not a footman.”
“Valet’s have more freedom to roam about a place,” he noted.
“Freedom to get evidence against Lord Denby’s second son.”
“It was a group effort. Simon, me, and you, of course.” Between the three of them, they’d managed to find enough damning documentation—including letters from other women he’d impregnated and demands from creditors to cover massive debts—so that that pampered, sheltered second son had no choice but to pay restitution to the housemaid he’
d raped or else be tried in the court of public opinion.
“There was more than getting justice for a wronged woman,” Michael added. “I also met you. One of the most extraordinary experiences in my life.” Nothing had been the same for him since.
“Not much remarkable about that,” she demurred.
“You sought out Nemesis not for yourself, but for your friend. It was bloody amazing what you did during that job. When Nemesis needed your help again, you answered the call. Just tonight, you’d been afraid but willing to make the climb down the side of Covington Hall. Damned extraordinary.”
Thank God he’d been too distracted by climbing to think about the fact that she’d had her arms and legs wrapped around him, her body tight against his.
A corner of her mouth turned up. “Oh, when you put it like that, maybe I am rather special.”
“Sodding right.” A silence fell. But he wasn’t willing to let it linger. “How’s working in a mercer’s shop treating you?” he asked.
A small smile curved her mouth. “It’s different work from being a housemaid.”
“Different can mean a goodly amount of things. Like terrible or loathsome. ‘This turbot and tooth-cleaning-powder soup certainly is different.’”
“I prefer lamb and lamp oil pie, myself.”
He chuckled. She always went along with his odd sense of humor. “I’m still waiting on your answer.”
“I’d always thought I’d spend my life in service,” she admitted. “Rise to become a head housemaid, then perhaps the housekeeper. But after what happened at Drayworth Court, and when Nemesis found me a position at the shop, and in London no less … well, I had to try it. I’d never know what I was missing unless I tried.”
“Most folk stick to what they know.” He led them across the rolling parkland, heading east. As they talked, he continued to keep alert to their surroundings. If he and Ada were caught out here, they’d be sacked immediately, and Nemesis would be left with nothing in their case against the Larkfields. And then there was the surprising physical threat posed by the Larkfields themselves, or their thugs ready to come up from London at the snap of the toffs’ fingers.