by Jane Feather
• • •
“The woman never leaves the house without the dog if she’s on foot or on horseback,” Miguel stated, watching his master covertly. Don Antonio was unusually restless, pacing the drawing room of the house on Adam’s Row as he listened to his assistant’s report. “I don’t follow her, of course, but I watch.”
Don Antonio spun on his heel and walked to the window that looked down on the street. “Have we identified anyone else of interest in the house?”
“Apart from the child, no, sir. There have been no unusual comings and goings that would give us any indication of—”
“Don’t be any more foolish than you must, Miguel,” his master interrupted acidly. “Do you really think a man of the asp’s skill and experience would make it obvious that his house was a center for espionage? You’re supposed to be skilled enough yourself to notice things that shouldn’t be noticeable.”
“Yes…yes, of course, Don Antonio.” Miguel flushed. “But I swear there’s nothing.”
Don Antonio regarded him in speculative silence for a moment. Then he sat down in a winged chair beside the fireplace and said more moderately, “Very well. If you swear it, I’ll take your word for it.”
Miguel blossomed under the rare vote of confidence. “How do we proceed now, sir?”
His master frowned. “The asp has given no indication as yet that he has broken my cover. As long as he continues to believe that we’re planning an information-gathering mission, according to the misinformation given to their network in Madrid, we will proceed exactly as intended. It’s obvious that they would assume our very public arrival at Dover was part of that information-gathering operation. Looking for me at Doña Bernardina’s soiree was an obvious step.”
He tapped the ruby ring on his finger against the wooden arm of his chair in an unmelodic rhythm as he said softly, “But our friend has made things a little easier for us by this marriage. I have long thought that for all your undeniable skills at your profession, Miguel, it’s possible that the asp will withstand your techniques. He is no ordinary man. Either that or he will ensure somehow that he is not alive to be broken by them. But a woman and child live under his protection. A strange burden for such a consummate professional to assume. And one that I hope will provide a chink in his armor. We work on the woman, not the asp, and we’ll see if he can withstand her agony as well as he will quite possibly succeed in withstanding his own. When we have what we want from him, I will kill them.”
He crossed one leg over the other, gently swinging a quizzing glass on its black velvet ribbon as he surveyed Miguel. “Can you perhaps deduce why I have been set this particular task, my friend?”
Miguel made no attempt to guess. “You are the best there is, sir,” he offered simply.
Don Antonio nodded and agreed amiably, “Yes, my friend, I believe I am. But that is not the entire reason, my dear Miguel. I choose my tasks with great care, and I have a personal reason for choosing this one.” A grim expression crossed his face. “I do not tolerate failure.”
“No, Don Antonio.”
“Particularly my own.” He pursed his lips. “Unlike many of my comrades in the service, I have never crossed swords face-to-face with the asp. But I would have done so had he not outwitted me once…and believe me, Miguel, no one ever outwits me twice.” The very softness of his voice accentuated the ferocity of the declaration.
Miguel nodded in hasty agreement. “You are the best, Don Antonio,” he repeated reverently.
His master didn’t appear to hear him. Don Antonio continued in an almost musing tone, “The asp is one man I will never underestimate. Over the years he’s cut a swath of destruction through our networks…which is why we can no longer afford to accommodate him,” he stated with a flicker of a smile.
“The question remains, however: will Spain’s best be more than a match for England’s on this occasion?” Don Antonio watched the swinging quizzing glass with a distracted frown, as if mesmerized by it, but then he caught the ribbon and dropped it with the glass into the pocket of his waistcoat. “Don’t trouble yourself to answer that, Miguel. It was purely rhetorical.”
Don Antonio uncurled himself from the chair. “So I shall cultivate the wife. I still cannot understand why the asp would complicate his operation with a woman. But he must have some devious reason.”
Don Antonio threw back his head and laughed. “Madre de Dios, there is no limit to what the asp will do for his work. It’s the man’s lifeblood.”
Miguel found his master’s laughter if anything more alarming than his ferocious contempt. He shuffled his feet and looked longingly towards the door.
“Go.” Don Antonio waved a hand in dismissal, and Miguel bowed and left.
“Ah, yes,” Don Antonio murmured softly into the silence. “Once a spy always a spy…until death brings the endgame.”
• • •
Aurelia was returning to the house after walking Lyra in Hyde Park when a smart curricle bowled down South Audley Street from Grosvenor Square. She recognized the tall, fair-haired, blue-eyed driver immediately as he reined in the pair of blood chestnuts outside her house.
“Alex,” she called, hastening her step, smiling with delight. “Liv said you’d be in town sometime this week.”
“And here I am.” He jumped down lightly, tossing the reins to his groom. He looked askance at Lyra, who was standing at Aurelia’s side, her massive head at waist level, her deep brown eyes regarding Prince Alexander Prokov with mild curiosity.
“Is it safe to approach you?” he asked, extending an undemanding hand towards the hound.
“Perfectly.” Aurelia gave a gentle tug on Lyra’s left ear, and the dog visibly relaxed, pushing her head into Alex’s hand.
Alex judged he’d established his friendly intentions and embraced Aurelia, kissing her warmly on both cheeks. “Congratulations, Lady Falconer. I bring letters and wedding gifts and all sorts of nonsense from Livia. But I brought only the letter today. I shall send the parcels round this afternoon. There are far too many to fit in the curricle. Shall we go in?”
He led the way up the steps to the front door as confidently as if it was his own house. “Will Morecombe answer the door, do you think? I can’t tell you how grateful we all are at this arrangement. I was beginning to fear that Boris would hand in his notice before we returned to Cavendish Square. And that, my dear, would not do at all.” He raised the doorknocker and banged it vigorously.
Aurelia chuckled as she and Lyra followed him up. Fatherhood hadn’t changed Alexander Prokov. He still swept all before him.
“I have a key.” She produced it. “But Morecombe doesn’t answer the door very often. He leaves it to Jemmy…much speedier, as you might imagine.” She fitted the key in the lock and swung open the door.
Morecombe, as it happened, was shuffling his way across the hall as they went in. “All this bangin’ an’ thumpin’,” he grumbled. Then he stopped, peered myopically, and declared with something akin to pleasure, “Eh, ’tis you, Lady Sophia’s boy.”
“It is, Morecombe. How are you? And Ada…Mavis…they’re well?” Alex took the old man’s gnarled hands gently in his. Neither of them would ever forget that Morecombe had given him the last push to put his father’s history behind him and to forge his own future with Livia.
“Pleased enow to see ye, they’ll be,” Morecombe said. “I’ll bring summat to the salon fer ye, an’ the lassies’ll be in t’ greet ye shortly. ’Ow’s our lady Liv then? An’ the babby. The lassies can’t ’ardly wait to set eyes on ’im.”
“Soon enough,” Alex reassured. “Livia and the baby will be returning to London in two weeks.”
“Oh, in time for Cornelia’s ball,” Aurelia said, leading the way into the salon. “That’s splendid. Nell will be so pleased.”
“Livia wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Alex looked around the room. “This is a pleasant house.”
“Not as grand as Cavendish Square,” she responded with a smile. “Bu
t I do like it. It has a good feeling about it, and Franny has settled well.”
Alex sat down without an invitation as befitted an old friend. He said with a hint of a rueful smile, “You do understand that I am expressly charged with taking a complete description of your husband back to Livia?”
Aurelia laughed. “Of course. Although I’m sure she’s had plenty of detail from Nell. And I’ve not been un-forthcoming myself.” She’d left a lot out, however, and Livia would certainly have noticed the lacks.
“But Cornelia’s eyes are not mine,” Alex said, letting Aurelia’s latter statement lie unchallenged.
“True enough.” Aurelia rose to her feet to help Morecombe with the tray as he staggered slightly entering the room. “Let me take that, Morecombe.”
“Put it down over there then,” he said, “an’ I’ll pour for ye. ’Tis not a bad sherry, sir.”
“It’s as good as any Prince Prokov has in his cellars, Morecombe,” Aurelia protested, hearing faint damns in the comment. Alex merely smiled and accepted the glass before the old man’s shaking fingers spilled it.
“So, where is Sir Greville?” Alex inquired, sipping his sherry as Morecombe closed the door behind himself.
“He had some business.” Greville was at the ministry, but she wasn’t going to divulge that. If Greville felt comfortable taking Alex into his confidence in some part, then that was his business. It wasn’t hers.
“I see.” Alex leaned back in his chair and regarded her. “He’s one of us, I gather.”
“You’ll have to ask him,” she said with a half smile.
Alex nodded without further comment. “I have a miniature of little Alexander.” He reached into his pocket and drew out a tiny portrait in a pearl-encrusted frame. He squinted at it before saying with a half smile, “Much as I adore my wife, I don’t think portrait painting is really her forte.”
Aurelia went into a peal of laughter as she took the picture. “Liv did this?”
“Insisted upon it.”
She examined the splodge of an infant in the jeweled frame. “Is it really a baby?” she asked doubtfully. “It could be one of Liv’s silly pink dogs.”
“Trust me, Aurelia, it is my son.”
She nodded and held it to the light. “A bonny babe. I can’t wait to see him in the flesh.”
“I think you might get a better impression of his charms when you do,” his fond papa declared.
At the sound of the front door, Aurelia jumped up. “Ah, that’s Greville.” She hurried to the door. “Greville. Come and meet Prince Prokov.”
Greville knew Aurelia had been expecting her friend’s husband for the last three days. He put aside the thoughts that had been occupying him since he’d left the ministry and entered the salon, hand outstretched in welcome. Lyra moved to greet him with a nudge of her head against his thigh, before sitting down again at Aurelia’s feet.
Aurelia watched as the two men shook hands and offered the ritual phrases of greeting. But she could sense something beneath the conventional pleasantries. They were sizing each other up, too.
“I must congratulate you on the birth of your son,” Greville said, moving to the sideboard. “All went well, I understand.”
“Very well.” Alex beamed and reached for the miniature in his pocket. “This is not a very good likeness, I’m afraid.” He offered the little jeweled frame.
Greville studied it diligently and despite his obvious puzzlement said all the right things, until Aurelia laughed and said, “Alex isn’t going to mind if you say it doesn’t really look like a baby, Greville. It’s Liv’s attempt at painting a miniature. She’s very good at a lot of things, but I don’t think even she would say she’s much of an artist.”
“Oh…well, nevertheless, he looks a most handsome child,” Greville said, handing back the miniature with barely concealed relief and changing the subject. “When did you arrive in London, Prokov?” He refilled his guest’s sherry glass before pouring himself one.
“Yesterday. South Audley Street is my first port of call.” Alex settled back into his chair. “My wife insisted that I waste no time in paying a wedding visit to Aurelia. Which reminds me…” He reached into his pocket and took out a fat letter. “This is for you, Aurelia. It will have all her news, much more fully described than I could manage.”
“I doubt you’d even think of half the things Liv would consider vitally important to share,” Aurelia said with a chuckle.
“I’m sure you’re right, dear girl. Women do have different priorities,” Alex agreed with a rather complacent smile. “So, Colonel Falconer, you’ve only recently returned to these shores, I understand.”
Greville nodded easily. It was hardly a secret. “I’ve been in Spain and Portugal for most of the last two years.”
“And you’re enjoying some well-earned leisure, I trust.” Alex smiled over his glass, raising an eyebrow in slight question.
“Up to a point,” Greville agreed, taking a seat opposite Prince Prokov. “I’m sure your country sojourn affords you a little leisure also?” The question mark was clear in his voice, and Aurelia thought it contained a hint of a challenge, too.
“True enough.” Alex seemed to hesitate, as if debating whether to respond to the challenge and open the subject up a little, but the door opened and Ada and Mavis came in, bearing plates of savory tartlets and honey cakes.
“Eh, we thought as ’ow ye might like a bite wi’ yer sherry,” Ada announced, setting the plates on a low table. “An’ ’ow are ye, sir…an’ ’ow’s Lady Livia an’ the babby?”
“Very well, both of them,” Alex said, rising to shake hands. “I’ve a picture here painted by his mother.” Once again he proffered the miniature, and the twins exclaimed over it, holding it up to the light.
“Why, the little lad’s the image of ’is ma,” Mavis pronounced. “Look at ’is nose there…just like our Lady Liv’s.”
“The very image,” Ada agreed. “But the eyes are Lady Sophia’s.”
“Aye, that they are, just like ’is pa. When’s Lady Liv and the babby comin’ to town, sir?”
“In two weeks,” Alex said, slipping the miniature back into his pocket.
“Oh, aye, well, we’d best be gettin’ the nursery set up,” Mavis said. “Or is that there Boris doin’ it?” Disapproval was heavy in her tone.
“I think Boris would be more than pleased to leave such details up to you,” Alex said diplomatically. “But now that you’re working for Lady Falconer, how will you find time?”
“Oh, never ye mind about that, sir. We’ve plenty of time on our ’ands,” Mavis said with a nod at her sister.
“Oh, aye, time on our ’ands.” Ada nodded her agreement. “Won’t take but an hour or two, anywise.” Then, as if by silent communication, the two elderly women turned in unison and left the salon.
“I wonder how they saw the likeness to Livia,” Alex said, peering closely at the miniature. “For the life of me, I can’t even see his nose.”
“And one would never accuse either Morecombe or the twins of being adept at the tactful white lie,” Aurelia said, laughing. “I think their fondness for Liv probably colors their vision.”
“Probably.” Alex took a tartlet and savored it with a little sigh of bliss. “I’d forgotten how good these are. Is it all right with you if they do some work in Cavendish Square as well as here?”
“Perfectly,” Aurelia stated.
“As long as we don’t lose their culinary skills,” Greville said, helping himself to a tartlet and consuming it with much the same expression as his guest’s.
“Oh, Alex has his own French cook,” Aurelia said. “He and the twins are chalk and cheese. But I’m sure if Liv expresses a desire for one of their specialties, they’ll manage to produce it without depriving us of anything.”
“Whatever you say, my dear. I leave all such matters in your more than capable hands.” Greville reached for the sherry decanter again, then paused, his hand in midair, as the sound of the doo
rknocker reached them. “Are you expecting someone, Aurelia?”
“No, but I am home to visitors in the morning.” The faint emphasis on the word and the look she gave Greville conveyed her message. Somehow she knew who her visitor was. Don Antonio Vasquez was paying his promised call, and her body was suddenly as taut as a bowstring.
Lyra rose to her feet and stood with ears pricked facing the door.
“Of course,” Greville said calmly. “Is Jemmy around, or should we let our visitor wait on the doorstep until Morecombe gets there?”
Alex laughed. “Oh, that’s such a familiar dilemma. Shall I go and play butler?”
“No,” Aurelia said, laughing herself. “Of course not. Jemmy will get it.”
She was right. A minute or two later, Jemmy opened the door and announced proudly, “A gentleman to see you, my lady.” He came in ahead of the visitor and proffered the card.
“Thank you, Jemmy.” Clearly the lad couldn’t quite manage to pronounce the name inscribed upon it, and she couldn’t really blame him. He was hardly an experienced butler.
Aurelia took the card and went to the door, hand outstretched to greet her visitor, who was standing on the threshold of the salon with an air of impatience and a hint of incredulity at his unusually clumsy reception.
“Don Antonio, how delightful. I didn’t dare hope you would honor me with a visit so soon.” She gave him her hand with the slightly simpering smile she’d practiced at the countess’s soiree.
The Spaniard bowed with a snap of his heels and raised her hand to his lips. “The honor is all mine, Lady Falconer.” His black eyes met hers as he smiled, and once again the smile on his lips came nowhere near his eyes.
He turned to greet Greville, who stood now by the fireplace, one arm resting along the mantel, his sherry glass in his hand. He acknowledged his guest’s greeting with a nod of a bow and a murmured “Don Antonio, welcome.”
“Allow me to present Prince Prokov,” Aurelia said, turning to Alex, who had risen from his chair and stood waiting expectantly. “Alex, this is a newcomer to our country, Don Antonio Vasquez.”