by Jenny Brown
He steeled himself for what was coming. He would do his best to convince the under secretary that the nabob had fabricated the theft so he could hold on to the jewel. But despite his determination to believe that Temperance told the truth, he must face facts. The department’s agents were too good for anyone to pull the wool over their eyes for long. By now, they would have learned the truth about the theft and passed on what they knew to Fanshawe. The evidence against her might be compelling. He braced himself to endure what must come next.
“Sit down, Captain, sit down!” Fanshawe said, taking his own seat. “I was beginning to wonder if we should ever see you again.”
“I apologize, sir. I delayed in the hope that I might be able to uncover information that would help us determine the jewel’s whereabouts.”
“There was no need for you to do that. We have everything well in hand. And you needn’t fear the damage to your reputation. The mistake was ours. We should have chosen an older man to take custody of the jewel, not someone so young and hot-blooded. You may be assured no one here will blame you for letting yourself be seduced by the thief. The Weaver chose his agent well. The woman was skilled not only at picking pockets, but at stealing hearts.” Fanshawe chuckled at his own jest.
“You are certain, then, that Temperance stole the jewel?”
“Absolutely. There can be no question of it,” Fanshawe said with a pleasant smile. Then, with studied nonchalance he took a paper from the pile on his desk as if to signal the interview was drawing to an end.
The man’s air of complacency was odd. It was one thing to hide emotion, another entirely to display one so completely inappropriate to the situation. Trev had been expecting to be grilled on every detail of what had transpired at the nabob’s estate. Not to be pardoned with the explanation he was wet behind the ears, then patted on the head and dismissed.
There was only one explanation for Fanshawe’s behavior. “You will pardon me, sir, for demanding more of your time,” Trev said, “but since you appear to have retrieved the jewel, I would appreciate it if you would explain to me a bit more about the circumstances.”
The man put down his pen. “What makes you think we recovered it?”
“If you hadn’t recovered it, you’d be doing your best to extract every bit of information from me you could.”
“Sir Charles did not mislead us about your abilities. I will be frank with you. We have recovered the jewel. It’s on its way to India even as we speak.”
“Who had it?”
“That I’m not at liberty to tell you,” Fanshawe said smugly.
“Then how can I be sure Temperance stole it?”
“Didn’t Sir Humphrey tell you how she went about seducing him? I should have thought the proof he gave you would have been evidence enough.”
“What proof?”
“The birthmark.”
“Of course,” Trev said stiffly, feeling the color flow to his cheek. It was humiliating that Fanshawe should know about something so intimate—but also very odd. There was no reason for the nabob to mention the mark to him. Something wasn’t right here.
He cleared his throat. “I’m almost certain the nabob was lying about her stealing it. He was angry at both of us because she refused his most unwelcome advances.”
The under secretary’s face had lost all traces of the calm it had held earlier.
Trev pressed on. “So if you please, what other evidence do you have that Temperance stole it? If it is only the nabob’s word, I fear you have been taken in.”
Fanshawe drew himself up to his full height. “You’re a proud man, Captain, and it’s understandable that your pride would make you unwilling to accept that your partiality for the woman allowed her to steal the jewel right from under your nose. But there is no doubt she stole it while in the pay of the Weaver. There must be no doubt. Do you understand me?”
He didn’t. Not at all. Fanshawe hadn’t offered him a scintilla of proof. But the man’s mention of the Weaver gave him a sudden inspiration. He’d test Temperance’s theory, as far-fetched as it had sounded. “You refer to the Weaver as a man. My sources tell me she is an older woman.”
Fanshawe’s pupils constricted in the span of a single blink. “Is that what your woman told you?”
It was true. The man’s reaction confirmed it. But the under secretary recovered quickly, and added, “If she did, she was lying.”
“She was not my only source,” Trev replied, though he could imagine what the man would think if he knew his other source was Lady Hartwood’s astrological chart. “Given the importance of the matter, you should be able to furnish me more proof of Temperance’s guilt than just the nabob’s assertion. I can’t rid myself of the suspicion that she is innocent.”
“Get this straight.” Fanshawe brought his fist down on the pile of papers. “The woman cannot be innocent. It is essential to the success of our mission that our enemies believe her guilty. British lives depend on it.”
It took Trev a moment to work that out. Then very slowly, he said. “So she is innocent. But you’ll blame her for it anyway.”
The under secretary did not contradict him but simply repeated, “The success of our missions depends on it.”
Trev’s hands grew clammy as the implications of the man’s words sank in.
Fanshawe sighed. “You of all men should know that, in our line of work, it becomes necessary from time to time that someone be sacrificed for the good of all. You can’t expect us to sacrifice the lives of hundreds, perhaps thousands of soldiers, to save a single woman.”
“So you will let her be tried and hanged for this theft?”
“We will, and if necessary, we will provide the evidence that ensures it happens.”
Trev leapt from his seat, “My honor does not permit me to stand by and let you use her this way.”
“Sit down, Captain. Honor hardly enters into it. You knew the woman was a pickpocket. You gave up any claim to acting honorably when you saved her from arrest. Take care, lest you find yourself treated as an accessory to the crime.”
Trev sat, paralyzed, unable to reply.
Fanshawe paused a moment, before adding, “I should not wish to have to go that far, of course. Sir Charles values you too highly for me to take so extreme a measure unless it becomes completely unavoidable. I trust your loyalty to the department will ensure it does not. But should you persist in your misguided attempts to exonerate the pickpocket, it will be your word against ours, and we have agents in the Weaver’s operation who will swear she was in the Weaver’s pay if need be.”
“Even though it isn’t true?”
Fanshawe nodded.
“But why must you pin this theft on her? You have the jewel. Why persist in the fiction that it was stolen?”
“Because of the power of our opponent.”
“The Weaver?”
“No. The Weaver’s master.”
The Weaver’s master. Could Lady Hartwood’s reading have been right about that, too? Everything else Trev had discovered so far had confirmed the truth of her reading. Girding himself to risk all, he said, “If the Weaver’s master is who I think he is—”
Fanshawe interrupted him. “If your source was so misguided as to pass on unfounded rumors about the Weaver’s master, you must forget them. Immediately.”
“Because in some quarters our mission might be deemed traitorous?”
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that last statement.”
“And I’m going to pretend you aren’t asking me to stand by and allow a woman to die because she gave me her heart.”
He jabbed his finger at Fanshawe. “The Weaver’s master is the king. Don’t deny it. What exactly have you drawn me into? I won’t stand for any more prevarication. You know the reputation of my regiment and of its loyalty to the crown, and yet you sit here demanding that I betray not only the woman I would wed but my sovereign. You better have a damn good reason for what you’ve done—”
“I have a v
ery good reason,” Fanshawe said with a weary wave of his hand. “And since you’ve figured out so much on your own, I’d best explain it to you. It is indeed the king who has been trying to wrest the jewel away from us. He gave us no choice but to oppose him. When he began to plan his coronation this past summer, he became obsessed with giving it a Tudor theme and with modeling his costume on that of King Henry VIII. When he learned that the Jewel of Vadha had been Henry’s, he would not rest until he could obtain it so he could wear it at his coronation.
“In vain that we explained what would happen to our troops if he insulted the Nawab by making a public display of Bundilore’s ancestral jewel. Our monarch didn’t care. He wanted the jewel, and when he realized he couldn’t have it for the asking, he paid the Weaver to secure it for him. That was why the Weaver’s man approached your woman.”
“But she refused to work with him.”
“We knew that, but the king doesn’t. He believes the Weaver hired Temperance to steal the jewel—for him.”
The smug look had returned to Fanshawe’s features. “He must continue to believe it. While he is waiting patiently for the Weaver to give him the jewel that he thinks Temperance stole for him, the jewel is speeding on its way to India.”
“But what happens when he learns the Weaver can’t give the jewel to him?”
“We will try to persuade him the Weaver is holding it back to cadge more money from him.”
“But if that fails?”
“You’re sharp enough to work that out.”
“You’ll convince him Temperance kept it for herself?”
“Of course. It’s the best way to delay his finding out that the jewel is on its way to India. We need only delay him for another week or so. After that, the jewel will have traveled far enough that the king won’t be able to send out a vessel to retrieve it, and we’ll be able to return it to its owner unimpeded.”
“A very neat scheme,” Trev said, his lips tight.
“It was.” Fanshawe couldn’t keep the pride out of his voice. “It also had the advantage of preserving Sir Humphrey from our monarch’s ire. We allowed him to tell the king at the very last moment that he’d changed his mind and would be glad to sell him the jewel, so the blame for its loss rests squarely on the shoulders of the Weaver.”
“And on Temperance.”
“Well, yes, of course.” Only the way the man’s pinkie moved betrayed his discomfort. “I say, it’s most unfortunate that things had to work out this way. We’d assumed you thought the pickpocket expendable though I see now that we may have underestimated your feelings for her. Most regrettable. But I trust now that you understand why we had no choice but to do what we did. And that your loyalty to the regiment and the department will ensure that you do what it takes to keep the king believing she stole the jewel, to prevent a costly war.”
“We must avoid a war,” Trev said between clenched teeth. “I know my duty.”
“I’m glad to hear it. You are too good a soldier to let any personal consideration get in the way of following your orders. We’ll let the pickpocket remain with the Hartwoods a while longer. We instructed Sir Humphrey to let her escape to make it harder for the king to put his hands on her. But if she attempts to flee, we’ll have to arrest her immediately. I count on you not to do anything that might cause things to go awry at this very delicate moment of the operation.”
As the truth of the situation sank in, the horror of it almost paralyzed him. Temperance was, as she’d claimed, completely innocent. She had kept her vow to him. It was he who had sinned against her, by keeping his secrets and luring her to the nabob’s, where men he had trusted with his life had casually disposed of hers.
He fought against the emotion that threatened to overwhelm him. He could not give in to it. His only hope of saving the woman whose love he no longer deserved was to convince Fanshawe that he was still the same loyal fool he’d always been, the one who would follow his orders faithfully no matter who they harmed.
“You may count on me to do the right thing,” he said, fixing the under secretary with his eye. It was ironic how the woman he’d betrayed so catastrophically had taught him a thing or two about telling the truth in a way that would deceive.
Fanshawe stood. “I will expect you to embark next week as planned, before the king decides to interrogate you. He would not be happy to learn of your role in this escapade.”
Trev did not miss the thinly veiled threat. “I shall do so. You can count on me to live up to the loyalty I have pledged.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” said Fanshawe. “If you do, you need not fear any lasting stain upon your reputation. The department rewards men who do their duty, whatever it might cost them. Give my regards to Sir Charles when you see him again in India. And bon voyage then, Captain.”
She was innocent, and he had delivered her to her destruction, but he’d told Fanshawe the truth. He would do the right thing. He would live up to the pledge he’d made to Temperance when he’d given her his heart. Though he could never again expect her to love him, knowing now the damage he’d done to her by keeping his secrets from her and luring her into fatal danger, he would find a way to save her or die trying.
But how could he save her from the catastrophe into which he’d drawn her? The brilliance of the department’s schemes, which had delighted him so much in the past, stood as an insurmountable barrier to her rescue.
He didn’t even dare return to Temperance at Lady Hartwood’s to warn her of the extent of her peril, for Fanshawe had undoubtedly sent men to follow him, to ensure he toed the line. If they saw him make a beeline for her, they’d assume he had told her what he’d just learned in that fatal interview. That knowledge would put her in even more danger. Fanshawe’s men were leaving her untouched at the moment, to stretch out the time before the king found out he’d been tricked, but if Fanshawe thought she knew too much, he would move swiftly to eliminate her.
But he’d told Temperance that if he didn’t return to her tonight, she should take it as the signal to flee. And that made it essential he get some message to her, for Fanshawe had made it clear his men would arrest her if she tried to buy a passage for America.
So he must get word to her somehow and warn her. But how?
Perhaps Major Stanley could help him out. He could think of no one else he could trust with a matter of so much importance. There was a good brain hidden beneath the major’s bluff exterior. Perhaps if they put their heads together, they could come up with some solution.
But when he arrived at Major Stanley’s lodgings after taking a circuitous route designed to befuddle anyone who was following him, he found his friend plunged into the deepest despair.
“Nothing is sacred,” the major said. “A man begins to find happiness only to have it snatched from his grasp.”
“I could not agree with you more,” he replied. “But what made you draw that conclusion?”
“Have you not heard? Mother Bristwick’s is no more. Her establishment was raided last night, the girls hustled off, and Mother B herself taken before the magistrate and charged with a capital crime. It’s all here in the papers.”
“That is hardly the usual charge for running a bawdy house, unless she murdered one of her clients.”
“It turns out our Mother B was more than she appeared—some underworld Machiavelli they called the Weaver. A powerful man had been protecting her, but she offended him, and he withdrew his protection. She’s been charged with a string of murders and robberies, and she’ll hang for them—double quick, I’d warrant. There are more than a few powerful men who used to visit with her girls, and they’ll want her mouth stopped before she can tell any tales about them.”
So Fanshawe’s plot had been even more clever than what he’d revealed during their interview. He’d used the simulated theft of the jewel to get rid of the Weaver, once it had become clear that she would no longer work to serve the department’s interests. The king must have put pressure on her to give him the je
wel, and when she’d insisted she didn’t have it, he must have assumed she was holding back on him, and this was the result.
But this tightened the vise closing in on Temperance even further. For now that the king knew he wasn’t going to get his jewel, the department would direct his attention to her unless Trev could somehow come up with the way to save her that had eluded him so far.
He was about to appeal to the major for help when his friend said, “You’re embarking next week, aren’t you. It’s probably all for the best. A little birdie told me how that beautiful pickpocket made such a fool of you. Though I’m afraid I must take some of the blame for that, my boy.”
“Why?”
“I wished only the best for you when I played Cupid at every step of your romance. But I was mistaken,” Major Stanley said. “Forgive me.”
For what? Trev’s blood ran cold. Was the major a part of the scheme, too? It had been the major who had brought him to that crossroads where he had first seen Temperance. Who had urged him to find her again at the masquerade. Who had suggested he marry her. His bluff hearty pose and his fondness for drink made him seem so harmless, so easy to trust. Had Trev been even blinder than he’d thought?
He stood frozen in place. Had Fanshawe’s scheme cost him everything he’d ever valued, including his one real friendship? But there was no way of knowing if the major had been part of it, for to come right out and ask him would reveal too much.
He had no choice but to assume that the major was in on it—and that whatever he told him would be reported back to Fanshawe. So, forcing himself to give no sign of any emotion, he clapped a friendly arm around the major’s back, and said, “No hard feelings, my friend. I’ll find plenty of others to take her place. It was just a dalliance. I’d have left her behind when my leave was over anyway. You knew that.”