by Anne Mallory
"There was no official name, though the Falcons’ stuck because of the insignia. Their rings identified them. The general populace knew nothing of the group. In fact, most people in the government still are unaware of them. Hell, I thought it myth."
He was silent. She could almost hear his brain chugging away.
"My source was aware of only one member of the society." He paused for a long moment and then said, "Holt."
"Lord Holt." Her thoughts whirred. "What does his son have to do with this whole situation? And why is his birth certificate wrong?"
James again hesitated. "lf I’m right about when Holt was married, then it would point to his only son and heir being illegitimate."
She gasped. "Then he couldn’t inherit."
"A powerful incentive to make sure no one found out."
"And Ternberry had the certificate."
James’s mouth was grim. "Yes."
"We should search their offices. At least Ternberry’s, since he definitely won’t be there."
"It’s not that easy. "
"Pffff, I saw how easily you broke into Pettigrew’s rooms. Let’s go."
She could see in his face that he wanted to go.
"I’ll go alone."
"Oh, no. I’m coming with you or else I’ll find a way to do it on my own."
He started to shake his head, but then paused. "Yes. You have the right." He surveyed her from head to toe. "Do you have anything more suitable to wear?"
Calliope didn’t give him time to change his mind. She raced up the steps and into her room. Pulling out her old trunk, she found an old costume from a play where she’d been an extra chimney sweep. Changing quickly, she grabbed a black cap and ran back down the stairs and into the study.
A brief stunned moment passed as he viewed her black breeches and shirt. "Absolutely not. Go back and change this instant."
A mutinous look slid into place and she temporarily forgot her tenuous position. "This is the perfect outfit. No one will recognize me, and if they do, I can simply say it is a foil for your odd ways."
His brows rose, but he turned and strode out the door. She grabbed her black cape to cover her garments and ran after him. He called up the carriage and they stepped in. James did nothing to hide his irritation.
She twisted her hair and shoved it into the boy’s cap. "How will we know if Holt is out?"
"He’s out. But rest assured, if we decide to search his townhouse we’ll make sure before venturing in."
James exchanged words with his driver. The carriage stopped only a few blocks down the street. Looking around one last time to be certain no one was watching, he grabbed Calliope, and they darted into an alley. Someone moved out of the shadows. She immediately recognized the man, and James instructed him to ready "Number Three." James’s regular carriage rolled down the street. A diversion.
Number Three turned out to be an old hackney. It was hitched to a pair of unremarkable brown mares. She cast him a questioning glance but he continued to rattle off instructions to the driver. Jenkins, the driver, disappeared into the darkness, then reappeared a few minutes later, winded, but dressed in common garments. He had replaced the resplendent livery worn by Angelford servants.
"Let’s go."
Calliope climbed into the carriage and settled herself on the faded but surprisingly comfortable seat. James hauled himself in and sat across from her. They moved down the drive and set off for Ternberry’s, on the other side of Mayfair. James drew the curtains and darkness enveloped them.
"I will turn you over my knee if you leave my side. Understand?"
A protest rose in her throat. She swallowed it when she realized how tightly wound he was. The air was charged. She nodded and then realized he couldn’t see her. "Yes."
They remained silent until the coach slowed.
"l told Jenkins to stop down the street. We will walk the rest of the way. Ready?"
She grabbed his outstretched hand. It felt right.
James secured her cape and threw a greatcoat around his shoulders. It must have been inside the carriage. Calliope started to wonder how frequent an occurrence these types of trips were for him. No one would mistake them for Lord and Lady now.
Lord and Miss, she amended.
They approached Ternberry’s house from the rear, crossing through a number of yards to reach it.
There were only a few windows in the back. Ternberry must not have been too fond of the light.
The house was dark.
James already had a tool out and was fiddling with one of the windows. The clasp released and he crawled inside. A minute later he reached down and pulled her in. He lit a small lamp by the desk.
Ternberry’s study was a mess.
"Someone’s already been here," James said.
"Are you sure? His room at Pettigrew’s looked the same."
He nodded. "Yes, but he ordered things in a clockwise manner. Look at those papers on the desk."
Calliope looked at the desk. They did look a bit perfect in their scatter.
"What do you want to do?"
"Let’s take a look anyway. Something may have been missed."
"Do you think Ternberry returned to town during the weekend at the Pettigrews’?" Calliope asked, reading and discarding paper after paper.
"I think so. But I’m not sure. I will have Finn ask some questions of the staff tomorrow. "
"How did he return to the Pettigrews’ estate?"
"More importantly, why did he return to the Pettigrews’ estate?"
"And was anyone with him? Or did he meet someone there?"
"Try to find the papers we found at the party. I suspect if they were here they are gone, but it’s worth it to try. "
An hour later found them no closer to the papers or any other evidence. Calliope was sitting on the floor. She laid on her back, trying to stretch.
"Are your muscles still sore?"
"A little."
"I’ll give you a massage later to loosen them." James was poking around the desk. He had found three secret drawers and was looking for more. Nothing important had been inside any of them.
Her heart quickened. She turned toward him. "I think that sounds--"
Something was jammed under the desk.
"Yes?"
She scurried to her knees and peered under the desk.
"Did you find something?" He strode around the desk and sat on his heels next to her.
"There’s something lodged here. Hold on. Got it." She retrieved it with two fingers.
A half imprint stood out in red. Half of a falcon ring print.
"A further indication that the ring is important. Should we head over to Holt’s now?" Calliope asked.
"Yes. We can return here later. "
He blew out the lamp and they crawled back through the window. James latched it and they headed for the carriage.
"Are you sure he’s out?"
"I told you we would make sure before going through his smallclothes."
She bit back a smile.
The hackney was in the same place. James nodded at the driver but they walked past. Holt’s residence was nearby; it was easier and less suspicious to walk.
James had a firm grip on her hand. It was warm and comforting.
"What do you think we’ll find?"
"I don’t think we’ll find much, actually. Holt is a pro. If he doesn’t want something found, chances are it won’t be."
"Then should we even bother?"
"Yes. People make mistakes. And if our suspicions are correct, then he is playing a deep game."
Holt’s townhouse loomed in front of them and Calliope’s pulse quickened.
The house was dark. They skirted the back and stopped at a window overlooking a well-tended English garden.
James jiggled the window and it moved slightly.
"Sloppy. That’s unusual." He looked slightly perturbed. "I hadn’t actually thought this would open."
Calliope looked down and saw
fresh footprints carved into the damp soil. "Someone has been here recently. "
He looked down and swore softly. "We’re leaving. Now. "
"Wait, what about his office? What about the ring?"
He shot her a dangerous look. "Not tonight."
James grabbed her hand again and started walking so swiftly she had to run to keep up.
They moved up the street toward the coach, which had moved to the other end. Jenkins looked nervous. "Milord, I have a nasty feeling about tonight."
"So do I, Jenkins, let’s get home."
James tossed Calliope into the carriage and vaulted in after her.
She didn’t mutter a protest. Her senses had started screaming as well.
The coach sped down the street. It wasn’t a great distance to travel to James’s residence and Calliope suddenly wanted to be safely ensconced in his extravagant house.
A screech of hooves grated through the coach’s walls.
A shot rang out, and the carriage careened out of control.
Chapter 14
Calliope grasped air as she was flung toward the coach’s floor. She girded herself for the bruising impact but was caught roughly by James. He pulled her against him and braced them both against the sides of the coach.
He swore fluently and Calliope clutched his arm as they rocketed pell-mell around a corner. It was apparent the animals were running unchecked. Buildings streaked past and shouts echoed in the night. Calliope prayed Jenkins would regain control of the frightened beasts before they neared the theater district.
Her prayers went unanswered. They raced down the Strand and past the Opera House.
A woman’s shrill scream pierced the night. Angry shouts followed.
James tried to open the trapdoor but something was blocking it. Cold ran through Calliope as she realized that Jenkins’s heavy form was probably the culprit.
James opened a box hidden in the squabs and thrust a small gun in her hand, then placed two other pistols on the seat. He yelled over the noise from the wheels and the shouts from pedestrians outside, "They’re loaded. Use the smaller one only if they get close."
Not waiting for a reply, he threw the coach window open and crawled through. She gaped at his retreating backside as the coach lurched precariously.
Calliope held her breath until she knew he had safely reached the driver’s box. Snapping to attention, she repositioned herself, propping her legs against the seat across from her. Calliope heard the horses’ angry snorts as James attempted to get the frightened creatures under control.
She stuck her head out the window to call to him. A pole whirled past and she pulled her head in so fast that she bumped it against the top of the window frame.
How had he climbed out without getting hit?
Being more circumspect, she again peered upward out the window. She detected the slumped-over form of Jenkins. She prayed fervently that he was only slightly injured. Straining a glance behind the coach, Calliope spotted two riders approaching at a fast clip.
Shots rang out again and she whipped her head inside. How many guns did the assailants have?
She tucked the smaller gun in her breeches and picked up one of the other pistols. Keeping a tight grip, she leaned out the window, cocked the hammer and squeezed the trigger. One of the riders ducked but continued to give chase. She fired the other, with the same result. Her ears rang from the report.
Her hands shook as she tried to reload the gun. Under the best of circumstances it required a steady hand to pour the powder down the barrel, but in a wildly swaying vehicle, it was nearly impossible.
The contents jiggled as the carriage tossed on the rutted road. She shoved the powder case toward the muzzle. Powder spilled onto the carriage floor. Muttering in frustration, she tried again. The coach lurched. She pinched her fingers together around the case in a bone-crushing grip. Another carriage jerk caused her cap to slip over her left eye. Hair loosened from its constraints, chunks of curls came tumbling out, further obscuring her view. Calliope elbowed the offending hair back.
A violent pitch caused her bad leg to give out and, losing her precarious balance, she fell against the left side of the coach. Still concentrating on the powder, so close to the hole, she poured it in. Finally. She grabbed a paper wad and a ball and pounded them down the shaft.
Meanwhile, it seemed James had managed to get the old town coach and four horses under some semblance of control and the seat wasn’t wobbling as much. The team continued moving at a breakneck pace, weaving around obstacles and taking sharp turns. She stuck her head out the window, took aim and blindly fired.
The two riders slowed and moved to either side of the street. James circled Trafalgar Square
and the coach headed back down Whitehall.
She ducked back into the carriage as they hit a bump in the road. It tossed her to the side and her valuable bag of powder poured uselessly to the floor. Damn, and damn again.
Her only alternative was to join James and see if she could be of assistance. Checking that the small gun was secure in her breeches, she grasped both sides of the window frame and hauled herself halfway out on her backside as she had seen him do. Sitting in the frame, she reached for the top of the carriage and was nearly tossed out as they hit a furrow in the road.
She felt the gun slip from her waistband and grabbed it just in time to keep it from falling to the ground. She sent silent thanks that she had worn breeches, James cursed loudly as Calliope stretched toward the driver’s seat. He reached around to pull her up and over Jenkins like a sack of flour. The horses balked at the loosened reins and Calliope could do nothing but hold on for dear life as James hauled her into the seat.
"What are you doing, woman? Are you trying to kill yourself? Come to think of it, I could kill you myself." He didn’t look her way, but his face was drawn in harsh, intense lines.
"I thought I might help. I know you’re trying to outrun those riders."
"Well, you could have shot them. That would have helped."
"I tried. Three times."
"More times would’ve been helpful. From inside the carriage. I can’t see any way for you to reload up here."
"Uh, yes. You see, that was the crux of the problem--"
A shot rang out over their heads.
"Damn it, get down."
He pushed her to the floor and hunched over the reins as they sped past the Admiralty.
Coming up here hadn’t been her brightest idea.
More shots rang out and she heard a hiss from James. It was lucky the horses were back under control, because he was now holding them with only his right hand. For the second time that night he was covered in red.
Calliope gasped and rose to assist, but he pushed her down with his injured left arm and urged the horses on.
"It’s fine. I need to find a distraction and I don’t need it to be you."
The sticky smell of blood overpowered the London air.
She looked at Jenkins’s head, bouncing near her. A bullet had nicked him on the side of his skull. Blood was flowing from the wound. She tore two pieces off her shirt and held one tightly against the wound while binding the other to hold it in place. Looking up at James, she ignored his command and reached up and unfurled his neckcloth in one swift tug. She was very glad he favored simple styles. Calliope knew her head was in the line of fire but she pushed her fear aside. She tried to open his shirt but he shook his head.
"If you aren’t going to listen to me, then just bind the wound and get back down."
She quickly complied and he shoved her to the floor. "Grab Jenkins and hold tight."
They were close to the Government Offices and nearing the Houses of Parliament. Before hitting the floor, she had seen the rows of empty vendor stalls by the square. He was going to ram them. Calliope held on to Jenkins and prayed.
The horses were balking, but a second before they reached the stalls, James gave a sharp left jerk on the reins and urged them on. The tired beasts responded a
nd turned. The rear of the carriage skidded outward, hitting the stalls and sending wood and materials into the air. Calliope managed to hold on to both Jenkins and herself. Terrified that James had slipped off the side, she glanced up, but he was confidently spurring the horses forward. Blood pounded in her ears.
She looked back at the carnage. Stalls and beams were strewn across the street. The riders couldn’t pass. She breathed an audible sigh of relief.