The Surrender of Miss Fairbourne

by Madeline Hunter

  Chapter 14

  Emma walked around the corner of the western façade of St. Paul’s, heading for the yard to the east. She had worn black in the hopes that the man would recognize her from that, if he did not know her face already.

  The visit from Southwaite yesterday repeated in her head as she examined the people she passed, hoping for a sign that one was her quarry.

  Southwaite had apologized without the kind of embarrassment one might expect under the circumstances. The very correct earl had said the very correct words required, with exactly the right tone and the appropriate, if insincere, self-recrimination. He might have read a little pamphlet that served as a guide in such things.

  The part about her not being ordinary had been a kindness, she assumed. She had challenged his motivations, hadn’t she? She had implied that he treated her with less respect than he did better-born women. It would have been insulting for him to admit it. What could he say? That the rules did not apply to a lord’s treatment of such as her, but only to his behavior with daughters of peers and gentlemen?

  It would be stupid to be angry that he had lied to spare her the insult. And she had lied too, after all, in saying she was not afraid of him. He had always overwhelmed her, and now she found herself at an additional disadvantage. She had not trusted herself to show “fortitude” should he ever kiss her again. Now he had, and once more she had succumbed like a…a what? A wanton? A harlot?

  She almost wished those damning words applied. She knew better. She had succumbed like an ignorant woman of mature years who knew little about men, and even less about her own sensuality. Perhaps she should ask Cassandra how long it took a woman to learn to master her own body’s reactions, to the point where she could enjoy or reject pleasure according to some objective calculation.

  She was very sure that she did not overwhelm Southwaite in turn, so his excuse for those kisses in the garden did not ring true to her. The kiss this morning most certainly had not been the act of a man undone by passion. He had announced it first, for heaven’s sake. If a man had the mental faculties to map his path and point to the signposts, he had sufficient control to walk a different road entirely.

  The real reason for all these kisses, she feared, was much less pretty than some poetic passion. He had made clear that first day that he sought a new mistress and thought she might do for a while. As she had suspected then, central to his mastery of discretion was probably choosing lower-born women whom the ton did not care about.

  He also still wanted to persuade her to sell the auction house, of course. He had probably chosen to use sensual delights to make her pliable once he saw all those stupid flusters and sparkles in her. There were all kinds of ways to bend a person to one’s will. To make a woman whistle in harmony, as it were.

  Her gaze snapped from person to person lingering in the cathedral yard, and finally came to rest on a man standing beside the eastern portal. He appeared average in every way except for the manner in which he also examined those passing by. Dark coats, old hat pulled low on his brow, ill-fitting breeches—he looked like a less-than-prosperous tradesman.

  His squinting eyes turned to her. Acknowledgment passed between them, and she walked to where he stood.

  “We can go in the church, if ye like,” he said.

  “That would be disrespectful, since we will speak of criminal things.”

  Her bluntness took him aback. “See here, now, I take coin for delivering this an’ that. I’m no criminal.”

  She did not want to argue about morals. “I need to speak with the man who paid you to deliver the wagon to my home. I have questions that must get answers.”

  He shifted and chewed on his lip. He turned his gaze to the yard. “Could be I have the answers. I don’t just deliver wagons.”

  “Are you saying that you have a message for me?”

  He shrugged. “Depends on why we are here.”

  “Something is expected of me, in terms of payment. I do not know how much. The proceeds from auctioning those goods? Nothing more? I am not aware of my father’s agreement. He never told me about this. I also want to end this for good. Tell your master that I want to know what to do to ensure that I win the prize.”

  “Win the prize? The’nt no prize to win.”

  “The woman you sent with the wagon said—”

  “Ye’ll be wantin’ to redeem the prize, I told her to say, not win it. Stupid for’ner. No luck to it, if ye know what I mean. Just payment, as I understand it.”

  Her heart beat so hard it pained her. She could barely contain her hope. “Do you know what the prize is?”

  “Could be I do. Don’t you?”

  “No. I must know what is at risk or I will throw that wagon and its contents in the river. So tell me now—is the prize a person?”

  He gave her a big wink as an answer.

  She had to step away, to maintain her composure. She closed her eyes hard so tears would not flow. Oh, Papa, why did you not tell me all of it? Why did you not prepare me so I would know what to do? She knew the answer in her heart. He had not told her because he did not know if he would ever succeed. He had not prepared her because he never expected to die so soon.

  She returned to her messenger. “I must have him back.”

  “My employer guessed as much, seems like, since what I was told fits that which you ask. He said to tell you a hundred pounds on account, to be sure the prize is kept safe for ye, in addition to what the contents of the wagon brings. Or, for three thousand silver to settle, and you can have him now.”

  “Three thousand!” The high ransom shocked her. Where was she to find three thousand pounds? She would never be able to pay it. Even the hundred would slice a goodly amount out of her proceeds from the auction.

  That was the goal, she realized. The ransom was set too high for her father or her to reach. Why release Robert when holding him ensured an endless stream of payments and a sure way to sell smuggled goods?

  “It is too much,” she said. “Tell him that. I am not going to be bled forever either, if that is the thinking. I want proof that my brother is alive and well too. I am not such a fool as to take a blackguard’s word for it.”

  “He won’t take well yer calling him that, now. Ye’ve a sharp tongue and best ye think what ye say, since there is more I am to tell ye, and it is not ungenerous.”

  She held her sharp tongue, so the “more” would be revealed.

  “I was told to say that the settling was three thousand, but could be half that if you did a small favor.”

  “What favor?”

  “That, I was not told. Ye would learn of it soon, was all that was said.”

  The favor was probably auctioning more bad goods. Probably twenty carts’ worth would arrive after she paid the ransom, for a grand finale.

  “Is there anything more?”

  He nodded. “Some lord goes to that building ye have. I was told to warn ye not to tell him anything.” He inclined his head and gave a conspiratorial wink. “Most stern, my employer was on this. I think that lord has him suspicious of ye. Maybe ye play a two-sided game? He said that lord has interfered of late with free commerce on the coast, he did. Yer friendship with such as him is of concern.”

  The warning made her neck prickle. Was this kidnapper watching her, and Fairbourne’s? The notion made her very uncomfortable, as if unseen eyes peered at her even now.

  Worse, the warning implied that Southwaite concerned himself with smuggling more than she had known. Perhaps it was part of his interest in the vulnerable coast, which Cassandra had mentioned. No matter what the motivations, a new reason for why he showed such interest in Fairbourne’s, and her, suddenly presented itself.

  Perhaps he had paid more attention to her father’s business than she knew. Maybe he had even guessed about the special lots, the ones that arrived at home, hidden beneath canvas.

  He might not merely be an investor seeking to ensure the efficient disposition of a business. He might be investigating Fa
irbourne’s, and her father, and now her. He had spent hours, days, examining the accounts, hadn’t he?

  The idea saddened her, for reasons she did not have time to decipher now. She gathered her wits and tried to appear formidable. She caught the messenger’s gaze with her own and pinned him in place.

  “I want to know where you meet this man who told you what to say to me.”

  He shrank back, scowling. “I’d be a fool to say, now, wouldn’t I? Would be no one to be a messenger for then, is how I see it.”

  She dug into her reticule and took out a few shillings. “You could be my messenger.”

  He accepted the coins fast enough, but smiled smugly as he tucked them away. “Sounds like ye won’t have much to pay with soon. Maybe that lord will swear against ye, and ye’ll be in gaol soon. I’ll keep the situation I have now, thank ye. It keeps me in ale well enough.”

  He walked away, whistling. Emma made her way back to her carriage.

  Three thousand pounds. If Herr Werner consigned the count’s collection, and if Marielle found a few more émigrés with good items, Fairbourne’s commission on the auction might raise half that at best. She could not depend on bidders taking prices to their highest levels, however. She needed something more to ensure that she at least raised the fifteen hundred she would need after she performed the favor.

  The Raphael that her family owned would surely tip the balance. The entire sale price would be hers too, not only a commission. It would break her heart to sell it, but she would have to add it to the auction.

  Of more interest to her right now were the messenger’s explanations about his employer. It sounded like conversations were held. Perhaps whoever had sent this messenger was close by. Perhaps Robert was too.

  For all of her distress, that thought excited her. She pictured herself throwing open the door of some dungeon or cellar room, and seeing his astonishment and joy at being rescued. She imagined bringing him home and showing him how well she had done preserving his legacy, and watching as he took his place in his best coats at the spot where Papa had stood during the auctions.

  She needed to find out if Robert was all but under her nose. She would not wait on her mysterious kidnapper, or his demands for payments and favors. She had no reason to trust him. She dared not sit still while her brother was his victim.

  Emotions churned in her all the way home. Excitement mixed with very real fear. She wished she could hand all of this over to someone in authority, who would use more force to find Robert than she could ever muster. Kidnapping was a serious crime. Surely if she went to a magistrate and explained what she knew, some help would be forthcoming.

  The problem was she did not know very much at all. She did not know why anyone had settled on taking Robert in the first place. She could not ignore that it might not have been a random choice.

  Perhaps Robert had been doing things that were illegal too. If he had somehow been involved with the smuggling that now tainted Fairbourne’s, she could not seek help. She could not trust another person to turn a blind eye to the crimes that might possibly be behind all of this. It would be a fine thing if Robert were released from one gaol, only to land in another.

  No, if anyone were going to discover if Robert was in England, or uncover the identity of who held him, it would have to be her. She should at least try.

  She felt much better after she reached that decision. Less helpless, and less a pawn of persons unknown. The fear became quieter, but that only allowed her to recognize another emotion that had settled in her heart, making her slightly sick. She thought about Southwaite, and the sickness swelled.

  She could not trust him either. She certainly could not ask him for any help. In fact, she would have to pray that he never asked questions about some of the lots in the next auction.

  Chapter 15

  “Where are we going?” Ambury asked loudly, with annoyance. He aimed the question at Kendale’s back.

  Kendale did not reply, but continued leading the way while they walked their horses through the crowded streets east of Hanover Square. His strict posture spoke eloquently, though. This sojourn had an Important Purpose.

  “All will be revealed soon,” Darius said to Ambury. “I hope.”

  “I do not know why he has to be mysterious,” Ambury muttered. “It is vexing when he gets this way. I am not a soldier under his command, and do not care for cryptic notes ordering me to muster at five o’clock.”

  Kendale heard that. He pivoted his horse until its nose faced the heads of their mounts. “I am not being mysterious. Conversation would be difficult even if we rode three abreast.”

  “It isn’t difficult before you ride,” Ambury pointed out. “Nor will it be so now. Before you take the lead again, I demand to know where we are going, and why.”

  Ambury’s prickly humor today surprised Kendale, who looked at Darius quizzically. Darius considered, not for the first time, that Kendale’s single-mindedness had probably made him an excellent officer, but it made him a trying friend at times.

  “He is hoping to meet someone in the park today,” Darius said, to explain Ambury’s pique.

  “Are you saying that I am interfering with a romantic rendezvous? Damnation, Ambury, why did you not say so? I would hate to delay the frivolous matters with which you occupy your life during the Season by diverting you to a mission of potentially great consequence.”

  “I do not mind the delay. I only want some small indication it is even of minor consequence. So, yet once more I will ask, where in hell are we going?”

  Kendale moved his horse forward so that it flanked Ambury’s, and he could speak confidentially. Unfortunately that did put them three abreast, and now they blocked the street. Darius kept one ear open for the forthcoming explanation, which he would not mind hearing himself. The other ear began being assaulted by the rising calls and curses of coachmen and teamsters unable to move around them.

  “I have been investigating a rumor, and believe I have learned something alarming,” Kendale said. “Have either of you heard of a woman named Marielle Lyon?”

  “I have,” Darius said. “She is a French woman, a refugee a few years ago from the Terror. She is the niece of the Comte de Beaulieu.”

  “What are the rumors?” Ambury asked, interested now. The objections from the men in the blocked vehicles began to roar.

  “Some say she is a charlatan, and not who she claims to be,” Darius said. “This is hardly news, Kendale. Nor are the rumors likely true. There have been efforts to unmask her, and all have failed. That suggests there is no mask to remove.”

  “That the rumors come from her own people interested me,” Kendale said. “So, sometimes, I have been watching her.”

  “That sounds unfair,” Ambury said. “I would not like to think that someone spied on me because of a rumor.”

  “I do not do this out of idle curiosity, or to play at investigating the way you do sometimes, Ambury. If a woman lives in England as a refugee, claiming to be the niece of a count when in fact she is someone else, that is too suspicious to leave alone. How better to hide a spy than in plain sight, but with a false identity that would make her sympathetic?” Kendale asked. “If that kind of rumor attached itself to you, I promise that you would be followed too.”

  “Thank God England has you, Kendale. I am sure the ministers add you to their prayers each morning,” Ambury said. “Did one of them give you this mission, or did you take it upon yourself?”

  “We know the answer to that, and considering our own unauthorized activities, you can hardly object on that count, Ambury,” Darius said. “Furthermore, his suspicions are not unique to him. Some in the government have two eyebrows raised regarding this woman. It is possible others are watching her too.”

  “Not that I have seen. Careless, that,” Kendale said. “I know for certain that no one was about when she held an early-morning rendezvous in the park the other day. She met with the daughter of that man who had that suspicious fall from a sea walk
in Kent.”

  Darius just stared at Kendale. He saw where the man’s mind had been going the last few days. His own now raced to catch up and get ahead.

  “Are you taking us to arrest her, for daring to speak to another woman in a park?” Ambury asked.

  The sarcasm was lost on Kendale. “We don’t know enough yet for that. I’m taking you to see where that other woman lives so you can help me. We must scout the property and street, and see how best to do it. I have been using some trusted servants to aid me in this mission recently, since I can’t handle my list of suspicious persons alone, but even so I am shorthanded.”

  “You have involved your servants in this?” Darius said. “Are you mad? Satisfying your own curiosity is one thing, but establishing a network of vigilantes is another.”

  “Of course he is mad,” Ambury said. “You cannot trust servants to be discreet, Kendale. Word of your doings should reach Pitt any day now. You should anticipate an unpleasant meeting with the home secretary within the week, I would say.”

  “My servants are trustworthy, even if yours are not. My household is more disciplined than a unit of the Horse Guards. If either of you can even identify one manservant who is loyal, you might consider using him too, since it is impossible for one or two men to watch a person all themselves.”

  Having completely ignored their rebuke, Kendale turned his horse and moved on. Darius and Ambury fell in behind him, riding side by side. The blocked coachmen began passing around them, throwing out their final curses as they sped by.

  Darius wanted to strangle Kendale. The man acted as if he alone would save the realm. This particular investigation of his promised to create awkward complications.

  It had been inevitable that someone would eventually wonder about that accident Maurice Fairbourne had, and why he had been on that cliff walk at night. Darius had never expected it to be one of his own friends, however.

  “He is going to drive me to drink,” Ambury said quietly. “He resented having to sell his commission, and he was too eager to help set up that web of watchers on the coast. He enjoys this much more than I do, and if we do not stop this latest excess, he will soon have some of those trusted servants spying on us.”