The Wicked Spy (Blackhaven Brides Book 7)

by Mary Lancaster

  “I suppose it must be,” Anna said gravely. “Tell me, is there a respectable inn in the village where I might get some water and a bite to eat?”

  “Yes, ma’am, The Duck and Apple does decent breakfast. You can’t miss it from the road. Don’t get much quality there, but Mrs. Wiggs don’t stand for anything untoward.”

  “Thank you! It sounds just what I need before I ride back to Blackhaven. Thank you for your help.”

  “Welcome, Miss, I’m sure,” the soldier said, preening slightly as Anna urged her horse forward.

  Anna looked back over her shoulder, as though she’d just remembered something. “Oh! Didn’t you lose one of your prisoners the other day? Have you caught him again yet?”

  “No, Miss, can’t find him. I reckon he crawled into some cave or a hollow tree and just died.”

  For some reason, the soldier’s words chilled her as she rode on in the winter sunshine. It might have been better than him carrying whatever dangerous secrets he harbored back to France, but still…

  Mrs. Wiggs, who was preparing to receive the Manchester stagecoach, did indeed give her breakfast, and allow Chessy the mare to rest in her stable, though she made it plain she didn’t hold with ladies of quality riding around the countryside alone in such a ramshackle manner.

  “I suppose it was foolish,” Anna agreed, hanging her head. “To be honest, I had forgotten all about the escaped prisoner, too. I shall get a tremendous scold.”

  As she had hoped, this did distract Mrs. Wiggs into talking about the escape, though she inclined to the belief that smugglers had already conveyed the miscreant to France.

  “Good riddance, I say,” she finished comfortably. “Got enough of our own riff-raff coming and going. Why, only the other day, poor old Harry had his coat stolen from the taproom! And a pistol was taken from one of the coaches right under our noses.”

  Anna’s heartbeat quickened. “Goodness. Not the weather for losing a coat! Did he get it back?”

  “Not yet,” Mrs. Wiggs admitted. “And to be honest, it was a horrible old thing, leather all ripped and flapping. His wife will be glad to see the back of it, but that’s not the point.”

  “No, it isn’t,” Anna agreed, finishing her coffee. Surely the Frenchman would not have walked in here openly to steal his highwayman’s costume. Someone must have done it for him, someone above suspicion. She rose to her feet. “Well, I must get back before they all worry.”

  “Back where would that be?” Mrs. Wiggs enquired with blatant curiosity.

  “Braithwaite Castle. I’m visiting my brother, there.”

  Mrs. Wiggs manner changed alarmingly at that. Anna was bowed out of the inn most obsequiously and only just managed to refuse an escort back to the castle. In the end, the arrival of the stagecoach saved her by distracting everyone, and she bolted.

  She rode next down to the town of Blackhaven itself. After the musical evening at the vicarage, she had walked with Rupert and Serena for a little, admiring the pretty harbor and the High Street and the gallery which sold some of Rupert’s paintings. She was glad of his growing success with his art and pleasantly surprised by how proud Serena was of this not terribly aristocratic career.

  Yet, for all that, Anna had imagined hidden eyes boring into her as she walked. Not that she had seen any signs of anyone following them or observing her with more than the sort of curiosity the locals appeared to reserve for strangers associated with the castle. In the light of day, she felt no more than her usual wariness.

  Now, in winter sunshine, the sea was a glorious shade of blue. Anna brought the mare to a halt while she admired it and took stock of the fishwives and fishermen repairing boats and nets. She bade one or two a cheerful good morning but received only slightly sullen responses. No one here was likely to talk to her about smugglers. The tavern was probably a better place to overhear that kind of conversation, though it sounded precisely the sort of establishment she didn’t want to enter. Indeed, she couldn’t without a heavy disguise.

  So, for now, she turned the horse around and rode back up to the castle. There, she discovered Rupert and Serena in the drawing room, introducing Serena’s sisters to their new governess.

  Although the girls were too well-mannered to voice their displeasure, Anna could tell at once that they were not happy. Mrs. Elphinstone was large but appeared far from jolly. As Anna entered, she was explaining to Serena that she had been with Lady Watters for the last seventeen years but had been obliged to seek a new position when her ladyship finally ran out of children.

  Anna regarded her with unexpected interest, not so much because of her words or her perfect English, but because of her accent, which was unmistakably French.

  “I am acquainted with Lady Watters, of course,” Serena said. “She is a great friend of my mother’s. Oh, let me present you to my sister-in-law. This is Mrs. Elphinstone, Anna, our new governess. Mrs. Elphinstone, Lady Anna Gaunt, Lord Tamar’s sister, who is staying with us for a while. A bedchamber is prepared for you close to the girls and the schoolroom.

  “Girls, show Mrs. Elphinstone the way and get to know her a little. I’m sure there is no need of lessons before tomorrow.”

  The girls swept their new governess from the room in friendly spirit, although Alice did make a face over her shoulder at Serena.

  Tamar sighed. “Miss Grey she is not,” he murmured with regret. “In fact, Serena, she’s got a face like a kicked bottom.”

  “She can’t help that,” Serena said reasonably.

  “Yes, she can. It’s ill-nature, if you ask me.”

  “It’s more likely to be fright,” Serena retorted. “The poor woman has only ever had one position before and she probably feels quite isolated up here among strangers.”

  “I suppose she is an émigrée,” Anna added.

  “I suppose she must be,” Serena said. “I must admit, I didn’t expect her to be French.”

  *

  By Friday, the day of the masquerade, Anna knew little more for certain. From casual conversation with Serena and Rupert, she gathered smuggling was endemic in Blackhaven, despite its distance from the continent. She even met a retired “gentleman” known unimaginatively as Smuggler Jack, who claimed not to have heard of any person smuggling in either direction. He might have been telling the truth. With no more highwayman attacks, Anna was fairly sure her quarry had headed north by land with his ill-gotten gains and a little sympathetic help.

  Her lowering suspicion was that she had lost everything when she had left him alone in the hut. She would be forced to acknowledge her failure in the most important task she’d been given, which was humiliating. She would go to Scotland, but it would be like searching for a needle in a haystack.

  In the meantime, she admitted to being sucked into the excitement surrounding the masquerade. Not least because it was, probably, her last hope of learning anything useful before she pursued her quarry north. However, the day before the ball, she took time between her morning ride and luncheon to try on her second evening gown.

  It was of palest silver-grey with an overdress of silver gauze. She had always thought it lent her dignity, but it was not a ballgown. Perhaps no one would notice since the domino cloak would cover it for most of the evening.

  A knock sounded on the door.

  “Come in,” Anna said reluctantly, and Serena stuck her head around the door.

  “Oh, is that your gown for tomorrow? I would never have thought of that color for you, but it suits you very well.”

  Anna wrinkled her nose. “It’s very well for dinner parties and the odd visit to the theatre, but it isn’t a ballgown. I don’t possess such a thing, since I never go to balls.”

  Serena came in and closed the door, regarding her critically. “Hmm, its charm is its simplicity,” she allowed, “But for a ball…do you know, Madam Monique in High Street has rather beautiful lace of almost precisely that shade? If we trimmed the gown in that, and I lent you my garnet set, I think it would do very well. Oh, and I
know the perfect domino for you!”

  And so, Anna found herself in the sort of frivolous shopping expedition she had always vaguely despised. The lace was indeed beautiful, and Serena also insisted on buying lengths of silver and red ribbon to dress her hair. She added a chemise and a few wispy handkerchiefs for herself to the pile, which Anna suspected was simply so that she could pay for everything together without fuss. It was an unexpected delicacy that Anna found herself appreciating.

  “How are you with a needle?” Serena asked as they left. “I confess to being indifferent, but my maid will sew on the trim in no time if you like?”

  Anna regarded her. “You’re very kind to me.”

  “You’re Rupert’s sister. Besides, for some reason, I like you. He told me you had grown a hard shell, but I prefer to think of you as prickly.”

  Anna laughed. “Like a hedgehog? I assure you, I am not so amiable.”

  A sudden shiver passed through her and she glanced over her shoulder. Mr. Banion, whom she’d met at the vicarage the other night, emerged from the coffee house and raised his hat, bowing to her. She inclined her head and walked on with Serena, but still she felt as though other eyes watched her.

  *

  The following morning, shortly after Anna returned from her ride—during which she had learned nothing new—guests arrived at the castle. These were the Benedicts from Haven Hall, who were staying the night to avoid the long drive back home after the ball. There were four of them, Colonel and Mrs. Benedict, an older Miss Benedict, and a shy child of around ten years old. Mrs. Benedict was the former Miss Grey so beloved by Serena’s sisters, and her presence precipitated the first major mutiny in Mrs. Elphinstone’s schoolroom. The young ladies bolted as one to greet their old governess, erupting downstairs while the guests were still being shown into the drawing room.

  Colonel Benedict stood back, observing with tolerant humor as his wife was enthusiastically embraced.

  Serena called her sisters to order as Helen hugged young Rosa Benedict. “What hoydens! Stand aside and let the rest of us in!” Serena duly greeted their adult visitors and then turned to the child.

  She was shy, Anna saw. But more than that, there was old pain in her young eyes. A protective wave swept over Anna, ready to drown whoever had hurt the child. But even as her hackles rose, the girl’s eyes sought those of her stepmother, who nodded, smiling.

  The child swallowed and parted her lips. “How do you do, Lady Tamar?” she whispered.

  And tears sprang to Serena’s eyes. “Oh, my dear girl, so much better now! How clever of you to have found your voice again!”

  There was shy pleasure in the child’s eyes as everyone hugged her again.

  “She didn’t speak for two years,” Rupert murmured beside Anna. “Someone frightened her.”

  “Who?” Anna demanded. The father was looking proud of his daughter, but there was a harshness about his scarred face, especially in his eyes and around his mouth.

  “A man now in prison and awaiting trial for other crimes. Thanks in part to Rosa. And now, finally, she’s begun to talk again.”

  Young Rosa, clearly had enough people to protect her, and she would grow stronger. Perhaps not in the same way Anna had, but at least like Christianne, who could enjoy a normal life.

  Anna, who was only just growing used to her sister-in-law, found herself almost enjoying the company of the Benedicts, too. They were intelligent, amusing, knowledgeable, and, in Colonel Benedict’s case, pleasingly sardonic. Interestingly, he had been a prisoner of the French until he had escaped more than a year ago. There seemed to be too many French connections in Blackhaven.

  *

  The eyes Anna had felt on her the previous afternoon had belonged to Louis. From his favorite place by his bedchamber window, he had glimpsed her with a ripple of excitement. It seemed almost bizarre that she should do anything as mundane as shopping. But she was again in the company of the young woman who was Lord Braithwaite’s sister. He guessed she would be at the assembly masquerade everyone was talking of.

  And it was time they met again.

  He’d seen her glancing over her shoulder, as though she felt herself under observation, but could not quite detect the observer. Unless it was the man who emerged from the coffee house across the street from the hotel and bowed to her. An admirer whose head was turned the wrong way for Louis to see his face. But such a woman would have a whole host of suitors.

  Louis had spent the last few days largely resting and recruiting his strength. He had even managed to change his own dressings in a haphazard and not terribly neat way, but he could smell no hint of corruption in the wound and he had managed to sleep the previous night without laudanum.

  When the town was quiet, he had taken gentle strolls to the hotel dining room, to the harbor—where a soldier always lurked among the fishermen—and to the pump room where he drank the curative waters. Perhaps they helped.

  And he had received a morning call from Mr. and Mrs. Winslow. The former came to tell him there had been no further sightings of his highwayman, who probably had indeed fled into Scotland. Mr. Winslow was in touch with the authorities over the border, but so far, he had heard nothing. Louis pretended to be surprised that his robber should disappear into thin air.

  Mrs. Winslow came to leave him a card for the masquerade ball she and the vicar’s wife were sponsoring at the assembly rooms. Louis almost laughed, because it was such a perfect vehicle for him, and he had every hope that Anna would be there.

  So, with the money robbed from the eloping young man, he bought a theatrical black domino cloak and mask, and then hired a horse from the livery stable for the morning and rode gently out to the hollow tree near the Carlisle road, where he had hidden the same gentleman’s bags. It saved him the cost of black satin knee breaches and an evening coat.

  On Friday evening, he donned his “borrowed” evening clothes—which really fitted rather well—and managed to knot his cravat respectably. Then he swung the black domino around his shoulders and tied the black mask over his upper face. His lips twitched, for he certainly looked mysterious and slightly villainous, in a ridiculous kind of way. In his profession, he had perfected the art of blending in and was rarely noticed unless he chose to be. He only hoped every other man present would look similarly absurd.

  Leaving his chamber, he walked downstairs, crossed the foyer, and went out into the street where he strolled among several other masked figures in the direction of the nearby assembly rooms.

  He had made sure to arrive in the earlier part of the evening so that he could familiarize himself with the building and discover all the alcoves and doors in the ballroom. At the same time, he could observe everyone as they entered. Men and women of all ages trickled constantly into the ballroom, which was exotically decorated for the occasion in hothouse flowers. Their heavy scents filled the air and their bright petals added to the dazzling colors of the dominoes and the glittering jewels on display.

  Masked young bucks strutted around the ballroom, emboldened by anonymity to ogle young ladies until they blushed or flirted behind their fans, according to temperament. But it was a small town, and many people merely pretended not to recognize neighbors they must have known most of their lives.

  The Winslows were there from the beginning, of course, and instantly recognizable. Mrs. Winslow wore a distinctive puce silk domino and her daughter one of ivory. Mr. Winslow retreated early to the card room. When the dancing began, some proprieties were still observed, with the masked gentlemen asking permission of the masked chaperones for the honor of dancing with their daughters. And Mrs. Winslow and the vicar’s wife—a ravishingly beautiful woman, even masked—were kept busy presenting potential partners.

  Louis moved among them all, picking up snippets of gossip and information as he went. He was not the only avid observer either. A youngish man in a burgundy domino also scanned the guests and the new arrivals, as though seeking someone in particular. Was he awaiting an anxious lover? Or did
he fear some threat to his own secrecy? The answer, finally, walked into the ballroom in a scarlet domino and matching mask sewn with glittering silver thread. Garnets dangled at her ears and around her creamy white throat. Red and silver ribbons intertwined in her artfully styled black hair, braided at the back of her head and allowed to fall in a smooth wave over one shoulder. She walked with a grace and confidence that caught at his breath, and the cloak parted in the middle to reveal a gown of ethereal silver.

  She was breathtaking. Louis and the other observer were not the only men to notice either.

  She entered with the handsome couple he had no difficulty in recognizing as Lord and Lady Tamar.

  “My,” a woman whispered behind him. “Who is the lady with Serena Tamar?”

  “I think it must be Tamar’s sister. I heard she had come on a visit.”

  Louis smiled at this piece of news. At least now he knew who she was. Although what a marquis’s sister was doing riding alone in the dark and tending the wounds of escaped French prisoners was even more of a mystery.

  While strolling in the direction of the card room door, Louis surreptitiously watched the vicar’s wife greet the newcomers, clearly pretending not to know them.

  Meanwhile, the man in the burgundy domino had managed to secure the attention of Mrs. Winslow and was nodding toward the lady in the scarlet domino. Mrs. Winslow smiled, tapped him on the wrist with her fan, and led him across the room to where the Tamars were sitting down together with some friends.

  Louis leaned his shoulder against the wall next to the card room door and watched.

  Mrs. Winslow introduced the burgundy domino to Anna, then walked away with an indulgent smile. Anna did not give her hand to her admirer, merely inclined her head. The man talked, inviting her to dance. Louis watched Anna’s shapely lips, reading them as clearly as if he had heard the words.

  “Oh, no, I do not care to dance. But if you wish, you could fetch me a glass of champagne.”

  The burgundy domino, obviously cast down at the beginning of her speech, sprang back to life and trotted off to do her bidding. She didn’t appear to watch him, but as he began his return journey, she rose and flitted away. Louis would have assumed he was not a favored suitor, except that within the space of ten minutes, he saw her perform the same trick three times with three different men. Lady Anna, it seemed, simply did not care for admirers at all.