by Jane Feather
Stuart simply shrugged. He would not tell the enemy what he intended to do.
“For your wife's sake, do nothing foolish,” Lionel demanded harshly. “Let no one know of her disappearance.” He turned on his heel and left Stuart, the door banging shut behind him.
Stuart slowly unclenched his fists. Pippa was out of his hands. She was Ashton's responsibility. His own responsibility lay in undoing as much as possible of the damage he'd done her.
The Bishop of Winchester would hear a full confession of Lord Nielson's relationship with Gabriel. The bishop would have to keep the secrets of the confessional but he would have to agree to annul the Nielsons' marriage. With that achieved, Stuart would send notice of the annulment and the reason for it to Lord and Lady Kendal. At least Pippa would be free of him. And she would never have to lay eyes upon him again.
Once he'd made what reparations he could he would take Gabriel and they would flee the country. He would have to work quickly to ensure the advantage of surprise. They were watching him closely but they thought he was still afraid of them, and they need never know otherwise until he and Gabriel were on the high seas.
Lionel was admitted immediately into the presence of the French ambassador.
Antoine de Noailles concealed his surprise and his intense curiosity with a diplomat's expertise. “Mr. Ashton, an unexpected pleasure. May I offer you wine?”
“Let us not beat about the bush, de Noailles. I need to know where Robin of Beaucaire has gone. I had some conversation with him last evening . . . perhaps he mentioned it.”
The ambassador poured wine and handed his guest a goblet. “Pray take a seat, sir.”
“No, I thank you. I prefer to remain on my feet.” He regarded de Noailles over the lip of his goblet and spoke crisply. “Come, let us not play games, man. There is no time. I have reason to believe that Lord Robin is escorting his sister. She is in very grave danger and, although Lord Robin may be an accomplished courier and an experienced spy, he cannot protect the lady unaided.”
“He is not in your league, I grant you,” the ambassador said with a tiny shrug. “I would wonder why you would wish to protect her when you were so intimately involved in putting her in this danger.”
A muscle twitched in Lionel's cheek but other than that his face remained without expression. He reached into the inside pocket of his doublet and drew out a small box. “This may speed up our conversation.” He laid it on the table beside the ambassador.
De Noailles picked it up. He shot his visitor a quick comprehending glance before lifting the lid. A seal in the shape of a scarab lay on a piece of velvet. “Your credentials?” he inquired, taking the seal gently in his hand.
“If you would have them,” Lionel returned with a dry smile. “I would have you understand that only the direst circumstances would force me to reveal them.”
“Yes, I'm sure that's true.” He returned the scarab to its box and handed it back to Lionel. “Even I do not have the seal. How many are there?”
Lionel shook his head. “You know as well as I that there are three. Only three.”
“And do you know who holds the other two?” Antoine's eyes were greedy with curiosity.
“No,” Lionel said. He laughed slightly. “We are a select group, my dear sir. And I have just compromised myself. Now, tell me where I may find Lord Robin.”
“I think first you must tell me how you intend to prevent the Spaniards getting their hands on the child Lady Pippa is carrying without breaking your cover.”
“I have no choice but to break my cover,” Lionel said. “It was always going to be a necessity in the end. I had hoped to preserve it until close to the end but . . .” He shrugged. “Needs must when the devil drives, mon ami.”
He tossed the scarab box from hand to hand. “If I can succeed in preventing Spain taking over English sovereignty then a lost cover is worth it.” He tucked the box back into the inner pocket of his doublet.
“Tell me . . .” De Noailles eyed him shrewdly. “What do you hear about Mary's pregnancy?”
“Probably what you hear. That it is false . . . that it exists only in her mind . . . a product of wishful thinking.” He raised an inquiring eyebrow.
The ambassador nodded. “I hear that 'tis said among her women that she has had a similar condition before, some kind of strangulation of the womb.”
“But her physicians give her hope.”
“They wish to remain in her favor.”
“And who can blame them,” Lionel said with a sardonic shake of his head. “Are you going to tell me what I wish to know, sir?”
“I suppose I must, although you have not given me any guarantees of the lady's safety.”
Lionel's mouth took a grim turn. “I swear to you on my sister's grave that I will keep her and her unborn child safe.”
The ambassador sat in silence for a minute. The soft menace in his visitor's voice chilled him. Only a fool would run afoul of Lionel Ashton.
He said finally, “Robin has gone to Woodstock, stopping to visit Sir William of Thame on the way. You put the cat among our pigeons last even, sir, with your talk of scarabs. I have changed the identifier and Robin has gone to inform Parry and thus Elizabeth that there may be a spy in their midst.”
“There certainly is one, if not half a dozen,” Lionel said with a dismissive shrug. “But as it happens, sir, 'tis not I. You have no need to change the identifier.”
“No,” the ambassador agreed. “If you will wait but a minute I will give you a letter for Lord Robin that will explain that . . . and in addition I hope will enable him to see you in a new light.” The latter statement was accompanied by an ironically raised eyebrow.
Lionel merely inclined his head in acknowledgment and set down his glass with a chink on the table. The ambassador wrote rapidly, waxed and sealed the paper, and handed it to Lionel.
“My thanks,” Lionel said shortly, thrusting it inside his doublet. “I will take the road to Thame then. For the moment, the Spanish council believes that Pippa is under my roof, keeping company with my ward and her duenna. We have a head start.”
“I will ensure that everyone knows that and nothing else,” the ambassador said. “God go with you, Mr. Ashton.”
“I'll settle for luck,” Lionel replied. “I have little truck with any god. Too much evil is done in that name.”
Malcolm was a patient man. He held the horses' reins in the sunshine outside the silversmith's shop, watching the passersby and giving no particular thought to the time. He understood that women enjoyed shopping, and Dona Luisa had little enough opportunity for it. If it took her half an hour to choose a thimble he would not object.
Finally, however, it struck him that she was taking a very long time. He tethered the reins to the iron ring set into the wall of the shop and entered the gloomy interior.
The silversmith came in from the back with a swift and eager step at the sound of footsteps in his shop. “Ah, y'are back, m'lady, I've—” His welcoming voice died as he saw that the newcomer was not the young lady for the thimbles.
“Oh, begging your pardon. I thought you were another customer.”
“Where's the young lady who came in here a short while ago?” Malcolm looked around the empty shop, a sinking feeling in his belly as premonition loomed.
“She asked me to get out some thimbles for her to look at. Said she'd be back in five minutes.” He glanced at the watch on his belt. “That was close on half an hour ago.”
“Hell and the devil!” Malcolm muttered. Dona Luisa for some reason had given him the slip. How had he let himself be fooled by that sweetly innocent smile?
He strode to the rear door and stepped out into the alley. Two half-naked grubby toddlers were playing in a mud puddle. “You seen a lady go past here?” he asked them.
They gazed up at him in wide-eyed incomprehension. He muttered another oath and ducked back into the shop.
“She coming back then, sir?” The silversmith was rather disconsolately
examining his tray of thimbles.
“I doubt it,” Malcolm said on his way out of the front door. He retrieved the horses, mounted his own, and then leading Crema he went around the side of the shop to the alley behind.
She had been interested in Aldgate, and clearly she'd found the back way there. A woman hanging washing on a line told him that she had seen a veiled woman run by her cottage.
“In summat of an 'urry, she was,” she observed placidly, shaking out a shirt. “Thought it were strange. We don't get such folks around 'ere.”
Malcolm thanked her and pressed on towards Aldgate. With something akin to despair he examined the throng, the shrieking barrow boys and street vendors. It was a lively enough scene and would satisfy anyone's thirst for variety, but there was no sign of Dona Luisa. He tried the three taverns, although he could not imagine that such a sheltered creature would venture into their sour-smelling taprooms.
He asked a straw-sucking watchman if a young lady with a black veil had passed through the gate. The man shook his head and spat on the ground at his feet. “Nah, seen no lady 'ere. Leastwise, not on foot.”
“On horseback?”
“Nah. In a carriage.”
“How long ago?”
The watchman took another straw from behind his ear and sucked on it as he considered the question. “'Alf an hour, mebbe. Mebbe more. There was a gennelman ridin' alongside the carriage.”
“Describe him.”
The man shrugged. “Didn't take much notice. Regular kind of gennelman. Wearin' a green cloak. And he were on a black 'orse.”
A gentleman in a green cloak and riding a black horse had visited the Ashton mansion that morning. Dona Luisa had seemed more than ordinarily pleased to see the visitor. Malcolm had heard her hastily swallowed exclamation of pleasure at the sight of Robin of Beaucaire.
He could go after them himself, but he didn't know what road they had taken, and if he missed them, or if the lady was not Dona Luisa, then he would have wasted critical time. It was possible that she had been snatched out of the lanes when she'd left the silversmith's, although he didn't think that likely. The cottage of the woman who had seen her was situated at the very point where the lane opened onto Aldgate.
No. Malcolm made up his mind. Dona Luisa had gone of her own accord, so she was in no immediate danger. It was for Mr. Ashton to decide what to do. He had to avert a scandal and if Malcolm was involved in a scene on the highway a scandal would definitely result. There were maybe things Mr. Ashton knew about Lord Robin of which Malcolm was unaware. He could not afford to waste another minute.
He put his horse to the gallop, and, leading Crema, forced his way through the crowds.
Twenty
“I thnk they have been gone for far too long, Don Ashton,” Bernardina announced. “It has been well over an hour.”
“That is hardly a long ride,” Lionel said, one hand on the newel post. The duenna had arrested him on his way upstairs to gather necessary articles for his journey and he could not conceal his impatience. “You worry overmuch, madam. As long as she's with Malcolm, there's nothing to fear.”
Bernardina opened her mouth to protest just as the front door was flung open behind them. She turned with a gasp as Malcolm hurried in.
“Madre de dios!” she cried. “I knew it! Where is she? Where is my baby?”
Malcolm didn't understand the Spanish but the gist was perfectly clear. He brushed her aside, however, and addressed Lionel. “She gave me the slip,” he said without preamble. “Said she wanted to go into a silversmith's shop to buy a thimble for the duenna and went out the back way.”
“What?” Lionel stared at him in disbelief. “Luisa?”
“Yes, sir. I'm trying to tell you. She wanted to go to Aldgate for some reason, but now I think she was meeting someone there. The watchman saw a lady in a coach pass through the gate.”
“There must be dozens of ladies in coaches going through the gate!”
“Aye, sir, but the gentleman riding alongside sounded from his description like Lord Robin of Beaucaire,” Malcolm said stolidly.
Dona Bernardina had understood nothing but she knew that name. She gave a little shriek and sank down on a bench against the wall. “I knew it,” she moaned. “I knew when they came to supper that no good would come of it.”
Lionel turned to her. “What do you mean? Luisa had never met the man before. She has never met anyone outside this house.”
“I told you . . . I warned you. . . .” Bernardina was weeping now. “What will her dear mother say? I told you there was something suspicious about the way she keeps slipping out of the house when I'm asleep. I told you, Don Ashton, that there was a man.”
Lionel stood in frowning thought. Malcolm said, “I'm right sorry, sir. She didn't have anything with her . . . for a journey, like. She just seemed like her usual self. A bit lively, but then she always is when we go out.”
“I should have found some outlet for that liveliness,” Lionel said acidly. “She fooled me, Malcolm, there's no reason for you to feel guilty.”
Malcolm did not look absolved. “I didn't know whether to go after them, sir, but I didn't want to waste any time just in case.”
“No, you did the right thing to come straight to me. What a wretched little minx she is.” He sounded annoyed, but there was none of the shock and anger that Malcolm had expected.
“What is it?” Bernardina demanded. “Do you know where she is?”
“I believe I do, madam.” He tapped his palm against the shiny round knob of the newel post. He had a much more urgent matter to attend to than worrying about Luisa.
What on earth had possessed the girl? If he was right, she was with Robin and Pippa. He had to get Pippa on a boat to France, and he had to be on the boat with her. He could not leave her until she was ensconced in the safe house he had prepared. Now he would have Luisa to worry about. He could hardly send her home alone, and certainly not with Beaucaire's escort. And he couldn't be hampered by Bernardina.
“Damn the girl!” he muttered. “There's no need to fall into a swoon, madam, she has a chaperone. No harm will come of this adventure. No one need know of it and if there are questions she has simply gone on an excursion in the company of Lady Nielson and her brother.”
“She has eloped,” Bernardina said tragically. “It will be the death of her mother.”
“She has not eloped. Beaucaire is not such a fool, in fact I strongly suspect he had no idea what she was planning. Her mother will not know of it unless you tell her.” His voice was a snap. “Go to her chamber and pack up a few necessities for her. Malcolm says she has nothing with her. There must be things she will need.”
“You're going after her?”
“Of course I am, woman! I'll catch up with them before nightfall. Malcolm, you'll accompany me. Have the chestnut saddled, he'll be fresh.”
He took the stairs two at a time. Of all the ridiculous complications. Getting Pippa to safety was a matter of life and death. For her sake he had sacrificed his cover and would never be able to retrieve it. Antoine de Noailles would inform his masters of Lionel Ashton's true affiliation and Spain's network would hear of it in no time. They would hunt him down; he knew far too many of their dirty secrets.
And until he could safely send Luisa back with Malcolm, he would be encumbered with an eighteen-year-old maiden with stars in her eyes.
He opened a locked drawer in the armoire and lifted the bottom. He took the papers from the secret space and inserted them under the false bottom of a small leather traveling bag. He put two neat sacks of doubloons and the box containing the scarab seal on top of them.
He took clean linen, hose, and shirts, and laid them carefully in the bag. A money pouch went into the inside pocket of his doublet where reposed the French ambassador's letter to Beaucaire. He moved with smooth efficiency. He was in a hurry, but not a desperate one. He knew where Beaucaire's little party was going, and he could catch them up on the road to Thame easily enough. Th
e carriage would slow them up considerably. But it would keep Pippa from prying eyes.
Malcolm was waiting for him in the hall, still with an air of discomfort. “Horses are ready, sir.”
“Good. Have this strapped to my saddle.” He handed over his bag. “Ah, Dona Bernardina, is that Luisa's bag?”
“Yes, Don Ashton.” Bernardina was looking both dignified and disapproving as she handed him the embroidered tapestry bag. “But I think I should accompany you.”
“If I could take you, I would, believe me,” he said with heartfelt sincerity. “But you will not be able to keep up.”
Bernardina knew this to be true. She gave a heavy sigh. “I feel that it is my fault.”
“'Tis no one's fault but mine,” Lionel said briskly. “You'll have her back in no time.”
Bernardina crossed herself and her fingers moved restlessly over her rosary. Lionel hesitated for a second and then shook his head and strode from the house, Malcolm on his heels.
“Oh, but carriages are vile things,” Pippa said with a sigh, trying to ease her backside on the hard thinly cushioned wooden bench as the iron wheels jolted in the uneven ruts of the road. “I would much prefer to ride.”
“So would I,” Luisa agreed. She regarded her companion curiously. “Is there a reason why you do not, Lady Nielson?”
“I think we can dispense with the formalities, Luisa. I am usually called Pippa.”
“Then I will call you that too if you wish it.” Luisa smiled a little shyly. “We are very formal in Spain. 'Tis difficult to feel comfortable with your English informality.”
Pippa raised her eyebrows. “Do not tell me you are formal with Robin, Luisa.”
Luisa blushed. “No . . . not exactly. But then we have had adventures together.”
Pippa found the idea of Robin's taking an innocent maid adventuring too delicious to resist.
“I scent truth!” she said with something approaching a grin. She leaned over to roll up the strip of leather that covered the window. “'Tis too stuffy in here, we'll put up with the dust.”