by Gwyn Cready
“Pretty high, I guess.”
“There is something I have to tell you, and I’m sorry about it. Miss Fallon left this morning in the company of a gentleman. He was waiting for her in a carriage when La Trahison arrived in Leith. He sent a note. She joined him in the carriage, and together, they headed up the hill to Edinburgh.”
The ramparts of Edinburgh Castle rose above the morning mist, just beyond the steeple of St. Giles.
“To Edinburgh?”
“Oui.”
“’Tis a fine morning for a walk,” Duchamps said.
“Indeed, it will be.”
* * *
Duchamps stood at the railing until the forsaken lover disappeared from sight. Reaching deep in his pocket, he crushed the folded note on which a fine, feminine hand had written “Mr. Gerard Innes” and tossed it into the firth.
Thirty
Abby released the curtain. “No one is following us. Anyone with sense is still abed.”
Serafina thought of Gerard’s warm chest and his musky scent, still on her skin. She wished she’d had the sense to remain in that pleasure-filled cot.
Abby settled into the carriage bench. “You know,” she said to Serafina, “you look like a young Duke of Gloucester in those breeks. If I’m honest, it’s a bit off-putting.”
Undine said, “I’m less interested in the breeks and more interested in what happened on the ship.”
“Oh, aye!” Abby said. “Have your relations with Mr. Innes progressed to the bed stage? Has he decided to stay? He is verra handsome—and also verra taken with you. I could tell by the vast amount of irritation he exhibited.”
Undine rolled her eyes. “While Abby would take us down any number of unproductive side streets, my question actually referred to the cargo and Mr. Turnbull.”
Abby made a pained sigh. “So dull.”
“I will answer your questions,” Serafina said, “and then you must tell me why you have pried me from the ship at so early an hour. As to our adventure, Edward is involved in something nefarious. The cargo on the ship was stolen by another ship last night while we sailed the North Sea, a ship that Edward sailed in on.”
Abby jerked upright. “He’s a pirate?!”
“Just a scoundrel. He claims the men on the ship double-crossed him, that he had no knowledge the cargo was to be taken.”
Undine sniffed. “They may have double-crossed him, but that doesn’t mean he had no knowledge of the plan. He could be lying about that part.”
“He is lying,” Serafina said. “Edward canna sit still when he lies. He was worse than a bag of kittens when he told me the story.”
Undine ran a finger over her lip. “Interesting. I have heard of a ship like that on the North Sea that—”
Abby gently signaled her to stop. “Let us address the mystery later. We have a more important issue here.” She took Serafina’s hand. “What does the theft mean to you, my friend? In regard to your fortune?”
Serafina’s throat thickened. “’Tis gone.”
“All of it?”
“Except three barrels of Madeira, riding crops, and some muslin. They took everything.”
“We can fight him,” Abby said.
“Of course.”
“And ye will have the funds to live until your fortune is restored?”
“Oh, aye.” Serafina nodded reassuringly.
“Bastard.”
“Aye.”
Abby searched her friend’s face. “How was Mr. Innes in all this? Was he appropriately supportive? He is all right, is he not?”
“Oh, aye.” Serafina thought of the last time she’d seen him awake, the starry night of the porthole a canvas beyond his head, when he had been quite a bit more than all right, as had she. “He acquitted himself quite well on La Trahison. He’s no sailor, but he is a quick study and showed no lack of courage. He offered himself up to save the ship and ended up saving us all.”
“The rebels could use a dozen more like him,” Undine said. “And you, for that matter. He knows to join us at the inn?”
“Aye. I left a note,” Serafina said. “But I couldna expect him to care much about Scotland’s future. ’Tis not his fight. He lives a verra comfortable life back in—” Serafina paused and looked at Abby. Did she know Gerard’s origins?
Abby laughed. “You dinna think I can recognize a man wholly out of time and place? The way they gawk and dither? No obvious skills?”
“Did you notice the choice of the word ‘obvious’?” Undine said to Serafina. “It used to be ‘measurable.’ I guess she’s found a way to measure the less obvious ones in men who travel across time.”
Serafina’s head went back and forth between the women. “Are you saying…Duncan?”
“Och, aye.” Abby grinned.
“But he is such a…a Scot. Does he not want to return?”
“He did once, of course. He has a grand-da there who traveled too, it seems. But then the spark rose between us and there was no turning back.” Abby leaned forward conspiratorially. “From everything I’ve heard about the twenty-first century, it sounds like a horrid place, filled with noise and talking machines and women of verra questionable virtue. I am nae surprised they want to stay once they see the Arcadia we have here.”
Serafina bit her lip. Gerard had given her no indication he had any interest in staying. “I’m sure there are many things to love in their time.”
“Women of very questionable virtue likely being at the top of that list,” Undine said. “You do realize, I hope, you have complicated Mr. Innes’s return almost beyond repair. How am I to undo what you have done when you and he continue to leave irreversible events in your wake?”
Serafina hung her head. “I’m sorry, Undine.”
“Ignore her,” Abby said to Serafina. “Undine doesn’t allow for the unexpected. She needs to realize not everyone lives their life according to rules and formulas and potions. Sometimes things just happen.”
Undine sniffed. “Sometimes things just happen when one takes ten times the appropriate amount of herbs and mixes them with alcohol. But now that you’re done with him, I need the list of deeds so that the return mixture can be properly prepared.”
Done with him? How can I be done with him when I’ve just begun?
Abby leaned forward. “Was Mr. Innes’s looking like Edward one of the things that just happened? Or was that part of the plan? Edward was at the railing when I reached the gangplank. At first I said to myself, ‘Oh, it’s Mr. Innes.’ He turned and I waved, but he offered no sign of recognition. In fact, he cut me quite coldly. Then I saw his features were not so much like Mr. Innes’s as I had first believed. I asked the sailor at the bottom of the gangplank who the man was. He said, ‘Edward Turnbull, the ship’s owner,’ and I thought, Oh, Serafina, what are you about?”
“’Twas part of the plan. I needed a man who could claim the cargo as Edward. Instead, he claimed the ship, but the cargo eluded us.”
Undine smiled. “Was Edward surprised to meet this partner in your adventure?”
Abby said, “As usual, our friend is missing the far more interesting point. What was it like going to bed with a less execrable version of your fiancé?”
Serafina’s face must have betrayed her surprise because Abby added, “Oh, dear. Mr. Innes is less execrable, isn’t he?”
Serafina flushed. “No. Yes. I mean of course he’s less execrable.”
“Did you feel appropriately vengeful? ’Tis a shame the odious Edward could not have seen you riding his twin like the lead horse at Lanark Racecourse. That would certainly have given him something to think about.”
“You have a verra vivid imagination,” Serafina said.
“Duncan says that too. ’Tis one of my better qualities, I think.”
Serafina straightened the knee of her breeks. “Let us say the exper
ience was entirely different and that Mr. Innes exceeded my expectations on every count.”
Abby sighed happily and gave Undine a thoughtful look. “If you could snap your fingers and have one of your former lovers appear, transformed into a more-deserving version of himself, would you do it?”
“As most of them disappeared after a snap, I would find it verra unconstructive. The purpose of our meeting this morning is not, as Abby would have it, to dissect the bedchamber performance of sweethearts past and present—”
“Ooh, I like that.”
“—but to dig further into Edward’s motives and, in doing so, get us closer to returning Serafina’s fortune to her.”
Serafina sat up. “What does that mean?”
“It means that ever since you mentioned Edward, I’ve been doing a little investigating, and I heard something last night. First, he is in debt.”
“I knew that. His family cut him off and he’s a fool with money.”
“Second, every penny of his share of the profit from this last voyage will have to be used to pay his debt. And third, he has an investor—the man who bought the ship. Edward did not finance the voyage on this own.”
Serafina worked quickly through the logistics. “Do ye think his investor is part of the scheme to have the cargo appear to be stolen?”
“Either that or Edward is cheating him too. Either way, I think you could learn a lot by talking to him—perhaps even the location of the stolen cargo if the investor is indeed part of the plan to steal the cargo and collect the insurance. This investor wishes to operate in anonymity. He’s taken a room at the Bull and the Swan under an assumed name—Francis Weatherall. He’s there now.”
“How do ye know?”
“My contact works at the Bull and the Swan.”
“Take me there!”
“Serafina, wait. This is more dangerous than you think. The man is also involved in trying to buy the outcome of the upcoming vote on the union.”
Every Scot was sharply aware of the vote the noblemen in the Scottish Parliament were scheduled to take regarding entering into a permanent union with England. The idea, which would make some of the noblemen extremely wealthy and destroy Scotland’s independence forever, sickened her. Undine was working with her network of spies to ensure the effort failed.
“I don’t care,” Serafina said.
“Well, you should. These are dangerous times. I’d talk to the man myself, but there are things I need to do that require me to keep my distance. I think we may be able to help one another, however.”
“How?”
“If you’re willing to be careful—very careful—we can arrange for you to talk to him. And while you talk to him, I’m going to search his room.”
Serafina’s eyes widened. “But I thought you didn’t know him.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t know him. I said he wished to operate in anonymity.”
“Who is he?”
“Lord Crispin Hiscock.”
Thirty-one
For once, Serafina was grateful she was at the lowest rung of Edinburgh society. Lord Hiscock may have heard that Serafina Fallon was the poor girl Edward Turnbull ruined, but he wouldn’t recognize her. No nobleman paid attention to a ruined girl unless he was the one doing the ruining.
She was to keep Hiscock engaged for a quarter of an hour while Undine scoured his room. When the clock chimed nine, Undine would exit via the back door. At that point, Serafina would be free to extricate herself from Hiscock’s side and make her escape.
Serafina wore Abby’s beautiful, embroidered, pumpkin silk frock. She and Abby had exchanged outfits in the carriage. The rustle of the crisp fabric reminded Serafina she’d left her only gown in a tavern near the dock, expecting to leave La Trahison a self-sufficient woman. Instead, she had nothing—unless Hiscock could lead her to the stolen cargo.
“Is Hiscock here?”
Undine’s contact, one of the inn’s grooms, stood with Serafina in the establishment’s entryway. “Weatherall, remember?” he said. “He’s there in the corner of the dining room.”
Hiscock had a basket of rolls in front of him and was carving into a chop. Serafina grimaced. The man was thin as a post and cheerless as a hangman.
“Why the need for a different name?” Serafina said. “Is his business that nefarious?”
The groom laughed. “Undoubtedly. But that’s not why he uses the name here. He meets the wife of Lord Sanderson on Sunday afternoons. Are you working on the Parliament vote?”
“Oh, no.” She shook her head. “I leave that for people more expert than I, though every Scot in Scotland is grateful for your efforts.” She made a small curtsy.
“What then?” he asked, curious.
“I am here concerning some cargo.”
He frowned. “Cargo? From a ship?”
“Aye. And an investor by the name of Edward Turnbull.”
“I havena heard of Hiscock being involved in such dealings. Where did you hear it?”
The clock struck once for a quarter to nine. The agreed start time.
“Just a friend,” she said quickly. “Thank you. I must begin.” She made her way to the empty table beside Hiscock and called for a plate of eggs.
“Have you seen my husband, Comte de Beaubois?” she asked the maid who delivered the eggs. “He was supposed to take me to the castle today.”
The maid disclaimed any knowledge of the comte, and Serafina let out a long, annoyed sigh. “If he has gone for another of his interminable meetings, I shall never forgive him. Am I never to have any pleasure?” According to the groom, Hiscock liked to prey on lusty, bored wives. Serafina had never been a wife, and she’d rarely been bored, but she’d seen enough lusty, bored wives to play one in this little drama. She ran a finger through one of the yolks and sucked it clean.
Aye, that was lusty.
It was tasty too, and she reached for her fork and speared a large piece.
“Pardon me?”
A shadow fell over the plate. His lordship had arrived. Serafina swallowed. Before she could respond, he continued.
“You’ll forgive me, I hope. I couldn’t help but hear that you’d like to visit the castle. I’d be happy to escort you there. ’Tis only open to the army, but as a close friend of Colonel Bridgewater, I’m sure I can give you a tour of the inside too, if you’d like. I’m Lord Hiscock. If your husband has spent much time in Scotland, he is likely to have heard of me.”
“Ah, I believe he has mentioned you once or twice. I’m the Comtesse de Beaubois, by the way.”
“A Scotswoman bearing a French title? How enchanting.”
She bowed. “You are quite a hand at investments, are ye not?”
Hiscock gave her a satisfied smile. “I like to think of myself as rather skilled, aye.”
“Something to do with shipments?” she asked. “Or am I thinking of a different nobleman?”
“No, no. ’Tis me. ’Tis an honor to meet you, Comtesse.” He gave her a courtly bow. Serafina had fuller breasts than Abby, and more of her bosom rose above the neckline in the gown, a fact clearly not lost on his lordship.
“Oh, how kind.” She offered her hand and Hiscock kissed it. “I am verra eager to hear about your strategies,” she said. “I have a bit of money to invest myself. Perhaps you could tell me more as we walk?”
“I must change my clothes before we go,” he said. “There’s a dinner for the officers at the home of Lady Blackmoor later. Do you know her? I am vastly unskilled at choosing the right outfits for these sorts of occasions. The fashion changes too quickly for a man like me. You would save me a great amount of embarrassment if you would aid me in choosing the appropriate coat. I keep a room here, for when I have business in the city.”
How effortlessly he navigates the situation! A right old Magellan of seduction. Well, he better hope for
his sake that he doesn’t end up like Magellan, with a spear through his heart.
Serafina leaned closer. “My dear Lord Hiscock, you know verra well a lady canna enter a gentleman’s room.”
“Well, she can enter the room as a lady,” he said, signaling an upcoming jest with a large wink, “though how she exits is up to her.”
Serafina tittered—that was the only word for it. She whispered confidentially, “It seems to me the job of entering a lady should fall to a gentleman, shouldn’t it?”
Laughing heartily, Hiscock picked up his coffee and took up residence at a chair at Serafina’s table, gazing at her like a hungry viper.
“Will your husband be returning soon?” He waved to catch the innkeeper’s attention and pointed to his cup. “He could accompany us to my room if that would make the visit more acceptable. Perhaps he’d enjoy helping us choose?”
Good God! Was he hinting at a partouze à trois? “No. Not for hours.”
“A shame.” Hiscock moved out of the way as the steaming coffee was poured, and his leg touched hers.
“It is a shame,” she said. “For while he has few skills in choosing, he does sometimes like to watch me choose for other men.”
His lordship’s eyes turned as bright as moonstones. Serafina suspected if she let out a strong puff right now, he might topple into the hearth.
“Does he?” the man said.
“Oh, aye. I, on the other hand, prefer to do the choosing on my own.”
“Comtesse, you intrigue me. If I wasn’t certain I was in need of your services before, I am entirely confident now.”
Serafina had been a skilled knot maker in her youth, and in her head, she began to make a monkey’s fist, one of her favorites. She looked at the clock. Five more minutes.
“Tell me, Lord Hiscock, what frock coats are you considering?”
“There is a blue one. ’Tis fine but rather plain. Not at all like the blue of your eyes, for example.”
“You flatter me.”
Wrap the rope three times around your fingers; thread the rope through the middle.