That thought made her anger override her guilt. She had no interest in any forgers except Lord Endicott, and the idea of possibly allowing him to escape justice for the sake of capturing some other criminal was unthinkable. She would uncover Lord Endicott’s crimes, and send evidence to Bow Street, and they would capture him and see him tried and hanged, and that would be justice, both for herself and for England. But she would not hand over control of her talent to a committee of fiduciary-minded men who would direct her to use it as they saw fit.
“Wouldn’t that be exciting, having such important work?” Cecy said. Sophia knew she was thinking of her pursuit of Lord Endicott, and now her anger was supplanted by unhappiness, because she could guess by Cecy’s tone of voice that she thought Sophia would do better to turn her efforts in a direction that would not leave her so isolated. Cecy didn’t understand. It seemed no one did.
“I believe it is unlikely I will be asked,” she said, “but of course I would be happy to help.” She took a bite of her egg; it tasted bland, like sulfurous water. She no longer felt hungry; she felt filled with righteous anger, ready to attack the newspapers and extract the information she needed for another Dream. Now that a hoard of false notes had been discovered, she was confident she could reach for Dreams that revealed the location of others, and with enough of those, she could guess at the location of the press. Then it would become complicated. She had to find a way not only to locate the press, but to tie it to Lord Endicott.
She salted her egg and took another bite; still bland. One step at a time. First, the notes, and with luck, more of Lord Endicott’s men. She felt certain in a way she hadn’t since her expulsion from the War Office. Strange, how that event had weakened her belief in herself in ways she hadn’t realized. Well, she no longer felt weak. She was ready to take on whatever challenges might lie between herself and the accomplishment of her goal.
In which hunting is discussed
ou are in pain, Cecy,” Sophia murmured. The noise of the crowd surrounding them made it unlikely that anyone would hear, but Sophia kept her voice low regardless. Almack’s was far too public a place to have such a conversation.
“I feel very well,” Cecy said, looking everywhere but at Sophia’s face. “Do you suppose Lady Hartwell is here? I have not Spoken to her in weeks and she must feel sadly neglected.”
“Your lips are pinched and there are creases at the corners of your eyes. You are unwell. Let me take you home.”
“It’s strange, but somehow discussing literature is not the same when one does it over the reticulum,” Cecy said. “I would like her opinion on this new collection of essays by Bakewell. I believe he overstates his case for the Stuart kings’ reliance on Speakers to maintain their power. Though it is true Queen Anne had quite the reticulum of her own despite not being a Speaker.”
“Cecy—”
“Sophy, do not tease me, I am perfectly well.”
“You are not—”
“And if I am not?” Cecy finally brought her eyes to meet Sophia’s. “I refuse to be an invalid, Sophy, and if I choose to endure a little pain, that is my business.”
“A little pain will become a great pain—”
“Excuse me, Mrs. Westlake, but might I have the pleasure of the next dance?” The man addressing her was short and fair, and she recognized his face but could not for the life of her remember his name. She suppressed her annoyance at his interruption and smiled at him.
“Of course,” she said. “Cecy, I—” She turned back to her friend only to find Cecy had moved off into the crowd and was speaking with a woman whose bright red hair made a dramatic contrast to the brunettes and blondes surrounding her.
Sophia ground her teeth. Cecy had been confined to the house for eight days, and long confinement made her restless and angry at her weakness, and consequently led her to self-destructive behaviors—such as exerting herself to go out in public, despite her knowledge that it would leave her in much greater pain than if she had stayed home. Sophy was always torn between sympathy for Cecy’s situation—she knew she would likely be as resentful about her lot as her friend was—and frustration that Cecy often refused to be sensible about her limitations.
She turned back to address her partner, desperately trying to remember his name—and found herself face to face with Lord Endicott.
She was unable to stifle a gasp, and he smiled more broadly, and bowed. “I believe this is our dance,” he said.
“I—no, my lord, I am engaged to another,” she said, but he was shaking his head with amusement.
“I informed the gentleman that you had agreed to dance with me, and you would be happy to oblige him later,” he said, his smile broadening until it threatened to split his face in two. “He was very understanding.”
“You are presumptuous, my lord,” Sophia said. Her heart was beating too rapidly, furiously, and she wished she dared slap him. “I have not agreed to any such thing.”
“I apologize for my presumption, but I felt I could not wait for another dance to have your so-pleasant company,” he said, extending his arm to her. His smile was one of innocent pleasure, as if he truly cared for her. “Though of course you are free to repulse me. It’s not as if anyone is looking at us, here at the center of the room.”
Her temples throbbed. She risked a quick glance around. Of course everyone was watching them. Him, because he was beautiful; her, because of the detestable gloves that now might as well be a beacon the way the red-headed woman’s hair was. She accepted his arm. He is your prey. You will destroy him. Two dances are nothing.
The thought was enough that, when she faced him as the music began, she was able to bestow a genuine smile on him. She took further pleasure in seeing his friendly expression waver, just a little, nothing anyone but she could see. “Are you still enjoying your stay in London, Mrs. Westlake?” he said.
“I am,” she replied. “I wonder you are still here, as I am told this is the best hunting season. Or perhaps you do not hunt.”
“Not this year. I prefer the pleasures of London. And your delightful company.”
“I imagine hunting would be very exciting. Learning where your prey will be, knowing its movements, then running it to ground… is the chase more exciting than the kill, do you suppose?”
They separated in the figures of the dance, though neither looked away; it was as if they were physically linked by the music, which pushed them apart and then drew them back together, beat after measured beat. “I believe it depends on the prey,” Lord Endicott said when they were once again close enough for conversation. “Some of them are more wily than others. And the kill is not always inevitable. Sometimes the creature eludes one’s gun.”
“But I imagine it would be very hard for the prey to evade a hunter who knows its every move before it does.”
“That would be a rare hunter indeed.” Lord Endicott had stopped smiling, though his expression was still pleasant.
“How fortunate for the poor animals that it is so,” Sophia said.
“Then you have sympathy for the prey?”
“Sometimes,” Sophia said. “But some animals are dangerous, and deserve their fate at the hunter’s hand.”
“Do you feel confident you can determine what fate the prey deserves?”
Sophia shrugged. “I judge them by their actions. The ones who themselves prey on the innocent—I believe their fate should be self-evident.”
Lord Endicott nodded. “Though a hunter should be careful,” he said, “because those are the very animals most likely to turn and savage their pursuer. Many a hunter has come to a bad end at the teeth of a predator.”
“Does that mean the hunt is pointless, my lord?”
It was Lord Endicott’s turn to shrug. “That should only serve as a warning to those who hunt… dangerous game. Such animals have no pity, no fear of reprisal. Were you to engage in such a hunt, Mrs. Westlake, the animals would not treat you with gentleness simply because you are a woman.”
&n
bsp; “I understand that, my lord,” Sophia said. “Were I a hunter, I would of course take steps to protect myself. But I would not allow fear to prevent me participating in such an exhilarating and personally satisfying exercise.”
“I understand you as well,” Lord Endicott said, and this time his smile was a baring of teeth that did not touch his eyes, though again Sophia was certain no one but herself could tell the difference. Again, an unbidden shiver went through her. It was as if he were two men, one affable and well-mannered, the other devoid of compassion and human feeling. How he managed to conceal the one behind the charming smiles of the other was a mystery beyond her understanding.
They finished their dance in silence, and when the next began, Lord Endicott spoke of trivialities as if their earlier conversation had never happened. Sophia was barely aware of answering him. He knew she was pursuing him; he was not afraid of any threat she might pose. Yet.
When their dances were over, he escorted her to a spot near the far wall, chosen seemingly at random, and Sophia only had time to register that it was a relatively quiet corner when Lord Endicott said, “I hope you will remember what I said about hunting dangerous game, Mrs. Westlake. I would hate to see any harm come to you.”
“Why, my lord, you cannot imagine I will take up hunting!” Sophia said with a laugh. “No one would credit me with the strength and agility for such a sport. But I find the whole thing compelling. I assure you, if I were to engage in such an activity, you would be the first to know it.”
Lord Endicott’s smile shifted, the corners of his mouth flexing downward as if he could not control his Shaping. He bowed to her and walked away. Sophia watched him go, admiring his form, which was beautiful even though the rest of him was repulsive. Now they were at war.
She had a moment’s concern as to how he might strike at her; she was still convinced he could not afford to reveal her “mistake” without drawing attention to himself, which left him with… what? She knew so little of him personally she could not begin to guess. That might be a true mistake on her part, to strike at him without knowing in what way she should defend herself. But the first blow had been delivered, and it was too late for her to turn back now.
She glanced across the room, looking for Cecy, and instead saw the familiar figure of Mr. Rutledge approaching. He was dressed formally and properly in tailcoat and knee breeches, neither of them stylish, and his dark hair was again swept back from his face in defiance of fashion, though she had to admit the unconventional style suited him. An unexpected frisson of anticipation bubbled through her, and she suppressed it. Attractive he might be, pleasant his company might be, but he did not believe her, and how then could they be friends?
“Mr. Rutledge,” she said, “how are you this evening?”
“Very well, now that I have you to converse with,” he said amiably. “I hoped to persuade you to dance with me.”
“You dance?” she exclaimed, and immediately knew her mistake. Her face went hot with embarrassment.
“You mean, because I am rather large?” Mr. Rutledge said, but he sounded amused. “I believe I can avoid stepping on your feet, if you will give me the opportunity to prove myself.”
She took the arm he extended. “I meant—well, I must admit I did mean… what you said… but you also seem so sober-minded, I did not imagine you would engage in a somewhat frivolous activity.”
“You consider dancing frivolous?” he asked as they took their places and bowed to one another. “I believe it a serious business, myself.”
“How so?”
“It is a metaphor for life, I believe. For the ways in which men and women relate to one another. Knowing where to step in order to keep harmony, partnering with one yet encountering others—and then, of course, there is the way in which dancing allows unattached men and women to explore their interest in one another. I believe it is no coincidence that dancing so often leads to matrimony, in our society.”
“I daresay you are right.”
To her surprise, and shame, Mr. Rutledge was an excellent dancer. He was even better than Lord Endicott, whose dancing was perfectly correct but always had an element of showiness, as if he were more conscious of being admired than of his partner’s pleasure. Mr. Rutledge, on the other hand, was simply graceful, and Sophia was embarrassed all over again.
To cover her confusion, she added, “It is certainly true that agreeing to dance with someone for the space of half an hour is like a temporary engagement. You are committed to your partner for that time, and should not give your attention to anyone else.”
“I hadn’t thought of it in that way. I will have to add that to my collection of sober thoughts, so I will not disappoint you as to my character.”
Sophia flushed again. “I apologize. That was rude of me.”
“You know little more of me than my appearance and fifteen minutes’ conversation. I’m not surprised at the conclusions you drew.”
She lifted one hand and turned it so his attention was drawn to the red glove. “I am always the subject of people drawing conclusions about me simply from the sight of this. I should have known better.”
Mr. Rutledge nodded. “And now that we have each mortally offended the other, we cannot help but be friends, don’t you think?”
His smile was so wry Sophia’s mouth fell open, then she laughed. “I fail to see why that matters so much to you,” she said.
“I told you,” Mr. Rutledge said, “your reports were written in a voice that I found interesting. I wanted to meet the person behind them. And you are the only Seer I have ever met, Extraordinary or otherwise, and I admit I’m as fascinated as the next man by what Seers do. Is it too impertinent to ask how you discovered the existence of that forged banknote?”
“That is likely a conversation too long for the space of two dances,” Sophia said, “but the short answer is that I Dreamed of the note, then meditated on its owner until I found a Dream of him as well, and put the two together.” She chose not to tell him how much research she had had to do to have enough information to Dream any of that. He didn’t need to know the details of her hunt for Lord Endicott.
“Did our conversation at the Earl of Montclair’s home spark that Dream?” he said.
“…Yes, it did, to an extent,” she said. “It certainly must have started me contemplating the subject.”
“It was generous of you to share that Dream with its intended victim.”
“I find I cannot sit by and allow a crime to be committed, if I can stop it.”
“But not all Seers feel that way, is that true? They use their Dreams for personal gain?”
“Some of them do. I have no need to use my Dreams to support myself, but many Seers depend on that income to live. So I can hardly fault them, except that I have complete disdain for anyone who allows others to be hurt so she can profit by it.”
“I believe I agree. I suppose the committee of the Bank of England has approached you, asking for your help,” Mr. Rutledge said.
“They have not,” said Sophia, “though I do not feel insulted. I am certain they feel satisfied with the efforts of their own Seers.”
“A pity, given that you’ve proven your worth,” Mr. Rutledge said. “And I understand there is evidence that the banknotes they found were part of a larger supply. The Hammond Bank is teetering as the news spreads that they may not have the reserves to back up their supply of notes.”
“I believed Parliament had prohibited banks from paying out in gold.”
“Yes, but public expectation is still that banks should have that money, against the day when the war is over and the restrictions will be lifted. I have heard that the Hammond Bank received a number of forged banknotes in the last two weeks, likely more than they actually detected, but they kept the incidents concealed—foolishly, to my mind—to prevent this sort of panic. So the rest of the banknotes, the ones not discovered by your Dream, still pose a threat to the bank.”
“I wonder why the Hammond Bank was ta
rgeted,” Sophia said. “Is there something special about it?”
“Not to my knowledge, except that it is small and easily toppled by someone who has the means and desire,” said Mr. Rutledge. “If the notes were found… it makes sense that they might be near the printing press the forgers are using, and that would be quite a blow to them.”
“It would,” Sophia said. Finding the press… that would hurt Lord Endicott quite a lot, if she could tie him to it. “Do you suppose this is more than one person, then?”
“There were three men captured thanks to your evidence, though none of them knew anything more than that they had received the money and were to pay it out in small amounts. That speaks to a larger group, an organized group with a plan behind their actions. Who knows what that plan might be?”
“Indeed,” Sophia said. In her heart, she was already at home, preparing to Dream. “They might choose to target a different bank next.”
“Or go after the Bank of England directly, if they have enough success with the smaller banks. Though I shudder to imagine the implications, were they to become so bold.”
“Then I hope the Bank is well defended,” Sophia said. So many possibilities for Dream—could she convince Cecy to leave early?
“But this is hardly conversation for dancing,” Mr. Rutledge said with a smile. “I should instead ask you how you find London, after so many years spent abroad.”
Sophia’s heart froze. Surely he did not mean a back-handed taunt, a reminder that had Lord Endicott not ruined her, she would be in Lisbon still? “Very cold,” she said.
“I understand the Barhams have a lovely country home. London must have some appeal, to bring you here instead.”
Wondering Sight (The Extraordinaries Book 2) Page 8