Tainted Angel

by Anne Cleeland

  “No,” she assured him. “I am certain.”

  “Only have a care, Bela,” he advised in a mild tone as he absently poked at the fluttering pigeons. “I believe you are smitten.”

  She leaned her head back against the rough boards behind her. “I am indeed smitten, and if this doesn’t work out, you have permission to shoot me.”

  He made no comment but chuckled, looking out over the roofs of the adjacent warehouses; the loft was located in a dilapidated building that ostensibly housed goods in transit for the East India Company. The owner of record, however, did not exist. Instead the edifice served as a staging area for heavy, unmarked merchandise smuggled in under the floorboards of cargo wagons until it disappeared, little by little, into the London night. That, and as a pigeon cote for homing pigeons who seemed to spend the bulk of their time eating and preening, until they were required to fly with messages written on bank notes strapped to their legs.

  “You will soon hear reports of my untimely death.” Lina shifted from one hip to the other—she was already sore from the unaccustomed horse ride. “At least, I imagine they will want to tell you.”

  With some surprise, Brodie turned to her, his brows lifted. “Indeed? How is this?”

  “I drowned off the coast of Sussex; it is part of Mr. Carstairs’s plan to clear me of a taint.” She decided not to mention that it was she who had flung herself into the vasty deep—no point in provoking a lecture.

  Clasping his hands behind his back, Brodie rocked back on his heels and considered this. “To what end? I fail to see his intent—you are as recognizable as the Prince Regent, after all, and your compatriots will certainly take notice if you reappear at some later date.”

  “I am not certain,” she admitted, “but I believe he is going to set up a trap for you while I am sidelined and thereby make it evident I am not involved in any of your dark doings.”

  Brodie’s expression cleared and he nodded, thinking it over. “Rudimentary—but often the simplest plans are the best; there are not as many variables.”

  She cautioned him, “You must have a care, Benny; they know of the pigeons—of the communications with Rochon—and suspect the worst. They may feel they have no choice but to move in.”

  “I am not surprised,” he replied absently. “They are not fools.” He continued to review the skyline.

  He was clearly preoccupied and a bit suspicious; she prodded, “What is afoot, my friend? Or am I not to be told the details just yet, being as I am smitten?”

  Brodie stirred himself to walk over to the pigeons and lay a hand on the cote, watching them for a moment. “He should be rewarded for his loyalty, our Mr. Carstairs.”

  “Benny,” she protested in mock alarm, “don’t get him killed, I beg of you.”

  “He jeopardizes his livelihood to keep you safe,” Brodie continued, warming to his subject. “He risks much on your behalf.”

  “No question that he is smitten,” she admitted with all modesty.

  Raising his gaze to meet hers, he declared, “He must have a hand in our little denouement—it is only fitting.”

  Narrowing her eyes, she watched him, not liking the look in his eye. “And here I believed I was to have a hand in our little denouement.”

  “Of course, Bela—you must be present and flying full colors so that our little rabbit does not suspect a trap.” He said it in the tone of one having to explain to a child.

  Lina knit her brow. “Then how can you have Mr. Carstairs present also? We cannot allow the rabbit to suspect my people are in any way involved; and on the other hand we cannot allow Mr. Carstairs to suspect we are working with the rabbit.”

  “I shall contrive.” Brodie rested his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets and contemplated the skyline again. “I am the puppet master.”

  “I had forgotten,” Lina responded in a dry tone. “Your pardon.” She shifted on her stool again and decided to stand—Deus, it had been a long ride.

  “You mock me.” Brodie turned to give her a baleful look.

  “Only because I have not half your wit,” she soothed. “But think on it, Benny—you cannot bring Mr. Carstairs in on the Argo plan for fear he will seize the chance to double-cross you—and thus clear me.”

  “No, no; I do not dare bring him in—he is far too by-the-book.”

  Except when he is making rather savage love on the beach, thought Lina, but did not express this thought aloud.

  Pacing beside the cote, Brodie mused, “It is a shame you are dead; you could plant a feint.”

  “What sort of feint?” asked Lina, intrigued. “A false lead?”

  “Perhaps.” He paused in his movements. “You cannot plant a feint with Mr. Carstairs—it would be too obvious. And we cannot use Mr. Grant, which is a shame as he is at the bank— which would be an excellent place to plant a false lead.”

  As he didn’t explain himself, Lina decided to bite. “Why not Grant—aside from the fact he despises me and wouldn’t believe a word I said?”

  Brodie tilted his head toward her, a gleam in his eye. “His interests are not—shall we say—aligned with England’s.”

  Utterly astonished, Lina stared at him. “Grant is tainted?”

  “Tainted,” he confirmed, enjoying her surprise. “Come, Bela—you should trust your instinct; it is rarely wrong.”

  Struck with a thought, Lina asked, “Do my people know this?”

  “Undoubtedly.” Brodie continued his pacing.

  Her brow furrowed, Lina thought this over. “Then they must be planting their own false leads with Grant to pass on to Rochon.”

  “Indeed.” He sighed hugely. “It makes my job all the more complicated—having to keep track of so many variables.”

  Thinking about his idea, Lina offered, “There is always Jenny Dokes—she pretended to warn me of the trap with Mr. Carstairs but I am certain she was working under orders to encourage me to flee, and thereby expose my treachery. I could pretend to believe her sincere, and reveal myself to her, asking for aid.”

  His brow lightening, Brodie turned to her and rubbed his hands. “The very thing—and it would serve her right for playing such a trick on you.”

  “I do not hold it against her,” Lina protested. “She only follows orders—she knows I would understand. But she is very shrewd, Benny—you must tread warily.”

  But Brodie was not concerned with Jenny Dokes, and instead said to her very seriously, “Our rabbit is also very shrewd, Bela—you must be very careful to give him no hint of a grudge.”

  “Heavens, no; I shall make it clear that bygones are bygones—and at least I know for certain that I shall not be called upon to kiss him.” She flashed Brodie a laughing smile and he chuckled in appreciation.

  “Where do you stay?”

  Making a wry mouth, she confessed, “Somewhere in Kensington—Mr. Carstairs was a little vague, probably because he fears I will tell you.”

  “Good man,” Brodie declared again. “He shouldn’t trust you an inch.” He clucked his tongue. “Well, then, we shall make a preliminary plan now, and communicate only if a situation arises that would disrupt the main elements of the plan.”

  Lina reminded him, “It would not provoke comment if Maisie came to visit you—on account of my sad demise.”

  “Too risky,” Brodie pronounced. “The Argo is too close to launch to run any risk.”

  “At long last. Do you think it will turn the trick?”

  “Bela,” he chided, turning to meet her gaze. “You disappoint me.”

  With a wary eye to him, she ventured, “I only wonder if we should have a contingency plan—as they do in the Army—in the event it does not go well.”

  He rested his benign gaze upon her. “The contingency plan will not include leaping from a rowboat into the sea or stealing a horse at Tunbridge Wells.”

  Twigged, thought Lina as she lapsed into silence. One can’t put anything past Brodie.

  Chapter 37

  Swanson,” said Jenny Dokes, her
plain face lighting up with a smile that reflected equal parts pleasure and surprise. “Did I miss your note?”

  Lina was seated in the other woman’s sitting room where she had been patiently waiting for nearly an hour after having slipped in the servant’s door. After stoking up the fire, she had spread out Maisie’s cloak before it to dry. Her hair, on the other hand, was hopeless; there was nothing to be done between the rain and Carstairs’s hat. After combing it out with her fingers as best she could, she settled in to wait, her cold feet thawing out on the hearth as steam rose from her half boots. Naturally she had first taken a quick search of the place and just as naturally, Dokes had left nothing of interest where a searcher could find it. The rooms were sparse and almost shabby, and Lina reflected on the general unfairness that deprived a talented woman like Jenny from having the opportunity to work for a bank or a counting house as would a man.

  “No note, Dokes—I’m afraid I am out of coverage.”

  “I see.” The other woman was unfazed by this revelation as she removed her pelisse and hat to hang them on the rack next to the door. “May I offer tea or are you in flight?”

  Smiling, Lina replied with a gleam, “I would very much enjoy a cup of tea and I am more properly dead.”

  Dokes arched her brows as she fetched the kettle to the hearth. “Heavens; who killed you?”

  Lina folded her hands and shot her a look. “No such thing—I killed myself. I drowned trying to escape.”

  “How shocking,” the other replied, taking the tea things from the cupboard.

  Lina wasn’t fooled; Dokes was unshockable. In a light tone Lina asked, “You hadn’t heard? I thought perhaps your ciphered note was an attempt to warn me. There was an elaborate trap and seizure in play, with my humble self as the target.”

  The other shook her head as she set the tray down on the table between them. “No—I know nothing of it—and the church hasn’t had a meeting in more than a week. The silence is rather strange; I had the impression events were pressing.” She gave Lina a dry smile as she dipped the tea strainer into the hot water. “You, on the other hand, have apparently been busy.”

  “You don’t know the half,” Lina admitted. “I won’t cause you any trouble, then, Dokes. I wanted to ask you in private about your note, but I understand if you simply wish me gone.”

  But the other woman shook her head and smiled. “Of course I do not—you are the only sensible female of my acquaintance.” As she poured out the tea she added, “Pray tell me how I may help.”

  Lina released her breath in relief. “Perhaps you would be so kind as to not mention you have seen me resurrected, so to speak. Arrangements must be made and I’d rather not be seized again.”

  “Willingly. And I suppose that this turn of events renders my own news moot.”

  Lina leaned forward as though curious, even though she had a very good idea of the nature of the disclosure. “What was your news?”

  Dokes placed her cup carefully on its saucer, which was chipped at the edge, and gathered her thoughts for a moment. “First, I ask that you understand that men along the lines of a Carstairs are not slated for such as I—I must make do with lesser beings.”

  This was unexpected; carefully hiding her incredulity, Lina managed a delighted smile. “Are you to be wed, Dokes? My best wishes.”

  Her companion made a wry mouth. “Heavens, no. Recall that I was under orders to meet with Henry Grant at the bank; we reviewed the loan records after the bank was closed, when there was no one about.”

  Lina nodded in what she hoped was an encouraging manner, all the while thinking that she could not like where this was leading.

  “I have been meeting him at his residence ever since.” Although she said it calmly, Lina noted the other’s cheeks were tinged with pink.

  Suppressing her distaste, Lina instead rendered a sympathetic smile and leaned forward to touch the other’s hand. “We take our pleasures where we may—I completely understand.”

  The other woman gave her a measuring glance. “No, I don’t think you could. You have high standards and no weaknesses—I wish I could say the same. But it wasn’t merely for pleasure, I assure you.”

  Ah—now they were coming to it and Lina feigned puzzlement. “What do you mean, Dokes?”

  Dokes met her eyes with her own steady gaze. “I had a feeling—he made me uneasy.”

  Lina nodded. She knew those feelings well—they were the reason women who held this type of job survived. “So you inveigled him.”

  “Think of it—for once I could take the role of an angel.” Dokes drew the corner of her mouth down at the absurdity. “It was a simple thing—he is not well-versed in deception.” A tinge of contempt crept into her tone; those such as they had little patience for others less devious. She added, “He likes to boast.”

  “Men,” Lina pronounced dryly, and both women paused to contemplate the foolishness of the sterner sex.

  “He spoke very freely of you, and said it was a shame you would be hung, although he seemed to take great pleasure in thinking on it.”

  “They think me tainted,” Lina conceded modestly. “Hence the trap and seizure.”

  Dokes shot her a look. “I think it is he who is tainted.”

  Lina stared, feigning incredulity. “Truly? Grant at the Bank of England?

  The other woman nodded. “I think he is working hand in glove with Rochon.” The woman observed Lina thoughtfully, as though the subject matter was quite ordinary. “I have the impression he is afraid of you—afraid you will grass on him to the others.”

  Lifting her delicate brows in surprise, Lina asked, “As I am acquainted with Rochon myself?”

  “Or so he believes.” Dokes watched Lina’s reaction from beneath her lashes as she sipped her tea.

  Lina laughed lightly but was not fooled—she had noted that Dokes had not inquired as to her allegiance and was giving every indication she would stand Lina’s friend regardless of that presumed allegiance. In turn, Lina gave every indication that she accepted the other woman’s loyalty without question even though such was not the case and indeed, both were well aware that the other knew it was all a false front. One could not hold it against Dokes, of course—she had her orders and she probably had orders to seduce Henry Grant, too, poor thing.

  Lina sat back, her brow knit. “Well, this information about Grant is a wrinkle—have you reported?”

  “Yes. They were unsurprised.”

  Lina thought it over, a tapered finger tracing the rim of the teacup. “I see; so if the church hierarchy already knows of Grant’s misdeeds, perhaps he was chosen purposefully, to lay a false trail for Rochon.”

  “One would think,” the other agreed. “It would explain why he has such responsibility.” In a tone of mild contempt she pronounced, “He is no financier.”

  “What is your assignment?”

  Dokes gave a dry smile. “I am to continue laying my own false trail.”

  Lina chuckled in acknowledgment at the double entendre. “And why did you send me my warning note?” She watched with interest to see what the other would say—she could not very well admit she was applying additional pressure so that Lina would attempt to escape with Gaston.

  Her gaze sincere, Dokes replied, “I felt I should let you know what Grant was saying about you—and presumably saying to the hierarchy; although it appears the issue is now moot.”

  Lina agreed in an easy manner. “Yes, you are too late—I have already been seized but unfortunately I drowned in the process.”

  “I see.” Thinking it over, the other woman continued, “And instead of disappearing into France, you are here taking tea with me.”

  Lina smiled. “As you see.” She then sipped her tea in the small silence that ensued.

  As they had arrived at a wary impasse, Dokes apparently decided to fire a round. “The Treasury has no clue about the latest shipment of gold that went missing.”

  “Yes; I am aware,” Lina acknowledged the apparent chang
e of topic in a neutral tone. We are well-matched, she thought. We are each probing but neither one of us can gain an advantage.

  “Napoleon has sustained a similar loss.” Dokes’s shrewd gaze examined her over her teacup. “An extraordinary coincidence.”

  Lina felt a jolt of dismay and revised her last assessment. She is rather like Brodie, Lina thought—always one step ahead.

  Her companion continued, “Grant seems to think Rochon is planning to have Brodie call in his bonds while England’s gold is missing—it would cause an economic panic.” She paused and delicately sipped her tea. “It seems far-fetched, to assume that Rochon could control Brodie.”

  “Yes,” Lina agreed in a steady voice. “It is unimaginable that Brodie would allow such a thing.”

  Absently, Dokes stared into the fire. “Of course, no matter how bad it looks for England, it is much worse for France—with its current financial situation, France cannot afford to lose any of its gold.” She paused, thinking about it. “Napoleon must be livid; no one will lend him enough money to mount another war—not without gold to back it up.”

  Lina deemed it prudent to make no reply and stirred her tea with a desultory movement. The two women sat together in silence for a few moments.

  “Where do you go now?” asked Dokes. “Would you like to stay here?”

  Lina demurred smoothly, “I must try to resolve my predicament, but I will not impose upon your kindness, my friend. If it is possible, I will keep you posted.”

  “You will stay in town?” Her gaze was guileless.

  “Of course,” Lina agreed, knowing Dokes would immediately conclude no such thing was planned.

  “You will be careful?”

  Lina was touched; as far as she could tell, these words, at least, were sincere. “I will.” She rose and set down her cup. “Thank you, Dokes—I must be off.”

  “My pleasure, Swanson.” Dokes did not rise as Lina gathered up her cloak and made an unhurried exit, holding out hope that the other woman would not pull a pistol on her but closing her hand around her own, just in case.