“Shall we bait our rabbit?” Lina asked in a desultory fashion as though she hadn’t a care in the world.
“By all means—I imagine he is in a fever of impatience to be away from here—there is a Dutchman in town he is seeking to avoid.”
As they walked in a leisurely manner toward the stern, Lina squeezed his arm and offered, “I shall miss you, Benny—my hand on my heart.”
“A baronetess!” he exclaimed, and laughed again.
Chapter 43
Brodie asked in a genial tone, “You are acquainted with the Condesa, I believe?”
The gentleman in the black domino turned to regard Lina, his dark eyes glittering through his mask as he bowed. “Condesa; it has been far too long.” He took her hand and bowed over it, the expression in his eyes cold as a reptile’s.
As she bowed her head gracefully in return, a pleasant smile played around Lina’s lips. “Senor; I recall our time together with great fondness.”
Amused by her temerity, Rochon condescended to offer a thin smile in return. “I understand your aid has been instrumental in accomplishing our objective this night.” He stood against the gunwale near the stern, the mask obscuring his face and the light from the torches casting an uncertain light—he was not a man who invited attention. The memory of his face was branded in her mind, however—he had impassively watched his henchman apply a strap to sharpen his flaying tool as Lina sat bound to a chair before them, refusing to give information. I don’t know how long I would have held out, she thought; Brodie’s arrival was a timely one, agradeca Deus.
Hoping that Carstairs was not listening, she bowed her head in acknowledgment. “De nada; it was little enough.”
The dark eyes hardened. “However, I also understand a concern has been raised—the genuineness of the bonds is in doubt.” As he turned to face Brodie, the domino billowed out as it was caught by the breeze. The French spymaster’s tone was mild and his stance was unthreatening; nevertheless the overall effect was very menacing indeed.
Brodie paused, as though surprised that Rochon would know of this rumor, then crossed his arms across his chest and chose his words with care, bowing his head in acknowledgment. “I have heard the claim that the bonds do not bear the appropriate watermark—it may mean nothing.”
Rochon was not one who displayed any emotion, but Lina was nevertheless aware that he was most unhappy with this bit of information. The spymaster leaned forward and ventured in a dulcet tone, “The British have duped you, perhaps, and saw to it you were sold false bonds instead of genuine ones.”
Brodie was seen to bristle, drawing himself up and giving the impression that he barely kept his temper in check. “They would not dare—not me, by God; why, I could ruin them in a day, and I am not such a fool that I don’t recognize a counterfeit when I see it.”
As though alarmed by this outburst, Lina stroked Brodie’s arm to soothe him, all the while thinking he would have been a fine actor had he not decided to make a fortune with gambling kens.
However well done, Brodie’s protestations did little to move Rochon, and his measured words were cold. “I cannot take the chance; the last thing I need is to have suspicions raised when the bonds are cashed in. If they have indeed been faked by the British, they are no doubt setting up a trap to arrest anyone attempting to cash them in for passing false documents.”
Red of face and unwilling to concede the point, Brodie blustered, “Then the bonds need not be redeemed at the bank—instead they can be sold to the unknowing. If I could be fooled, certainly others can be fooled into buying them.”
“The point,” Rochon reminded him coldly, “is to create an unsustainable run at the bank, with no gold to back up the bonds. It does me no good to sell them quietly to third parties.”
As this was irrefutably true, Brodie instead retreated to his original argument, and appeared to bring himself under control with a visible effort. “You are overcautious; I cannot imagine the British would purposefully sell me forgeries—it is only a rumor put forth to plague me.”
Rochon held up a gloved hand. “There is no point to this discussion until I make an examination of the bonds, and that will have to wait until the guests have disembarked.”
As though he was annoyed and on the defensive, Brodie muttered, “At least the gold is genuine—that much is certain.”
“And very much needed,” Rochon replied in a grim tone. “I have been forced to assign additional men to investigate our latest theft and I can ill afford the lack of personnel—or the loss of the product. We will conclude our transaction with all speed, if you please—I cannot linger.” He turned to bow over Lina’s hand again, glancing up at her sidelong. “You understand.”
“But, of course,” she said pleasantly, all the while imagining driving her blade between his eyes. Diabo, she thought—he seeks to discomfit me but we shall see who is discomfited before this fine evening is over.
Recognizing the danger signs, Brodie steered her away. The breeze picked up as they strolled down the deck toward the quartet, the strains of a waltz floating out over the water. They were silent for a few moments as they walked, Lina’s silk skirts swishing on the deck and Brodie’s head bent intimately close to hers to discourage others from approaching. Behind her mask Lina was contemplating this latest encounter with the man who had captured her last fall and then had planned to kill her, and not kindly.
Brodie remarked, “To think that I was taken in by counterfeit bonds.”
Lina was not fooled by his solemn tone and knew he was trying to tease her out of her temper. “You are a rascal, Benny. It is a shame he is never to know you have duped him—perhaps it would break through his famed sangfroid and he would have a frothing apoplexy.” She imagined the event with great satisfaction.
“Cannot be allowed, Bela,” he advised her without regret. “It is enough that you and I know the truth.”
She squeezed his arm. “I thank you—I had little hope when he captured me last fall; you are a master negotiator.”
“A life worth saving.” He patted her hand.
She lifted her face to the starry sky, thinking how wonderful it was to be alive. “You are fortunate Gerard the counterfeiter has no loyalty to anyone.”
“Except the god of money,” Brodie corrected her. “And I am the next best thing.”
Lina nodded, thinking of the Romany man who counterfeited French and English currency to assist Napoleon in his current economic troubles. She had made Gerard’s acquaintance when she was imprisoned, and Brodie had later persuaded him to take a princely sum to serve him—even as the counterfeiter continued to serve Napoleon. “And your money was well spent; not only did Gerard create a counterfeit bond for us, he also advised me that Gaston had turned coat and was now working for the British.”
Brodie glanced at her, curious. “How did he know about Gaston?”
Lina smiled. “They are brothers, Gerard and Gaston—Romanies from Brittany.”
Brodie laughed aloud again; to all appearances it seemed as though he was truly enjoying himself this evening. “Oh-ho—I can only imagine the table conversation Christmas next.”
Their progress was halted at the bow end of the barge where they leaned against the wood-carved lotus blossoms that decorated the railing, Lina waving her fan in a desultory manner. “Speaking of which, I discovered who was tainted—who betrayed me so that I was captured by Rochon last fall.”
He met her eyes, his brows raised in inquiry.
Lina made a wry face. “Marie Carstairs, of all people—Mr. Carstairs’s dead wife. She was bribed to hand over his list of the operatives on the Continent.”
Brodie mulled this over, his chin tucked into his chest. “I see; it is all rather symmetrical, in a strange way.”
“Yes, it is.” Best not to mention that said treasonous wife had died at Carstairs’s hand. Poor man—he could not be faulted for believing that he would have to repeat the experience with his wayward second wife after this little episode. Wh
en this is over I shall be a pattern-card of respectability, she vowed—barring those times when I will run some sort of rig just to keep him on his toes—I cannot allow him to become bored with me, after all.
“Ah, we are under way.” Brodie observed the movement with satisfaction as they walked to the railing to watch as the barge began to drift away from the Westminster Pier, the oarsmen plying their oars and the sails lifted to catch the evening breeze. Breathing in the sea air, Lina scanned the figures but wasn’t certain which was Carstairs and decided she shouldn’t openly search him out—she had little doubt he would remain close by. Instead she stood at the rail with Brodie as the vessel began its slow progress down the Thames to the Pleasure Gardens. The barges could be hired by the well-to-do to transport a party of merry-goers to the Vauxhall stairs and back again after the festivities, which in this case was a masquerade ball at the famous Pavilion. It was the perfect opportunity to make the transfer of the gold; Brodie had indicated he wished a public place to ensure his own safety but the masked nature of the festivities allowed Rochon to participate unnoticed.
“Will you meet my friends, Bela?” Brodie indicated his group of gentlemen who stood at a distance and did not bother to conceal their extreme interest in her identity, one of them raising a glass to her.
Lina bestowed a sultry smile in their direction but said to him, “Allow me to stand here alone for a moment—perhaps Mr. Carstairs will seek a private word.” Her erstwhile husband was probably in a fever wondering when they would find a chance to continue their conversation, now that she had made the revelation about her father. I hope he does not have second thoughts, she thought—Yorkshire no longer has any appeal and neither Maisie nor I could truly run a bakery.
Brodie bowed and departed; Lina idly watched him take a proffered drink and engage in hearty conversation with the group, none of whom she recognized.
Adjusting her mask, Lina figured they would arrive at the Pleasure Gardens shortly. The black lace that edged the mask made her nose itch and she was trying to scratch it unobtrusively when she was interrupted.
“May I offer you champagne?” The tall, grey-eyed gentleman wore a voluminous silk domino and a suit of clothes that identified him as a Pink of the Ton, the swallow-tailed coat molded to his torso and nipped in tight with a wasp waist; his neckcloth impossibly high and intricately arranged. He proffered a glass with a well-manicured hand, which she accepted with a slow smile, her heart beating in her throat at this unexpected and unwelcome turn of events. “Gracias.”
The drawl disappeared and his tone was intent. “If I wanted the truth from you, what would I have you swear by?”
She considered. “The soul of my mother, who died defending the wall at Guarda.”
The grey eyes behind the mask regarded her for a moment, the serious expression at odds with his frivolous appearance. Ah, she thought—here is something he didn’t know.
“Then on the soul of your mother, tell me you are not bringing about the ruination of England.”
Leaning in toward him, she wielded her fan to show her eyes to advantage. “I do so swear.”
He bent his head as though embarked on an intimate flirtation. “I thought it very clumsy of Brodie—and you—to reveal to Carstairs and Dokes such an obviously false lead, but then I decided the clumsiness of the false lead was actually a stroke of genius.”
She smiled up into his eyes, thinking with some dismay that Brodie had met his match. “And I imagine we are now surrounded by law enforcement.”
He bent his head and ran a finger along her forearm. “Indeed. But tell me; what should my role be, here?”
Relieved, she noted that it seemed he was willing to take a wait-and-see attitude rather than disrupt Brodie’s carefully laid plans outright. She tapped his wandering hand in a playful fashion with her fan. “Nothing is what it seems—can you wait until Rochon is in the lifeboat before you move in? It is oh—so very important.”
Studying her while his fingers caressed her bare arm above her glove, he countered, “I must be allowed to take him in, though.”
“You may with my blessing,” she assured him. “Thank you.”
Leaning in, he whispered into her ear, “You will be the death of me.”
She turned her head to gently kiss his mouth and could sense his loss of composure. “Not at all—instead I am going to bestow upon you a fortune in gold.”
Chapter 44
And to what purpose, exactly, was that display?”
“He fancies me,” Lina replied with some complacency, straightening the seams on her black gloves.
“Everyone fancies you,” Carstairs observed in a dry tone. “But not everyone kisses you.” He had materialized at her side within seconds after the spymaster had sauntered off and Lina was well-pleased by this show of jealousy.
“More like I kissed him,” Lina confessed. “I needed to distract him—he is too shrewd by half.”
“No more distractions, Lina,” he warned as he made a show of adjusting a cleated rope. “I can’t very well call him out.”
“We are not yet wed,” she teased him. “Perhaps you are well rid of me.”
“We will wed tomorrow,” he insisted, “if we survive this night.”
“The day after,” she compromised.
Pleased, he shot her a look as he retightened the stay he had already tightened twice. “Do you mean it?”
“My hand on my heart, querido.”
He turned his head away to hide a smile that he could not suppress. “Tell me about Brodie.”
Lina leaned on her arms against the railing and watched the lights of the City of London recede. “He reappeared into my life—a heroic figure, after all—when I was captured by Rochon in the fall. Don’t ask me how he knew—he must have been keeping track of me over the years. Indeed, it has occurred to me more than once that perhaps my meeting Maisie was not so very accidental, truth be told. He negotiated for my life—the scheme to ruin England’s monetary system in return for my release. Brodie has no loyalty to England and convinced Rochon that he would speculate on England’s financial collapse and make his own fortune in the process. Rochon was so dazzled by the prospect that he believed him, and set me free to do his bidding.”
“But it’s a rig, I hope.”
“Yes, it is a rig—an elaborate one.” Lina took a glance around to ensure their spymaster was not lingering nearby. “But there are parts of it that cannot withstand the light of day and hence my hands are tied. I can’t betray Brodie—not after what he has done for me. Suffice it to say that Rochon will not acquire the gold but he must be made to believe that Brodie and I are not at fault for its loss—otherwise, he will have gained a terrible enemy and my life will be forfeit.”
Carstairs nodded and straightened upright, having already spent too much time speaking with a guest. “You will stay out of harm’s way, Lina.”
She turned to watch the barge’s approach to the Vauxhall stairs. “Is that an order, sailor?”
But his mood remained serious. “This is not only about you anymore—and my wishes should be just as important as Brodie’s.”
“A thousand times more,” she assured him. “But only Brodie can pull the wool over Rochon’s eyes—and destroy Napoleon in the process.”
“Holy God,” he said softly, watching her in surprise. “Is that what is afoot?”
“You have only to watch events unfold.” She touched his hand briefly. “And try not to interfere—no matter how it appears.”
“No more kissing,” he cautioned her.
“I can see,” she said thoughtfully, “that marriage is going to require more compromises than I had originally anticipated.”
“Diabla,” he remarked, and walked away.
Lina watched him go and then casually crossed the deck to rejoin Brodie and his group. Deus, she thought crossly; this event is not going forward as planned and I must make Benny aware—a pox on all clever men who live only to outwit one another.
Brodie was drinking champagne with the others and watching as the barge came to a rest at the docking area. She was introduced to his friends, and parried some teasing proposals and good-natured flirtations for a few moments until she had a chance to murmur to Brodie in Portuguese, “My compatriots did not follow the false lead—or I suppose more properly, they did—and they are here in abundance.”
Rocking back on his heels, he digested this unwelcome piece of news while one of the other men attempted to engage her in Spanish conversation. He was fairly fluent, and she laughed and spoke with him at some length so as to allow Brodie time to reassess his plan. She had invented a wild tale of hidden treasure at a Spanish palacio before Brodie rejoined the conversation and said, apropos of nothing, “We must obtain the main object, Bela—everything else is superfluous.”
“Si, senor,” she teased with a roguish smile, and noted with interest that his companions did not seem to find the disjointed conversation unusual. Brodie had the right of it—the main object was to have the rabbit believe he had lost his fortune through no fault of theirs—and as long as this aim was accomplished, nothing else mattered even if Carstairs was not to be the one to make the arrest. She hoped the grey-eyed man would wait, as she had requested; otherwise, their own double-cross could be exposed and one did not double-cross Rochon and survive.
The revelers began to disembark up the stairs to Vauxhall, some already showing the effects of the free-flowing champagne. The group of men who came with Brodie, however, stayed behind and entered into a lively debate about the greenest odds-maker at Newmarket and how best to fleece him. Lina was therefore given to understand the men were not cronies at all, but instead hired bravos here to protect them—Brodie would leave nothing to chance.
Almost imperceptibly, the barge began to move out toward the river again. Lina wondered if her spymaster was still close to hand—he was not in evidence, and it made her uneasy that she did not know where he was or what he did. There was nothing for it though; it was time to set events in motion. “We head out to sea,” she commented to Brodie when there was a break in the conversation.
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