Agent of the Crown

by Melissa McShane

  “Thank you,” Telaine said, though she wasn’t sure she’d be able to start a fire quite so easily as Aunt Weaver had. Still, it was a start.

  “Thank me once you’ve made it work,” Aunt Weaver said gruffly. “You going out tonight?” she added, seeing Telaine head for the back door.

  “I’m going to the tavern to meet more people,” she said.

  “Don’t see why you need to. You won’t be staying long.”

  “I’m hoping one of these people will get word back to the Baron. Trust me, I don’t want to be part of this town any longer than I have to. They obviously don’t want me here.” She paused, leaving a gap in the conversation for Aunt Weaver to fill, but the woman shrugged and turned away.

  The sun had almost set, leaving the town hazy in the twilight, but lanterns along the main road guided Telaine toward her destination. She couldn’t tell if they were actual lamps or Devices; there were districts in Aurilien where the light Devices were made to imitate flames. Based on Aunt Weaver’s attitude and what Abel had said, she guessed the former.

  Most of the businesses along the main street were dark, but lights burned in the house attached to the forge, in Mistress Richardson’s laundry, and in a few other places. Music drifted toward her on the slight breeze from the direction of the tavern. A pianoforte was going strong and some beautifully melodic singing accompanied it.

  She slowed as she neared the building, whose windows all blazed with light. This could be an enormous mistake, if everyone there decided to be antagonistic. However, if she wanted to draw the Baron’s attention without actually walking up and knocking on his door—a move that would likely make him more suspicious of her than not—she needed to make more contacts. She firmed up her chin and her resolve and stepped through the open door.

  The noise lessened when she entered, but didn’t die off entirely. The pianoforte player, his back to the door, kept on playing. Telaine smiled and nodded at the few faces she recognized, saving an extra-friendly grin for Irv Tanner—he blushed, and she was satisfied at discomfiting him—and went to sit at the bar. An unfamiliar young barman got her a beer. She was starting to like the unsophisticated beverage. Wouldn’t it shock, for example, the d’Ardens if she asked for beer at their next supper party?

  She surveyed the crowd covertly, amused that so many others were watching her without bothering to make a secret of it. There were a lot of unfamiliar faces, probably those quarrymen and sawmill workers who’d been absent at dinnertime. They were, in general, large and heavy men with deep voices who kept to themselves and paid her no attention beyond a couple of curious glances.

  “Hey there, you’re new in town,” said a young man. She looked up and blinked; there were two of him. She hadn’t had all that much to drink. As she took a second look, she realized although they looked similar, with red hair and pale blue eyes, one had a long face and the other was broader across the shoulders.

  “Welcome to Longbourne. I’m Trey Richardson and this is my brother Liam.” The young man thrust out a hand. There was nothing at all angry or disdainful in his expression. On the contrary, he had a light in his eyes she hadn’t seen for days. It warmed her. She shook his hand, and that of his brother, and introduced herself.

  “Oh, we all know who you are. Been waiting for you to show up for days,” broad-shouldered Liam said.

  “Didn’t think you’d be so very pretty,” said a third young man. “Jack Taylor, miss, at your service.” He was extremely handsome, blond and dark-eyed and tall, with a smile that could compete with the most accomplished flirts of her acquaintance. After a moment, Telaine identified him as the pianoforte player.

  “I was enjoying your music,” she said.

  “We’re a musical lot here in Longbourne,” he said with a wink. “Happen you’re here for a wedding, you’ll hear a real concert.”

  “Hope you won’t leave for a while,” said Liam Richardson. “Never sad to see a new girl in town.” He leaned on the bar, a little too close, but Telaine had too much practice diverting overly-attentive young men to worry about it. She smiled at him flirtatiously.

  “Jacky, you said you’d play for me.” Aunt Weaver’s apprentice Alys inserted herself beneath Taylor’s arm. She gave Telaine a hateful look. Oops. The new girl in town was stealing away all the young men. Telaine smiled back at her politely.

  “I’d love to hear you sing,” she said. “Shouldn’t you take to your stool, Mister Taylor?”

  “Jack,” he said. “If you promise to come over and listen.” He held out his hand; his arm dropped away from Alys’s shoulders. Telaine knew she shouldn’t interfere with their relationship, wouldn’t have done so even if she were the person she claimed to be—Taylor was too consciously handsome to be interesting to her—but after the day she’d had, it was nice to be appreciated. And it was fun to annoy Alys, who was clearly under the impression that beauty was all it took to attract a man.

  Telaine could feel eyes on her, unfriendly eyes, calculating eyes, appraising eyes, but she chose to ignore them and settled herself against the pianoforte, arms crossed on its tall top. “Play ‘Late in Spring,’” Alys instructed.

  She gave Telaine one more glare as Taylor played a few introductory bars, then opened her mouth and sailed into the song with an extraordinary soprano voice. It startled Telaine enough that she couldn’t conceal her astonished reaction. Unpolished her performance might be, but Telaine had heard professionals who didn’t have half the range this country girl had. It seemed Alys had more than just her looks going for her.

  The room went quiet out of respect for her singing, and burst into applause when she finished and curtsied, her color high. She darted a glance Telaine’s way, triumphant, and her smile widened when she saw Telaine’s expression. “Didn’t think we had anything worth hearing, out here?” she said.

  “You’re good enough to sing in the city,” Telaine said, taking a stab at flattery.

  A murmur went up. Alys said, “I don’t need you putting on airs at me. Not everything’s about the city, you know.”

  She’d overplayed her hand. Pride trumped vanity every time. “I’m sorry. I only meant to say how much I liked your song. I don’t have anything else to compare it to.”

  “We’re proud of our town,” said Liam Richardson. “Happen you should remember that.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said again. Lovely work with the crowd there, Princess.

  “Come on, Jack, forget the city girl and play something we can sing along to,” said a voice. Telaine, now feeling deeply discouraged, smiled and nodded at random and made her way to the door.

  It opened when she was only a few steps away, and five men entered. Their shabby uniforms of green and brown looked nothing like what Telaine was used to from watching the Army drill on the parade grounds outside the palace. Those uniforms were clean, neatly mended, with fully buttoned jackets and crisp uniform caps. These men’s uniforms looked as if they’d been slept in for several days, some of them bore food stains, and their scuffed boots might have been through weeks or months of hard marching without being polished. Telaine stepped aside, and one of them leered at her as they went to the bar.

  “Whiskey all around,” said one. The room had gone silent. Taylor, who had started playing another song, trailed off and turned around. One of the quarrymen standing near Telaine closed his meaty hands into fists. The soldiers acted as if they didn’t notice the tension, but even so they walked lightly, preparing to defend themselves against whatever attack might come.

  The barkeep laid out five whiskeys and stepped away, nervous, but unable to take his eyes off the men. Yes, let’s add alcohol to this volatile mixture, Telaine thought, and wondered what she’d stepped into.

  Maida Handly came out of the back room. “Thought I told you fellows not to come in here again, after last time,” she said. Her voice was even more unwelcoming than it had been that morning. She held a glass stein as if she were thinking about using it as a weapon.

  “That
warn’t us,” said the soldier who’d ordered the drinks. “You wouldn’t keep us thirsty ‘cause some other fellows tore up the place?”

  “You all look the same to me. Happen you better leave before trouble strikes.”

  “Now, Miss Handly, we’re not looking for trouble, so if it strikes, it won’t be my boys who cause it,” said another man from the doorway. He was more handsome than Taylor, tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in a high-collared black jacket and tan trousers, with boots polished well enough to see reflections in them. He wore his long, dark hair gathered at the nape of his neck, drawing attention to the elegant bones of his face and the dark curve of his brows.

  He surveyed the room, and unlike the soldiers he was genuinely unconcerned about the tension. His eyes passed over Telaine once, then flicked back to rest on her face. He smiled, and a chill went through her. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” he said.

  Telaine felt like a small animal who’d stepped into the path of a fox. “I’m Lainie Bricker,” she said, and thrust out her hand. “I’m staying with my Aunt Weaver. I’m a Deviser.”

  She’d had so much practice saying it that it came out of her mouth automatically, without engaging her brain. By the time she realized she didn’t want this man touching her, it was too late. The elegant stranger took her hand and, instead of shaking it, brought it to his lips and kissed it as formally as any prince. “Morgan,” he said. “I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  “You’re a soldier?” Eight years of relentless training in the niceties of conversation came to her rescue. Get him to talk about himself. It’s every man’s favorite subject.

  Morgan chuckled. “No, just a watchful eye when the fort allows its soldiers a few hours of free time. Miss Handly, I see we’re not welcome here. We’ll be on our way. I hope, though, that this little episode shows our men can be…civilized.” He bowed over her hand again, released it, then gestured the soldiers toward the door. The same soldier leered at Telaine as before, but half-heartedly, as if by rote.

  She stared after them even after they shut the door on themselves and the cool late summer night, then shook her head to break free of the spell Morgan had cast. “Who was that?” she asked in a faint voice.

  “Archie Morgan,” said Miss Handly. She still sounded tense. “The Baron’s right-hand bully boy.”

  Someone who looks like that is named Archie? He ought to be called Dirk or Sylvester or Raphael.

  “Don’t let his smooth ways fool you,” said Taylor, animosity forgotten. “He’d be a stone killer if the mood struck him right.”

  “That’s never been proved, Jacky,” said Alys. She had a starry-eyed look in her eyes. “Happen some men could learn something about treating a lady right from him.”

  Taylor pulled Alys closer. “I don’t want you having aught to do with him,” he said, and Alys transferred her starry-eyed look to him. It dimmed when he released her and said, “Nor should you, Miss Bricker. Would hate for anything to happen to you.”

  “Thanks, Mister Taylor,” Telaine said. “And thanks for the drink, Miss Handly. It’s bed for me.”

  “So early? No, stay a while,” said Liam Richardson, and his brother added, “You wouldn’t leave us alone with just Jack for company, would you?” They seemed to have forgotten she’d been an uppity city girl minutes before.

  Telaine smiled and dimpled at them, and was rewarded to see them blush. I do love having that power. “I suppose I could stay for a few more drinks,” she said, and settled at a table and spent the next hour having her three admirers pay her some welcome attention.

  Nearby, Alys fumed, but Telaine had no intention of making these men actually fall in love with her. Her novelty would pass in time, and Alys would go back to being the acclaimed town beauty and songstress. She was beautiful; she just didn’t know how to use it. Pity she would never be willing to take lessons from Lainie Bricker.

  Chapter Seven

  Telaine woke the next morning to dull, cloudy skies. She felt dull herself, foggy and desperately in need of coffee. Nothing went right, starting with breakfast. It turned out knowing how to light the stove didn’t mean knowing how to boil water, and while she was failing at that, her toast in the archaic toasting fork burned. She had to settle for bread and milk the way she had the day before, but even that was disgusting because the milk had gone off, something she only discovered after taking a big drink.

  Aunt Weaver was already at the loom when she was ready to leave. “Good morning,” Telaine said. It wasn’t really, but maybe if she pretended hard enough, the day would improve. Aunt Weaver only grunted in reply. Telaine caught Alys’s eye as she withdrew from the great room; Alys gave her a glare that could have melted wax. Telaine decided against answering in kind and left the house.

  As before, no one met her eyes as she walked down the street, trying to decide what to do first. If only Taylor and the Richardsons were around…but they probably worked at the sawmill or the quarry, and she wouldn’t see them again until nightfall. Garrett might have had a pleasant word for her, but the forge was empty when she passed it. She tried not to feel downhearted. After all, making friends wasn’t important. The job was.

  She decided to wait a few hours before approaching Mistress Richardson. She told herself it was a desire to explore the town and not cowardice that motivated her. After wandering the side streets for a while, she knocked at Mistress Richardson’s door and waited for the red-haired woman to emerge. She looked at Telaine with even more sourness than before. “Yes?” she said.

  “Please don’t take this as nagging…it’s only that I forgot to ask you when my laundry would be done, yesterday.” The woman, who was shorter and older than Telaine, intimidated her more than Irv Tanner’s looming menace.

  “Had a problem with that.” She went back inside and returned with a wad of cloth she shoved into Telaine’s hands. “Got caught in the mangle. Sorry.” She handed over a coin. “No charge.”

  Telaine held up what had once been her shirt. One of the sleeves hung by only a few threads, and there was a jagged tear down the back. “Oh,” she said faintly.

  “It happens sometimes,” said Mistress Richardson, and shut the door.

  Telaine stared at the shirt. She knew nothing about laundry, but she was certain Mistress Richardson had ruined the shirt on purpose. Fury built inside her. What under heaven had she ever done to the woman? Wait. Richardson. Trey and Liam Richardson. Of course. Mistress Richardson was afraid her boys would be led astray by the… the…whatever she believed Telaine was.

  Telaine turned around and strode back to Aunt Weaver’s place, stomped up the stairs and threw the shredded shirt into a corner with as much force as she could. It fluttered down unsatisfactorily and landed without a sound. She wanted to kick something. This was without doubt the worst idea her uncle had ever had. Better to send in a troop of Army regulars to break into the Baron’s manor, tear his home apart, drag the man into the street and force him to reveal his secrets. They could convict him of smuggling just as well that way. And she could go home.

  She kicked the shirt again and got no more satisfaction out of it than before. Of course they couldn’t convict him that way, or she wouldn’t be in Longbourne. Why did the Baron even care about smuggling goods when he already had fortune enough to buy anything he liked?

  She rubbed her temples and willed the incipient headache away. She shouldn’t make assumptions. He might not be smuggling things for his personal use; possibly he was going to sell them on the black market in some other province to increase his personal fortune. She should probably find out what his personal fortune was. Maybe he couldn’t afford things, and he did need to smuggle in luxury items. Stop making assumptions just because you’re frustrated, Lainie.

  Her stomach chose that moment to announce that it was hungry. She sat on her bed and tried to calm herself. These people are not the job. That Morgan fellow—you told him you were a Deviser. He’ll tell the Baron. Just a few more days a
nd you can leave this awful place. But at that moment, she was going to eat.

  The tavern was as full as it had been the day before. Again, Miss Handly offered her mutton or soup, and Telaine took mutton. While she waited, she smiled at Glenda Brewster, who was there alone, and nodded politely at the other customers, but didn’t try to engage any of them in conversation. There was no more need to make nice with the natives. The thought of it made her head begin to throb again. Maybe she ought to invite herself to the Baron’s home, after all.

  “Miss Handly? Do you have any whiskey? I feel the need for something stronger today,” she said. Miss Handly raised her eyebrows, but brought her a little glass of amber liquid. Telaine took a sip and let it roll down her throat. It was nothing like what she was used to, harsh and with a strange flavor, but it was alcoholic and it set a much-needed fire burning in her belly.

  “Miss Bricker?” Glenda said. “Should you….”

  “Could you say that again, Miss Brewster? I didn’t hear you.”

  Glenda cleared her throat. She looked even more anxious than usual. “Should you…I mean, I’ve heard…isn’t alcohol bad for your baby?”

  Telaine inhaled sharply and sucked in a few remaining drops of whiskey. She coughed and choked so hard she thought her eyes might pop out of her head. “My what?” she exclaimed when she could speak again.

  Glenda looked terrified. “I’m not pregnant,” Telaine said. She looked around the room. People studied their tables, their laps, as if nothing could be more interesting. Everything started to fall into place.

  “I’m not pregnant!” she shouted. She slammed her fists on the table and stood, feeling her fury come back with a vengeance. “You all thought I was pregnant and unbonded, didn’t you? That I was trying to get out of my responsibility to provide my child a family bond? I cannot believe this.” She took a deep breath, her voice shaking. “That’s why you’ve all been so rude and nasty. You felt entitled to treat me like dirt because you thought I was flouting the law!”