Colonel Fitzwilliam's Challenge

by Jennifer Joy

  Richard swallowed hard. Could this really be happening? “What would this new assignment require of me?”

  “Your discretion and silence. You would report to me, and to me only. We are not to be seen often in each other’s company, so I will arrange for ways to communicate what is necessary without giving suspicion or needlessly linking our names. The continued success of the campaign against the French depends on it.”

  Richard’s eyes widened. He was being entrusted with an assignment so important, the future of nations rested on it. Humbled beyond measure at the honor of being asked, Richard steadied his gaze and his voice. “Tell me what I must do.”

  Dovedale smiled. Placing his hands on top of his desk, he said, “That was the answer I had hoped for. I believe that the more I explain your mission, the more you will understand why I chose you.”

  Taking a deep breath, he began, “You are aware, I am assured, of our recent captures of Ciudad Rodrigo and Badajoz in the north and south of Spain?”

  It had been a bloody massacre. Of course, Richard knew about it. He shivered as the reports of murder, rape, and pillaging circulated, which the newspapers wrote about as if it was some sick form of entertainment. The justification he often heard for the officers’ barbaric behavior was that they had been too long away from home. However, Richard could not justify them. No proper Englishman would have acted in such a manner.

  Apparently, Dovedale shared his disgust. His hands formed fists on top of his desk.

  “The men are under control now, but they are in desperate need of supplies. We have managed to send gold and weapons to them over the years— it is one of our major advantages over Napoleon, who has taxed his country to the limits. I tell you, Fitzwilliam, this war will be won or lost with bread. If we cannot supply our men with what they need, we will lose all that we have gained. But, there is a problem.” Dovedale sighed, lacing his fingers together. “Someone has been leaking the time and location of our shipments.”

  Richard gasped. “How many shipments have been interceded?”

  “Just the last one. But, one is more than enough to get our attention. And that is where you come in. Your assignment will be to find and stop the leak.”

  Overwhelmed, Richard asked, “I have no training in espionage. I have no connections whatsoever with those who could help shed light on this problem.”

  Dovedale tapped his finger on his desk. “That is where you are wrong.”

  Chapter 6

  With Luc gone, Adélaïde aimed to spend most of her time downstairs in the shop. She would throw herself into her work like she had never done before, drawing new designs, taking inventory of the supplies on hand, tending to the ladies who came in for their fittings, and helping her girls improve their work to the best of her ability.

  She had eight girls at the moment, ranging in age from twelve to thirty-two. Each one of them had been picked up from off the street, and offered food, a bed, and an honest wage for their work. Some of them already had talent with a needle and only needed instruction on the finer stitches and embroidery needed in a dress establishment that catered to high-born society. Others had made their first stitches under Adélaïde’s tutelage.

  They would arrive to the shop dirty, hungry, and too many times beaten and bruised. Not all of them stayed, but most did. Those who stayed learned a skill which allowed them both their independence and their dignity.

  Yvette had been with Adélaïde the longest. She stood behind the glass counter in the main room when Adélaïde entered the shop, ready to begin a new day.

  “Thank you for taking care of things while I was away, Yvette. I do not know what I would do without you,” said Adélaïde as she entered the shop just before opening time. Yvette scurried about the room, ensuring that everyone had their work out and ready. The wood plank floors were spotless and even the girls’ work areas, brightened by rugs made from colorful scraps of fabric woven into circles, were free of the bits of thread and string which so often adorned sewing room floors.

  “You need not thank me anymore. You were only away for two days. Sometimes the girls talk amongst themselves that you work too hard,” Yvette said as she inspected the spools of thread. “We should secure some more black silk thread,” she noted aloud.

  Adélaïde groaned. The blockades over the channel meant that certain items necessary for her business must be acquired from smugglers who managed to get past warring ships, and their prices were exorbitant. One reel of silk thread was two day’s pay.

  “I will send Mary to Brick Lane as soon as the girls finish breaking their fast. You say that I work too much, but you know very well that you work every bit as hard as I do. Are you certain you are content to stay here when you could set up your own establishment?”

  Yvette stopped what she was doing to plunk her fists on her slender hips. Her face wore the expression of a displeased governess. “My answer to you is the same as it always is. It makes me proud to work here. Not only do I get to help make beautiful clothes, I also get to help improve the lives of the unfortunate souls who enter this back door.” She pointed to the door leading out onto the street at the back of the workroom.

  “I am glad to hear it, but I do not want to stifle you either. Promise me that you will tell me if the moment ever comes when you become dissatisfied. I recognize the same spark of ambition in you that I see in myself, and I would never hold you back from doing what you wish.”

  “Thank you for your consideration, Miss Adélaïde, but you worry too much on my account. Right now, I am happy here.”

  “Very well. I will not say any more on the subject.” Adélaïde looked at the clock next to the doorway leading out to the hall. The girls would come any minute. She had best get her drawings out.

  On the other side of the doorway was a long table where they measured and cut fabric. Today, she pulled out her drawings from a case full of her designs, laying them out on top of the table. As much as she enjoyed making the dresses, this was Adélaïde’s favorite part. Watching her creations come to life was like the icing on top of the cakes Maman enjoyed so much.

  As the girls filed into the room and saw the drawings, the noise in the room grew with their excited chatter and exclamations of delight.

  Adélaïde listened to their comments, as they discussed which fabrics and colors would best suit the picture, and which ladies among their clients the gowns would flatter the most.

  Yvette came to stand by Adélaïde. “These are beautiful. I do not know how you manage to think of so many different details so that each gown is unique. You belong on Bond Street with the best of them, miss.”

  The comment was said as if it was an afterthought of little consequence, but Yvette looked at Adélaïde for a reaction.

  The clock chimed the top of the hour and it was time to unlock the doors to the shop.

  Adélaïde went out into the hall which opened out to the shop. Bolts of fabrics in every texture and color she could acquire lined the wall to her right. Most of it now came from her contacts in Scotland, but she was not averse to spending extra to the smugglers who brought her silks and Kashmir in brilliant colors from India and the Orient.

  Dressing rooms with platforms for ladies to stand on while she pinned their hems to the perfect length, with blush pink and cream toile de Juoy curtains were to her left. Large, full-sized mirrors with cushioned brocatelle chairs on one side were placed next to the dressing rooms on the occasion that the lady came accompanied. Her guests could sit comfortably whilst the lady admired her reflection in the gilded mirror.

  Walking past the mirrors, Adélaïde ran her fingers down the satin ribbon with the card attached that said in bold calligraphy,‘Open’. If she had a shop on Bond Street, she would install a chandelier above the mirrors. The reflection of the candles would surround a lady with dancing lights, casting a warm glow around her.

  Going past the feathers, lace, and other adornments contained in her long, glass display case, Adélaïde pulled out a black, lea
ther book from a hatbox to check their fitting appointments for the day. Names covered the page, but she would make some time to continue working on her newest projects. The continued success of her business depended on her ideas and fashionable designs. She wondered if she could compete with the long-established dress shops on Bond Street.

  Adélaïde pulled a bookkeeping ledger out of the hatbox. Every bit of ribbon and cloth, and every payment received and owed, was accounted for. Running her finger down the column, she checked the math one more time before confirming the previous day’s totals and beginning the entry for the present day.

  How much would it cost to rent a shop on Bond Street?

  As the day progressed, dreams of Bond Street intensified and distracted her. Instead of focusing on her work, Adélaïde caught herself staring off into the distance, imagining the shop of her dreams. It had always been her intention to move her business there. She would have to if she were to become the most sought-after dressmaker in England. Maybe she could even afford to bring in more girls.

  “Miss Mauvier, are you well?” asked her youngest helper, Mary.

  Adélaïde shook her head, clearing it from her reverie. “Yes, Mary, I am well. It is just that I have a lot on my mind.”

  “Was the price for the silk thread too dear? I did my best to negotiate a fair price, and I did not go to Mr. Braggan even though he offered a good price,” she said, her big, brown eyes looking up at Adélaïde.

  “You did fine, and I thank you to stay away from that man.” A shiver ran through Adélaïde at the thought of Mr. Braggan. What an unpleasant man.

  Her face must have reflected her disgust of the smuggler. Mary did not look reassured. Expelling all unpleasant memories of Mr. Braggan with an exhale, Adélaïde looked kindly upon her youngest seamstress. “I would not send you if I did not believe you capable of performing the task as well as you do. No, it is something else entirely which has consumed my thoughts today.”

  “Can I help?” Mary asked.

  Adélaïde smiled at the girl, young in age but wise beyond her years. Mary followed her around like a little puppy and was always eager to be of service. If Adélaïde did not stop her, Mary would let her dinner go cold just so she would finish her work sooner. A more grateful creature could not exist than the girl standing before her.

  “You already do so much, Mary. Please, just finish the work we discussed together this morning. Then, I will look over your progress.” Mary had not said much about the circumstances that led her away from the place she had formerly called home, but someone had taught her how to sew in neat, straight stitches. Through her diligent practice and determined effort, Mary would soon become her best seamstress.

  “Do you think Nancy will come back, miss?” asked Mary.

  Adélaïde sighed. Nancy was Anne’s maid, and was a genius with her embroidery. She had been instructing the girls in her technique before she went away to attend to Anne when she and Luc married. Adélaïde could only hope that Anne would let Nancy continue giving lessons to the girls once they returned from their wedding holiday.

  “I hope she comes back. Do you miss her?”

  “Oh, yes. She was very nice to me, and she made such beautiful things. I should like to learn more.”

  Adélaïde made a mental note. Perhaps Mary’s passion lay in embroidery. She would teach her more until she could see what arrangements could be made with Anne.

  The rest of the day passed too busily for Adélaïde’s thoughts to get distracted. But that changed the moment she sat down to eat a midday repast. She had always eaten her meal with Luc in their dining room upstairs in the apartment. Today, she requested that her meal be brought downstairs. It was much too quiet in the apartment by herself.

  An ambitious idea formed in her mind, a thought which continued developing as the afternoon progressed.

  By the time the clock chimed that it was time to close the front doors, she had decided.

  Going into the workroom, she announced, “Ladies, I am going to take a stroll down Bond Street.”

  Chapter 7

  Had he heard correctly?

  Richard sat forward in his chair, his attention fixed on Dovedale. “What are you implying? That I am in association with a spy?”

  Lacing his fingers together, Dovedale set his hands on top of his desk. “This might be difficult for you to hear, so I will give you the facts as I know them. There are gaps in my understanding, and you will be key in filling them in.”

  Nodding for him to continue, Richard maintained his intent pose.

  “Some months ago, a shipment of supplies was stolen from under the noses of our men. This was before Salamanca. The soldiers were in need of basic things: firearms, provisions, blankets, money for food and fodder… the usual things. You can imagine how devastating a blow it was for them to enter into such a decisive battle without these much-needed supplies.” Dovedale paused, sighing. “Two weeks before, we caught a smuggler. You know, one of those types who paints his boat black to cross the channel at night.”

  Richard knew of such men. Everybody did. While no one would admit to benefiting from their illegal work, Richard knew of more than a few people who did business with them. Anyone with a well-provisioned wine cellar was proof of that.

  “Now, I will be the first to admit, unofficially of course, that we often turn a blind eye to goods that come to our shores. We are more concerned with the information that leaves. Thus, we watch the activities of those men closely.” Pausing, he heaved a breath, as if what he was to say was painful. “This particular smuggler deals mostly with textiles.”

  He stopped, looking at Richard as intently as said gentleman looked at him.

  “Textiles?” Richard shook his head. “The only person I know who could benefit from that sort of trade is Miss Mauvier, my cousin’s sister-in-law.”

  Richard waited for a response, but Dovedale sat patiently, his expression expectant.

  Understanding dawned, illuminating Richard’s mind as surely as the sun illuminated the sky every morning. “Miss Mauvier? You suspect her of selling secrets?”

  “We have been watching her activities. She has many contacts amongst the smugglers who provide her with materials from the opposite shore. It would be a simple matter for her to arrange a trade of information.”

  “But how would she have known the information in the first place?” Richard could not believe that a savvy businesswoman, such as Miss Mauvier, would act so treacherously.

  “Lord Palmerston’s wife had several dresses made by her during the season. I can only surmise that he shared this confidential information with his wife, who then unintentionally passed it on to Miss Mauvier. You know how ladies are with their gossip.”

  Richard thought of Darcy’s newly acquired family— Mrs. Bennet and her youngest daughters— and could understand Dovedale’s comment. He did, however, have difficulty believing Lord Palmerston to be so relaxed in his duties.

  “Like I said, Fitzwilliam, there are many details left out. All I know for certain is that information was hidden on a dress made by Miss Mauvier— information which helped the French and hindered our men. When the smuggler was questioned, her name was mentioned as one who would sneak letters to a gentleman of which we know nothing. The man’s identity has been looked into, but everything promising results in a dead end. Whoever he really is, he is an expert of concealing himself.”

  “Could it be a lover?” asked Richard, just a bit jealous.

  “No. Though we know nothing of the gentleman, sources say that he is elderly. He also vanished into thin air— the very week the shipment disappeared.” Dovedale raised his eyebrows and let his words sink in.

  Sitting back, Richard furled his brow in thought. “I am sorry, Dovedale, but while I can see how the evidence could imply Miss Mauvier’s involvement, I do not see how it points to her as guilty. I do not claim to know much about her past, but I do know that she escaped Paris with her brother during the Revolution. Her sympathies would ha
rdly lie with the people responsible for such a drastic flight.”

  “I agree with you, Fitzwilliam. I will not be responsible for ending a woman’s life by calling her a traitor unless I am absolutely certain. That is why I thought to recruit you. With your family connections, you are in the best position to find out more about the lady. Prove her innocence, if you are able to. But let me warn you: Most of our clues have pointed to Miss Mauvier. She may not be the lady she has led you to believe she is.”

  Though Richard did not hasten to believe her guilt, doubts began to prick his mind. Miss Mauvier was sharp. If she wanted to, she would be capable of the crimes she was accused of. With her line of business, she would often be in contact with men who had little, if any, respect for the law. She was ambitious, Richard knew, but was she that ambitious?

  “I can see that you have already begun to give the issue thought. Let me remind you that you agreed to assist in our investigation. I am not aware of the exact date of the next shipment, but it will be soon. After the last failure, Lord Palmerston and The Lord Mulgrave are exercising great caution. They will not release any unnecessary details before its time, lest our supplies fall once again into the wrong hands. That would be a devastating blow to our troops and to our nation’s security.”

  “I realize the gravity of the situation, and I will do what is humanly possible to find out who is behind this leak of information.”

  “Then, take my advice and start with Miss Mauvier. She is our biggest suspect at present.”

  Poking into the life of Anne’s new sister tasted disagreeable, but better he do it than to allow a stranger.

  “And, Fitzwilliam, one word from me to the Duke of York, and I can secure you a position here as Deputy Assistant Adjutant General. The pay is better, and the living quarters are far superior to your current situation. If you perform as I expect you will, the promotion is yours.”