Colonel Fitzwilliam's Challenge

by Jennifer Joy

  “Which of her seamstresses did this?”

  “Miss Mauvier usually only sends the same person. Miss Yvette is her name.”

  By all appearances, Miss Yvette was Adélaïde’s most loyal worker. The protective nature she showed around her mistress showed a hidden hypocrisy Richard would hardly have guessed she possessed.

  “What happened? Was this man the same who attached Miss Mauvier’s name to the stolen dress?”

  “Aye. You see, Miss Mauvier likes to keep on good terms with all of us here. She knows that if she is kind to us, we are more likely to give her a fair price. She came down and Braggan, that is the lad’s name, he took liberties which he assumed he could take based on what Miss Yvette had led him to believe.”

  Richard stiffened. “Liberties?” he asked through his teeth.

  “Nothing ungentlemanlike, but a liberty all the same. He tried to embrace her.”

  In a huff, Richard said, “Sir, your definition of ‘ungentlemanlike’ behavior and mine are quite different, I assure you.”

  Mr. Mulligan chuckled. “Save your blows, Colonel. There are others who would benefit from them far more than I.”

  Relaxing his shoulders, Richard asked him to continue.

  “You can imagine how a woman like Miss Mauvier would respond to his unwanted attention. She smacked him across the cheek so hard, it left an imprint of her hand for hours.”

  Richard bit his lips to prevent himself from grinning like a fool. That was the woman for him!

  Mr. Mulligan looked about again. “Aye, it was a rather rude awakening for Braggan. No doubt, he deserved it— especially now that I know what he did to revenge himself. I cannot know for sure, but I am certain he was the source of the rumor against Miss Mauvier.”

  “Where can I find him?”

  “He might be at his usual haunt, The Wild Boar.”

  Richard groaned. He hated that place. Certain memories caused him to give it a wide berth.

  Handing Mr. Mulligan some coin for his cooperation, he turned his feet toward the odious tavern.

  Chapter 20

  The closer Richard drew to the tavern, the darker the sky grew.

  Leaving his horse at the stable, he stepped inside The Wild Boar in search of Mr. Braggan. Stale beer mixed with the sharp odors of unwashed men and women. The room was dark, even with several tallow candles lit throughout the space.

  Glad he had chosen to wear his simple trousers, and his oldest coat, Richard proceeded to the counter. A woman of ill repute wrapped her hand around his shoulder, fingering the hair that curled up at the bottom of his neck.

  “Hey, lovey, ye look ‘andsome tonight. Care for some comp’ny?”

  Richard removed her hand. “No, miss. My purpose here is singular.” Pulling out a coin, he let it glint in front of her in the dull candlelight.

  Her attention caught, he said, “I am looking for Mr. Braggan. Is he here?”

  “Aye, lovey, he is here. I’ll point him out to ye for ‘nother one of ‘em coins.”

  Richard’s last coin had to go to the stable. “Nay, miss. One coin is sufficient. Pray, point him out to me.”

  The woman scrunched up her face in resignation. “Only because I like ye,” she grumbled. “Ye see ‘em at the table playin’ cards?”

  Richard followed the direction in which her head twitched. There were five men sitting around the table. Two were elderly, holding more cards in their hand than they had teeth in their mouths. One dressed slightly finer than the others— probably a gentleman seeking to satisfy his vices, not a smuggler. That left two men.

  One, a smallish man, with greasy hair, and a sharp nose had all the looks of someone who lived dishonestly off his smarts. Talking with him would be difficult.

  The other man looked to be at least a head taller than Richard, judging from his sitting height. He was broad through the shoulders, and had no doubt hauled many a weigh anchor in his youth. Talking with him would be even more of a challenge.

  Richard could take the greasy one in a fight, if it came to that, but only his years of boxing training could help him with the muscled brute. The way the man slammed the table with his fist on losing did nothing to appease Richard. He knew who Mr. Braggan was even before the woman indicated him.

  “It is the tall man in shirtsleeves, is it?” The shirtsleeves which revealed the chiseled muscles of a man who could knock him out in one well-connected punch.

  “Tis he. If ye ever feel lonely, best look for me,” she said as she sauntered away.

  Richard turned back to the bar. The timing was all wrong. If he convinced Mr. Braggan to accompany him to Dovedale, he would have to take him to Dovedale’s home. That would not do. Dovedale would set the hounds on him for bringing a lawless man to his private residence.

  Catching the attention of the man behind the bar, Richard asked, “How long do those games last?” pointing over his shoulder with his thumb to the card table behind him.

  “You wanting to join in?”

  “No. I merely wish to speak with one of the gentlemen. I do not want to interrupt their game, so will wait until the morrow.”

  Relaxing slightly, the barman said, “They usually play until the wee hours. By then, half of them are passed out and sleeping it off. We serve them pudding and send them on their way before lunch.”

  It was a risk to wait, but he had to take it. “Thank you, sir. Good evening.”

  Richard checked his pocket watch. If he left now, he would arrive on time to meet the corrupt clerk. Looking at the card table one more time as the tavern door closed behind him, Richard sighed at what tomorrow morning would bring and reminded himself that Adélaïde was worth it.

  Giving his last precious coin to the man at the stable, he wove through the streets of London until he arrived at the meeting place set by the clerk. As agreed upon, the clerk would sit by himself with a packet of papers in front of him on the table.

  The comforting smell of hops wafted over Richard as he opened the door, reminding him that he would have to forego beer for the foreseeable future. Information came at a price, and he had already spent more this day than he did in an entire month.

  The clerk rose and left as soon as he saw Richard enter. They brushed shoulders in passing.

  Continuing to the table, Richard sat for a moment before picking up the papers. Thumbing through them, he folded them in half to stick inside his jacket pocket. Before the barmaid did her rounds, he slipped out of the tavern.

  He did not look at the papers thoroughly until he arrived home, though they would burn a hole in his pocket. Finally arriving home, he examined page after page, and saw… nothing. Nothing out of the ordinary. In fact, his assessment of Adélaïde had been correct. She had put aside a tidy little sum, adding to it over the years.

  She had full authority over her business affairs, not under any obligation to her older brother. Richard’s confidence in Anne’s choice of a husband solidified all the more, as did his certainty that he could prove Adélaïde’s innocence.

  His anxiety tinged with relief, Richard ordered a bath. The Wild Boar made his skin crawl, and he did not want to smell of stale beer and urine when he met with Dovedale in the morning.

  Morning dawned, bringing thick droplets of rain. Though the day was gloomy, Richard hardly noticed. The weather would not change his plans.

  Breakfasting before the other inhabitants of the house woke, he started in the direction of the odious tavern. The barman would have warned Mr. Braggan of his inquiries. Those sorts always took care of their own, arming forces against overly inquisitive intruders. Still, the tavern was the best place to start.

  Ideally, he would find Mr. Braggan strewn out over a bench in a drunken stupor. The offer of a hot meal would appease him, and after satisfying his belly, Richard would explain the purpose of his visit with the pacified man.

  Richard did not hold his breath. If there was one thing he knew about planning an attack in battle, it was that things rarely went according to plan. I
mprovisation ruled, and the man who adapted quickest won. He had to win.

  Going over scenarios in his head, Richard neared the tavern. His horse snorted, and shook his head, questioning his master’s intelligence. With a pat on the flank, Richard dismounted.

  Reins in hand, he approached the door in time to watch it open. Out walked Mr. Braggan, stretching his arms over his head, then patting his stomach as if he had recently enjoyed a meal. So much for plan A.

  “Mr. Braggan,” Richard called out.

  The man turned his face to see who dared call out his name. “Who asks?”

  Closing the distance between them, Richard introduced himself. “I am Colonel Fitzwilliam of His Majesty’s Life Guard. I have come seeking information of an urgent nature. You could help save a life if you cooperate.”

  “The only life I care about is my own. What is in it for me?” He bent down so that his face was inches from Richard’s.

  The man’s selfishness riled Richard’s honor. Had the man no decency? A snort from his mount expressed the disgust he felt.

  “Do you know Miss Mauvier?” asked Richard.

  Crossing his arms, Mr. Braggan stretched himself up to his full, impressive height. “Of course, I know the wench.”

  Richard’s fist itched to erase the smirk from the smuggler’s face. Clenching his hands together, he held the reins with a vice-like grip. His body tense, ready to spring at Mr. Braggan at the slightest provocation, he said, “My patience is wearing thin, sir. Miss Mauvier will hang for treason because of your accusation.”

  “What is one less seamstress in this world? I will not miss her.”

  Anger consumed him. “Very well. I will tell my men to continue as ordered. We will confiscate your boat, and you will follow me to the Old Bailey for further questioning. His Majesty does not take kindly to treason, and it was your boat which by your own admission transported the tainted goods.”

  A fist came at him so rapidly, Richard heard it before he saw it. Lunging to the side, he braced himself for impact. The blow struck the top of his cheek and tipped his ear.

  Oblivious to the pain, Richard calmly assessed the large target in front of him, calculating the best attack before the passing of a half second.

  Palm facing out, he shoved it up to connect with Mr. Braggan’s nose at the same moment Charming placed his hoof firmly on top of the man’s foot and leaned forward, resting his full weight on it.

  One hand covering his face, one hand reaching for his foot, Mr. Braggan yelped in pain. “Get off!”

  To his credit, the stallion did not budge. Rather, he shook his head and whinnied at Mr. Braggan as if to say, “Can you believe this lowlife?” Such good judgment must be rewarded with a juicy apple. As soon as they returned home, a treat awaited his sharp-hoofed friend.

  “Will you talk now, or do you need more convincing?”

  “I will talk! I will talk! Just move your beast!”

  It took some doing. Charming was disinclined to shift his weight, but promises of sweet fruit and a field full of fillies finally convinced him.

  Now that the adrenaline had worn off, Richard’s cheek stung. But he had fared better than Mr. Braggan, who pinched his bloody nose and hopped on one foot.

  “You are in no condition to walk. I will stop a coach, and while we travel to the Horse Guard’s, you can tell me what really happened. Miss Mauvier did not have anything to do with the stolen dresses, did she?” He had best clarify that point before dragging the injured man across London to speak with Dovedale.

  “No.”

  It was amazing how one little word could make Richard’s heart rejoice as much as it did. With one simple word, there was no longer any connection between Adélaïde and the dress which hid the sold secret.

  After tying Charming to the coach, he sat across from Mr. Braggan.

  “You have my full attention. I suggest you talk.”

  “Only if you call your men off my boat. Without my boat, you might as well send me to prison. It is all I have, and my lips will remain sealed if it is taken from me.”

  Richard had forgotten about that empty threat. Still, Mr. Braggan need not know the truth. “I will send a message as soon as we arrive. Your boat is safe.”

  Heaving a sigh, Mr. Braggan, still pinching his nose, began to talk.

  Chapter 21

  Cuffing his hand around Mr. Braggan’s arm, Richard reminded him. “Once we are inside, I will send a message to my men. If you attempt to escape, they proceed as instructed.”

  Mr. Braggan nodded, pulled a rag out of his pocket with his free hand, and did his best to clean his face and hands. Looking at the bright buildings in front of them, Richard understood. He touched his cheek, and looked at his fingertips, but there was no blood. Just the sting of his own touch.

  Together, they climbed the stairs to Dovedale’s office. They were immediately allowed entry.

  Meeting them halfway across the room, Dovedale asked, “What is this? Why is this man here?” He was not pleased.

  “I apologize for the abruptness of this meeting, but I believe that with this man’s honest testimony,” he eyed Mr. Braggan, who nodded to affirm his honesty, “as well as the information I have gathered about Miss Mauvier’s finances, we may settle the accusations brought against that lady.”

  “If that be the case, then, please come and have a seat.” Dovedale sat behind his desk, and motioned for them to sit in front of him. Addressing Mr. Braggan, he said, “You have come here with information of interest. What is your version of the story now?”

  “First, let me inform ye that I never sought to do Miss Mauvier permanent harm.” Mr. Braggan shifted his weight in his seat. “I was sore, is all. She thinks she is too good for the likes of me, refusing me flat out in front of my crew. I wanted her to feel my humiliation, but it would torment me to be the cause of her death.”

  “You acted out of revenge? She refused your romantic advances?” asked Dovedale.

  Holding his gaze steady, but once again shifting in the chair, Mr. Braggan answered, “Aye. ‘Tis simple as that.”

  “How did you learn about the stolen dresses with messages sewed into them?”

  “Ye ask in earnest? It is my work to know what goes on. When I later found out that my boat had carried the goods to the hands of the enemy, oh, I knew about it. I may not have many scruples, but I would never willingly help bring harm to my own countrymen.”

  “Who really gave you the dresses to transport? Why could they not be sent another way?” asked Richard. It struck him as odd that the lady had not packed the dresses in her trunks, instead choosing to have them sent within days of her arrival to Paris.

  Mr. Braggan shrugged his thick shoulders. “These wealthy types have peculiar ways. Why should I know? Just because there is a war on does not mean that certain families will deprive themselves of the finest spirits and goods to be had from the continent. They are the ones who keep me in coin.”

  “True enough,” interrupted Dovedale. “Is that what you came to say, then? That Miss Mauvier has no involvement with this affair?”

  “Aye. I swear on me own mother’s grave, Lord bless her departed soul.”

  “Is there anyone else we may speak to in order to confirm your story? Do understand, we will have to prove the veracity of this new account considering your less than honest history.”

  “Any of the men on my boat, as well as half a dozen other people on the docks would tell ye the same. I imagine Miss Mauvier would also have plenty to say on the subject.”

  Dovedale handed a coin to Mr. Braggan for his trouble.

  “My boat?” he asked before quitting the room.

  Richard reassured him. “My men will be gone before you even return. I thank you for your cooperation today, sir.”

  The door closed behind Mr. Braggan, and Dovedale returned to his desk.

  “You worked efficiently, Fitzwilliam. Well done. Now, you said you have financial documents?” He handed out his hand.

  Pull
ing them out of his pocket, Richard handed them over. Dovedale flipped through them, taking in all the details. Finally, he reached the end.

  Leaning back in his chair, he pulled out his pipe. “There is nothing incriminating in those pages. Your source was trustworthy?”

  “He was a clerk in the bank office. I gave him no information concerning Miss Mauvier which would cause him to alter the notes.”

  “That must have cost. I will see to it that you are recompensed.” Tapping his empty pipe against the arm of his chair, he said thoughtfully, “I am impressed. You surpassed my expectations, and all without an inkling of how these things are done. I admit that I was nervous putting you on this assignment at first, but you have restored my confidence in your abilities.”

  Unable to suppress his smile, Richard said, “Thank you, Dovedale,” through a giant grin.

  “It is well deserved. In fact…” Dovedale tapped his pipe and furrowed his brow, deep in thought.

  Richard gave him all the time he needed. A promotion would soon be his. Able to support a wife, he would make his way to Adélaïde’s new shop and ask her if she had a place in her heart for a man like him. They could live like most families do, spending the season in town and leaving for the summer months for their country estate.

  Lost in his dream, it startled him when Dovedale spoke again. “I know I promised a living here, but a man with your talents would be so much more useful to us in Spain. Surrounded by so many foreigners, it is impossible to know whom to trust. You would be a welcome asset over there.”

  The castle Richard built in his mind crumbled down, the stones crashing atop his head, and dragging him down to reality.

  “It would only be for a few months. A year at most. That much I can guarantee.” So pleased was Dovedale with his decision, he did not notice Richard’s downcast face.

  Before Dovedale could ruin his future plans any further, Richard held his hand up. “Would it not be a better use of my talents, as you call them, to find out the origin of the dresses? If Miss Mauvier was not involved, and we have proved beyond a shadow of doubt that she was not, then that leaves the traitor loose? With what I already know, I am in as good a position as any to find this person.”