The Spider's Touch

by Patricia Wynn

  The steady clunks of the oars in their locks nearly covered their words.

  “Will you promise to tell me, once we’re across?”

  A struggle played with his features. “It’s not for you to question the master’s orders.”

  “It is, when I’m the one who could get thrown in the clink!”

  The shocked look on his face seemed to suggest that her fears were groundless.

  He even seemed offended when, reluctantly, he leaned forward to speak softly in her ear. “The master would never ask you to do anything wrong. Why, I can’t hardly even get him to ask me! He’s always making me stay behind!”

  This confused her so entirely that she drew back to search his face, but she found no guilt—just frustration.

  Suddenly, Tom closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. Then he opened them quickly, as if startled. He pulled away so sharply that he nearly lost his balance and fell over the back of the boat.

  Katy turned back around and saw that they were about to dock. She twisted to speak to Tom again and saw that he looked miserable about something.

  “Promise me, you’ll tell me enough to make me feel safe,” she said.

  Those words seemed to strike a reasonable chord inside him. The muscles in his face relaxed, but the only answer he made was a nod.

  Somehow a nod from Tom was enough.

  The boat hit the dock at Hungerford Stairs. Tom paid the waterman, then gestured for her to lead him up the narrow street. When it broadened into an market place, Katy stopped and turned around. Hurrying behind her, Tom nearly tumbled over her in his effort to stop.

  Katy grasped him by both of the arms and made him look her in the eyes.

  “I won’t go to prison again,” she said. “I won’t be sent there for any man.”

  Tom was gazing down at her. As she expressed her fear, she felt his resistance melting. He put his large, worn palms on her arms, and his touch was wonderfully warm.

  “Why does Mr. Mavors want me to carry a message to the lady? He doesn’t mean to rob the earl’s house, does he?”

  Tom, who almost never smiled, broke out into a laugh.

  “I don’t see what’s so funny!” Katy protested, but she did not pull away. She was amazingly comfortable where she was.

  “If he did”— Tom was still grinning— “I don’t expect there’d be any crime in it.”

  He was making no sense, and teasing her plainly. But she was the one being asked to behave suspiciously, and she deserved to know why—which she told him then, with a sudden threat of tears.

  Tom seemed upset to see the moisture in her eyes. He tightened his grip, bringing her closer.

  “You must promise not to betray the master,” he said.

  Katy promised. She did not bother to remind him that she had already pledged her word to this.

  “The master is innocent. I should know—I’ve taken care of him since he was just a lad. He’s never broken any law. But there are them who think he’s guilty of murder and would hang him in a minute if they knew where he was.”

  Katy’s mouth fell open, and for a while she forgot about everything but the story Tom told her.

  He told her that their master was the Viscount St. Mars, that his father the Earl of Hawkhurst had been murdered, and that his son had been accused. St. Mars had found the man responsible, but he had not got enough proof to take to a magistrate.

  The story made Katy shiver, for it recalled her own troubles with the law. She did not want to think about her prison days again, though, so she said, “Then, Hawkhurst House is his?”

  Tom explained that St. Mars’s cousin had inherited the earldom in his stead.

  “And who is Mrs. Kean?”

  This was harder for Tom to express. What was important, he said, was that Mrs. Kean knew St. Mars was innocent, for she had helped him find his father’s murderer. And now, he was returning the favour by helping her investigate the killing of a gentleman by the name of Sir Humphrey Cove.

  “I wonder if they love each other,” Katy mused.

  Tom’s hands tightened convulsively on her arms. Then he seemed to recollect himself and released her, taking a backwards step. “Now, you see why we didn’t tell you?”

  She nodded. “You didn’t think you could trust me. But now you do?”

  His frown told her that their moment of friendship was over.

  “You would have asked him yourself sooner or later,” Tom grumbled. “And I can’t have you thinking the master’s a common house thief.”

  He looked impatiently at her. “Are you ready to go? We’d best be moving or there won’t be any strawberries left.”

  * * * *

  By the time they had walked to the market at Covent Garden, made their purchase, and filled Katy’s basket with berries, Tom had reason to feel anxious. He’d seen men, congregating in the streets. Shouting matches had erupted, as well as fights like the one he witnessed in Amen Corner.

  He had no interest in politics, but he knew that the former Lord Hawkhurst had often grown heated over party affairs, and that St. Mars, had seemed more interested in them of late. Whatever was going on now, it was much worse than usual, which St. Mars would need to know.

  He hurried Katy almost into Piccadilly. Then, after assuring himself that she would not run into any rioters, he sent her towards Hawkhurst House, with instructions to tell Mrs. Kean that the streets weren’t safe. If she was planning to see his lordship, she had better appoint a safe meeting place.

  Then, he fretted while he Katy approached the porter’s lodge and stopped to speak to the porter, Rufus. Tom felt the hair on the back of his neck rise, when Rufus chucked her under the chin and peered into her basket in an obvious attempt to nuzzle her breast.

  “Dirty sot!” Tom growled beneath his breath. “I’ll bet you’d keep your hands to yourself, if I was by!”

  Katy was smiling at the porter, but even from where he stood, Tom could see that she was nervous. He had watched her enough to know her every thought. Knowing that she wasn’t enjoying Rufus’s advances made him angry on the one hand, but strangely content on the other. He didn’t want her to like other men.

  He hadn’t felt uneasy at all, when he’d told her about St. Mars, which made him feel guilty now. He’d had no right to tell her St. Mars’s secrets. But, when he’d seen how scared she was, he hadn’t been able to stop himself. And it was true that the master would be safer now that she knew. The more Katy knew, the better she could help him protect St. Mars.

  The knowledge that this burden was no longer his alone, but one he could share made him feel somehow better. And he couldn’t have sent Katy into Hawkhurst House, believing that she was doing something wrong. Even if he could, it wouldn’t have been right.

  Rufus finally let her through the gate, when Tom lost sight of them both. He had to turn his face to the side when Lord Burlington’s coachman drove by, and again when he saw a boy from Hawkhurst House running down the street with a letter for the post. Being careful not to be spotted by anyone he knew helped to fill the time, until Katy reappeared outside the courtyard gate.

  She waved goodbye to Rufus and came hurrying towards him. He ducked around the corner of a house and waited there, out of sight of his old home.

  When she came round from Piccadilly, she looked excited and breathless. Tom did not have to ask if she had delivered St. Mars’s message, for she immediately launched into raptures about the beauty of the furniture and the paintings and the servants’ livery, about how kind Mrs. Kean had been, and how horrible it must have been for St. Mars to lose his beautiful house.

  Tom knew he should quiet her, but he was too entertained, as he shepherded her on their way to the dock.

  Without thinking, he had taken her down St. James’s Street, where he was more likely to run into people he knew. He had just recalled this when he spotted a familiar face heading in their direction.

  “Come on,” he said softly to Katy. “There’s a fellow up there that I know. Take my
arm.”

  They crossed half the street after waiting for a waggon to pass, then ran the rest of the way across to avoid being trampled by a coach and six.

  No sooner had they made it onto the footpath, however, than a gang of men burst from between the buildings on the corner of Bennet Street. In their haste they knocked into Katy, who fell onto the pavement with a cry. No one bothered to stop. Instead, they ran, scattering in every direction.

  Tom helped her to her feet, just as a troop of militia ran out from the same opening in pursuit of the men. He threw his arms about Katy and shielded her with his body until this second group passed.

  As soon as they were gone, he held her away to examine her face. “Did they hurt you? Are you all right?”

  She looked shaken, but when she gazed up at him with her soft, brown eyes, she gave a trembling smile. “I’ll be all right now, Mr. Barnes.”

  If Tom had been able to think at that moment, he would have wondered that a woman with her experience could appear so sweet. But all he could manage had more to do with how grateful she seemed, how adoring—how adorable.

  He lost all consciousness of where they were, of the people buzzing around them, of the horses in the street, and the need to watch out.

  It had been ages since he had kissed a woman, but he had not forgotten how, as he discovered, when he found himself kissing Katy. Softly at first, then with an increasing hunger as he succumbed to his weeks of longing.

  “What the devil do you think you’re doing?”

  Tom felt a blow across his shoulders. It jerked him out of his bliss, and he turned to see an outraged pair of fops behind him.

  “You had better push along if you don’t want to be arrested for a display like that.” One of the gentlemen raised his cane, as if to strike him again, but Tom had swept Katy out of the way.

  With his ears and cheeks burning, he heard the other man say, “What an impertinence! Why, the fellow’s not even a gentleman, by gad! What’s he mean by kissing a whore in broad daylight?”

  For one terrible moment, Tom felt the shame of what he’d done, but then a sense of anger on Katy’s behalf made him stop. He would have turned to confront them, if Katy had not held him back.

  “It’s all right, Tom. Let them say what they want. They can’t hurt me.”

  But he heard the shame in her voice, and he knew that he was to blame for exposing her like that. They walked on towards the river, but he could hardly bring himself to look at her as they ducked down a side street to circle the Palace.

  They were almost to the river when she asked, “Why did you kiss me?”

  Tom halted and gave an incredulous laugh. He still could not look at her. “Why do you think?”

  Her voice was uncertain when she said, “I don’t know. I thought you hated me.”

  He shook his head in anguish. “I don’t. I wanted to, but I can’t.”

  She did not respond, so after a pause they went on. Neither spoke again until they reached the stairs, where four or five boats were tied up.

  “Thank you for taking care of me today, Mr. Barnes.”

  Her subdued tone made him steal a glance. She looked pensive and confused, as well she might, since he did not know what to make of himself.

  All he knew was that it was going to be impossible for him to keep from kissing her from this day forward.

  * * * *

  Hester had taken Katy’s advice and had named the safest location she could think of to meet St. Mars. Westminster Abbey was not only likely to be empty of rioters, it also had the singular merit of not being a place that was particularly known for romantic assignations.

  Isabella had laughed at her request to be permitted to attend more church services during the week, but, after all, Hester’s father had been clergyman. Since many people still went to services every day, her request had not been accounted that strange. Isabella, Harrowby, and Mrs. Mayfield numbered themselves among the more fashionable people, who only worshipped on Sunday, except when they wished to be seen at prayers by someone in the royal family.

  It had not always been that way. Mrs. Mayfield had often taken Isabella to the Chapel Royal before she was married to show her off to the gentlemen of the Court, but this had ceased being profitable when Queen Anne had raised the walls of the pews to put a stop to her ladies’ flirting.

  * * * *

  On the day following her receipt of St. Mars’s message, Hester stepped into the nave of the Abbey church and felt the seep of cool air from its stones bathe her with its ancient shade. She had to pause to accustom her eyes to the dark, for there were not enough candles in Christendom to illuminate every corner of the vast space. Sunlight filtered through the stained panes of glass high upon the walls, but the shadows thrown by the massive pillars, the choir, and the raised pulpits threw many areas into gloom. Hester began to think that instead of being concerned that St. Mars might be recognized, she ought to have worried over whether she would find him at all.

  Visitors, touring the Abbey, walked about in groups of three and four, speaking in hushed voices. From far away came the high notes of the choirboys at practice.

  Hester headed down the North Aisle towards the back of the nave and circled a pillar. From its shelter she peered at the few gentlemen who had chosen to sit this far away and thought she spied St. Mars in his fop’s outfit, kneeling in prayer on the third row from the back.

  She moved to the central aisle before edging closer. She had almost reached the gentleman, whose head was bent devoutly over his hands, when she felt a sharp tug on her skirt. Turning to look for the nail she had snagged it on, she instead saw another gentleman, leaning from the row behind her with one hand gripping her gown.

  Hester covered her laugh with a gasp when she recognized St. Mars, whose head was covered in yet a third style of periwig. He had stretched across the back of a pew to grab her before she could speak to the wrong man.

  Disturbed by her gasp, the gentleman she had nearly accosted looked up from his prayers and gave her a scowl. She hastily stepped backwards, whispering a string of apologies for having disturbed him.

  She would have sat down in the row in front of St. Mars, if he had not beckoned her to sit beside him instead. She moved to the end of her row, where he met her then waited politely for her to be seated before joining her in the pew.

  “I thought you said the second row from the back,” he teased her, speaking in a low voice, which sent a thrill down her spine. He had leaned closer to speak into her ear, and their elbows touched. As nervous as this made her feel, she realized how much more noticeable they would have been if she had whispered to him over her shoulder.

  “I said somewhere near the back. But I’m glad to find you so quickly, my lord.”

  “And before you joined in that gentleman’s prayers. I think he would have been rather astonished if you had.”

  “Fie! As if I would ever do anything so disreputable!”

  “My pardon, Mrs. Kean. I had thought there was nothing you would not undertake in the cause of justice.”

  “Instead of teasing me, my lord,” Hester said, trying hard not to laugh, “perhaps you would be so kind as to tell me what you’ve discovered.”

  Their whispers mingled with the other noises in the church, the booming echo of the heavy doors, an occasional cough, and even giggles from some of the tourists visiting the royal tombs.

  St. Mars gave an exaggerated sigh. “If you truly insist on being serious, I shall be forced to tell you that I haven’t discovered very much. I found George Menzies, or rather Tom did, just before he left for France. We followed him and asked some questions, but he had very little to add that I had not already got from Colonel Potter. However, he did confirm that your cousin Dudley went downstairs in pursuit of a harlot.”

  “Did he say why he left so suddenly?”

  “Yes, he saw someone who is likely one of Walpole’s spies in France. He was afraid of being exposed.”

  “Do you think he was telling t
he truth?”

  This time, St. Mars’s sigh was genuine. “I hate to say it, but I believe he was. He insists that Sir Humphrey was completely unaware of the Jacobites’ intention to bring Harrowby over to their cause. They used him to gain an introduction to Hawkhurst House, but would never have entrusted him with their plan.”

  “But what if he uncovered it somehow? Would Colonel Potter have killed him to keep him from telling Harrowby? Once he lost his commission, he seemed almost desperate to secure a post.”

  “Menzies seems to think that Sir Humphrey was incapable of reasoning anything out for himself. But what do you believe? Do you think he could have done it? And, if he did, would he really have told Harrowby?”

  Hester felt frustrated. “I don’t know. He was incapable of keeping a secret, that is true. But whether he could have uncovered it himself, I cannot tell. The one thing that makes me believe he did is what his sister said, that something had been troubling him of late.”

  They paused, while the gentleman Hester had disturbed, rose from his knees and walked past them. He gave them a glance that condemned whatever they were doing. Hester bobbed her head guiltily, but St. Mars seemed not even to notice.

  “If Sir Humphrey was a Jacobite, why should he have been troubled by the notion that his dear friend Harrowby might be persuaded to help James?” he asked.

  Hester could come up with no reasonable answer, so instead, she told him of her theory, that the murderer had used Dudley’s history of violence to implicate him.

  While explaining her reasons, she did not tell St. Mars that she had discussed these first with Lord Lovett. The memory of that gentleman’s kiss was very fresh in her mind, and she could not think of him without chagrin. She blamed herself for allowing him to know how much she enjoyed his wit, when she knew perfectly well that he was a libertine. She had as much as invited him to take that liberty with her. She had wanted him to find her attractive. The respect that he had shown her had given her a better opinion of her allure, and she had been weak enough to want proof of his admiration.

  But his kiss had surprised her. Worse, it had disappointed her. She had always expected to be thrilled by her first real kiss from a gentleman, but no sooner had she dealt with the shock of it, than she had realized that surprise was the only emotion he had aroused. She had not felt the thrill she would like to have felt.