“He believes the spy has connections with someone on our property and I am to deliver the offender’s name to him.”
“You?” he said, incredulous.
“Apparently he has more faith in my abilities than most,” she said.
“And under the present circumstances I find him an astute man,” he said, amused. “I do apologize. I had not meant it as a criticism of your capabilities, but you must agree it an odd choice for someone, of no real birth to speak of, to approach one above his station, a female no less, who at the time was quite paralyzed. You had not considered his real motives?”
He could see she did not yet understand all the players.
“You will forgive me if I do not see that his only real motive could have been a wish to catch a spy and see his country win the war.”
“And your motive for helping him?”
“The same,” she said, her chin raised in defiance.
“This spy, did Price tell you his name?”
“Arnaud Rochette.”
He had indeed underestimated the man. His arrogance, it would seem, had blinded him to not only to the Major’s unfortunate perseverance but his own wife’s tendency to folly.
“And have you found this dastardly Frenchman?”
She folded her arms like a petulant child and said simply, “I have failed so far.”
He considered his next move. He did not trust his wife, but he trusted the power he had over her. The love of a mother for her child trumped most weapons. Price was using Georgiana, but not in the way she described, for Price already knew who his spy was.
If Price had been able to discover the name Arnaud Rochette, he also knew who used that name, but could not prove it. No one would dare take the Major seriously without real evidence. Edward’s station in life afforded him a level of unquestioned respect that the Major knew would protect him from any questions by the law. Edward surmised the informant who had given Price the information had fortunately died under torture and could therefore not verify the Major’s story. What Price was trying to do was use Georgiana to flush out Arnaud Rochette. It would also explain the man waiting in full view outside his window. It was the move of a desperate man with no other recourse.
“Have you had any luck in producing this fiend?”
“I was at first convinced Mr. Madden must be the traitor, but Major Price dismissed the idea. He had already had Madden followed and concluded he was not a spy but only a love sick fool trying to please his lover.”
“Really, how remarkable. And who is this lover?”
“Why, you, of course.”
“Extraordinary. You know of my tastes then.”
“I do.”
“And still you thought it possible to have me believe I seduced you in a drunken stupor?”
She shrugged. “It was my only recourse.”
“Indeed. And how did you discover this truth about Mr. Madden?”
She took too long in her answer and he knew he was to hear either a lie or a partial truth.
“I was witness to his departure from this very house on the morning of my arrival.”
“How careless of him,” he replied, not convinced that was how she had really discovered the truth. “So if not Mr. Madden, who then? Our esteemed vicar, perhaps?”
“You know about Mr. Gordon’s real vocation, for Mr. Madden would have informed you.”
“Oh yes, he informed me of it some time ago. Your own enterprising part in his activity did, I must say, come as a surprise.”
“But you allowed me to continue, indifferent to the risks. For what reason?”
He did not see the harm in allowing her some insight for she would make the connections soon enough.
“I have a bad habit of gambling and a superior vanity and taste for quality in furnishings and clothes. I spend enormous amounts for these privileges, the amount far exceeding my income, as you know. I receive my credit from you. Where you get it, I would deny knowing.”
“So you would hide behind a woman’s skirts?”
“And such pretty skirts they are.”
“But you spend more than even I give you.”
“Merchants are so eager to extend credit these days. A failing perhaps, but not one to concern me as it is to my advantage.”
“You owe no creditor.”
He made no answer for he had none yet formulated. She had taken him unawares in this direction.
“What else have you discovered?” he asked, fascinated by this new turn.
“That you spend a lot of time at Whites and in the company of military officers.”
“Yes, isn’t the war fascinating?”
“You have money, so much that you fear anyone knowing the precise level of your wealth.”
He saw her thinking about certain pieces of information and she was making connections. “Well, go ahead, Georgiana,” he said impatiently. “I grow weary of this speculation.”
“You are Arnaude Rochette,” she said finally, realization dawning on her as she spoke. “You made him up to cover your own tracks. It’s you who sends information to France with Gordon’s help.”
“Bravo,” Edward said softly.
“You are the traitor,” she said.
“Nothing so noble, I fear. I like to think of myself as more of a businessman really. I sell information at a great price. But come, I am no traitor for to be a traitor I would actually have to believe the French could win, which I do not. France is lost and has been for a time, and no amount of information I send them will help. Napoleon flounders about in his last effort, plundering the wealth of the Continent and it is that wealth which I collect. I am an opportunist, nothing more.”
“Why pretend that you are constantly without funds?”
“Gambling is an expensive habit. Being so constantly without funds as you say, I am also above suspicion if anyone was ever to cast doubt on such a highborn Englishman as myself. I am nothing but a wastrel.
“I gamble and drink and occupy myself with the pursuit of pleasure and am invited to the houses of powerful men. They speak of their strategy to defeat Napoleon and I listen with an expression of utter boredom. They cannot help it. Those that are forced to remain here are so frustrated in being denied a part in battle that they must let all those around them know of their great contribution to the war effort. The club is a veritable fountain of information and one has but to sit a moment and secrets drop into one’s lap. It is all quite without effort.”
“But if you have become wealthy from your own endeavors, why marry me?”
“It was not my idea, for I wish I could take the credit.”
“Mr. Madden’s idea.”
“Yes, actually. For you see, your small fortune has allowed me to spend my greater one without any suspicion as to its origin.”
“So you are far wealthier than even my father was?”
“Napoleon has been most generous.”
“And where do you hide this great fortune?”
He laughed. “Come now, Georgiana, that was not worthy of you.”
She shrugged. “I thought it a decent attempt. I always did like a good treasure hunt as a child.”
He crossed the room to sit next to her on the bed taking her hands in his.
“What new part am I to play now?” she asked and he could see the fear in her eyes despite its absence in her words.
“You are safe from me,” he lied to reassure her. “To atone for your games I ask only that you endeavor to keep Major Price from my doorstep. The odious man has come too close to the truth of late, and now he has you doing his dirty work for him. I never did like the man, but I like him less in the role of my adversary. It seems prudent to keep an eye on the fellow and who better than the person he thinks will accomplish his end?”
“And in return?”
“In return I shall not annul the marriage and expose you as a whore. Your bastard child will remain under my roof. You are, however, to end your affair with Markham, for I loathe it to be
known that I have been cuckolded. It leaves such an unpleasant stain on one’s reputation. I should have killed the man. Perhaps I still will.”
“Harm him and I will expose your perversion. Society would annul your connection to them, did I but confirm their suspicions of your preference.”
“Touché, my dear, but do be warned that my nature is only pleasant when I am not thwarted.”
“I have extensive experience with unpleasant natures, dear husband, and I doubt that yours is any worse than what I am accustomed to.”
He studied her a moment, wondering at her statement and the subtle change in the tone of her voice. She had the grace to lower her glance as if she regretted suddenly an indulgence. The beauty of playing a fool was that people underestimated him. It was a part that had served him well as much as it irked him at times. In the part of fool, people forgot their defenses and often showed him more than they would reveal did they perceive him as a clever and cunning man.
Her reaction to the last statement was more interesting than the statement itself. She had built intricate defenses herself, and like him, hid behind her own mask. The reason for it, he suspected, would be the true key to her allegiance.
“Such threats between us, I venture, do not recommend us,” he said, keeping his tone pleasant. “I would persuade you to the reasonable nature I possess but I know to assist you to this conclusion would perhaps be futile given the circumstances.”
She remained silent, awaiting his last card, so he played it.
“Tell me, Georgiana, why did you marry me?”
“I thought that self-evident. It was expected that I marry and my good father arranged it before his unfortunate death. To make ourselves useful as broodmares is the moment all we young ladies long for.”
“Your father told me you refused to marry me. He was rather upset by it. I was quite surprised when after his death your mother sent me a note saying you were delighted by the prospect of meeting me finally, so the wedding could go ahead as planned.”
She grew pale, he noted, and he pressed the matter, sensing a weakness.
“You saw my father the night he was killed?”
“Oh, yes. The night he was murdered I spoke to him briefly at a place he and I both liked to frequent. He was rather in a hurry to chase after some street boy. I didn’t think he was interested in boys, but then I never really knew that man’s appetites well. He could be secretive, but do let us return to you. Why did you change your mind?”
“I did not wish to remain a spinster all my life,” she said, recovering from an unseen shock.
Her fingers played with the sheets and he remembered having seen her previously play so with her handkerchief. She usually did it when she was nervous. Talking about her father seemed to make her very uneasy.
“Having to live with my mother for the rest of her life seemed suddenly a tiresome burden,” she said when his continued silence added to her state of distress.
He knew she was giving him a semblance of truth that he could believe so he would be satisfied and he decided to let her believe he accepted this explanation.
“Your mother is indeed a tiring woman. I wonder only you had not married sooner but then who would have a paralyzed girl past her prime but someone like me who had need of your fortune.”
She seemed to relax slightly, her face less strained.
“Major Price will not be put off forever,” she said. “He had two of my boys arrested to show me I am vulnerable to his impatience.”
“Ah, yes, your merry band of smugglers. I must say I quite admired how you have gone about setting yourself up in business with Gordon. But do try to remember that while street boys are useful, they are not important. You should concern yourself more with making sure the Major is satisfied with your progress without giving him me.”
“And how do you suppose I do that?” she asked angrily.
“That, my dear, is for you to consider, for I have weightier events to attend to. Lord Belmont has offered to show me the map of the fortifications in the Mediterranean that have so effectively cut off French supplies. Apparently, he was the genius who concocted the plan, and he is in desperate need of someone to appreciate his skill.”
“Men are fools,” she said.
“You can surely not let men take all the credit on that account? I have known many women equally foolish. It would be far safer to say humans are foolish, driven by greed and vanity, and we few have no choice but to exploit those vain enough to boast of their deeds.”
“And what if you are caught?” she asked angrily. “What of Rupert?”
“Then you had better make sure I don’t get caught for you shall go to the gallows with me, and poor Rupert shall be forced to grow up an orphan.”
“I had mistaken your feeling for him,” she said sadly.
“No, you are not wrong. I love Rupert greatly, but I have confidence in your abilities, dear, to make sure I am not caught. Now, if you will excuse me I must return to your guests, and play the part of the pleasantly surprised father-to-be.”
He left her bedroom and made his way down stairs. He had underestimated his young wife again, he thought. He would need information about her, he decided, and he knew just the man to hire, a Bow street runner who had become a private detective. Lord Belmont had highly recommended the man but what was his name? A Mr. Marsh, yes, that was it. He would have the man sent for.
9
Peter hated London and longed for the green, open spaces of Ravenstone. Here he was forced into the servant’s strict code and treated by other servants as inferior because he was from the country. They were a strange sort, he thought. Because their masters had rules, they felt the need to make their own rules too. Who sat where at the table was in order of importance. The butler barely paid him any attention, while the housekeeper would not stop looking at him for fear he would steal something. He felt her eyes follow him when he was in the house, and he hated being there as a result. He preferred the stables. The horses, at least, didn’t resent his presence.
He was waiting for her. It seemed he was always waiting for her. At least, he was able to dress in his regular clothes instead of the livery, which he hated. He watched the movement behind her bedroom window. It reminded him of his days watching Harry in his house, wondering what life was like for a boy who had two parents who loved him. He blew into his hands trying to warm himself, and pulled his coat closer, folding his arms. The cold had never bothered him before. Ravenstone was making him soft.
He stamped his feet and drew deeper into the shadows as a watchman walked down the well-lit street on his rounds. He was whistling a tune as he strolled along, his stick at his side. He glanced in the windows that were lit with a warm glow of light, pausing once in a while when something caught his attention. He was in no hurry. Peter waited for him to pass then stepped back under the light.
The front door opened and Georgiana stepped out into the evening, and glanced at him before she walked down the street. He followed. She was not dressed in her breeches, not disguised as a boy, so he kept his distance and wondered why. Young ladies did not go out by themselves, especially after dark.
Her black velvet coat shone in the light of the street lamp and he wondered how far she intended to walk. She turned toward Hyde Park, walking through the iron gates and along a path. The park was empty but for a few gentlemen who strolled along the darkening paths. They did not tip their hats at her but stared instead. She ignored them all, gliding past them, oblivious to the kind of attention she was drawing.
Not all gentlemen would allow her to escape them so easily, he knew, and he waited for that one. She took a path toward the Serpentine Lake, and two gentlemen stepped in front of her. She swerved left to avoid them, but one reached out to hold onto her arm, drawing her toward him. She struggled to free herself, and he laughed at her efforts, his friend enjoying the tussle. Then she hit him in the nose with her fist, and blood gushed down his white shirt. He screamed in agony, letting her go, his ha
nds to his face as his friend went after her.
Peter expected her to run, but she didn’t. She moved instead toward the man and grabbed him by the shoulders before he could raise a hand to her, and brought her knee up hard between his legs. He doubled over in pain, falling to the ground. Then she calmly continued on her way, as she had before, as if nothing had happened. He stepped past the gentleman, tipping his cap to them as he passed and continued to follow her.
She stopped finally beside the lake and drew from a bag some bread to feed the swans. He glanced around but saw no one, and moved closer to lean against a tree. Was she waiting for someone? he wondered When all the bread was gone, she stood watching the swans gliding through the water.
“Aren’t they beautiful?” she asked, her eyes on the white creatures.
“Tasty, too,” he said.
She turned to look at him, but her face was in shadow, under the hood of her coat.
“You’ve eaten swan?”
“I’ve eaten rats as well,” he said and walked closer to her.
He took her right hand in his and took the glove off. She did not protest, but winced when he bent her fingers to make sure she had not broken anything.
“What are you doing?” he asked her.
“Watching the swans,” she said simply.
“Why?”
“They calm me.”
“You could have dressed as a boy. It might have been less trouble.”
“I’m tired of hiding. I just wanted to go to the park and see the swans.”
“And you always do just exactly what you want, don’t you?”
She took her hand from his and turned to look out at the lake again.
“You think me spoilt and foolish, don’t you?”
“Aren’t you?”
She took a long moment to answer, and then said, “No. I don’t think I am, but I suppose to you, it would seem so.”
“Why did you need to see the swans?”
“Because my husband is sending military information to Napoleon and wants me to make sure he does not get caught.”
“And you would do this because?”
Raven's Shadow (Book 2, the Ravenstone Chronicles) Page 18