He bowed to Lady Howe and retraced his steps through the kitchens and out into the narrow lane behind the house, biting into a bun rich in lemon peel and raisins the cook had given him on his way through her domain.
He nearly tripped over the man lying near the alley entrance, half curled up, his hair matted and the sour smell of unwashed body rising from him.
The man cringed as Edward towered over him, and Edward recalled Luke saying the watchers that had replaced Twigs were mostly wounded ex-soldiers. He expected Luke had his eye on them all, but he didn’t trust Luke to pass along any information unless it suited him.
“You working for Tavenam and his lot?” he asked bluntly, crouching down.
The man eyed the bun, with one bite out of it, as if he couldn’t hear Edward over the sight of it.
Edward held it out to him and he snatched it, his long, jagged nails scratching Edward’s hand.
Edward looked away from him as he took the first bite. There was something animalistic about it, starvation reducing a man to the level of a beast.
“It doesn’t look like they’re paying you enough,” he said eventually, when the bun was gone.
“Money goes to me boss. Rogers. He gives us our share, when he gets it. But they aren’t good payers. Typical gentry.” He spat.
“I’m a good payer.” Edward sat back on his heels.
“I ain’t no snitch on me friends, mister.” The eyes that looked out of the filthy face were hard.
“I’m not interested in your friends, only the men paying you—or not paying you, as it goes.” Edward pulled out a coin and the man eyed it.
“Go on.”
“If you can get any information about who they are, I’d be very obliged.” He handed the coin over. It was only a shilling, but it seemed to have an effect. “All I ask is that you try to find out who hired you and, if they are planning anything against the people in that house”—he pointed behind him—“that you let me know.” He paused. “Do you know who I am?”
The man grinned, revealing surprisingly good teeth. “Aye. Lord Durnham. I’ve been on watch duty at your place, too, a time or two.”
“I’ll tell my staff to expect you, and I’ll leave a shilling a day here in this lane.” He looked around. “Under that rock?”
The man gave a nod. “Name’s Harkness, your lordship.” He moved, getting himself more comfortable, and Edward saw with shock he had lost most of his right arm.
“You were injured in the war?”
Harkness looked up abruptly and then away, hunching over what was left of his arm as if to protect it. “In Portugal, my lord.”
“And your friends, your boss Rogers, the ones helping you in watching the house? They served in Portugal as well?”
He gave a reluctant nod.
“I’m willing to offer them the same terms as I’ve given you.”
Harkness scratched his cheek. “I’ll tell ’em.”
There was something very alive about him, intelligence bright in his eyes, now he had a bun inside him. He would be a good man to have, even with one arm. But he was lying in the gutter, struggling to make a living any way he could, and even that wasn’t going well. Edward gave a nod of farewell, rising from his haunches.
Harkness touched the fingers of his left hand to his bare head in salute, and curled up again as Edward walked out of the lane.
Edward looked back, but Harkness lay curled up, facing away from him, looking like a heap of rags—like so much rubbish in the gutter.
“I’m sorry, Lady Callaghan, I see Lord Tavenam over there in the corner, and I need a quick word with him.” Charlotte smiled at her hostess and made her way to Tavenam at an oblique angle, so he would not easily see her until the last moment.
She’d noticed a change in the general atmosphere around her tonight. Instead of blending in, as she’d tried so hard to do since she gained entry to this elite circle, she was being watched.
Not by everyone.
News of the bet had surely not spread quite so fast as that, and most of the men would not have told their wives. But it was only a matter of time.
There was a gleam in some of the younger men’s eyes. A speculation as to whether they might have any luck with her if Edward failed.
“Lord Tavenam, just the man I was looking for.” Charlotte placed a hand on Tavenam’s arm, taking him completely by surprise as he stood with his wife and two daughters.
“Miss Raven, ah …” Tavenam’s affected surprise did not reach his eyes.
Charlotte gave Lady Tavenam a genuine smile. “So lovely to see you again, my lady. Your husband is being very kind to a young woman with no father to turn to, and giving me advice on certain legal matters.”
Lady Tavenam sent her husband a sharp look. “So that was what all that gesturing was about last night?” She turned to Charlotte. “Honestly, when I tried to find out what he was saying to you at Lady Crowder’s, he wouldn’t be drawn.”
“How very discreet of him.” Charlotte kept her smile sweet.
“Of course.” Lady Tavenam stepped back. “Well, we’ll let Oscar help you in relative privacy, m’dear.”
Tavenam had no choice but to take her arm and walk with her toward the door out to the balcony. Charlotte stopped short of it, though. They were well away from the crowds here, but still in full sight of everyone.
She would go nowhere alone with him.
She smiled prettily at him and prepared to lie.
“What are you about?” Tavenam hissed through his whiskers.
“Either you, or one of your little gang, has made it even more difficult for me to get information from Lord Durnham. I want the damage reversed. Or at least minimized. I doubt you could completely erase it.” Charlotte spoke coldly, the Ice Queen to the tips of her pretty, embroidered rose slippers. Throughout it all, she kept a friendly expression on her face. The look you gave a mark before you picked his pocket.
Tavenam gaped at her. “What are you talking about?”
“There is a wager in the betting book at a certain club in St. James’s Square that says I will become Durnham’s mistress or his future wife by next week.”
Tavenam froze. “What did you say?”
“If you were trying to make it impossible for me to do as you asked, you couldn’t have gone about it better. I cannot see Durnham now without a great deal of attention being paid to me, and if he gets wind of this bet, he may think to get as far from me as possible, either because he has no wish for a wife or a mistress, or because he is trying to save my reputation.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Either way, it does not help me get anything useful from him. Were you serious when you said you wanted information, or is this all a cruel trick?”
Tavenam stood still, and she realized he was shaking. “How do you know about the wager?”
“One of Lady Howe’s old friends is a member of the same club. He informed us, deeply worried about it, and its impact on my reputation.” It was an all-too-possible scenario. One that Tavenam would accept. “And you only need to watch some of the men here tonight to see that it is already having an effect.”
Tavenam clenched his jaw. “I will deal with this. Make no move toward Durnham for a day, maybe two, and I will make sure this is passed off as a prank in poor taste. Pretend you know nothing about it.”
She said nothing, raising her brows.
“It’s a mistake. Someone thinking to profit …”
“Profit from my being forced into intimacy with Lord Durnham, no matter my thoughts on the matter, or my own sensibilities.” She kept her voice even.
Tavenam went red. It started below his collar and crept up his neck, to stain his cheeks. He looked away from her. “This was not on my orders. It is someone not thinking clearly.”
“And you will make him see the light?”
Tavenam looked at her at last, and the expression in his pale, almost opaque eyes forced her to suppress a shiver. “He’ll understand his error before I’m done w
ith him. I can assure you of that.”
30
The note arrived for him at his club just after ten in the evening. Edward took the envelope off the silver salver presented to him by the club’s butler and slit it open with the letter opener provided.
It was from Charlotte, giving the location to meet her, Kit, and Gary this evening. He studied her handwriting, the loops and flourishes of it, which spoke of a joy in putting pen to paper. A celebration of the skill of writing.
She must only have learned how when she came to Catherine.
He folded the paper and slipped it into his top pocket.
“Good news?” Lord Aldridge asked, and with a start Edward noticed he was sitting very close by, in the same dark corner of the room. He leaned forward and increased the light on the small lamp beside him, beating back the gloom a little.
“Why do you say that?”
“You looked …” Aldridge looked suddenly uncomfortable. “… well, happy.”
Edward damped down his surprise. “Yes. In a way, I am.”
“Well, good luck to you.” Aldridge stood. He was a few years younger than Edward, and almost too good-looking. Edward had known his older brother quite well, but Gerald had died six months before of appendicitis, and he knew Aldridge had come off the Peninsula Campaign to take up the title and the running of his family estate. He looked too thin, and careworn.
“Aldridge, if you need help or anything—” Edward stopped. He had no time or inclination for diplomacy, but even he could see that asking outright if the Aldridge finances were in a mess would be rude.
But Aldridge was smiling ruefully. “Nothing like that. Gerald was a paragon of virtue and economy, as was my father before him. No, we’re sickeningly well-off. It’s just very final, taking the title. I was always grateful to have dodged being the heir, but there’s no running from it now. And if only I could get some decent food—” He stopped and laughed.
“Food?” Edward knew his mouth was open in astonishment.
“I find France and Spain have ruined me for life. I can’t eat boiled beef or overdone fish anymore.” He sighed. “At least, not a lot of it.”
Edward gave a sympathetic twist of his lips. “Get a French cook then.”
“Hmm. Hard to come by. I’ve already tried.” He tugged down his sleeves and pulled his jacket straight. “Well, I best be off.”
“Wait.” Edward looked up at him. “Were you in Portugal?”
Aldridge gave a nod. His eyes had narrowed slightly.
“Ever have someone under you by the name of Harkness?”
Aldridge’s eyes flew wide. “I did. Excellent chap. Outstanding bravery. If there was a medal I could have recommended him for, I would have. Terrible waste, his death.”
Edward hesitated. He suddenly realized Aldridge could be one of the men he was looking for. The watchers outside his and Charlotte’s houses were ex-soldiers from the Peninsula Campaign. Men Aldridge would have known. By his own admission, Aldridge had been in France and Spain enough to have lost his taste for English food. Certainly long enough to work out some smuggling routes.
And yet, he seemed genuinely respectful of Harkness, and genuinely thought him dead.
“May I ask, how do you know Ted Harkness?”
“His family lives near my country estate.” Edward felt the lie stumble and trip off his tongue, unwilling and surly.
“That would explain it.” Aldridge gave a nod and walked out, and if Edward hadn’t been watching him, he would have missed Tavenam entering the room.
He was looking for someone, and Edward wondered if it was him. Tavenam’s fingers twitched as he stood in the doorway, eyes moving from group to group.
Then he walked over to the betting book and began to look through it, and Edward went very still.
Charlotte.
Charlotte had cornered Tavenam this evening. Either that or someone else had mentioned the wager to him. And he was coming to see if he could work out who had entered it.
Edward leaned back in his chair, grateful for the lack of light in this corner of the room. The only lamp was the one Aldridge had turned up, forming a small pool of light over his chair and a side table with a book on it. Edward leaned forward and turned it down again until it winked out with a tiny pop.
Tavenam turned to the card room, and then stood, head to one side in a strange, birdlike motion for his ample frame, as a group of four men walked out of it.
One of them, Blackley, stiffened slightly at the sight of him. “Uncle.” He tried to find a smile. “Didn’t know you were a member here.”
“Just came to have a word, dear boy.” Tavenam smiled genially. “Take a walk with me, will you?”
Blackley nodded, the movement uncertain and almost fearful.
Edward felt a rage rise up in him just looking at Blackley, strong as a deep winter storm at sea. He hadn’t felt like this since the days he’d had to deal with his stepfather as a young man, and every smirk, every small, needling insult had taken real control to ignore.
He rose and watched Tavenam and Blackley as they left, and had the sense of a sharp movement just behind him. He turned and saw Blackley’s friends watching him, their eyes wary.
He stared at them a moment, and then dismissed them, heading for the door and stairway.
He took the stairs two at a time and reached the doorway just as Tavenam and Blackley were walking down the street. Tavenam’s carriage stood at the corner, and Tavenam was making use of every moment between the club and his rig to impress something upon his nephew.
He came to a halt, as if to make a particularly important point, at the opening of a narrow alleyway thirty feet from his carriage.
Hands came out of the darkness and pulled Blackley into the narrow gap. Edward watched, saw Tavenam tug a little at his cravat in discomfort, and then step into the alley after his nephew.
Well, well. Perhaps Tavenam hadn’t realized it was his own family member who had made things so difficult, Edward thought, but that would not stop him administering a reprimand. Perhaps the reprimand would be stronger, so that Tavenam was clearly shown not to be favoring the idiot.
He wanted to hear what was said. Very badly.
He walked forward, so intent on keeping quiet, and trying so hard to hear any sounds from the alley that he was taken completely by surprise by the hand on his shoulder.
He only just prevented himself from crying out, spinning to look straight into Aldridge’s eyes.
“I was walking home,” Aldridge said quietly, his eyes flickering over Edward’s shoulder to Tavenam’s waiting coach, and then back, “and then I recalled your estates are in Devon. Gerald stayed with you there once. I remember receiving a letter from him. But Ted Harkness was from Portsmouth—”
“Shh.” Edward turned back to face the alley, his hand lifted to silence Aldridge. He could hear babbling and a calm, measured response from the darkness. A muffled cry of pain. He moved closer, aware of Aldridge behind him.
“What in hell is going on, Durnham?” He spoke at such a low whisper, Edward could barely hear him, and his respect for the man rose.
“There was a wager in the betting book—”
“Ah. Saw that.” Aldridge said nothing more. He did not leave, though, and Edward cast a quick look over his shoulder.
Aldridge did not drop his gaze, his look even and curious, and with a shrug, Edward turned back. Pressed himself up against the wall at the opening to the alley.
“… make an apology.” Tavenam’s voice was shaking with some deep emotion. Then Edward heard him walking out and stepped back deeper into the shadows. He could not see where Aldridge had gone.
Tavenam passed just by him, his steps jerky, followed by two men. One swung up into the driver’s seat of Tavenam’s coach; the other opened the door for Tavenam, saw him settled inside, and climbed to sit next to the driver. The coach rolled off.
Edward stepped into the alley, wishing for better light, but there was a little, spilling fr
om a high window at the back of the house on the corner.
Blackley stood slumped against a wall. His face was unmarked, but he stood half hunched over. Ribs, maybe. Or kidneys. Perhaps just a quick blow to the stomach.
Certainly no more than he deserved. In fact, if Edward were the judge, substantially less than he deserved.
As he watched, Blackley straightened, pulled his cravat and coat to rights, and stared toward the street with an expression of growing defiance.
Someone still hadn’t learned their lesson.
He moved. Fast and hard.
He had a hand just below Blackley’s throat, and the other resting just by Blackley’s ear before the insolent bastard could so much as react.
Blackley gasped, and then his eyes moved over Edward’s shoulder.
Aldridge.
“You can ask me about Harkness later,” Edward said, and even he could hear the anticipation in his voice.
Blackley began to shake. “I would like to accompany Lord Aldridge to the club,” he said, his words tripping over each other.
“Oh, I don’t think so.” Edward did not loosen his grip. “You and I have matters of honor to discuss. The value of a woman’s reputation, and other related subjects.”
Aldridge sauntered over, coming up to Blackley’s other side and leaning against the wall with one shoulder.
“Those are important subjects, Blackley. Ones a man should never, ever forget. Perhaps they don’t seem important to you now. But give it time. One day, you’ll have a wife. A daughter. In fact, you have a younger sister, don’t you?”
Blackley went very still. “Don’t you … don’t.”
“What?” Edward looked him directly in the eye. “Don’t what, Blackley?”
“I was mistaken. Very, very mistaken in that bet. I thought it a joke, but I see now there was nothing funny about it. Nothing at all. And I plan to retract it, and pay out the wager, and you can take this as my apology, Durnham.”
Edward gave him a long, slow smile. “I didn’t hear an ‘I’m sorry.’”
“You don’t need me here, I assume?” Aldridge straightened up.
Edward shook his head. “I don’t really want to share, but thank you for the offer.”
The Emperor's Conspiracy Page 17