Banquet of Lies

by Michelle Diener

  Gilbert looked sharply at Edgars. “A good question. Where is Lord Aldridge?”

  “Off on important business for the Crown.” Edgars’ words were short.

  “He sent a note. It was delivered just after you left for market, Cook.” Babs spoke up for the first time. “I were clearing the fireplace in the library when the note came, and I heard a little of what was said. There were a note for you, too.”

  Everyone looked at Edgars. He shuffled back, as if the weight of their gazes were pushing at him. “Where Lord Aldridge is has nothing to do with whether Madame Levéel is a thief or not.”

  “From whom do you imagine I stole the jewelry, Mr. Edgars?” Gigi asked coldly. “You know it isn’t from Lord Aldridge.”

  “Why would he know that?” Gilbert asked, standing so he could watch her and Edgars easily.

  “Because he would know what jewelry Lord Aldridge has in this house, if any, and if he’s been pawing through my mother’s jewelry, he knows it isn’t the same.” She could barely speak around the ice-cold stone that seemed to be stuck in her throat. When she’d taken on the role of servant, she hadn’t realized her privacy would be so inconsequential, that a single finger pointed in her direction would be taken so seriously.

  “Well?” Gilbert asked Edgars.

  He looked away. “No.” He cleared his throat. “The jewelry isn’t from this house.”

  One of Gilbert’s men shifted a little nervously. “Eh? That’s why we’re ’ere. Thought the theft was of his lordship’s property.”

  “Yes.” Gilbert dragged the word out. “I’m afraid you haven’t been very clear, Mr. Edgars.”

  “It’s ’cause of last night, isn’t it?” There was a rough edge to Rob’s voice. “She weren’t going to say nothing, Edgars. She wouldn’t even give you up to me ’n’ ’Arry, and we were right there! She would never have dropped you in it with his lordship.”

  “Last night?” Gigi frowned—and then she understood. She fumbled behind her on the steps and sat down, because her legs wouldn’t hold her up any longer. “You . . .” She couldn’t finish her sentence. Edgars had thought she would use what had happened last night—the things he’d said and done—to have him dismissed. He must have greeted the news this morning that Aldridge was away as a stay of execution. And he’d seized on the opportunity to get rid of her before she could get rid of him. Before he became powerless to stop her.

  When Aldridge came back, Edgars could have made up whatever story he liked. He was panicked enough, terrified enough, to have lied about it later. If he’d had to say anything at all.

  Aldridge might simply have accepted that she’d moved on.

  The thought of that hurt, but she had to face it. Despite the intensity there seemed to be between them, she was only his cook, after all.

  She put her head in her hands. “I’m not a thief. The jewelry is mine. Mr. Edgars is mistaken.”

  She really was the Goose Girl of London Town. The princess betrayed by her maid. Or the youngest son in “Puss in Boots,” turned out by his brothers. She’d been in fear of the danger outside, but had forgotten there was danger within as well.

  She hadn’t liked Edgars, but she had never wished him harm.

  He wished her in a jail cell. In a prison, or on the hulks.

  She couldn’t find a better description of harm than that.

  She felt a touch on her shoulder and lifted her head to see that Iris had come to stand beside her. She curled her fingers around Iris’s hand for a brief moment.

  Edgars made a noise, almost a cry, of despair. She raised her eyes to his but he was looking at Iris. Then he turned to her, and she saw hot, furious hate. “Take her away.”

  Gilbert’s men didn’t move.

  “Take her away!” His shout into the tense silence made everyone jump.

  Gilbert went stony-faced, and Gigi saw a man with power about to lose his temper. Edgars was trying to manipulate him, challenge him, and neither suited Gilbert’s image of himself.

  Fear dribbled icy rivulets down her neck. This would not go well for anyone.

  “I’ll admit that the quality and amount of jewelry Madame Levéel has in her possession is more than I’d expect a cook to own, but the items are not reported stolen, as far as I’m aware.” Gilbert tugged at his waistcoat. “I’ll take her in, because something don’t smell right, but I’ll not put her before the magistrate until Lord Aldridge comes to speak to me. I’m not sending her to prison. And I’ll hand her back to him if he can vouch for her.”

  Edgars breathed in sharply through his nose.

  Not what he wanted to hear. The explanations, the lies he would have to tell to talk himself out of this, were growing.

  Gigi clenched her jaw to stop herself from arguing with Gilbert. Or telling him who she really was.

  Nothing she said now would be taken seriously. She’d taken on the role of invisible cook, and now she was finding out just how invisible her disguise had rendered her.

  She was only grateful that Edgars apparently hadn’t found the hidden compartment in her clothes trunk that contained the money with which she and her father had been traveling. He would never have believed she’d have taken a job as cook if he’d seen the amount.

  Gilbert began to place the jewelry back in the velvet pouches, and she bit her lip to stop herself from urging him to be careful.

  “May I have the letter Lord Aldridge sent me?” She held out her hand to Edgars.

  “Babs was mistaken. There was no letter for you.” He gave a crooked smile. “And you could be in the station a while, I fear. Lord Aldridge had to go down to Dover.”

  “That’ll be days.” Gilbert’s man shot a quick look at his boss. Reluctance was in every rough line of him.

  “Then it’ll be days,” Gilbert snapped, straightening up with the jewelry bags.

  “Where are you taking her?” Iris asked, and her hand clamped down hard on Gigi’s shoulder.

  “Queen Square.” Gilbert sounded like a man at the end of his patience. “The station cell. She’ll be safe enough there.”

  “I’ll send Lord Aldridge round soon as he comes in.” Iris stared at Edgars as she spoke.

  “See that you do.” Gilbert stared at Edgars as well. He motioned to his men, and they stepped toward her with grim purpose.

  Gigi stared at them dumbly.

  “You need to go with them.” Rob came to her rescue, stepping forward and holding his hand out to her.

  She took it and he pulled her to her feet.

  “I don’t understand what you mean to do,” she said to them.

  One looked away, but the constable who’d spoken earlier gave her a look that said he didn’t think he should be there at all. “Long as you don’t plan to run or nothing, we don’t mean to do anything.”

  She gave a nod and stepped aside, and he went ahead of her, then gestured for her to follow him, and the other fell in behind.

  They’d opened the carriage door, and she was about to step in when a gleaming carriage with a flamboyant crest pulled up.

  Georges Bisset leaped out. “Ma chère! Where are you going? I could not come yesterday after that horrible man spoke with me. The duke had a very important dinner party last night. But I come as soon as I can this morning. Viens. I take you back safe with me.” He walked toward her, his arms open wide, and Gigi couldn’t help the sob that escaped her.

  She had been doing all right until that moment, but the sight of Georges, of the possibility of an end to the nightmare, broke her.

  Her step forward was brought up short as Gilbert grabbed the collar of her coat and yanked her back, and then shoved her behind him. “No, you don’t.” He sent a narrow-eyed glare at Georges. “Who are you?”

  “Georges Bisset.” Georges flicked his eyes from Gilbert to his men, and then back to Gigi. A red flush began to creep up his neck and stain his cheeks. “He did it. Mon Dieu! I told him to go ahead with his silly Alien Office, and he did. They are taking you away? Gigi, you need t
o speak up, ma petite. This is not worth it, whatever favor you do for these government people. Tell them who you are!”

  “Alien Office?” Gigi blinked. “Who threatened to call the Alien Office?”

  “That imbécile.” Georges gestured wildly behind him at Aldridge House. “That idiot, Aldridge.”

  “Let me get this straight.” Gilbert was staring at her a lot more coolly than he had done before. “Lord Aldridge had cause to threaten Madame Levéel with the Alien Office?”

  “No. That is why I told him to go ahead. There was no cause. I knew he would look like the idiot that he is if he did it.” He paused. “If you are not from the Alien Office, who are you?” He stepped closer to Gilbert, and for the first time, Gilbert seemed to realize how big Georges was. How angry.

  “Gilbert, senior constable, Queen Square Public Office.”

  “What? You are a gendarme?” Georges spat the word like it was an abomination on his tongue. “What business do you have with my Gigi?”

  “She’s been accused of theft.” Gilbert lifted the pouches and then smirked as Georges stared at him dumbly. “Smith, Peterson, get her in.” He spared only a moment to hand the small bags to Smith. Then he turned back to Georges.

  “You do well to keep your eyes on me and your hands free. Because no one takes my trésor off to prison. She’s never stolen so much as a bonbon in her life.” Georges came in even closer, and Gigi could see Gilbert’s hands forming into fists.

  “Georges.” She spoke sharply, cutting through the growing threat of violence like one of Georges’s knives. “You can help me better if you aren’t arrested yourself. Ask your duke for help. Please. I’m sure he knows how to sort this out quickly. Aldridge had nothing to do with this. He isn’t even here. They say they’ll release me to him as soon as he comes back.”

  Georges drew in a shuddering breath, teetering on the balls of his feet, his massive hands clenched in front of him. “What is it they say you stole?”

  “My mother’s jewelry.” Her voice broke as she said it.

  “They say . . .” He was speechless, and there must have been something in his face, because Gilbert scrambled into the carriage.

  He hit the roof of the cab with his fist so hard to signal the driver, he must have damaged his knuckles.

  Gigi caught a single glimpse of Georges, eyes closed, feet apart, massive arms held away from his solid body, and the carriage jerked and then sped down the street. There was a roar of fury, and then Gigi heard the thunder of Georges’s footsteps as he gave chase.

  “Duke?” Gilbert asked her, and there was a slight wobble to his voice. He cleared his throat.

  “His employer.” Gigi leaned out the window, craning her neck to see Georges. “The Duke of Wittaker.”

  The carriage made a sharp turn at South Audley, and, too late, Gigi noticed the man standing on the corner.

  Their eyes met with a clash that stole her breath.

  The shadow man.

  Instinct and blind fear had her pulling her head in, grabbing the fabric of her dress with both fists.

  It was hard to breathe, but she forced herself to keep it even. To lean back against the seat of the coach.

  “What is it?” Gilbert’s sharp eyes missed nothing.

  She hesitated a moment. The truth wouldn’t help her. Gilbert would only make note of what she had to say; she didn’t expect any real action. But could the truth really hurt? “There is a man who wants to kill me. I just saw him standing on the corner of the road.”

  Gilbert half stood and leaned out of the window, then pulled himself back in. “The one in the black coat?”

  She nodded.

  “Why does he want to kill you?”

  “I saw him do something. He wants to make certain I don’t give him away.” She would not mention the letter, or Gilbert might take it into his head to search her for it.

  “What did you see him do?” Gilbert spoke seriously, but she wasn’t sure if he was humoring her or not.

  “I saw him kill my father.”

  Gilbert went still, and she heard Peterson suck in a breath. “I haven’t heard of any Frenchmen being murdered in the area.” Skepticism leached into his tone.

  “My father is English. And the murder happened in Stockholm, not London, nearly two weeks ago. That man has chased me across the North Sea.”

  There was silence in the coach. The cries and calls from the street and the rumble of the wheels on the cobbles seemed a hundred miles away.

  Peterson, the one who’d so far shown her kindness, was frowning at Gilbert. “You sure about taking her in, sir?”

  “Yes.” He flicked at something on the knee of his trousers.

  “I haven’t done anything wrong.” Gigi kept her composure.

  “Seems some people believe otherwise, miss.” Gilbert watched her with his brown, foxy eyes. “And just by looking at you, I can tell there’s something off. You ain’t what you seem. And this story about a man wanting to kill you . . .” He shrugged. “I don’t know how to take you, and that’s the truth.”

  Gigi closed her eyes and leaned her head back. It seemed no one knew how to take her. She’d thought posing as a cook would be the easiest thing in the world for her, but she’d been wrong.

  She only hoped the shadow man didn’t find out who was with her in the coach and where she was going.

  Because if he was someone in the Foreign Office, he’d be able to get to her if he was desperate enough to risk exposing his real name and occupation. She’d be neatly trapped and at his mercy, sitting in a cell.

  29

  He must stop letting his father and brother’s frugal habits influence him, and get a carriage of his own. Jonathan stepped down from the coach and the ground continued to vibrate under him for a moment.

  The roads were terrible, pitted and scarred by the rains. While having his own carriage wouldn’t change that, it would mean his bones would be shaken and rattled about in private comfort, rather than public discomfort.

  It was already midmorning, and there would be at least an hour’s wait while the coachman changed the horses and grabbed a bite. Time enough for Jonathan to eat a meal as well, and inquire whether Greenway had come this way.

  He followed his fellow passengers into the dark-paneled main room of the inn, set out with tables around a large fireplace. The fire was well stoked and most of the travelers began to congregate near its warmth after the drafty, cold journey.

  The innkeeper stepped forward, and Jonathan intercepted him before he could get caught up with his guests.

  “If you don’t mind sparing a moment?”

  The innkeeper gave him a quick look that took in his clothes, his boots and the sovereign in his hand. “Certainly, my lord. How can I help?” He palmed the coin smoothly.

  “I’m trying to catch up with someone. I have an urgent message for them, and I know they left for Dover either yesterday or the day before.” He watched the innkeeper’s polite face and sighed inwardly. How could he expect the man to remember someone who might have come through two days ago? He plowed on. “His name’s Greenway, and he’s a lawyer. Dark red hair. Thin. Tall.”

  “Ah. Yes, I remember the gentleman. Wrote a letter for me to send for him. Recall it, because the letter was addressed to the place he was going. He said in case the post traveled faster than he did, he would give the people he was going to some advance warning.”

  “Which day was this?” The hope that it was yesterday, that Greenway had missed the boat and was waiting in Dover, gripped him hard.

  “Day before yesterday. Two smart types came through that day. Eyeing each other with much suspicion, I think. One a nob . . . er, a lord, like you, my lord, the other this lawyer fellow you’re asking about.”

  Dervish. Greenway had managed to catch up with Dervish. Not that either would know who the other was. Although when they got to Stockholm, that would change quickly enough, when they both found themselves searching for Giselle Barrington.

  “I hope
that was helpful?” The innkeeper tipped his head.

  “Thank you. It was.” He could go home, Jonathan thought. There was almost no chance Greenway hadn’t caught that boat, since he was traveling through at the same time as Dervish. A trip to Dover would be a waste of time.

  Something in him relaxed a little at the thought. He didn’t know why he was so uneasy at leaving Madame Levéel before they’d spoken about her secret, but he was. He was relieved to turn back.

  He walked out into the yard to find a coach home.

  * * *

  There were two cells in Queen Square. One for men, and one for women.

  The women’s cell was at the far end of the passage, and each step she took toward it shoved another double blade into Gigi’s gut. Fear and rage. Rage and fear. She couldn’t have said which was stronger.

  She didn’t look at the male prisoners as she passed their cell, and while she knew by their tone and gestures the things they called to her were probably very bad, she didn’t hear any of it.

  She had come quietly, with the logical thought that when Aldridge returned, she would get out. A scene and a struggle would simply prove Edgars’ point.

  But now that she was here, walking step by terrible step toward the wall of narrow steel bars, she didn’t feel logical anymore.

  She wanted to shout, to scream. To fight out of Peterson’s grip on her arm and run for the door. If the shadow man came for her here, there would truly be no escape.

  “Easy.” Peterson spoke very quietly. “I know it’s a bad sight, but you’ve played it right. And I’ll keep an eye. I promise. No harm’ll come to you.”

  She drew in a shuddering breath. For one step, then two, it could have gone either way; then she paused and gave a tiny nod of her head.