by Sarah Zettel
“You’ll have mongrels from all corners of London lined up in front of the gatehouse,” remarked Lady Cowper, who was rearranging the cards in her hand and clearly wondering when the play would begin again.
“Certainly not,” I declared. “No one will mistake a notice for Lady Hannah Applepuss.”
“She’s making fun, Your Highness,” said Sophy. “Really, Fran, you always did have the most absurd sense of humor.”
“Better absurd than none at all,” murmured Molly. Only the two or three ladies at the table closest to us could have heard her words, but they were already putting their heads together so their whispers and smothered giggles rippled about the room.
I turned three-quarters toward the Howe. Sophy still held her cards fanned in front of her, as if she was waiting for me to make my play.
Which, I suppose, she was, and which I did. “Would you care to make a wager on it?”
If there had been anyone in that room who had not been paying attention, the word wager ended that indifference. Members of the court would bet astronomical sums on the strangest and smallest outcomes. I had myself witnessed two gentlemen placing fifty pounds on the question of whether a fly would light on a spill of brandy or a spill of claret first.
“I say I can acquire a pure white dog, bred, trained, groomed, and fit to accompany a princess, as the result of one advertisement addressed to Lady Hannah Applepuss, by Friday week.”
This was dangerous. I should stop. There was too much that could go wrong, especially once Mrs. Abbott worked out what I’d done. Which she would, because I had more than thirty extremely amused and highly voluble witnesses to my folly. But if the finish to this was my finally getting a message to Olivia, it was worth any risk. Or so I prayed.
“Why would I enter into such a ridiculous wager?” inquired Sophy with an expert arch of her perfectly plucked brow.
“Because,” I replied evenly. “You’re the one who says I’m lying.”
Liar was not one of those charges one made in public. What had been an air of amusement emanating from our audience grew distinctly more chilled and serious. In that same moment, Sophy’s painted cheeks took on a deeper color. Had we been men, and not in the presence of Her Royal Highness, there would have been fists thrown and swords drawn. As it was, we were girls and could only smile daggers and danger at each other.
“Well, Sophy? What answer will you make to that?” Her Highness remained apparently unruffled by the change of atmosphere about us.
“Very well, Fran. I accept the wager.” I saw wheels turning behind Sophy’s eyes, each one winding her anger a little tighter. “Shall we say ten pounds?”
“Say twenty, if you like.” With my losses so far tonight, that sum represented my entire remaining stock of pin money. But that was the least of it. If I failed in this, Sophy would have succeeded on two distinct points. First, I would have made a complete and public fool of myself. Second, I would have angered Her Royal Highness for causing a disruption in the royal nursery. With the loss of her preference, I would further lose the cachet that was bringing me to the notice of the powerful, which was in its turn supposed to keep me in gifts and money that I could squirrel away for that distant future when I was free again. I thought of the jewels that I had already received with a longing that surprised and chagrined me.
And for what was I risking this all? A chance to throw my cleverness into the face of Sophy Howe, because she disliked my predecessor and reminded me a little too much of Lady Clarenda. That, and the barest sliver of a chance that this time my message might get through to Olivia.
“Twenty pounds, then,” Sophy replied, her voice as taut as any harp string. “But you write the advertisement now, and I choose the messenger to deliver it.”
“As you like,” I answered steadily.
The whole gathering was diverted, and I heard other wagers being contracted as fresh bottles were uncorked. Mr. Fortinbras, he of the shocking pink coat, and his friend Lord Blakeney detached themselves from the pack of claret drinkers to make a great show of escorting me to the delicate writing desk in one of the great room’s alcoves. There they laid out paper, inspected the quill in the pen holder, and dipped it carefully in ink before handing it to me, so I could write.
To Lady H. Applepuss: for immediate delivery 1 white dog to the Thames bridge, Molesey. Will Friday night, eight of the clock, suit?
I sanded and blotted the missive and handed it to Mr. Fortinbras, who then carried it with all due solemnity to Her Royal Highness for inspection, and to read aloud to the assembly. I had to look around a moment to find Sophy. She had left the card table and now stood with her back to the great doors, a triumphant expression on her face.
“That would seem to meet the conditions of the wager,” declared the princess. “Sophy, how will it be delivered?”
“By hand, of course.” Sophy pushed open the door just a little, and Robert, resplendent in his footman’s livery, walked in. He looked disconcerted for a moment to find every person in the room attending his modest entry, but he kept his aplomb and bowed very low.
I was not in any way surprised, although I could tell from the edge to Sophy’s smile that she expected grave consternation to overtake me. For my part, I had expected her to summon Robert if she could. Whatever war she and Francesca had engaged in over this man, Sophy would not miss a chance to demonstrate her power over him.
“Lady Francesca has a message to be delivered, Robert,” said Sophy, clearly and distinctly, in case my continued calm was an indication that I had failed to notice which footman she had summoned. “You’re to take it at once to the offices of . . . now, where was it?”
“The Morning Gazetteer.” I retrieved the notice from the princess with a curtsy and then took several coins from my stack at the card table. “This should pay for the advertisement and for having to wake up the house.” I reached out to put them all in his hands. Robert’s eyes narrowed, wary and confused. All of an instant, I decided there was time to add one more gambit to my game.
I let my hands slip to drop coins and paper onto the parquet floor in a loud shower.
“I do . . . I beg your pardon . . . I am so sorry.” Robert scrambled to retrieve the coins amid laughter and exclamation. I grabbed up the advertisement again, and again handed it to him. For a single heartbeat, we were face-to-face and there was noise enough to cover any whisper.
“Princess’s new apartment, after this,” I breathed as I straightened. Understanding flashed in Robert’s dark amber eyes before he bowed and withdrew.
I turned back to the gathering and Her Royal Highness and executed another curtsy, which earned me a spattering of applause, which clearly did not sit well with Sophy. She lifted her pert nose as if she hoped to find cleaner air closer to the ceiling.
With Robert’s departure, the immediate prospect of continued drama dimmed. The rich and noble crowd dispersed to pick over the bones of older gossip, call for fresh bottles of wine and port, and, on our princess’s part, summon several political gentlemen to consult with about her cards.
“I imagine you’re quite proud of that performance, Fran,” sniffed Sophy as we maids settled back to our seats and our game. “But I should be afraid of being made so ridiculous by such a promise.”
“Oh, you should,” said Molly to Sophy. “Especially if that dog arrives.”
“On the contrary,” I said. I pulled the nine of hearts from my hand and laid it down. “I’m feeling quite grateful to you, Sophy. I believe you’ve done me a favor.”
“Well, I’m glad to be of service.” She crossed it with the queen of spades. “I assure you it was unintentional.”
“Of that I have no doubt,” I answered. “No doubt whatsoever.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
IN WHICH SOME MOST UNWELCOME SUSPICIONS ARE CONFIRMED AND A TEACUP IS LEFT BEHIND IN DARKNESS.
“Well. I expect you are most pleased with yourself for that night’s work.”
To that growing list of items abo
ut which I was not surprised, I might now add the following: By the time I returned to my rooms, Mrs. Abbott was already well informed about my wager with Sophy Howe. After the scene with Robert, I had let Sophy take all the tricks and escaped the royal presence the moment the princess permitted us to withdraw. But no mortal can move as swiftly as gossip.
“It was necessary, Mrs. Abbott.” I sat carefully on the sofa, making sure I was not creasing my train or any bows. My head ached, both from the weight of my wig and the disquiet of my thoughts. I desperately wanted to climb into my bed. Or hide under it.
“In what way was making a spectacle of yourself in front of the court necessary?” Mrs. Abbott inquired with the coldest of all possible calms.
“Because if I am successful in obtaining the pup, I will have endeared myself to Her Young Highness Princess Anne, which will surely increase my credit with the Princess of Wales.”
Mrs. Abbott stood, silent as any statue. I had surprised her, and for a moment, she let it show. Tired and worried as I was, I felt the thrill of triumph in my veins at that sight.
“Very good,” Mrs. Abbott said, drawing the words out to three and four times their natural length. “Yes. It is very well played, this.”
“Thank you.” I gave her a theatrically gracious nod. “I also have managed a fresh assignation with Robert.”
I expected this news would be less well received, so her stony silence did not disappoint. I steeled my nerve, ready for the quiver in her lip that signaled a storm to be unleashed. I tried to prepare myself to argue, or to, unthinkably, issue orders.
Then, against what I would have believed to be all the laws of nature, Mrs. Abbott nodded.
“Yes. Now. It will serve.” She added something too soft for me to make out, but my relief at not having to take on yet another battle royale was such that I wouldn’t have cared if she’d begun talking to the furniture.
“When is this assignation?” she asked me.
“At once.”
“Then it must look natural. You will wait here.”
She left by the door to the gallery. I sprang to my workbasket, unearthed Francesca’s sketch of the ceiling in the princess’s new apartments, and stuffed it into my sleeve.
Wherever Mrs. Abbott had gone, it was not far. I barely had time to kick my basket back under the chair before the door opened again.
She’d brought a teacup. Ignoring my glance of surprise, Mrs. Abbott poured a measure of sherry from the decanter on the side table into the cup. She handed it to me, along with a candle.
“If anyone asks, you will say you take this to one of your sister maids. That Molly the Treasure perhaps. She has a low stomach, and this is a special tisane for her.”
“Thank you.” I looked at Mrs. Abbott with new respect. These small details brought home to me that this was not her first intrigue. She might even be very good at this business of spying. Could we, I wondered, eventually become something of friends? Could she teach me to do as she did?
I saw nothing to that end in her dark eyes. But hope is a persistent creature, and I carried it with me as I stepped into the gallery.
It was the small hours of the morning, but almost no one was abed. Palace residents and guests clustered together in the various chambers to talk or drink, or both. Some passed me in the galleries on the way to assorted apartments, whether their own or someone else’s. Servants also traveled to and fro, bringing wine, basins, or whatever else their masters might need. Even though I was still in my court dress with its bulky train, I was in no way especially remarked upon. If I was saluted, it was with a jest about the promised puppy and what I might do with any money I won.
The gallery that led to the apartments being improved for Her Royal Highness was blessedly empty. As I drew the door shut, I was engulfed in silence. Robert had not yet arrived. The light of the full moon streamed through the diamond-paned windows. I set the teacup on a worktable beside the door and moved carefully to the center of the room, taking my candle with me. Its circle of light felt pitifully small in that great, silent moonlit chamber. Under the influence of the silver beams, the tables, buckets, ladders, and easels turned into a dreamlike wilderness. The scaffolding and drop cloths sprouted strange shadows. It was cold as well, and I shivered.
I pulled out Francesca’s sketch and shook it open. The angle of the moonlight left much of the ceiling’s mural in shadow, but the central tableau remained fairly clear, though its colors were dim and difficult to discern. I did not dare light any of the lanterns I saw on the tables around me. I might need to return to darkness in a hurry.
My plan was that I could at least put this bit of my mystery to rest and then turn my attention to Robert and to trying to find out more about this business between him and Francesca. I was ready to see sloppy workmanship on Francesca’s sketch, and to be once and for all able to dismiss these drawings from consideration. I told myself I carried nothing but a failed attempt at copying a master’s work.
But sloppy workmanship was not what I found. Overhead, Thornhill’s painting showed a complex scene: there was the god Apollo, his chariot, and its horses. There was the winged woman, Leucothoe, hanging on to his arm. There below on a rocky landscape were a man and woman, lying side by side, plainly asleep.
In the drawing in my hand, that pair had their limbs clumsily sprawled and their heads thrown back. Francesca had drawn them not in sleep, but in death. The face on the central figure that took Apollo’s place was too young and too long to be the god of the painting overhead. It was handsome still, but its nose was prominent and curving, and its eyes heavily lidded. Neither was this penciled Apollo amused, like the painted one above. He was determined, almost martial in his aspect.
There was something wrong with winged Leucothoe as well. But as I craned my neck in a futile attempt to peer more closely at her, I heard the soft sound of the doorknob turning. I blew out the candle and ducked behind the nearest canvas draped ladder, hastily tucking my sketch back into my sleeve.
A shadow darted inside, and as the moonlight flashed on loops of braid, I recognized Robert. I moved into the nearest moonbeam. He saw me at once, but held up his hand, leaning back to listen at the door he’d just closed. When he was satisfied with the level of silence, he rushed forward and clasped both my hands. I braced myself to be kissed, but Robert was not in such a mood this time.
“Fran, what on earth are you up to?” he whispered harshly.
I drew myself up and frowned in my confusion. “What am I up to? What about you? Where were you this morning?” I had made up my mind to act as if I still believed the note leading me to the Wilderness had come from Robert. In part, this was to draw him out, but I admit I had another aim as well: to see how he would react when I spoke Sophy’s name. She had chosen him to deliver my advertisement to the Gazetteer. There had to be a reason for that.
Robert’s first reaction was simple confusion. “What do you mean?”
“I went into the Wilderness to meet you, as your note said. If you had been there, I wouldn’t be in this mess!”
The moonlight made it difficult to fully judge an expression, but the confusion in Robert’s voice lifted to pure incredulity. “You found a note in your rooms? And you followed it?”
“Of course I did. What—”
“It’s the oldest trick in the world!” he snapped. “I would never leave a note just lying about where anyone could get a look at it! You should have burnt it and stayed away.”
I turned away in a pretense of shame. “It was Sophy, wasn’t it? Making trouble?”
“Of course it was Sophy! Who else would it be? And you had to go make this stupid bet with her!” Robert paced across the room, moving deeper into the shadows. I could just see the gleam of his eyes now as they shifted restlessly, glancing from the uncurtained windows to the door. He was worried. No, he was frightened.
“I didn’t plan this, Robert,” I answered honestly, and I told him how I happened across little Princess Anne in the Wilderness an
d promised her access to a puppy I didn’t possess. “And then Her Royal Highness brought it up, and Sophy was so spiteful, I got carried away, I suppose.” Which was true, as far as it went.
It did nothing, however, to soften Robert’s anger. His hands repeatedly clenched the empty air, and I had the sudden idea he’d put distance between us so he would not be tempted to grab hold of me. “God in Heaven, Fran, we can’t afford for you to get carried away! You know that. Why must you court trouble?”
“And what would you have done? Let yourself be scolded and mocked for lying to the princess’s daughter?”
“Of course! It’s not as if any of this”—here he flung his arms wide to encompass the palace and the court—“matters to me.”
“It matters to me.” This was also the truth, and perhaps I should have been more chastened by it than I was. I knew my situation to be mad and precarious, but I enjoyed mingling as an equal with peers of the realm. I liked receiving attention from the men and being included in the company of the women and girls. More than that, I liked that I had gained some measure of respect from the Princess of Wales. I very much wanted to keep it.
“Will the advertisement be delivered?” I asked him.
“How can you be worried about that?” Robert forced the words through clenched teeth. “If you can’t stop acting like a silly little girl, you are going to get us killed!”
Despite the fact that we both spoke in whispers, that last word rang through the empty room. Killed. He was in fear for his life. Our lives. Slowly I shrank back. A wave of nausea swept over me, and I pressed my hand to my stays. It was true, then. The reassurance I’d taken from Mrs. Abbott’s tale of Francesca’s last days had been fool’s gold. Lady Francesca had been murdered. And I now stood in her place.
But I was not the only one distressed by the outburst. “Oh, Fran. I’m sorry.” Robert choked on the words, and for a moment I thought he’d cry. “I’m so, so, sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. Yes, it will be delivered. Sophy tried to argue me out of it, but I pointed out that everyone in court will be reading the Gazetteer to make sure it’s there. I will deliver it. On my honor, I will. Please don’t look at me like that.”