Michael tried not to tap his foot with impatience, but Heath, it seemed was in no hurry. He drank his coffee, held a conversation with a gentleman at the next table, glanced at a newspaper, then finally stood up to leave, lifting the parcel from the floor.
Michael spun around in frustration, looking for Betts, who stood right behind him.
How long had he been there? Michael blinked, but said only, “The officer with a brown paper parcel. He obtained it from another gentleman who vacated the seat as soon as the officer entered.” He tipped his hat. “Good morning, Mr. Betts.”
He strode off before the wide-eyed Betts could ask him for further explanation. It was almost midday, and it was imperative now he talk urgently with Judith. So, he went straight to the King’s Head.
*
After leaving Michael in the library, Maria discovered with some consternation that Mr. Gayle had already left the castle. According to Paton, the butler, he had done so in the carriage placed at the visitors’ disposal.
Maria’s instinct was to demand the countess’s carriage and give chase. But she did remember her promise to Michael and her family, and was, indeed, unwilling on her own account to be seized into a back alley. So, she swept into the breakfast room instead. Finding only her older sisters there, she hectored them into coming with her immediately.
Amused and intrigued, she suspected, by her urgency, they gave in.
“Where exactly are we going?” Frances asked as the carriage bowled into town.
“To the hotel to begin with,” Maria replied, sitting forward and scanning the streets for any sign of Gayle. “After that, I’ll let you know.”
“You’re being very mysterious, and it will drive me mad,” Serena stated. “What are we doing?”
“I’ll tell you when I know myself.”
“We should have gold braiding,” Frances said flippantly. “And swords. It would only be right for your bodyguard.”
Maria took her gaze off the street long enough to cast her a quick grin, then continued her search. But by the time the carriage halted at the hotel, she had seen no sign of her quarry. Then just as she climbed down, she saw him walk into the coffee house opposite, a large, brown paper-wrapped parcel under his arm.
She breathed a sigh of relief.
“Well?” Serena demanded. “Where would my lady like to go next?”
“Into the hotel,” Maria said promptly. “We can drink coffee. And eat toast. I’m ravenous.” She led the way inside and asked for a table by the window. From there, she had a good view of the coffee house. For a few moments, she panicked, because she could not see Gayle. Had he left again in the time it had taken them to enter the hotel and settle at their table?
No, there he was, right at the back, and difficult to see from where she sat. But he appeared to be receiving coffee and a newspaper.
“Who are we watching in the coffee house?” Frances whispered.
Maria hesitated, but she suspected everyone would have to know now, and besides, she might well need her sisters’ help. “Mr. Gayle,” she murmured.
“I saw him go in,” Frances said delightedly, “with a parcel. Has he stolen one of our paintings? One of Tamar’s, perhaps?”
“No. But I think he might be passing on seditious pamphlets. To the army.”
Her sister blinked at that, but since the coffee and toast arrived just then, Maria could answer no more.
“What if he sees us watching him?” Serena asked a few minutes later, still not entirely serious.
“Three women? I doubt it will bother him in the slightest.”
“You’re very cynical,” Serena observed, “for one so young.”
“She’s observant,” Frances corrected, and Serena conceded the point.
Maria’s heart gave its increasingly familiar little lurch as Michael Hanson strode past, also with a parcel under his arm.
“There goes another one,” Serena exclaimed. “And I know he is a red hot radical! People have warned Gervaise about him.”
“No, he is a sensible radical,” Maria defended him. “And he’s not going near the coffee house. He’s going, I suspect, to the art gallery.”
“He’s a painter, too?” Frances demanded.
“No. But Alice is.”
“That’s true,” Serena agreed. “Tamar thinks she has great talent.”
“She persuaded Michael…” Maria broke off, trying not to blush, “Mr. Hanson, to act as her agent. She already sold one picture at the gallery.”
“And now’s he’s taking another for her? What a very useful secretary he is turning out to be. Apparently, he didn’t bat an eyelid when sent to watch the ruined chapel in the dark for Cousin Eve.” Frances’s gaze lingered on Maria. “You don’t like him a little too much, do you, Maria?”
Much too much. “Don’t be silly,” she muttered.
Outside, Judith Warren and her sister hurried past. They did not so much as glance at the coffee house window, but nevertheless, Maria remembered all her suspicions. Thoughtfully, she took one of Michael’s pamphlets from her reticule, unfolded it, and began to read in between frequent glances across the road.
“That’s not something you shouldn’t have, is it?” Frances asked uneasily.
“Oh, no, it’s something of Gervaise’s.” And it was enlightening in more ways than one, even just skimming through it.
“Mr. Hanson is back,” Serena reported. “Going in to the coffee house.”
Maria stuffed the pamphlet back in her reticule and took out the other, which her sisters might have regarded with a little more suspicion. She glanced across the road, saw Michael sit at Gayle’s table. That made her uncomfortable. Surely if Gideon, or anyone else who came for the pamphlets, saw someone with Gayle, he would simply leave again…
Forcing herself, she tried to concentrate on the second pamphlet, the one he had not written for Gervaise. And here, her theory was even more clearly proved.
“Why, that’s—” Frances began and broke off.
Maria looked up and saw Gideon Heath enter the coffee house. Excitement soared. They were right! As Gideon sauntered in, Gayle sauntered out. And to Maria’s amazement, Gideon sat down opposite Michael.
“Oh dear,” Serena said worriedly. “Maria, are you sure it is not Mr. Hanson—”
“Quite sure,” Maria said dryly, packing away her pamphlet and standing up. “For one thing, did you not notice that Mr. Gayle left without his parcel? Come, we have to go.”
“Go where now?” Frances demanded.
“We have to follow Mr. Gayle, see what he does next. Michael will watch Gideon.”
“You planned this with him, didn’t you?” Frances murmured as they left the hotel rather hastily.
“Sort of,” Maria admitted, keeping her eye on Gayle who had turned up one of the side streets toward the church. She and her sisters followed.
“What if he sees us?” Serena asked. “Shall we pretend not to see him? Walk the other way?”
“No. Pretend we’re going to visit Kate Grant,” Maria instructed.
“I think she is too good at this kind of thing,” Serena observed to Frances.
But in the event, Gayle didn’t seem to see them at all. He merely climbed into the carriage—one of Gervaise’s carriages—waiting near the church and was driven away.
“Drat,” Frances observed, only half-amused. “He got away from us.”
“I expect he’s just gone back to the castle,” Maria said, frowning in thought. After a few moments, she began to walk back the way they had come, and her sisters fell into step beside her. “Could you go back to the castle and make sure Gayle does not leave today?”
“We can hardly tie him up,” Serena said reasonably.
“Discourage him then,” Maria amended. “His plan was to leave with Underwood tomorrow, but I don’t trust him. He has no reason to stay now he has passed on his…parcel.”
“You had better come with us,” Frances said.
“No, I shall be quite safe
with Gideon in the custody of—” Maria broke off and walked faster, for Gideon’s red coat drew her attention to the coffee house. He and Mr. Betts stood outside it. Gideon was handing over the parcel and talking with smiles rather than obvious shame or anxiety.
“I don’t know where he went,” Gideon was saying as they drew near enough. “Back to the castle, I suppose. He is some kind of secretary to the earl. Since he left this behind, I was going to send it up…” Over Betts’s shoulder, Gideon’s gaze fell on Maria. For an instant, he looked appalled, as well he might, being caught out in such barefaced lies. But then he smiled and bowed to the ladies, and there was no mistaking the spiteful triumph in his face.
Not only was he getting himself out of trouble with his plausible tale, he was finally getting his revenge on the man who had thwarted and humiliated him. That Maria knew it, was, clearly, just another pleasure to him.
Maria wrenched her gaze free, her stomach now churning with fear for Michael, and behind that, anger. As she marched toward the Braithwaite carriage, she said to her sisters. “Please take a hackney home and watch Gayle. If Michael is there, warn him what that honorless villain is saying.”
Frances tried to grab her arm as she all but leapt into the carriage. “Wait, Maria, where on earth are you going?” Frances demanded.
“There’s someone I have to speak to now. Don’t worry, I shall be quite safe!”
*
Michael arrived at the inn ahead of Judith and her sister. Mrs. Trent showed him into the private parlor to wait. There, he paced up and down between the window and the door, between the table and the fireplace.
At least she did not leave incriminating documents scattered about the parlor.
He heard her voice as she arrived back, and the innkeeper’s wife telling her Mr. Hanson awaited them in the parlor. He faced the door when she came in. She still wore her haughty expression, punishing him still for his small service to someone else, although she forced a smile to show that all was not lost. How calculated it all looked to him now. How…cold.
“Michael, how pleasant,” she greeted him. “Are you hungry? Shall we order luncheon now?”
“Not yet,” Michael said quietly. “You and I need to talk. I wonder if you might give us some time, Gillian?”
“Of c—”
“There is no need for Gillian to go,” Judith interrupted. “I want her to stay.”
His smile felt twisted. “Preserving the proprieties, Judith?” Or was she too cowardly to face him alone? Dear God, he had thought her brave as a lion… “Then you know, I think, what I want to talk about. The pamphlets I asked you to neither print nor distribute until after the war—you’ve done both.”
He read the flash of irritation in her eyes, but, prevaricating, she said, “What makes you think so?”
“Oh, the fact that they turned up in Gayle’s possession and were then passed to Lieutenant Heath’s.”
She waved that aside. “What has that to do with me? Someone must have published them in London and distributed them here when they came.”
“Judith, they were printed in Whalen. Probably before you even showed them to me, pretending to ask my advice on printers.”
She didn’t ask how he knew. She’d been so careless, she might have imagined the printer had added his own name and address. Which he hadn’t. Michael had only been stating his suspicion. It was Judith’s reaction that confirmed it.
“What of it?” she blustered. “You are not yet my husband to issue me with your commands.”
She flung away from him to sit in the window seat, staring pointedly out of the window. Gillian, sitting at the table with her hands clasped in front of her, gazed from one to the other with distinct unease.
“Why did you come to Blackhaven, Judith?” he asked quietly.
She spared him a glance. “To see you, of course. Though now, I am not sure why!”
“Don’t be cross, Judith,” Gillian said nervously. “You know perfectly well why. Michael’s last letter, so full of Lady Maria, made you so jealous you had to come and see for yourself.” Gillian smiled winningly at Michael. “You see? She will hide her feelings! But you must know she cares.”
Was it care to be jealous? Or was it mere envy, a refusal to be supplanted? Michael was no longer sure. But he did know he had never truly understood Judith.
“Does she?” he said deliberately. “Or does she care to pander to the foolishness of this movement to endanger not only the army but everything she claims to believe in. You came because the 44th are quartered here and about to be sent to Wellington, didn’t you?”
“I had more than one reason,” she said defiantly.
He stared at her. “Do you read the tripe you pass on so blithely? Do you even consider what you write yourself?”
“I am not afraid to speak the truth!”
“Judith, it’s mostly lies! With a tiny smattering of truth to make it more plausible!” He dragged his hand through his hair. “Look, it’s finished. You have to leave Blackhaven. Heath and Gayle will be arrested. I imagine the Whalen printer will be, too. You will be very lucky to escape. Your only chance is to keep your head down and look innocent.”
Now there was real fear in her face, as though she had never even considered this possibility. Where was the common sense, the great intelligence he had imagined in her?
Gillian moaned.
“Oh, be quiet,” Judith snapped. “It is not you but I who will suffer! Go and pack for us and—” She broke off, listening in clear alarm as loud voices were heard in the coffee room outside.
“Here, you can’t barge in there unannounced!” the innkeeper called.
“I can and I will.” Unmistakably, that was Betts. “With the full force of the law behind me!”
Judith’s eyes widened in terror. “Oh, Michael, what shall I do?” she whispered.
There was no time for more as Betts charged in with barely one sharp rap on the door to herald his entry. His searching gaze glanced off both women and came to rest on Michael.
Behind him came Maria, breathless and agitated.
“Michael Hanson,” Betts declared, hurling a printed pamphlet on the table. “I am arresting you for writing, printing, and distributing this filth!”
Chapter Eighteen
Maria, held up by a cart which had spilled its load some distance from the inn, had ended up abandoning the carriage and walking most of the way. And Betts had clearly walked faster, probably via the back streets she didn’t know, entering the inn only yards in front of her. She had no time to warn Michael, but he did not immediately react to Bett’s words. He seemed distracted by her presence.
And it was true, the atmosphere in the room was thick with tension. Maria thought it had been like that even before Betts had crashed in.
Michael blinked and frowned, turning his gaze at last to Betts. “What?”
“You’re under arrest,” Betts repeated grimly.
“For this?” Michael picked up the pamphlet and waved it under Bett’s nose. “I gave you this! I sent for you and gave you Heath!”
“So you say. But you were seen walking through the town with a parcel just like the one with Heath. You sat at his table. You brought the pamphlets.”
“That makes no sense whatsoever,” Michael objected. “Why would I bring them and then send for you?”
“I don’t know that you did. The boy didn’t say who wanted me at the coffee house. And frankly, if it is between the word of an officer and a gentleman and that of a seditious pamphleteer, who do you expect me to believe.”
Michael stared at him. “In these circumstances? Considering what you’re investigating, I expect you to believe me! Nothing else makes sense.”
“The matter is easily solved,” Maria put in. “Find the boy who carried the message and ask him who sent him.”
“It will make no difference,” Betts said with infuriating stubbornness. “I know he bears a grudge against Lieutenant Heath, who thwarted him in love.”
Maria’s mouth fell open.
Michael laughed. “It seems I underestimated the cunning of Lieutenant Heath. I hope you didn’t let him go along with all the pamphlets?”
“I have the pamphlets safe,” Betts assured him, snatching the last from Hanson’s grasp. “And they have your insidious, persuasive style all over them.”
Something changed in Michael’s eyes as he stared at Betts, something that frightened Maria.
Betts glared back at him. “Not proud, Hanson? Are you going to deny that you wrote this?”
“No. I won’t deny it.”
The world fell around Maria’s ears.
And yet, through the noise that became a buzz of indistinguishable words, she always knew why he said it. She even turned and stared at Judith.
But Judith would look at no one. She sat still on the window seat, staring at her hands as though sorrowful at her betrothed’s betrayal.
Unbelieving, Maria spun back around to Michael and Betts. Michael caught her gaze, holding it for an instant as he shook his head infinitesimally.
“I won’t leave it,” she blurted. “I know you did not do any of this.”
A spontaneous, warm tenderness suffused his eyes, and then his lashes came down and he turned away. “Do your worst, Mr. Betts,” he mocked. “I shall not run from your…er… justice.”
As he strolled out ahead of Mr. Betts, Maria’s stomach twisted so hard she pressed her arm over it. The door closed on her desolation, and she swung around to face Judith.
Judith looked up at last, looking puzzled to see her still in the room.
Maria took a deep breath. “Miss Warren, you cannot allow this.”
“I have less power than you in the law as in all other things.”
“Not in this,” Maria said vehemently. “You must tell the truth.”
“I have not lied,” Judith retorted. “If he did this, then he must take the consequences.”
Maria stared at her. “But he did not do this, did he? You did.”
Judith jumped to her feet. “How dare you? Because you are an earl’s daughter does not give you the right to force your way into my rooms making false accusations—”
The Wicked Sister Page 18
