A Pretty Deceit

by Anna Lee Huber

  After tipping the bench back over onto its legs, I glanced over my shoulder at him, curious what he was thinking. But contrary to the disapproval I’d expected to see, his eyes seemed to glint with approbation.

  “Are the other legs similarly contrived?”

  I shrugged, rising to my feet to sit on the bench. “Maybe.” I decided there was no reason to tell him about my other hiding spots. Not if he wasn’t going to reveal where he’d hidden my bracelet for five years.

  His lips curled in a brief smile in the reflection of the mirror as I removed my jewelry, almost as if he knew exactly what I was thinking. He reached up to undo his bow tie and then sank down on the edge of the bed to remove his shoes. “You do realize that we are going to be followed to the Isle of Wight? Ardmore is never going to willingly let us out of his sight now.”

  “Yes.” I slid one earring from my ear. “And so we are going to pay very close attention to everyone who boards the train and the ferry with us. Ardmore’s men are good, but no one is invisible. Frankly, I’m tired of not knowing their faces. There will be but a few people traveling onto the island from the train, and the next time we see one of those faces, we’ll recognize them.”

  Sidney paused in the middle of removing his cuff links, his gaze sharpening as he watched me in the mirror. “You are enjoying this.”

  I frowned.

  “This game of cat and mouse. This test of your wits.”

  I pulled my jeweled headband from my hair, fluffing my flattened tendrils as I considered his words. “I don’t enjoy it. Enjoy is too strong a word. But I suppose I do like the element of challenge. The chance to stretch myself beyond something as frivolous as learning the latest dance step.” I swiveled in my seat to face him. “Don’t you?”

  Rather than answer, he crossed toward me, lifting his hands to cup my jaw between them. “Just don’t forget, this match of wits is every bit as deadly as the war. If we’re correct about everything, and thus far we have been, then Ardmore has arranged the murder of at least a dozen people. Perhaps more. If he didn’t suffer any qualms about killing the late Earl of Ryde when he got too close to the truth, what makes you think he won’t do the same to you?”

  I clasped my hands over top of his. “I know. Believe me, darling. I suffer no delusions where Ardmore is concerned.” Though, in truthfulness, I was more concerned with his striking out at those I loved than me. It seemed like just the sort of thing a man like him would do, recognizing that I feared an attack on those I cared for more than on myself.

  Sidney drew me to my feet and wrapped his strong arms around me. I went willingly, pressing my face to his chest, where his heart beat a steady rhythm against my cheek. Inhaling deeply, I smelled the starch of his shirt, the warmth of his skin, and his spicy cologne.

  “I know you are more than capable, Verity.” He bent his head, pressing his lips to my temple. “But that doesn’t stop me from worrying, or from wanting to protect you in every way I can.” He trailed his fingers through my hair, pulling it back from my face. “Maybe I should have given you a pocket pistol for your birthday instead of a bracelet.”

  I smiled. “There’s always our anniversary.”

  Sidney chuckled. “True. It is only thirteen days away, and I have been struggling to find the perfect gift.”

  I lifted my head to coo up at him. “Have our initials carved inside a heart on the palm grip and I’ll be the envy of all the ladies in Mayfair.”

  “Be careful what you wish for,” he teased. “I know an engraver who would swoon at such a romantic gesture. He’d probably add a few flowers and a cupid’s arrow for good measure.”

  “As long as he’s compensated fairly.”

  Sidney threw his head back and laughed. It was a gesture I saw so infrequently that I flushed with pleasure at being the one to cause it. I gasped as he swung me up into his arms.

  “Who knew I married such a minx,” he drawled in a deep voice before pressing his lips to mine and lowering me to the bed.

  “Admit it. You love it,” I murmured breathlessly as he hovered over me.

  “Oh, I do.” He pressed his open mouth to my neck, making me arch my back in delight. “Be as brazen as you like, dear wife. So long as it’s with me.”

  And I took his words to heart.

  * * *

  I had just finished breakfast and was in the middle of issuing instructions to Sadie when the telephone rang. Though I’d only gotten a little over four hours of sleep, I was still energized and alert. After all, during my time behind enemy lines during the war I’d adapted to the habit of snatching rest whenever and wherever I could, and making do with what I had. It had been rare for me to manage a full night’s sleep, and even rarer to slumber in a proper bed, let alone the plush, comfortable one in our bedchamber with my husband by my side to keep me warm.

  Sadie rushed off to answer it while I continued sorting through the contents of my wardrobe, deciding what to pack. When I turned to find her hovering in the doorway, seeming hesitant to speak, I felt a pulse of apprehension as to who was on the other line and what news they might bear. Perhaps we should have insisted Max and George remain here last night.

  “It’s . . . your mother, ma’am.”

  My shoulders sank, my nerves melting into irritation, for if Sadie had been unsettled by my mother’s voice, it meant only one thing. Sidney peered out at me from the adjoining washroom, where he was adjusting his tie, a sympathetic glint in his eyes.

  “Will you pack the things on the bed for me?” I told Sadie, striding from the room and down the corridor to where the telephone sat on the bureau in the front hall. Staring at my reflection in the mirror that hung above it, I inhaled a calming breath before picking up the mouthpiece. “Good morning, Mother.”

  “Good heavens! What took you so long? Were you still abed at this hour?”

  Given the fact it was only half past nine and much of society slept until noon or later, I found this comment to be annoying, but fortunately I could ignore it in favor of the truth. “Of course not, Mother. I’ve been awake for over an hour.”

  She harrumphed as if she didn’t believe this.

  “Did you need something? Because I’m—”

  “Your aunt Ernestine telephoned,” she interrupted in a stern voice. “She was very upset. She said you couldn’t wait to be rid of her.”

  I gazed up at the ceiling, seeking patience. “That’s not true, Mother. I stayed at Littlemote for over three days, and Sidney has promised to do what he can to convince the War Office to reimburse her for the damages as swiftly as possible.”

  “Yes, but she says you all but dismissed the matter of the thefts, as if hundreds of thousands of pounds mean nothing.”

  “Cousin Reg knows about the forgeries and thefts. I can’t be held responsible for the fact that Aunt Ernestine doesn’t want to face the truth about them.”

  My mother fell silent, sifting through the ramifications of that statement.

  “If that’s all, then . . .”

  “But she says one of her servants was killed while you were there, and you departed as if the death was of little consequence. That she’d taken to her bed, her weak heart struggling to cope from the shock, and still you left her.”

  “The police were handling the matter,” I bit out. “There was nothing for me to do. Unless you wished for us to interfere in such a sordid business?” My mother had already castigated me for my involvement in the few investigations the press had gotten wind of and reported in the papers, so I was calling her bluff, so to speak. The last thing she wanted was for me to be mixed up with another murder, though she granted my husband far more leeway.

  “Verity Alice, what has come over you,” she gasped. “Of course, I don’t mean anything so ghoulish. But you could have sat by your aunt’s side, guided her through such a tragedy. Honestly, sometimes I think you’ve abandoned all sense. You’ve certainly abandoned your sense of duty and propriety, sacrificing you family obligations in favor of . . . of carous
ing and drinking and . . . and who knows what other improprieties.”

  At this, my temper—which I’d already been struggling to maintain—exploded. “You haven’t the slightest idea about my obligations and responsibilities! You haven’t an inkling . . .” I broke off, grinding my teeth in frustration. For Mother knew nothing of the real nature of my war work—none of my family did—and even if she did, she wouldn’t understand it. In her eyes, I’d been living it up in London, working a minor secretarial job at an import-export business delivering supplies to the troops, while my husband fought at the front.

  “Such a frivolous waste,” she continued as if I’d never spoken. “Ignoring all the sacrifice. What the men returning must think.”

  “Oh, they understand, Mother. Far better than you do.” I turned so that I could see into the drawing room, and gazed longingly at the sideboard across the room, wishing for a drink, as I did during most of my conversations with my mother. “Come to London. Come see the men missing arms and legs, and sporting scars or tin masks. Come meet the veterans selling chewing gum on the street corners because they’re no longer able to do the work they did before the war. It’s not as if we could ever forget.”

  “And you think I can?! Every time I look at your brother Rob’s photograph . . .” She hiccupped on a sob. “I remember. I remember it all.”

  I closed my eyes against her words.

  “How you never came home. How you still haven’t come home. How you practically refuse to say his name.”

  I couldn’t, I wouldn’t talk about this. Not with my mother. Not when she clearly didn’t understand.

  “What does Aunt Ernestine expect me to do?” I asked, forcing the words out past the tightness in my chest.

  “Verity!” Mother gasped.

  “Are her nerves recovered?”

  “When I think what a sweet, sweet brother he was to you . . .”

  The rest of her words were smothered and then my father spoke. He sounded weary. “Verity, I know your aunt can be a trifle high-strung and demanding, but will you please look in on her again. She’s claiming her maid’s sister has been detained for the crime, and the entire staff is at loose ends.”

  So they’d arrested Mrs. Green. That must mean they had enough evidence to prove foul play. My mind began turning over possibilities of what they’d uncovered.

  “If you could find a way to set her mind at ease.”

  I smothered a sigh of resignation, for when my father made a request, it was actually an order. There was no refusing him. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thank you, Ver. Oh, and many happy returns on your birthday. I know my felicitations are a few days late.” There was a mumble of Mother speaking in the background. “Your mother says a parcel should be arriving for you either today or tomorrow. Apparently, your brother Tim neglected to take it to the post office for her when he was supposed to.”

  That sounded like my younger brother. He’d been rather bumbling and forgetful before the war, and evidently two years in the army hadn’t changed that.

  “I’ll tell our housekeeper to watch for it.”

  “Oh, and, Verity,” my mother interjected. “Please do come home for Christmas this year. Everyone will be here for the first time since before the war. Well, everyone but Rob. And you’ve yet to meet Freddy’s sweet baby, Ruth.”

  My hands tightened around the telephone, the wood biting into my palms. “We’ll try,” I managed to reply.

  My mother exhaled in exasperation. “There’s no try about it. You will or you won’t.”

  “We’ll try,” I repeated, unwilling to commit to anything. Not when the very idea of stepping foot in Upper Wensleydale made my stomach pitch with dread.

  “Verity, you’ll come,” Father informed me, choosing to interfere when normally he stayed out of such matters. “Or I’ll sell Ruby to the knacker yard.”

  “You wouldn’t,” I protested. Ruby had been my favorite pony growing up, and even though she must have been close to twenty years old, surely she had many good years left.

  “Try me.”

  Hearing the finality in his tone, my words stuck in my throat. Why was he forcing this? Why now?

  “Verity,” he added more gently. “It’s time.”

  Tears built at the back of my eyes, that he realized, that he knew why I hadn’t returned. I turned away from my reflection, the pain shimmering in my eyes too raw. Even though I felt it, acutely, seeing it somehow made it worse, for I could no longer continue lying to myself that I was hiding it successfully.

  “All right,” I rasped, telling myself that just because I agreed to it didn’t mean I couldn’t change my mind. Yet another lie I could clutch to myself.

  CHAPTER 12

  I stood with my hands braced on the bureau for some minutes after I’d ended the call with my parents, struggling to stuff the memories and emotions I’d buried since Rob’s death back down inside me and stomp on the lid. I stood there long enough that Sidney came looking for me. The look in his eyes told me he’d overheard much of my conversation, but my gaze must have been forbidding enough that he chose not to pursue the subject that still smarted like an open wound.

  “So we’re headed back to Littlemote?”

  I pushed away from the bureau. “Briefly.” I turned to stare at the door to our flat, planting my hands on my hips. “But I don’t want Max traveling down to Wight without someone watching his back. Which of our neighbors do you think would be least put out with me for asking to use their telephone?”

  Given the fact that photographers and reporters followed us about, sometimes camping outside our building, a number of our fellow tenants were none too pleased with us.

  “You think our telephones are tapped?” Sidney asked, reading between the lines.

  I arched my eyebrows. “You don’t?”

  He conceded this with a dip of his head. “Who are you going to telephone?”

  I was surprised he even needed to ask. “Who do you think?”

  His mouth curled upward sardonically at one corner. I’d known he would be irked, but there was really no other option.

  “Given what we know about Ardmore’s ruthlessness, it has to be someone highly capable. And before you suggest Crispin, you know he’s far too impatient.” Not to mention partially deaf.

  Sidney’s expression didn’t lighten, but I could tell he’d accepted my decision. “Don’t knock on Mrs. Carter’s door unless you want your conversation relayed to the Telegraph. I’m almost certain she’s profiting from our celebrity.”

  This did not surprise me. For all her punctilious airs, it was evident by the notorious gossips she called friends that she relished a good chin-wag.

  “And I would also avoid the Webbs. One of the photographers snapped a picture of Mr. Webb’s business associate departing the building late at night while Mr. Webb was out of town.” The glint in his eyes suggested this associate had been doing more than simply sipping tea with Mrs. Webb.

  “What of Mrs. Pimlico?”

  He voiced no objection to the older widow who lived across the hall. The fact that she sometimes became confused worked to my benefit, for even if she did overhear some of my conversation she might not be believed. I felt slightly remorseful for misleading her by telling her our telephone wasn’t working correctly, but it was all to a good purpose.

  I’d never used the number I was about to connect to. Officially, I wasn’t supposed to have it. But when I’d still worked for the Secret Service I’d had access to it and memorized it. I’d told myself I would use it only in case of emergency, but that wasn’t strictly true. Our past was complicated.

  I smiled at Mrs. Pimlico, who turned to look at me from the next room while I waited for him to answer. In truth, I wasn’t even certain he held lodgings at the address. He might have moved.

  “Hullo,” the smooth male voice on the other line said, and my muscles relaxed in relief.

  “Erik,” I replied brightly, using the code name Captain Alec Xav
ier had utilized as a staff officer in the German Army, having infiltrated their ranks years before war was declared. “I’m glad I caught you.”

  “Why am I not surprised you have this number,” he murmured in amusement, clearly recognizing my voice.

  “The telephone in our flat was malfunctioning, so I’m using one of our neighbors’.”

  There was a slight hesitation before he responded, letting me know he understood why I was really using another line, but he should still watch what he said. “Oh, is it? Then this must be serious.”

  “I need you to have someone meet a friend at Waterloo Station at 11:05 and see him safely home. You’ll recall Ernest. You met him once at the WO,” I informed him, hoping to jog his memory of his encounter with Max at the War Office some months before. I knew my words weren’t terribly cryptic. If Ardmore had tapped the line from the building or bribed the switchboard operators to listen, he would still be able to deduce what I was saying, but at least I wouldn’t alarm Mrs. Pimlico. “I planned to do so myself, but something has come up.”

  “I see. And the CX?”

  C’s secretary, Kathleen Silvernickel, must have already relayed the request I’d made in code two days prior, asking for any and all information they had on Ardmore’s past.

  “Bring it with you if you can, but keep your wits about you,” I cautioned. “I had an encounter with a pickpocket just yesterday.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mrs. Pimlico turn to look at me. Ostensibly she was watering her flowers, but I knew she was listening, and that my mention of pickpockets would pique her interest. But I couldn’t think of any other way of getting my point across to Alec that wouldn’t alarm her more.

  “I trust he came out the worst for wear.” I could hear the speculation in his voice.

  “He didn’t get what he was after.”