by Sophia James
My God, today just kept throwing problems her way and now she did not quite know how to tell Amaryllis that she shouldn’t go to the Gardens without also having to tell her of some of her suspicions.
If Amara saw the list of initials, she could be in even greater danger than she was now. Ignorance in the face of violent greed was probably the safest stance to maintain.
She cursed the soul of her dead husband yet again for all the problems that he had left them with. A coward. A sycophant. An immoral and arrogant man who saw himself as the very centre of his universe. A man who fancied himself as the key player in the politics of subversion between England and France and yet had taken much of the gold and used it for himself. Her eyes flicked across the faces of her two nephews. They were pale and withdrawn. She did not even know how much they could have seen of the events at the stables when Harland had died, for Amaryllis had always kept them close so she had no true gauge on their involvement. Violet remembered hearing footsteps running by and after Harland’s death they had become quieter and less bold. The very thought of what the truth could do to them made her push such a thought away. Children knew very little and yet believed in everything. She frowned because it had been so very long since she had felt truly whole and hopeful.
* * *
‘The Minister Mr Charles Mountford has called to see you, my lord.’ Aurelian’s servant stood straight as he gave the name.
‘Send him in, Simpson.’
Lian hoped that the surprise he felt was not reflected on his face. What the hell could Mountford want? He opened the drawer beside him so that his pistol was at hand, glad he kept the weapon primed and ready as a matter of course. Surely the man didn’t mean to confront him with force in his own house and in front of a battery of servants? Within a moment Mountford was before him, hat in hand and the steely grey of his hair reflected in the light.
‘De la Tomber.’ As he walked through into the room he turned to shut the door behind him, a quick flick of the lock alluding to other darker things. Standing still as this was done, he looked around.
‘Is it safe here? To talk?’
‘Perfectly.’
‘I want to relate something to you in complete confidence and strictly between ourselves. I am relying on your honour, you understand? This cannot be allowed to be public information.’
‘Then now might be a good time to tell you that I work for the Ministère de la Guerre in Paris. Ah,’ he said after a few seconds. ‘But I see that you already know that?’
Knowledge lay in Mountford’s eyes, revealing a recognition between those who were immured in the murky depths of intelligence.
Lian continued. ‘And my guess is that you think I am involved in the scandal of the missing gold. The gold the supporters of Napoleon Bonaparte sent in order to find a foothold for resistance in England.’
‘Well, I have my questions and doubts about you and the presence of the gold is certainly a topic of interest in the Home Office but I am not here today for that. I am here because I think Lady Addington is in jeopardy.’
‘Hell.’ The tone of the discussion had changed completely.
‘And I want to keep her safe.’ Mountford’s confession sounded genuine and heartfelt. ‘She is my goddaughter and I promised her mother I would watch out for her.’
‘How is she in danger?’
‘She is right at this moment making her way to Hyde Park to have a walk with her sister-in-law and two nephews. An overdue enjoyment of winter sunshine, I should imagine. The small Addington party will arrive in about ten minutes. The thing is, and this is where you come in, I think Violet has been compromised because of some of the unlawful actions of her late husband, Harland Addington. One of my agents reported word on the street that she is the target of those who wish her harm, great harm. I think she has a need for protection from someone who would see those minions as amateurs and deal with them effectively and quietly.’
‘And you hope that someone will be me?’
Mountford was implying that he, as the Minister in charge of the Home Office, could not deal with the perpetrators without being tied up in red tape. He was delegating such violence to Lian, a member of a French agency known for its use of violence. There were seldom coincidences in intelligence, a place where survival often harmonised with the need for pragmatism.
From the tone of his words Lian also realised the perpetrators were not from the political arm of either England or France. Mountford wanted the matter dealt with quietly. He did not want a scene, but he also did not want Violet Addington hurt.
This was to be no official mission. Hyde Park would be crowded with the ladies and gentlemen of a society who would be so much better off not seeing the crawling underbelly of violence.
Already Aurelian was moving, reaching for his gun and pocketing it.
‘Which gate?’
‘Stanhope.’
‘Who else do you have there?’ He could not believe a man with as much influence as Mountford had would want to be completely cut off from the happenings.
‘Douglas Cummings and a few others from the Office. They have orders to watch Violet.’
‘Do you trust him? Cummings?’
‘Yes, but at the Home Office we must play the cards we are dealt. To show our own in such a public place leaves us vulnerable, you understand.’
‘A questionable morality is what you are after, then?’
‘As long as it is also mindful of keeping things...private.’
Grabbing the bottle of cognac, Aurelian put it down on the table. ‘Stay here for five minutes before leaving.’
Then he was out of the door, calling for his horse to be brought around and hating the way his heart beat so fast he could feel it solidly thick in his throat.
He saw Lytton Staines and Edward Tully the moment he dismounted inside the park, the height of each of them singling them out in the crowd. Tying his horse to a post, he wandered across to them, doing his best to locate Violet.
Where was she? Was he too late already? Had the attack occurred in the first seconds of her being here, a far more professional set-up than Mountford had imagined?
Catching at the watch at his waist, he looked at the time. Three o’clock. A fashionable hour even on a fresh blue winter day with its smattering of sunshine. The promenading, peacocking and flirting was at its height, the aristocrats of London society drawn to Rotten Row as they partook in the complicated and important rituals of elevating themselves above all others in dress, conversation and appearance.
Where the hell was Violet? Lian peered through ankle-length drab coats and the gilded carriages travelling by, through the cloths of velvet and coloured wools and the unimaginable headgear of courtesans. The plainer attire of wives and mothers was prevalent also as was the rush of youths and children.
After a month of rain it was as if the world had suddenly blossomed in the sunshine. There would be above a hundred people here, he guessed. At least it was not the thousands that a summer afternoon in the high Season might have claimed.
He had a quick glimpse of Cummings through the crowd, the pinched face of Mountford’s junior fastened upon him. A number of others hung close, the rigid set of their shoulders telling Lian something of the structure of seniority in Cummings’s department. Men who would do as they were told. Men with too much to lose should they take a misstep.
No, it was not from this group that the threat would come. Cummings and his men were too out in the open, too obvious. It had to be someone else. Someone unremarkable and blended. He still had not seen Violet, though, and his worry mounted.
* * *
The park was busy at this time in the afternoon, full of riders and strolling groups. The winter sun had finally showed itself after weeks of grey coldness and people were making the most of this small strand of calm. It reminded Violet of some Bruegel painting, the camaraderie,
the community, a moment caught in time even if the players in this tableau were better dressed and far more wealthy.
She made herself watch the faces and the way people moved. She was pleased when a friend of Amara’s came over to join them as her focus on anything untoward could be better applied with her sister-in-law deep in conversation. The boys had gone their own ways, too, melding with a group of other youths over by the Serpentine. She hoped they would stay there, safe.
She saw him at a distance, the Comte de Beaumont, walking with the Earl of Thornton and the Honourable Edward Tully. The three of them had the attention of every lady from one end of the path to the other. Aurelian de la Tomber looked indolent and relaxed, the smile on his face suiting his demeanour. In the sun, the dark of his hair had shades of red and russet and a lighter chestnut brown. She was glad he did not watch her though she was certain that he knew she was there.
* * *
Lian swore beneath his breath and stretched his mouth into a smile. Lady Addington looked like some advertisement for the wearing of bright colours in every garment she had on. If there was threat here it would have no trouble at all in finding her. He did not move closer for he wanted to watch the lie of the land.
Did she not realise the danger of it all? He thought perhaps she did for her stance was rigid, her right hand pushed into a pocket. Did she have a weapon? Could she use it? A cloud covered the sun momentarily, dousing the bright of the day into shadow.
A small group of elderly women were walking towards her. Nothing untoward there, he thought, and trawled more widely. There were so many damn trees in the park and even without their summer greenery the trunks were all wide enough to obscure someone.
Cummings was moving back to the gate behind him, signalling his men with him. Perhaps they had seen something? Aurelian’s glance took in a group of men at a further distance and a single gentleman walking at a slow pace along a parallel pathway.
‘You seem preoccupied, Lian?’ Lytton asked this and he made himself smile as he replied.
‘It’s the first good day in a while and there are many people out.’
‘Including the beautiful Addington widow?’
Edward Tully laughed. ‘Lady Addington has made it clear to all those who admire her that she has no time for suitors. She wants a quiet life. She told me that herself after I offered to accompany her to a luncheon party a few weeks back.’
Staines stopped in his tracks and frowned. ‘She has only just come out of mourning, Ed. She could hardly be seen on your arm given the recent death of her husband.’
‘He was a dolt. Nobody ever had any time for him.’
‘You knew him well?’ Lian looked over at Tully.
‘He was in my class at school. He was always very good at putting people down.’
Violet had turned now and was heading off towards the south end of the park, her sister-in-law and another woman ten yards behind her. Why had she done that? Lian wondered, even as the answer came with a rush.
She was frightened. She had seen someone further on. Somebody she did not want to meet. Someone she knew. The hand in her pocket had delved deeper now and her stride had lengthened.
His glance took in the single gentleman who was closer and the elderly women who were now stopped.
Excusing himself, he hurried across the grass, the ground thick with decaying autumn leaves. Not quite running, for such a motion would bring more attention than he welcomed.
Then everything slowed down, the single man crossed at an angle and took Violet’s arm to pull her with him, a blade he held at her breast gleaming in the sun, the drops of red that dribbled from her hand as she tried to stop him, the pale of her face and the terror in her eyes. A hat of purple plumes fell from her head, the bright of her hair like a beacon in the sunlight.
Lian gripped the offender and the knife cut deep into his own flesh. Then the weapon fell groundwards, useless underfoot. He kicked it away as his good hand found his own blade.
‘Keep walking. Don’t make a sound or I will kill you. Do you understand?’ Steel found that soft spot in the assailant’s back just above one kidney and he pressed closer, heartened by the nod of the offender. Not a scene, then, but a quiet and unnoticed tussle as the world of intelligence operated right under the noses of an unmindful public.
Violet looked shocked.
‘Go home, Violet, and stay home. Mountford will see you safely there.’
Already he could see the Minister coming their way, any indolence gone now.
‘And y-you?’
He did not answer as he jerked the offender back down the path and out of the way of the group of women who stared at him in horror. The shout of youths further off had them all turning.
‘Let him go, you French bastard. He’s English and he did not do anything to you.’
* * *
As the ruffians closed in, Aurelian stopped and stood his ground. He looked as if he didn’t care one way or another about their presence, his face a mask of cold indifference. Violet could see no sign of the knife he held.
‘I’d advise you to go home before you are hurt.’
‘There’s five of us and one of you.’ The largest boy puffed out his chest and moved forward.
‘Can you walk with a broken leg? Can you see without eyes?’
The group hesitated, not perceiving in the one they were harassing any of the usual fear. Some other thing lay there, too, on Aurelian de la Tomber’s face. Recognition of what this all meant, Violet thought, for someone must have tasked them to expose him. The web just kept growing as the spiders got busier.
Lytton Staines and Edward Tully had cut across to stand beside Aurelian and the height and breadth of the three men was more than enough against the younger and smaller foes. With a click of a finger they had departed, scurrying towards a gate to the south, huddled in a tight and angry group.
Aurelian de la Tomber’s hand was bleeding badly, but he didn’t seem to have even noticed the hurt as he wiped the blood against his breeches. Violet was still shaking from the shock of her assault and an understanding that only a small line had hovered between life and death.
If he had not intervened, she would be dead.
The very fact of her narrow escape made her breathing shallow and her heart race.
Amara was beside her, weeping quietly, her two sons with their wide eyes on Aurelian as he and the others made their way towards the Stanhope Gate.
‘My God, Violet. My God.’
Amaryllis seemed stuck on the few words and when Charles Mountford joined them her sister-in-law fell into his arms.
‘The man tried to kill Violet. He had a knife.’
‘There, there, Mrs Hamilton. The threat is over now and it is better if we do not make a fuss.’
Better, Violet thought. Better for whom? Aurelian had already been exposed and nothing could stop the gossip that must follow.
‘Is everything all right, Mr Mountford?’ Lady Elizabeth Grainger and her sister sauntered over, their faces alight with curiosity, as were a few others who had stopped to watch Amaryllis crying.
‘It is now. Unfortunately the fellow suffers from fainting spells and felt unwell. He is being helped off to his carriage as we speak.’ Charles said this in a tone that was entirely believable. A man who still clung to another truth and was trying his best to contain any damage.
‘And your hand, my dear?’
When sharp eyes took in the blood at the top of her thumb Violet scraped up resolve and followed Charles’s lead. ‘I caught it on my brooch as I tried to aid him and it cut me.’
A simple explanation for complex things.
She was glad when her godfather took over. ‘So if you will excuse us, Lady Elizabeth, I shall make sure the Addington party now gets home. A cup of tea is in order, I think.’
‘Of course.’ Lady Elizabeth smil
ed, another group of ladies and gentlemen joining her as soon as she had gone ten yards, no doubt wanting gossip. It was how London worked—the unexpected serving as the fodder for dinner tables—and misfortune, in particular, had its own piquant sauce.
In the carriage Amara sobbed softly and Violet reached over to take her hand. ‘I am fine. It must have been some sort of a mistake.’
But Violet could see that her sister-in-law knew exactly what had happened and was just waiting for Charles Mountford to be gone. All the horror of Harland’s death came back, the lies and the constant fear of danger. She shook her head at Amara’s unvoiced concerns and turned to her godfather.
‘I think it would be a good thing for my sister-in-law and her two boys to have a holiday away from England for a little while. Italy would be lovely at this time of year.’
This was not said at all as a question and Charles took up the cause just as she knew he would.
‘You could all go to Rome for a month and take in the sun and the sights. Good to get away from the cold here. The boys would love the ruins and the...’
Violet let his words run over her as she gazed out the window. Where was Aurelian de la Tomber now? Who was her assailant? She would not leave England herself, but she could see the hope of a time away in the faces of her nephews. Perhaps that would persuade Amaryllis? She prayed it could be so.
Her hand throbbed, but Aurelian’s wound had been so much worse than her own. She understood more about him now. He was as dangerous as they came, his movements in the park speaking of elegant force and careful precision. An expert in violence. A man who was used to death.
She had barely understood the way he had so quietly defused the situation until it was over and she was safe. He’d stopped any harm without fanfare or noise, a quick twist of his arm and the man was caught in his grip, the blade clattering uselessly underfoot. She had seen the strain of Aurelian’s grasp on her assailant’s face, his eyes bulging and the pulse in his neck fast.
