by Laura Beers
“No, you are more than welcome to come along.”
Walking around the wagon, Marie stepped up to the driver’s bench. “Shall we?” she asked. “I would hate to miss Lord Desmond’s rally.”
Baldwin’s eyes scanned around the buildings before he sat next to her on the bench. As he urged the team forward, he felt something jab him in the ribs.
He glanced over in surprise and saw Marie holding a pistol in her hand.
“Don’t look so surprised,” Marie said. “I knew you had every intention of betraying us, just as I intend to betray your countrymen.”
“How do you know?”
Marie smirked. “Morton is a fool, and he trusts entirely too easily. But I had my suspicions about you from nearly the moment he told me about you,” she explained. “He just saw you as the perfect scapegoat, blinding him from the truth.”
“Which is?”
“That you are Lord Hawthorne,” she said. “I followed you one night out of the rookeries to Hawthorne House. I doubt you ever suspected a woman was following you.”
“I did not,” he replied, keeping his gaze on the street.
“Women are often overlooked here, are they not?” she asked. “The British don’t seem to think women make very good spies, but France has been using women for years in subterfuge.”
Marie tilted her head. “Although, you may have noticed me following you, if you hadn’t been so distracted by Mademoiselle Dowding.”
He clenched his jaw so tightly that a muscle below his ear began to pulsate. “Did you abduct her?” he growled.
“I did,” she replied unabashed, “but I have no intention of killing her, assuming you move forward with our plan.”
“Where is she?”
“In the outbuilding behind the orphanage,” she answered.
Baldwin glanced over at her. “You are lying,” he declared. “That building was searched by a teacher at the school.”
Marie smiled victoriously. “That would be me.”
“You worked at the orphanage?”
“I was the French teacher,” she shared. “Mademoiselle Dowding’s solicitor helped arrange the job for me so we had a place where I could build a bomb without causing suspicion.”
“Am I to assume you were the one who abducted and killed Miss Hardy?”
With a shake of her head, Marie replied, “I don’t know why you sound so surprised. Miss Hardy started asking too many questions, and she became a liability. You, of all people, should understand that.”
“You didn’t need to kill her.”
“But I did,” Marie said. “I don’t like having too many loose ends.”
Adjusting his grip on the reins, Baldwin asked, “Why did you betray Morton?”
“I have no doubt that your agents raided the Blue Boar the moment we drove away,” Marie said. “I could have warned him, but I found him rather irksome.”
Baldwin slowed the wagon as a street urchin ran into the street, passing right in front of the horses.
“I was sent by a group of radicals in France that wanted to ignite a revolution in Britain,” Marie continued. “But I decided I would much rather seek revenge on Lord Desmond. After all, he was one of the agents that betrayed my father.”
“I had no idea that Lord Desmond was even an agent.”
“Soon, it won’t matter,” Marie said. “After the machine infernale blows up Fieldstone Square, Lord Desmond will be dead.”
“If your entire plan revolves around killing Lord Desmond, why do you intend to kill all those innocent people?”
“No one is truly innocent,” Marie spat out. “Your people are fools for living under the oppression of the mad King George and his worthless son, Prinny.”
“Your logic is faulty.”
“Perhaps, but at the end of the day, I will still be alive, and you won’t.”
They had just passed the buildings that lined Fieldstone Square when Baldwin pulled back on the reins, knowing this action could very well be his last. Up ahead, he saw a large crowd had assembled, and they were all standing around a stage that had been erected for the rally. He could scarcely make out Lord Desmond’s words as he directed his comments towards the crowd.
“I won’t drive this cart into the crowd,” he declared, dropping the reins.
“Then Miss Dowding will die.”
“So be it,” Baldwin replied as he kept his face expressionless. He knew that Miss Dowding was rather clever, and he hoped she had already managed to get herself to safety.
Marie shoved the pistol further into his ribs. “And you will die.”
“I have no doubt that you planned to kill me either way,” Baldwin said. “You might as well do it now and save us a load of trouble.” He paused. “Although, firing a pistol so close to a bomb might not be the smartest idea.”
“You are right,” Marie said, pulling back the pistol slightly.
That was all the encouragement he needed, and he swiftly brought his hand up and shoved the pistol away from him and the wagon while simultaneously elbowing Marie in the jaw.
The pistol discharged, and he could feel and hear the bullet whiz within inches of his chest. Then, he heard the deafening explosion of the shot.
He saw Marie jump off the side of the wagon, and he did the same as he vaguely heard people screaming in the distance. He ran around the wagon and saw her hastily attempt to light the fuse with steel and flint.
“It is over!” Baldwin removed his pistol from the waistband of his trousers and pointed it at her.
“If you discharge that pistol this direction, then it will cause the bomb to ignite and we will both die, taking everyone else with us,” Marie informed him, keeping her hands near the fuse.
Baldwin nodded as he kept his gun pointed at her heart. “I am well aware of that fact.”
“And you would still do it?”
“I would.”
Marie scoffed. “Then you are the mad one.”
“So be it.”
Marie’s eyes grew frantic as she looked over his shoulder. “They are coming!” she shouted. “You need to let me leave, now!”
“Why would I do something so stupid?”
“I refuse to go willingly,” Marie cried out. “If I am going to die, I might as well take you with me.”
As she moved to strike the flint, a shot rang out over the square, and Marie fell to the ground, dead. A pool of blood began to emerge from under her head, staining the worn cobblestone.
Baldwin turned his attention towards the red brick building where he heard the shot fired and saw Corbyn standing in the third level window with a Baker rifle in his hand. In the next moment, Corbyn disappeared from his view.
The sound of booted steps approaching him caused him to slowly turn around, and he counted five constables.
“Put the pistol on the ground,” one of the men ordered, each one of them pointing their own pistols at Baldwin.
In a calm and collected manner, Baldwin complied without protest. He knew that these men were only doing their job, and he didn’t want to give them any reason to shoot him.
Before they could give another order, a coach pulled up beside them and the door was thrown open. Miss Dowding stepped out, but she became suddenly rooted to the spot when she saw Marie on the ground.
Her pale face looked up at him, and he saw the questions in her eyes. Even though her hair was disheveled, her dress ripped, and she had dried blood along the left side of her face, he had never seen her look more beautiful.
He gave her a reassuring smile, and he thought his heart might burst with joy when she returned it.
At some point, Oliver had come to stand next to him and was speaking to the constables on his behalf. “I could use your help here,” his brother muttered under his breath.
Turning his attention back towards the constables, Baldwin said, “I have a letter that will clear this up.”
A dark-haired constable scoffed. “Not bloody likely,” he declared. “Not unless it is
from the Prince Regent himself.”
“If that is the case, this matter should be resolved nicely,” Baldwin replied, nodding his head towards the pocket of his waistcoat. Oliver reached in and pulled out a folded piece of paper, then extended it towards the men.
One of the men snatched it and his eyes grew wide as he read the paper. He looked up at Baldwin in surprise. “This is from the Prince Regent,” he declared. “It says that you are under his protection, and that we take orders from you.”
“That is correct,” Baldwin said, accepting the letter back. “I am going to take this wagon out of Fieldstone Square, and I would appreciate it if you could remove the body.”
“Who is she?” the dark-haired constable asked.
“Her name is Marie,” Baldwin replied, “and that is all you need to know about her.”
“Did you kill her?”
Baldwin shook his head. “I did not. A sharpshooter took the shot from that building,” he revealed, pointing towards the brick building.
The dark-haired constable let out a low, approving whistle. “That was an impressive shot. That building is over a hundred yards away.”
Another constable placed his hand on the wine cask. “What is in the barrel?” he asked curiously.
“A bomb that could blow up this entire square,” Baldwin replied honestly, and was gratified to see the constable remove his hand and step back.
Turning back towards Miss Dowding, he closed the distance between them in a few strides. “I need to do a few things before I can call on you,” he said. “Do you have a ride home?”
Oliver spoke up from behind him. “I can see her home in your new hackney.”
“My hackney?” Baldwin asked, turning to face him.
Oliver smiled ruefully. “When Miss Dowding pulled up at the Blue Boar, she was frantic to see you and informed us of Marie’s plan. So, I bought this hackney from the driver and drove us here.”
“You bought a hackney?”
“You misunderstood me,” Oliver said. “You bought the hackney. The previous owner will be coming by Hawthorne House tomorrow to collect his money.”
Baldwin lifted his brow. “What am I going to do with a hackney?”
“Not my concern,” Oliver teased as he went to step up onto the driver’s box. “Perhaps you can sell it back to him at a reduced price.”
Chuckling, Baldwin turned back to Miss Dowding. “My brother is an idiot,” he muttered.
She smiled, her eyes lighting up. “I am so happy to see you alive,” she said.
“I feel the same way about seeing you.” He took a small step closer to her.
Miss Dowding tilted her head to look up at him. “I feared that we wouldn’t arrive in time, especially since Marie was determined to kill you and everyone else in Fieldstone Square.”
“I had the situation in hand,” he assured her.
A line creased her brow as she asked, “Was that letter truly from the Prince Regent?”
“It was.”
She went up onto her tiptoes and whispered next to his ear, “Do all agents get one of those?”
He stared back at her, not knowing what to say. He could lie, but he found he didn’t want to. He was tired of keeping secrets, and he wanted to let Miss Dowding in.
“Marie told me,” she whispered. “I hope this means you won’t have to kill me now.”
His lips twitched in amusement. “No, but it means we will need to have a serious talk later.”
“I shall be looking forward to it.”
Baldwin offered his arm and assisted her into the hackney. “I don’t know when I shall see you next, but I’ll be counting the moments until I do.”
“I understand.”
He closed the door and watched the hackney drive away until it turned a corner. Then, he turned back towards the wagon, knowing what needed to be done.
It was time to get back to work.
Chapter Eighteen
Baldwin adjusted his white cravat as the coach jostled back and forth. “Let’s get this blasted meeting over with,” he muttered.
Corbyn chuckled. “I take it that you are not a fan of Lord Desmond.”
“No, I am not,” Baldwin replied. “Desmond used to take swipes at my father when he was still alive, and I find him to be rather insufferable.”
“Then I would imagine you should be looking forward to this meeting.”
Baldwin shook his head. “I do not delight in the misfortune of others.”
“That is an interesting remark from a spy,” Corbyn observed.
Glancing out the darkened window, Baldwin remarked, “I work as an agent to keep England safe from domestic and foreign threats.”
“After this meeting, you will officially be retired as an agent of the Crown,” Corbyn said. “How does that make you feel?”
The image of Miss Dowding came into his mind, and he smiled. “I believe life as a civilian will suit me very nicely.”
“You are thinking of Miss Dowding, aren’t you?”
“I am,” he replied, unabashed.
Corbyn bobbed his head. “She is a strong woman. I heard that she hired a hackney to take her to the Blue Boar to try and stop Marie.”
Baldwin chuckled. “I must admit that she was the last person I expected to see in Fieldstone Square.”
“I can’t imagine you had any complaints,” Corbyn remarked knowingly.
“I did not, but it did make explaining my presence a little more troublesome to the constables.”
Reaching into his waistcoat pocket, he removed the letter from the Prince Regent and extended it towards Corbyn. “I won’t be needing this letter anymore.”
“Keep it,” Corbyn said. “You never know when you might need it again.”
Baldwin returned the letter to his pocket. “Should the need ever arise, you can count on me to defend England’s interests.”
Corbyn smirked. “I think you might be too busy entertaining a new wife.”
“That is assuming I can convince Miss Dowding to marry me.”
“You will.”
“How can you be so sure?”
Corbyn’s eyes grew reflective, as if recalling a painful memory. “Eyes don’t lie, and Miss Dowding’s eyes light up every time she sees you.”
“That pleases me immensely to hear.”
“Frankly, it is almost sickening,” Corbyn joked.
Baldwin chuckled before growing serious. “I want to thank you for taking that shot in Fieldstone Square.”
“I only did what needed to be done.”
“If you hadn’t shot Marie, I most assuredly would have.”
Corbyn nodded. “I know, but I was worried that if you discharged your pistol so close to the bomb, it would ignite.”
“As was I, but it was a risk that I was prepared to take.”
“Well, I wasn’t prepared to lose one of my best agents,” Corbyn remarked.
“That was rather a nice thing of you to say,” Baldwin said with a smug smile, “especially since you’re losing me to retirement anyway.”
Corbyn huffed. “Don’t get used to it.”
“That was quite the impressive shot,” Baldwin remarked. “If you had missed—”
Corbyn spoke over him. “I don’t miss,” he said firmly. “Years of training with the Ninety-fifth Rifle Regiment ensured that. Besides, it was only a hundred-yard shot. I can shoot nearly twice that length with my Baker rifle.”
“How did you know to position yourself in that building?”
With a frown, Corbyn admitted, “It was a gamble. I knew you would try to avoid the crowds at all costs, but I hadn’t expected to see Marie next to you on the bench.”
Realization dawned on him, and Baldwin said, “You were there to shoot me.”
“Only if things turned out poorly and I had no other choice,” Corbyn replied. “If it was between you and saving hundreds of innocent people, I would have taken the shot.”
“You always were one to have a backup plan.”
>
Corbyn eyed him curiously. “You aren’t angry?”
“No,” Baldwin responded. “I would have done the same thing, given the circumstances.”
The coach came to a stop in front of a white, three-level townhouse with an iron fence surrounding the front.
They exited the coach and approached the main door. After they knocked, they each retrieved their calling cards.
The door was opened, and a tall, middle-aged butler greeted them. “Good evening,” he said. “May I help you?”
Baldwin extended his calling card. “We would like to speak to Lord Desmond.”
“I will see if he is available for callers,” the butler responded.
“I am afraid we must insist,” Corbyn asserted as he handed his calling card to the butler.
The butler tipped his head in acknowledgement before he opened the door wide and ushered them in. “Please wait in the entry hall while I go speak to Lord Desmond.”
After the butler walked off, Baldwin glanced around the entry hall, admiring the collection of art on display over the pale green papered walls.
The sound of the butler’s heels on the tile drew back his attention.
“Lord Desmond will see you,” the butler revealed, coming to a stop in front of them. “If you will follow me to his study.”
They followed the butler down a narrow hall towards the rear of the townhouse. The butler stopped at an open door and gestured that they should enter.
Baldwin stepped into the room first and heard the crackling of the fire in the hearth. Wood paneling dominated the walls, making the room very masculine.
Lord Desmond rose from his chair with a drink in his hand. “To what do I owe this great pleasure, that Lord Hawthorne has descended from on high to see me?” he asked in a mocking chide.
“I see we will forego the usual pleasantries, then,” Baldwin commented dryly as he came to stand across from Lord Desmond. “That should save us a considerable amount of time.”
Desmond’s eyes roamed over Corbyn. “Who did you bring with you? I don’t believe we’ve met…Lord Evan,” he probed, pausing as he examined the cards his butler had given him.
“Who I am is not important,” Corbyn replied as he moved to stand by the mantel over the fireplace.
