Too Dangerous For a Lady

by Jo Beverley

  “Have people been warned about the explosive letters?”

  “Key people, yes.”

  “And the gas?”

  “Those notes weren’t specific, so we don’t know what to warn against. Sidmouth refuses to create panic.” The Home Secretary was notoriously both worried about the threat of revolt and determined not to feed the fire. “Our chemists don’t believe there’s any danger. Coal gas needs to build up to explode. How can it do that when burning in the street? Inside buildings the smell would alarm people before an explosion became possible.”

  Damnation. Hermione’s arguments about why she’d be safe in London had been sound, but he’d rather have the entire Crimson Band behind bars. “So there’s not enough to arrest Solange and Isaac, even if I find them.”

  “We’d jail them anyway. But I can’t deploy many resources on the search without more purpose. There are other targets, especially Thistlewood and his gang. Which is why you’ll be useful, Faringay. I assume it is Faringay now?”

  Mark shrugged. “It seems so.”

  “I gather Braydon has offered Faringay a temporary home. Useful of you to draw him in.”

  “None of my doing. He threw himself in. You’re making full use of his talents?”

  “Of course, though he doesn’t have your remarkable inside knowledge.”

  “Except all that I told him.” Curious, Mark asked, “Did you, too, tire of a tranquil life?”

  “Never had chance to find out, but I wouldn’t mind doing so. This keeps me away from my wife and child too often.”

  Mark hoped he hid his surprise. Hawkinville, like Braydon, was not obviously domestic. “Congratulations,” he said, wondering what sort of woman had caged a hawk.

  Hawkinville nodded his thanks. “Will you marry now your hidden life is over? There’s inheritance to consider.”

  “I’ll have to think about it. For now, I must be off.”

  He left then, having avoided telling Hawkinville that Ned Granger was going to live another day. He’d had plenty of time on the journey to assess the risks, and he’d decided that if Solange hadn’t been located, he should visit Waite to find out what he knew. Hawkinville might try to stop potential waste of valuable talent. He’d fail, but why invite discord?

  He took a hackney to Waite’s Bloomsbury town house, unable to ward off thoughts of Hermione’s reaction to this. He smiled at how vigorously she’d point out his folly, and took out the scrap of grubby silk. Perhaps he should try to wash it, but he was afraid of its disintegrating.

  Everything about her could so easily disintegrate. She thought him a common thief pursued by vengeful victims and demanded that he change. She might feel more kindly if she knew he was working for the government, but she had too much sense to imagine that made him any better a man to love and marry.

  When they were together, anything seemed possible, as if they’d fallen into a fairy ring, but reality was harsher. He lived a dangerous life impelled by a cause he couldn’t abandon. On the other hand, circumstances seemed likely to compel him to take on his true identity, and if the Crimson Band was destroyed, he might be able to take a less active role.

  Unless he was addicted to danger and action, as Braydon seemed to be, and perhaps Hawkinville as well. What sort of life was that to offer any woman?

  The hackney halted. He put away the rose, climbed out, and paid the driver. He’d asked to be let down around the corner from Waite’s house. He’d normally knock on the front door, but his story required him to be cautious, so he went to the back and entered by the steamy, aromatic kitchen to be stared at by a plump cook, a scrawny footman, and some sort of scullery maid.

  “Who are you?” the cook demanded, chopping knife in hand.

  “He’s been here before,” said the footman. “Visiting the master.” His narrowed eyes were suspicious, but only in a general way. Mark doubted any of the servants knew Waite was more than a reforming orator.

  “I have indeed,” Mark said, “and he’ll want to see me now.”

  The footman sniffed. “I’ll take you up, then. Come on.” No “sir.” Not surprising that the footman thought little of him. Nor did it matter. Mark’s main concern was that Seth Boothroyd be here, or a new bodyguard of the same type. Waite wasn’t a man of violent action, but he was capable of ordering it.

  The house seemed as calm and elegant as always, furnished tastefully with fine furniture and ornaments. Mark had never understood how a man who owned and enjoyed such a home could seek a chaos that would destroy it, but there had been wealthy men, scholars, and even aristocrats on the side of revolution in France. It hadn’t saved them from a grim end once the mob ruled.

  The footman knocked on the door to Waite’s study and was told to enter. He did so and announced, “Mr. Granger, sir.”

  Waite was behind his desk writing a letter, but he jerked to his feet, eyes wide. “Granger?” He was afraid. Solange had told him something. Unfortunate, but that might mean he knew where she was.

  “Yes, sir,” Mark said soothingly. “Please don’t be alarmed, though there are alarming matters.”

  He slid his eyes toward the footman and after a moment Waite said, “You may go.” When the door was shut, Waite demanded, “Where have you been?” He’d recovered some of his patrician manner, but for a moment there he’d feared Mark had come to harm him.

  “Here and there,” Mark answered, alert for sounds in the house that might indicate trouble. He heard none. All well so far. “May I sit, sir?”

  Waite settled back in his big chair. “Yes, yes, of course.”

  “You ask where I have been,” Mark said, sitting in the plain wooden chair that faced the desk. “The answer is, sir, in hiding whilst at the same time on the hunt.”

  “You speak in riddles. I must tell you, Granger, that my wife believes you the traitor in our midst.”

  “Believes” implied current communication. There was nothing for it. He’d have to try the bold move he’d devised. “Does she, sir? I regret to tell you that she is the traitor.”

  “Solange? What madness is this? She is the one most ardent for our ends.”

  “Precisely, sir. If I may explain.”

  “Do so, but I fear you’re fit for Bedlam.”

  Many would agree. Mark hoped that Waite would follow his lead on the next, crucial question. “May I ask why Mrs. Waite claims I’m a traitor to the cause?”

  “Because she came across you in Warrington, where you should not have been. She wrote to me from there, telling the whole tale.”

  So that was it. The Crimson Band had a policy of putting as little as possible in writing, but he should have realized that Solange would ignore that. On the other hand, Waite’s words might mean that he’d heard nothing from her since.

  “She sent Nathan Boothroyd to demand an explanation of you,” Waite continued, “and you fled from him. That proved that you were the person who stole some vital papers from her in Ardwick, and therefore the traitor we suspected was among us. I was both shocked and hurt, Granger. Deeply hurt.”

  Mark simply asked, “What vital papers?”

  “You claim innocence of that?”

  “I claim ignorance, sir, but I’m also puzzled. I thought it our policy to avoid putting anything of importance in writing.”

  “Yes, yes, but the subject was complex and my wife believed it essential to record it. The papers were stolen from her room. We believed you innocent because you were already on your way to London, but then you were discovered the next day in Warrington.”

  “Which looked like proof of guilt. I see. Permit me to tell you what really happened, sir. As instructed, I purchased a seat on the night mail from the George and Dragon, but then returned to the King’s Head with an idea that Durrant could incorporate into a speech. Passing Mrs. Waite’s bedroom, I heard her speak. You’ll remember, sir, that the walls and door
s were thin.”

  “Yes, yes, go on.”

  “She said—your pardon, sir—‘Waite is weak. I’m done with him, but I’ll sow discord before I leave.’”

  Waite’s cheeks flushed with anger. “What? I don’t believe you.” But was there a hint of doubt?

  “I found it hard to believe myself, sir, but the words were clear. A man replied, but in too low a voice for me to catch the words. I thought it was Tregoven.” If Mark had to cast lethal suspicion onto anyone, best it be Tregoven.

  “Even more unbelievable,” Waite said, but he was frowning now.

  “It has seemed to me, sir, that Mrs. Waite has become impatient over our lack of progress. She took the failure of the assassination attempt hard, and then the Blanketeers’ March failed to reach London, and the Crusade came to nothing. Her enthusiasms have perhaps become a little rash. The exploding letters,” he added, and saw it find its mark. “At that moment in the inn I faced a dilemma. I needed to travel to London in case the Crusade bore fruit—”

  “Which it did not.”

  “Indeed, sir, but I didn’t know that at the time. I also needed to do something about this new problem.”

  “Why not come to me?” Waite demanded. It seemed he was swallowing the whole line.

  “You don’t believe me now, sir. Would you have believed me then? To be honest, I feared deadly reprisals.”

  Waite didn’t respond, but he looked away. He’d never been at ease with the sort of violence Solange took as matter of course.

  “By then I’d missed the London mail,” Mark continued, “so I decided to linger in Ardwick in hope of learning more. Of learning that your wife was innocent and I had misinterpreted.”

  “Which I’m sure is the case.”

  Mark nodded, but went on. “Mrs. Waite planned to take a coach early in the morning, so I stayed the night at another inn, rose early, and found a place from which I could observe. You’ll remember that there was much disorder that morning because of the Crusade, so when she chose to travel by way of Warrington, I didn’t see that as suspicious. I watched her set out, then hired a horse to ride ahead. Once there, I waited to see if she’d continue to London, in which case I, too, would take a coach for London. I would arrive ahead of her, as I would travel through the night. Then I’d observe her again.”

  Waite was taking in every word and weighing it. “What we have here is a series of misunderstandings, Granger. When my wife arrived in Warrington and saw you there, where you should not be, she was naturally alarmed. You were supposed to be in London, and her papers had been stolen.”

  “Or so she said.”

  “Of course they were! And of course she sent Nathan Boothroyd to discover what you were doing. Whereupon you fled.”

  “So she said.”

  “This is insanity!”

  Mark played a trump. “Has Nathan confirmed her story?”

  Waite stared, and then admitted, “Nathan has disappeared.”

  “Ah,” Mark said, loading it with meaning.

  “I will not believe that my wife concocted such a story and then sent Nathan away so he could not correct it. Nathan would come to me.”

  “If he was able to, sir.”

  “What are you suggesting now? That he’s held prisoner?” After a moment, he shook his head. “No. No. This is all impossible.”

  “It’s alarming, sir, but consider. You only have the letter your wife sent to you as evidence of her story, and here I am, with a different explanation. I’m willing to confront Mrs. Waite with my suspicions.”

  It was the key play. Mark watched as Waite rose from his desk and went to the window, presenting his back. A longcase clock ticked many seconds before he said, “She is not here.”

  “I feared as much, sir.”

  Waite turned back. “Why?”

  “I arrived in London and watched for Mrs. Waite to arrive at the Swan with Two Necks. When she did so, I heard her give a direction that was not here, to her home.”

  “Where did she ask to go?” Waite asked sharply.

  “The Cock near Temple Bar, but when I arrived there, she’d already taken another hackney to who knows where. As you can imagine, sir, I was deeply disturbed by this suspicious behavior.”

  “Yet still you didn’t come to me.”

  “You would have set me to finding her, sir, and I judged it best to do that directly.” He lowered his voice. “We can’t disregard the possibility of a spy in your household.”

  “A government spy, here?”

  “A spy for Mrs. Waite,” Mark said gently. “Does she have a maid?”

  “Yes,” Waite said, pale now. “She doesn’t take Jeanne when traveling, but they are close. I shall demand answers.”

  He walked toward the bellpull, but Mark said, “Not yet, sir. We may wish to keep my part in this secret.”

  Waite drew back his hand. “I can’t believe this. My wife. Her maid. Under my roof.” Yet his hand had been shaking. “Have you found her?”

  “Alas, no, sir. Not yet, and I’m deeply concerned. What is she planning that she chooses not to share with you?” When Waite didn’t answer, Mark prompted, “What of the exploding letters? If she pursues that on her own, it could turn all Britain against our cause.”

  “We must not quail before the cost.”

  “Think not of cost but of consequences, sir. As I said, the likely victims will be clerks or servants, perhaps even women. Also, Isaac let slip a mention of gas.”

  “That will come to nothing. I’ve learned that the government received warning. And what other warning, Granger, than the papers my wife had, which you say were never stolen?”

  Damnation. He’d asked via Braydon that word be let slip that the government had evidence of a plot to do with gas. That had been to deter Solange from continuing any pursuit of Hermione, but now it undermined his story.

  “If you say the papers existed, sir, and have arrived in government hands, then I apologize, but I’m still worried that Mrs. Waite seems to have gone into hiding. Can you guess what she might be doing?”

  “I thought we were completely of one mind, but now . . .”

  “Might she pursue the gas plan even now?”

  “Surely not.” But Waite sounded sure of nothing.

  Mark risked a direct question. “What is the plan?”

  Waite blinked at him. “I’m not sure. She told me something about a great explosion, but I had other things on my mind.”

  “Does she know the government is aware, sir?”

  “Perhaps not. I had word by private means.” Waite paced the room, heavy with concern. “To implement any plans without careful preparation would be madness, especially with no uprising to increase the effect. Surely she cares too much for our ultimate triumph to do such a thing.”

  “We must hope so, sir, but she must be found. Does she have some other place, or a special friend?”

  “No, no. Would I not have thought of that?”

  “Of course, sir. My apologies.”

  “Put your mind to this task, Granger. Find her for me. And the Boothroyds.”

  “Seth, too, has disappeared?” Mark asked.

  “He left my house without permission three days ago and I’ve heard nothing since. The Boothroyds, my wife, Isaac.” He collapsed back into his chair and sank his noble head in his hands. “Never was a man so vilely betrayed.”

  Mark allowed himself an eye roll at that hyperbole, but said, “It is certainly a serious situation, sir.”

  Waite emerged, surprising Mark with a glint of tears. “My wife is passionate and can act unwisely, but she is a noble creature. Find her, Granger, before she puts herself in mortal danger. I’m sure I can persuade her to be wise.”

  “I will do my best, sir.” Mark rose, pleasantly surprised by the success of the visit.

  He’d
retained his place in the Crimson Band and shattered the suspicions Solange had created. He’d also strengthened Waite’s distrust of his wife, so if Solange turned up repeating her suspicions, she would at least be doubted.

  He’d failed in his main purpose, however, because he still had no clue as to where Solange was or what she might be doing. Waite was right about one thing. She wouldn’t tear apart what she’d built for any petty reason. She was intent on some cataclysmic enterprise.

  “Are any of the others available to assist me?” Mark asked.

  “Tregoven and Durrant? They’re in London, but they don’t know that my wife and Isaac are missing.”

  “One might,” Mark reminded him.

  “Tregoven dined here last night!”

  “Judas ate at the Last Supper. You may wish to have him watched.”

  Waite liked the biblical reference that suited his grand view of himself. “I’ll set some of the Brotherhood to that. Should Durrant be watched, too?”

  “An excellent idea, sir, and Mrs. Waite’s maid. When I overheard Mrs. Waite at the King’s Head, she said she’d sow seeds of discord. Other than casting suspicion on me, what did she do?”

  Wearily Waite said, “She harangued Durrant and Tregoven interminably, insisting one of them stole her papers. Someone took them, Granger, for they ended up in the government’s hands.”

  “There are many working against us, sir.”

  “I fear I was most impolite to Durrant when he protested to me. Tregoven seemed less upset.” He looked at Mark. “He was with my wife? In her room?”

  Mark hadn’t intended to suggest an illicit relationship, but he said, “He was, sir,” in a tone he hoped would spread the rot.

  Waite sat straighter. “I will not tolerate betrayal. I shall summon Tregoven here and question him. I will know truth and deception when I’m face-to-face with it.”

  Mark had to fight a smile at that.

  “Will you stay for that?” Waite asked.

  “I’d rather pursue my enquiries, sir.”

  “As you will. Thank you, Granger. This can’t have been easy for you.”

  Mark inclined his head and went toward the door. All in all, very satisfactory.