Assassin's Masque (Palace of Spies Book 3)

by Sarah Zettel

  While I had spent my night thinking my mother had been unfaithful with Mr. Tinderflint, the prince thought I’d been having a tryst with Matthew. The princess must have thought the same. Her babe, the little prince, was dead. My mistress, who had been so kind to me, was ill, maybe dying, and they thought I’d abandoned my post for the sake of the lowest form of assignation.

  I had reached my door. I could see it, but I couldn’t make myself open it. I couldn’t raise my arm.

  “Peggy?” It was Olivia. She had come up behind me and I hadn’t even noticed. Molly was there too, I realized distractedly. “Come along, Peggy—let’s get you inside.”

  Olivia opened the door, and she and Molly moved me gently forward.

  “Miss!” cried Libby at once. “Where have you been! You were sent for and—”

  “She knows, Libby,” said Molly quietly. “You should go now.”

  “Yes, miss.”

  I didn’t see Libby leave. I couldn’t turn my head. I blindly groped for the nearest hand. It was Olivia’s.

  “Here, Peggy, sit down,” she murmured.

  I ignored this. “What happened?” I cried. “Tell me what happened!”

  “Not until you sit down.” My cousin pushed me onto the stool. “Molly knows the whole of it, don’t you, Molly?”

  Molly first went to the door and shot home the bolt. I was so cold. Isolde nosed about my slippers, whining with more than her usual concern.

  “It was horrible, Peggy, the whole affair . . . terrible.” Molly spoke at a whisper, her face as pale as I had ever seen it. Her cosmetics were streaked and smudged, and the dark circles under her eyes spoke eloquently of having been awake all the night. “The princess’s labors began after she left the drawing room. You know Their Highnesses had brought in a notable midwife, a German?” I nodded. “Well, there were some among the bedchamber ladies who wanted an English physician instead of a German woman, and both were summoned.” Her face turned whiter. “But none could agree who should go to her. All fell to arguing, and there is the princess screaming in her pains, and the prince holding her hand.”

  “He was there!” I cried, shocked. There was normally no room for any man other than a physician or a priest in a birthing chamber.

  “He never left her side. There were I don’t know how many persons all arguing with Her Highness in favor of the Englishman, but the prince was bellowing for the German, and the princess was crying out, probably for the German but nobody could understand her. The Englishman was so offended by someone else even having been considered to attend her that he stomped off, and they wasted all sorts of time trying to persuade him to come back.” She paused and touched her throat. “You can’t imagine the confusion. There’s the prince yelling orders in German and bad French, and no one can properly understand.” She paused again. “Her Highness called for you, Peg.”

  “Why? I know nothing about birthing . . .”

  “You speak English and French and German well,” said Olivia quietly. “They needed someone who could make all things understood.”

  “There are others, surely . . .”

  “But you were the one who was wanted,” said Olivia. “And you weren’t there.”

  No. Quite right. I was not there. I had promised Her Royal Highness I would be, and I had failed.

  “Maybe if the babe had lived, it would not be quite so bad,” said Molly. “But after all the struggles . . . no one can say what caused it, of course, but . . .”

  Stillborn. She didn’t have to say it. The babe had been stillborn. And I had been wanted and I was not there. I closed my eyes. I tried to feel something beyond the numbing confusion. Anger rose to the surface first.

  “Who was it who told them I was with Matthew?” I demanded. “It was the Howe, wasn’t it? She came back and she told them . . .”

  Olivia laid her hand on my arm. “No, Peggy. It wasn’t Sophy this time. No one’s seen her. It was Lady Portland.”

  Lady Portland was Princess Anne’s governess, the one who had never liked me, even before I saddled her particular corner of the household with a flock of spoiled dogs. With her cold and scornful glances, she had promised to do me an injury if she could. I’d ignored her, as careless as Mary Bellenden, because I thought she had no power over me.

  But in the end, it didn’t matter who had tattled about where I was. My reputation rested on how well the princess believed I performed my duties, and the princess believed she had proof of indifference and betrayal. Therefore, I was dismissed. I was alone. I was just Margaret Preston Fitzroy once again.

  Just Margaret Preston Fitzroy, who might well be the illegitimate daughter of an earl. Just Margaret, whose supposed father might be selling France’s secrets to England, as well as England’s secrets to France.

  Just Margaret, who happened to know that Great Britain faced invasion from the Pretender and his allies.

  Just Margaret, for whom one single fact was abundantly plain—she was now in more trouble than she had ever been in the whole of her eventful career.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  IN WHICH CONFUSIONS OVER THE MOTIVES OF MEN MAY BE SHOWN TO DRIVE OUR HEROINE TO EXTREMES.

  No one came to see us leave. Libby, stunned as I had ever seen her, said she would pack the rest of our things and see them delivered safely. Molly promised to help. But no one came close once Olivia and I walked out into the yard, not even Molly or Mrs. Howard. Especially not Libby, who must now decide what to do for her living.

  Plenty of persons did watch us from the safety of windows and doorways. Despite their distance, I felt the currents of gossip swirling about as Olivia and I climbed into our coach.

  I wasn’t surprised, nor did I blame them. With the calamity of the royal birth so close on the heels of Mr. Tinderflint’s arrest, I also would have stayed away, if given the choice. And I would have talked. I would have talked endlessly.

  I did give Libby a letter to put into Mrs. Howard’s hands. Addressed to Her Royal Highness, it was as abject and sincere an apology as I was capable of composing. It also contained the genuine, although unprovable, explanation for my absence. The princess would surely have any number of sardonic words to say about it, assuming she read it.

  “It will work out,” said Olivia as she latched the coach door and the driver touched up the horses. “We will make it right.”

  I didn’t answer her, not then, nor all the long, weary drive back to my father’s house. I could barely manage to respond to Isolde when she crawled out of her traveling basket and began nosing about under things looking for her biscuits.

  Father met us at the house steps and helped me down from the coach. He held his questions until we got inside, but once the door closed behind us, he turned loose the flood.

  I shook them all off.

  “Olivia will tell you,” I said as I pushed Isolde’s basket into her hands. “I need to be alone.”

  Suiting actions to words, I retreated upstairs. I locked my door, lay down full length on my bed, and didn’t move.

  How long this lasted, I don’t know, but it was some hours. Olivia knocked and called once. Father knocked and called some time after that. I lay on the bed and blinked at the lace canopy. It is possible that I slept, but I do not remember. If thoughts passed through my empty mind, I cannot recall them.

  A third knock sounded. “Peggy? Please, won’t you come out? Everyone is worried about you.”

  It was Matthew. I closed my eyes. They’d sent for Matthew to use against me.

  And it worked. Of course it worked. When had I ever been able to tell him no? I got up from the bed, undid the lock, and opened the door.

  He’d left the academy in such a hurry, he hadn’t taken time to pull on his coat. He stood there in his paint-stained shirtsleeves, stray locks of dark red hair straggling about his ears and cheeks. I thought he would try to reach out to me, but he didn’t. We just met each other’s gazes in silence for a long moment, each on our own side of the threshold.

  I ste
pped back and turned to let him follow me into the room if he chose. He understood the gesture, accepted it, and closed the door behind himself. We stood there, and it was maddeningly awkward. While it might be true we had been alone under many odd circumstances, it had never been in my personal chamber, in my father’s house, with my father downstairs. It was, in fact, as improper a situation as could be imagined. The first and last rule of behavior for an unmarried young lady is to never, under any circumstances, be alone in a room with any man who might even vaguely be considered a potential paramour.

  I sat in the chair by the window, which was about as far away as I could get from him and still be in the room. Matthew didn’t move. “Please sit down,” I said.

  Matthew perched on the very edge of a plain wooden chair by the hearth. Under other circumstances, I might have smiled to see my bold gallant turn so suddenly puppyish.

  When he spoke, his voice and words were entirely those of the man I loved. “Tell me how I can help, Peggy Mostly.”

  I rubbed my hands together. When was the last time I had felt warm? I considered crossing the room in order to better collapse into his arms. But I didn’t move. And yet, neither could I stand this distance. I had to do something.

  “Tell me about your mother,” I said distractedly. “We’ve never talked about her. Does she yet live?”

  Matthew chuckled, just a little. “The day my mother dies is the day the devil shows up with a shovel to knock her over the head. And even then she’d probably just grab it out of his hands and slap the horns off his scalp.”

  “Matthew!”

  “I’m sorry, but it’s true. You’ve never met a woman made of sterner stuff. She’s about this tall.” He held his hand by his chin. “And not one of us ever dares talk back in her presence. Her house is neat as a pin, her children know their place, and my father adores her. It also happens that we’re all so terrified of her that we’d sooner emigrate to the colonies than face her down. Oh, and she’s only got one eye.”

  “Now you’re making things up.”

  “I am not. There was a runaway horse in front of my father’s shop one day, and my little brother bolted out to see. She snatched him back just before he could be trampled, but one of the horses kicked up a cobble and it slammed against her right eye. She lay insensible for two days. My father was out of his mind. He tried everything he knew but nothing helped. Then, on the third day, she just woke up as if nothing had happened and got back to her work.” He paused. “My brother says she didn’t actually lose the eye. He says it flew up to Heaven and now she’s got the same view as God and the angels and that’s why you can’t ever fool her.”

  “I think I’d like your mother.”

  “I’m glad. She’d like you.” He smiled the smile that never failed to set my heart racing. I had felt dead, or as good as, but it seemed all I had to do was meet Matthew’s gaze and I not only lived, but I wanted to keep on living.

  “You need to come downstairs, Peggy Mostly,” he said. “Olivia’s driving us all to distraction. She’s started planning how we’ll break into the Tower and smuggle Mr. Tinderflint out through the water gate.”

  “Actually,” called Olivia’s voice, “she’s on the other side of this door listening to your private conversation. Can I come in? Otherwise I’m going to drop this blessedly heavy tray and Isolde’s going to eat all the food I’ve brought. Oh, and Uncle Fitzroy’s going to lose what hold he’s got on his patience and come up here with a meat cleaver or something.”

  I laughed and Matthew laughed, because what else was to be done? I got up and opened the door. Olivia, accompanied by an imperious and vocal Isolde, marched into the room carrying a silver tray loaded with roast beef and bread and a pitcher of small beer, not to mention all the necessary dishes, napkins, and cutlery. My cousin deposited the tray on the spindle-leg table, which wobbled under the weight.

  “You”—she slapped beef on bread and handed it to me—“eat that. You,” she said to Matthew, “tell me what happened when you went to the Cocoa Tree. You”—she dropped a large lump of beef on the floor beside the door, which she had, incidentally, left open a crack—“tell us if anyone comes.” Isolde plumped herself down and began to feast on that good English beef as fiercely as any wolf on its kill. “Now, I don’t suppose, of course, that you two really—”

  “No!” cried Matthew at the same time I cried, “What do you take me for?”

  “A girl with breath in her body and eyes in her head,” Olivia replied calmly as she settled on the bed with her own plate of food. “If that wasn’t what kept you away all night, then what was it?”

  I bit my lip. My spell of solitude in combination with Matthew’s presence had been enough for sense and spirit to reassert themselves. Heaven knows I did not want them. My sense and spirit seemed to do little more than drive me from one disaster to the next. At the same time, if I simply refused to tell her, Olivia would niggle and nag and harp and press until I shouted the truth from the rooftops.

  Fortunately, at that moment, my cousin didn’t care which of us talked, as long as somebody did. So while I nibbled beef and bread, Matthew did his best to explain all I had told him about my conversation with Mr. Tinderflint in the Tower. Then he told her about the bolthole room and what we had found there.

  We came to the locket and the ring and I waited for Olivia’s exclamations. I hoped for her to assemble one of her mad chains of dramatic logic, because it would be another way to not believe.

  Instead, my cousin burst out laughing.

  “Oh!” She held her sides. “Oh, oh, oh, you two! You imbeciles!”

  “What?” I demanded. “What else could it mean when a man keeps a woman’s tokens beside his bed!”

  “Good heavens, Peggy, Mr. Tinderflint doesn’t even like women!”

  “What?”

  “I mean, he likes women, clearly. He likes you and me and the princess. He probably liked your mother well enough, but not like as in like to take to bed.” I must have looked very confused, because Olivia shook her head at me. “Didn’t you ever find it strange that he’s not married? That he has no children? He’s one of those men, the ones who prefer men.”

  Matthew turned his face away, quickly. I wasn’t supposed to know what Olivia was talking about, of course, but everyone did, if only to know it was a sin and a crime. I also wasn’t supposed to know that there were any number of men at the court devoted to that particular sin and crime. I’d played cards with more than a few of them and was always glad to do so. They were much more polite, at least with us maids, than the sort generally reckoned to be morally upright.

  But she was right. I never had thought Mr. Tinderflint might be one of them. Now I seized the idea.

  “But what of the rest of it?” I asked her. “What of Father, and the money?” What of the letters and Mrs. Oglethorpe’s lies?

  Olivia glanced toward the doorway. “Peg. I’ve made a discovery. I know that I should have told you before, but . . .”

  Outside, the floorboards creaked. Isolde leapt to her feet, barking her tiny heart out. “Peg,” called my father. “Would you please call off your hound?”

  Olivia blanched. Matthew slapped his hand over his mouth to stifle a curse. I swallowed all similar feeling and went to get Isolde. I set her, and a bit of bread sopped in beef juice, under my napkin on my lap. Thus freed from all danger of attack, Father pushed the door open.

  “Olivia and Matthew told me something of what happened.” He entered the room to drop a kiss on my forehead. “I am truly sorry, Peg. I just wanted to be certain you were all right. All of you.” It was not my imagination that told me he spoke these last words to Olivia.

  He did not, I noticed, launch into any conventional railings about my disgrace or lost honor. Not that I had any honor, really. In that, I seemed to be but once more following the family tradition.

  How was I going to tell him about the ring and locket? He couldn’t know, could he?

  The nausea that had overtaken me
in Mr. Tinderflint’s rooms threatened again, and my stomach cramped painfully. While I might have been somewhat recovered, I still lacked the strength to keep the worst of my thoughts at bay. It was common knowledge that men sometimes killed their wives when they found them unfaithful. What if Mrs. Oglethorpe had been a little bit right? What if my mother had been murdered and Mrs. Oglethorpe had just been mistaken about whose hand had done the deed?

  It was impossible, of course. Father had been in the Bastille at the time. At least, he said he had. Except that if he was really selling secrets to both Hanoverians and Jacobites, that tale of arrest and imprisonment might have been another lie. He might have been having himself and his contraband smuggled back and forth across the channel and—

  Smuggled. My thoughts halted in their tracks. Smuggled.

  I looked again at the rich, tasteful furnishings of my room. I looked at my father. He’d changed from his coachman’s costume and once more wore the lace and velvet of a prosperous gentleman.

  “Are you all right, Peg?” Father asked. “You’ve gone white as that dog of yours.”

  I swallowed hard. “I’m better,” I told him honestly. “‘All right’ may take a while yet.”

  “I understand.”

  I met his gaze but couldn’t hold it. My emotions were too raw and my doubts too grave for me to keep that much control.

  Father sighed. “I must go out for an hour or two,” he said. “There are people I need to speak to, if they’ll still speak to me.” He paused until he was sure he had our attention. “If things are as bad as they look—if there really is an invasion coming—we may all need to quickly get ourselves to safety. That includes you, Matthew. I want to have arrangements in place.” He paused again and laid his hand on my shoulder. “No arguments, Peg,” he said. “I’ve seen war and you haven’t. I will not leave you in the path of it.”