Assassin's Masque (Palace of Spies Book 3)

by Sarah Zettel

  I had only one choice.

  “Oh, no . . .” I panted. “Oh, no, Miss Oglethorpe! Could I have been followed? I was so careful. I . . . I . . .”

  I burst into tears. Or at least plentiful sobs with my hand over my eyes, which I hoped was close enough.

  “Hold your noise! We’ve no time for it!”

  Anne Oglethorpe, it transpired, could keep up an impressive turn of speed for a woman in skirts and corsets. Even Isolde was out of breath by the time we burst into the library.

  “Anne! What is the meaning of this!” snapped Mrs. Oglethorpe, who had been deep in conference with Lynnfield and his cleric.

  “Miss Fitzroy has been found out,” announced the younger Oglethorpe.

  “It’s all my fault!” I wailed. “Isolde was lost in the garden . . . There was a man . . . I thought he was a gardener . . . I . . .”

  “He was not one of our people,” said Miss Oglethorpe. “He was a stranger, and a rough one.”

  Mrs. Oglethorpe turned to Lord Lynnfield. “Julius, could he have been one of your men?”

  Lynnfield shook his head. “My orders were that they should keep to their quarters during the day. I’ll turn them out now, though. Have them search the grounds.”

  “Do so,” agreed Mrs. Oglethorpe. “Could you lend one or two to Dr. Atterbury? Sir, I must beg a favor of you to go into the village. If people are asking questions about Miss Fitzroy, we must know of it at once.”

  Dr. Atterbury bowed. “I am entirely at your service, Mrs. Oglethorpe.”

  As I listened to all this decisive action, panic spread through my limbs. The paper I concealed in my sleeve burned my forearm as if it were a live coal. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Oglethorpe.” I meant it, too.

  “It is not your fault.” Mrs. Oglethorpe glowered at her eldest daughter. “I warned you she would be watched! How could you have let this happen!”

  Miss Oglethorpe, however, was not in the least intimidated. “I had thought that with such a great gathering of Lord Lynnfield’s men, at least his gardens would be safe.”

  “You may be sure I will be quizzing my men closely about this, Miss Oglethorpe.” Lord Lynnfield looked directly at me as he said this. “A serious error in judgment has been made by someone. If that person is any of mine, they will be properly punished.”

  It was impossible not to hear the promise of murder under those words.

  I must have blanched, because Mrs. Oglethorpe said kindly, “I think, Miss Fitzroy, you’d better return to your room.”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  While I made my curtsy and turned away, Lord Lynnfield took up one of the candles from the mantelpiece and lit it from the fire. “I’ll see her up.”

  This was hardly a proper arrangement, never mind a comfortable one. But as neither of the Oglethorpe ladies raised any objections, I could not voice mine. I gathered lsolde more firmly into my arms and followed Lord Lynnfield out.

  He said nothing as we traversed the corridor to the grand entranceway. He said nothing as we mounted the curving stair and turned down the narrower but still grand hallway that led to my little room.

  Lynnfield drew a ring of keys out of his pocket, sorted through them, found the correct one, unlocked my door, and stood back.

  “Thank you.” The words were hoarse because my mouth had gone completely dry.

  “There is still time to change your mind, Miss Fitzroy,” he answered coolly. “I would suggest you use it.” He handed me the candle. “I’d also suggest you keep your curtains drawn. It would be a shame for someone to be able to look in and see all your business.”

  I took the candle, rather impressed with how little my hand shook, and walked past him into the room.

  The room was quite dark. Someone—I assumed the maid—had already closed the draperies. The door shut. Isolde wriggled in my arms, yipping in fury and distress. I set her down at the same time I heard the sound I was truly beginning to loathe and fear: the key in the lock.

  Isolde ran to the door, barking her little heart out. Despite the shadows filling my room, it took only a single instant to see what so disturbed her. The candle’s light, though faint, was more than enough to show me that the small space beside the door was occupied by Sebastian Sandford.

  And I was locked in with him.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  IN WHICH OUR HEROINE LEARNS AN UNCOMFORTABLE FACT REGARDING FAMILY TREES, MAKES A MOST DANGEROUS BARGAIN, AND EATS SUPPER.

  My jaw fell open. I am uncertain whether I meant to curse, exclaim, or simply scream. Sebastian held one finger to his lips and then pointed at the door.

  I shut my mouth. We both stood quite still until we heard Lord Lynnfield’s footsteps thud away down the hall.

  At last, Sebastian nodded. “I hope you’ll excuse the liberty, Miss Fitzroy. I’m sure you’ll agree it’s high time we had a few words.”

  “I might.” I set my candle down carefully. I also touched my stomacher to make sure of my sapphire pin. “I would, however, like to know how you think you’re going to get out now that we’re locked in together.”

  He smiled sagely and fished a key out of his pocket. “I came prepared. Now.” He slid the key back into his waistcoat. “Where is she?”

  “Who?”

  “Miss Howe.” Sebastian stepped forward. He wanted to make me retreat, but my back was already against the wall. “What has your fat puppet master done with her?”

  Finally, a question I could answer honestly. “If Lord Tierney has had any doings with Sophy, he told me nothing about them.”

  “Come, come, Miss Fitzroy,” Sebastian sneered. “You can do better than that. In fact, you’ll have to. Otherwise, I’ll inform my brother that it was your artist you met out there among the elms.”

  He’d been watching me, and in so doing he’d managed to see more than anyone else. Because he was Sebastian Sandford, constantly overlooked, yet as dangerous and clever as the rest.

  But worse than his words was the gleam in Sebastian’s eye.

  “Got you,” he whispered. “That was a guess, but I was right. Your people are here.”

  I had to pull myself together, and quickly. I could say not one word to betray the others. “What do you want?” I asked.

  “What I said. I want to know where Sophy is and that she’s all right. After that . . .” He shrugged. “We’ll take it as it comes.”

  My mind was reeling. I never would have believed it possible, but Sophy Howe had not fallen in love alone. Sebastian had fallen with her. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  “I take it you don’t believe she just went home?”

  “She’d never leave voluntarily without sending me word.”

  He certainly believed this, but I had no way to tell if the belief was well founded. “Why did you come away without her, then?”

  “What was I supposed to do? Stay in the palace, waiting for the princess’s pet spy to say she saw me carrying Jacobite letters?”

  If you really cared, yes. But then, Sebastian’s courage had never been as strong as his sense of self-preservation. “Agreeing to play the courier at the masquerade was not your most well-considered move.”

  “I was set up for the job,” he said. “Just as you have been,” he added. “My brother made promises. He lies as easily as breathing, but I thought I could . . . that it would be better for all concerned if I did what he wanted.”

  He’d thought his obedience would keep Sophy safe. He knew exactly how dangerous Lord Lynnfield was and how few choices were left open to those who opposed him. Sebastian thought he could avoid the worst by walking along with his eyes open. Just like I had.

  I met Sebastian’s sharp blue gaze, and I hated him and I pitied him. I also for the first time saw how this shallow, untrustworthy, violent man might just be my way out.

  “I’ll need that key,” I told him.

  “Why?”

  “Because I really don’t know what’s happened to Sophy, and I won’t be able to find out if
I’m locked in here.” I held out my hand.

  He stared at my open palm. “That stupid, Miss Fitzroy, I am not.”

  I made myself sigh and roll my eyes. “Do you really want to risk your own neck sneaking about after dark? Or be the one your brother catches going through drawers and letters looking for clues?” I did not even consider telling him there was a woman prisoner in this house. I knew what happened when this man got angry. A mad bull in a china shop would do less damage than Sebastian with his temper unleashed.

  Sebastian’s face twisted into an expression of serious reluctance. Despite this, he pressed the key into my palm.

  “There, now.” He folded his arms. “We are both entirely dependent on each other’s silence.”

  “So it would seem,” I agreed.

  “Don’t presume too much on it, Miss Fitzroy. If I fall, you will come with me. You may have fooled the Old Fury, but Julius’s mind is nowhere near as fixed in your favor.”

  “I had noticed, thank you.” And considering the insinuating and covetous nature of some of Lynnfield’s remarks, that was actually something of a comfort. “Now, you’d best get out of here, before someone takes it into their head to check up on me.”

  “I would gladly, except you’ve got my key.”

  I blushed. Sebastian snickered, and I had to control the urge to stomp on his toes as I crossed to the door. I was just putting the key into the lock when another thought occurred to me.

  “Who is Mrs. Oglethorpe to your family?” I said. “Why does your brother give her the run of his house? He certainly doesn’t trust her.” Or share her fervor regarding the Pretender’s rightful place in the world.

  Sebastian grinned. “If this is a sample of your vaunted powers of observation, Miss Fitzroy, I can’t say I think much of them. Most people see the resemblance right away, particularly around the eyes.”

  I whirled around. He opened his eyes so wide as to be ridiculous and leaned in toward me. “Look,” he whispered. “Look closely, Miss Fitzroy.”

  “No,” I breathed. Mrs. Oglethorpe’s features had indeed stirred feelings of recognition in me, and Sebastian’s bright blue eyes and high cheekbones had always been his most noteworthy attributes. Well, aside from his cruelty, violence, and lack of any moral scruple. Now that it was laid before me, it was impossible not to see the family resemblance on every level.

  Sebastian smiled again, and here too he resembled Mrs. Oglethorpe in the smug triumph of his expression. “You thought my brother and I call each other bastards as a figure of speech. I assure you, in our case, the appellation is quite literal.”

  “It was supposed to be James the Second she had a child with,” I said weakly.

  Sebastian shrugged. “I’m sure she would have had the opportunity arisen. Unfortunately, my father was the best she could do. He needed heirs and didn’t want to be bothered with a wife. He always said women got in the way of serious business.” His voice faltered and I found myself wondering if he was thinking of Sophy. “He legally acknowledged us and she didn’t have to, which suited them both, and that’s all there is to it.”

  I swallowed. “I suppose our betrothal finally makes some sort of sense.”

  “Yes.” Sebastian’s tone was so bland, he sounded terrifyingly like his brother. “She did mean to unite her secret family with that of her dearest friend. She’s ludicrously sentimental in that way.”

  I wondered what Mrs. Oglethorpe would do if she knew my mother might have had a liaison with Mr. . . .

  I couldn’t finish the thought. I was upset enough. If I rehearsed those particular suspicions now, I might be sick again, or simply faint. There was no time for either.

  I finished unlocking the door and stepped back. Sebastian held himself still, listening for a time. Only when he was satisfied with the level of silence outside did he slip through the door, leaving me finally and truly alone.

  I locked the door and, as quickly as I could, stuffed the key into Isolde’s basket. Ignoring her protests, I yanked the note Matthew had passed me from my sleeve.

  The handwriting was cramped and the ink was cheap and pale, but eventually I made out:

  The church. After moonrise.

  I held the paper up to my candle’s flame and let it burn.

  I shall one day write a book of advice: A Young Spy’s Guide. In it, I shall take pains to point out that a spy is by necessity a busy individual and must therefore find an opportunity every day to list the tasks required of her and organize them in order of priority. For example, my list at the end of my first day at Bidmarsh House might read:

  1) Discover the true identity of the whimpering woman (who has replaced the veiled mourner in the pantheon of mysterious persons in Peggy Fitzroy’s existence).

  2) Find dates and times for scheduled invasion and assassination attempts, preferably in a nonenciphered form.

  3) Accomplish 1 and 2 in time to sneak out of the house after dark to make rendezvous with loved ones and co-conspirators.

  4) Swear faithfully to Our Heavenly Father to never, ever, ever again fall asleep or giggle during services if only Sebastian succeeds in keeping his mouth shut.

  5) Survive.

  The Young Spy may also at any time be called upon to sit down at the dinner table and conduct herself in such a manner that hosts, enemies, and jailers, in whatever combination, do not suspect she has any priorities at all.

  At first, this was helped by dinner being a grim and silent affair. Whatever had been discovered on the grounds, no one was willing to speak of it where the servants could hear. As the desultory removes proceeded, I had far too much time to consider how little information I had and how much I needed. Unfortunately, silence, however wide and gaping, is a contradictory thing in that it provides very few conversational openings. Indeed, the only intelligence I gained during that interminable meal came when Dr. Atterbury returned, blowing on his hands and gulping down the glass of wine Mrs. Oglethorpe directed the butler to give him.

  The good cleric informed us that no one at the White Hart had overheard any strangers asking about Bidmarsh House, the Oglethorpes, or one Margaret Fitzroy. Indeed, no one had seen any travelers of any sort passing through the village during the whole day.

  Lord Lynnfield remarked coolly that this only proved that whoever had followed me wasn’t fool enough to put up at the public house. In this we were in agreement, although I could hardly say so. As it was, I had to stuff my mouth with venison to cover my relief.

  There was one other piece of good news. Although he scowled at every dish laid in front of him and snorted each time any person did venture some remark, Sebastian did, in fact, keep his mouth shut.

  Given Dr. Atterbury’s failure to uncover anything in the village, I was not surprised when Mrs. Oglethorpe suggested I take myself up to my room directly after dinner. I agreed with what I hoped was nervous and subdued obedience. Once more locked in by the dutiful Hannah, Isolde and I proceeded to curl up together in the armchair and nap.

  There was no question but that it was going to be another long night.

  As I was certain I would be, I was eventually roused by Hannah, who had brought in my allotted candle and a clean nightdress. I let myself be changed and wished a good night. Hannah closed the door, taking the candle with her as usual. As soon as I saw the light move away, I scrambled from my bed. And I waited.

  Despite my nap, I was tired. It had been a long day, and I yearned to remain in bed with the covers pulled up about my ears. This was where my time in waiting once again came to my aid, in that I was used to days that could measure twenty hours out of twenty-four. Compared to flirting and deliberately losing at cards with the French ambassador for six hours straight, a little late-night trespass would be nothing at all.

  But before I attempted to make my way to the church, I would do all I could to find some sign of my fellow prisoner. In this I was determined. Quite apart from any bargain I’d made with Sebastian, I would not leave anyone to the nonexistent me
rcies of Lord Lynnfield, especially when that someone might be my aunt.

  My only clock was the moon. I stood at the edge of the window and peered out carefully from behind the draperies, watching that waning orb inch its way up the vault of the sky. The house had fallen silent around me. The only movement I could detect came from the gardens outside, in the form of torch lights proceeding slowly across the lawn.

  Those had to be Lord Lynnfield’s men. I counted six lights, then eight.

  When I lifted my eyes to the horizon, I could see the church standing black and tall in the moonlight. It looked impossibly distant. When I remembered all Anne Oglethorpe had said about the dangers of the marshland, it seemed impossible I should reach its sanctuary at all. I reminded myself repeatedly that Matthew had come to me. There must be a road through those marshes. Somewhere. That Lynnfield’s men would surely be patrolling that road as well as the grounds was something I would deal with when I had to.

  I turned away from the window and the unsettling scene beyond. It was time for me to set to work.

  My room was pitch black. Because of the men on patrol outside, I did not dare open the draperies, much less light one of my precious candles. I groped about, wincing at every scrape and sound I made. I retrieved the rope ladder from its hiding place underneath my chair and stowed it with the candles and tinderbox in my leather satchel, because one never knew where one might end up on such an eventful evening as I had planned. Isolde followed me, wagging and snuffling, showing every sign of enjoying this new game.

  At last, I pulled out the breeches, smock shirt, and stockings I’d hidden in the closet. As painful as this additional delay was, I had to change clothes. I knew from hard experience that attempting any act of stealth in skirts came very close to physical impossibility.