by Wilma Counts
“No, of course not,” Retta repeated. She felt tears welling and did not bother to wipe them away. “But please, Auntie Georgie, please understand. I love Jake and after Rebecca’s ball—what, ten days away?—I may never see him again.” Overwhelmed by soul deep despair at that thought, she stifled a sob.
Her aunt’s tone softened. “I do understand, my child—truly I do. I would have found it very difficult to stay away from my William, but you simply cannot—cannot—carry on this way in your father’s house. What were the two of you thinking? I could see what was happening—that is, how you feel about each other—but really, my dear—”
“I—I don’t suppose we were thinking at all.”
“Well, it is time you did,” her aunt said flatly. “Servants talk and you know how Celeste,” she nodded at Madame Laurent’s door, “loves gossip.”
Retta rose. “I—it won’t happen again. I’ll tell Jake this morning. I’m sorry.”
“I am sorry, too, for both of you,” her aunt said rising herself and enfolding Retta in her arms. “Perhaps when this—this bet business—is all over, you will be able to work something out.”
“With a dockworker?”
“Who knows?”
They kissed each other on the cheek and both went to their own chambers where Retta, at least, dissolved into a bout of tears.
Chapter 19
For Jake, time in the next few days seemed to declare itself his enemy. In terms of the mission, it crawled at an excruciatingly slow pace. He could see that it was hard on Lord Alfred, too, as they waited for word that those messages had been delivered. Even then, they could not immediately deal with their known scoundrels. Only when word came that the French and Austrian negotiators at the Congress in Vienna were acting on that false information could they pick up Trentham’s butler, Talbot. And they could not confront Morrow and Lindstrom without alarming Talbot. Jake knew that Lord Alfred, heartsick as he was at the personal betrayal of his secretary and his old friend, just wanted the whole thing to be over. And so did Jake, but for different reasons.
Retta had confided her aunt’s discovery of their affair and she had not come to his room any night since. They still managed to snatch a few hours together, but other than a stolen kiss or two, there was nothing else as they kept up the routine of before—conducting their “lessons” in full view of others or with doors left ajar. He wanted this damned spy business tidied up so he could devote his time to righting himself with Retta. Knowing her as he did by now, he was sure she knew he had been deceiving her—had she not said as much?—but she did not know the exact nature of his deceit. When she found out, she would be angry and hurt. He also knew her to be impetuous and stubborn. Would she even be able to accept him after knowing how he had hoodwinked her? These few remaining days before the big come-out at the Lenninger ball moved slowly. Jake was tagged to accompany Retta to another fitting for her ball gown, but of course they were accompanied by Annie, leaving them little opportunity for more than a passing touch or squeeze of hands as he helped each woman from the carriage. He and Retta often exchanged rueful glances with each other.
Under the guise of a social call, Peter Fenton, who had, after all, been invited to that Christmas party, called at Blakemoor House and in the course of the visit managed to have a private word with Jake and Lord Alfred when they accompanied him downstairs as he was leaving. In his earlier disclosures, Jake had revealed to Lord Alfred that Colonel Lord Peter Fenton was Jake’s immediate superior in the Foreign Office. As the three of them stepped into the entrance hall, Lord Alfred silently motioned them into the music room rather than the library across the foyer where Morrow was still at work. He closed the door and confronted Peter.
“I take it you have news, Colonel Fenton?”
“Yes, sir, I do. The French have received the information we gave them, and they seem to have shared it with the Austrians. Wellington left Paris a few days ago to travel to Vienna and Castlereagh is preparing to come home. He may already be on his way. It is my understanding that there is not much serious business occurring in Vienna at the moment.”
“Then we have stopped that leak, but what about the other one—the army postings?”
“We just today received word from the English guard on Elba that Napoleon was visited by his sister last week. That is why I am here, my lord. We can rid ourselves of the whole lot of them at your discretion.”
Lord Alfred heaved a sigh. “The sooner the better.”
“The day after tomorrow—in the evening, say?” Fenton suggested.
Lord Alfred considered this a moment. “Yes, my sister and I had intended to go the theatre that night along with my niece, but I can invent some pressing work from the office that will necessitate my cancelling—and require the presence of Morrow. I shall ask Heaton to escort the ladies to the theatre.”
“We shall arrest Talbot in the afternoon and keep him under wraps until we have them all,” Fenton said. “There is a holding cell in the basement of the Foreign Office. We can do nothing at the moment about the deputy ambassador from Rome who received the information from Lindstrom and passed it on, but we can have him declared persona non grata later. Meanwhile, let him wonder.”
“What about Madame Laurent?” Jake asked.
Peter slapped the base of his palm against his forehead. “I forgot about her. And her son.”
“I doubt her son knows much about what his mother has been involved in,” Lord Alfred said. “At most, Charles Laurent is a bit of a hanger-on. That is, when he is in town, and then he is always plaguing her for extra funds, but probably not aware of where they come from.”
“Still, he is a loose end that must be dealt with—but he is not of high priority at the moment,” Peter said.
“Will Madame go to the theatre too?” Jake asked.
“I think not,” Lord Alfred replied. “We discussed this theatre outing at lunch yesterday and she distinctly said she was not interested in seeing a French play performed in English. I believe she will stay in. We can call her down when Lindstrom arrives.”
“And he will be here because—?” Peter asked. Jake knew from working closely with Fenton on the Peninsula that Peter was meticulous about the details of a mission.
“I shall manufacture a medical malady and send a servant for him.”
Peter nodded. “That should work.”
* * * *
For Retta, these days were full of frustration and apprehension. The frustration came seeing Jake every day, yet never getting a chance to make love with him or even discuss anything meaningful about their relationship without fear of being interrupted or overheard. They did manage a couple of hasty kisses and there were a number of “accidental” touches. The apprehension came from the upcoming Lenninger ball. Would she win that bet? That is, would Jake win it for her? The possibility of giving up Moonstar still hung over her like a threatening storm.
Adding to her worry was the prospect of the details of that bet becoming public. If it did, it would create a huge scandal that would undoubtedly mean ridicule and social ostracism. Since the “setdown” she received from Aunt Georgiana, that particular fear had intensified. Her family did not deserve the condemnation that might come their way because of her actions. Well, Rebecca and Melinda might—they who had known just which of her strings to pull when that infernal bet was made. But the rest of the Parker family did not deserve such. And truth to tell, even her sisters did not bear as much blame as she herself did.
But without the bet, she would never have met Jake.
There were still obstacles to overcome in that part of her life, but she was certainly not going to give Jake up just because people like her stepmother would disapprove of him. Was this yet another example of her being “impulsive and intransigent” as Uncle Alfred had accused her of being? No, she could not accept that—not about her feelings for Jake.
She wi
shed now that she had not agreed to go to the theatre with her aunt and uncle. With both of them out of the house, she and Jake might have managed some quality time together, for her brothers rarely spent evenings at home. Too late to back out now, she told herself; if she did, Aunt Georgiana would immediately know why and stop her.
In the event, Uncle Alfred had excused himself because of some urgent army work and Gerald had agreed to escort her and Aunt Georgiana. Retta was sorry Uncle Alfred had to bow out, but she welcomed the idea of Gerald’s accompanying them. In the last few months, she had shared too little time with her brothers and she and Gerald nearly always enjoyed the same theatre works. In fact, some years ago, the two of them had read this play by Moliere together in French and she looked forward to its being produced in English.
* * * *
The theatre party had left an hour ago and now Jake and Peter Fenton sat in the music room with the door slightly ajar so they would hear Lindstrom arrive. As he entered the room, Fenton had informed Jake that he had posted three men just outside the main entrance to the house. Jake knew Lord Alfred had instructed the footman at the door to show Dr. Lindstrom to the library and then request that Madame Laurent join them there. Meanwhile, he and Peter whiled away the time with small talk.
“I’ve had an invitation to a ball given by Viscount Lenninger and his wife,” Peter said. “Isn’t she a sister to the Blakemoor brood?”
“Yes,” Jake said. “You must remember that she had a central role in that bet that put me here in the first place.”
“Ah, yes. Now that you remind me, I do recall your telling me that.”
“The ball is to be the scene of my big come-out,” Jake said.
Fenton laughed. “So at last you will enter the ranks of true gentlemen.”
“Whatever that is.”
“Then what?”
“I am thinking of selling out and retiring to my property and becoming not just a gentleman, but a gentleman farmer.”
Fenton gave him a sharp look. “Good Lord, I think you are serious. You will be bored within a fortnight.”
“I doubt that. I fully intend to be accompanied by my new wife.”
“Wife? Who? Aha! You and the fair Lady Henrietta? Well, I’ll be—Congratulations!”
“It is not settled yet, mind you, so please do not go bruiting it about.”
“That ought to make tomorrow night’s ball very interesting, indeed.”
“Shhh. I heard the door knocker.”
They sat in silence as they listened to the footman at the door greet Sir Cecil Lindstrom and then show him to the library. A short while later, they heard Madame Laurent come down the stairs. She knocked at the library door and they heard her say, “You wanted to see me, Lord Alfred? Oh, Sir Cecil. How nice to see you.”
Fenton stood. “Show’s on,” he said softly.
Jake and Peter entered the library to find the three men, Lord Alfred, Lindstrom, and Morrow, standing at the entrance of Madame Laurent. Morrow, Lindstrom, and the lady all turned as Jake and Peter came through the door.
“What is going on here?”
“Is something the matter?”
Lindstrom and the woman spoke simultaneously.
“Please sit down, everyone,” Lord Alfred said, reseating himself in a chair near the fireplace. “We all know each other, I think.”
Jake saw Lindstrom and Madame Laurent exchange puzzled looks and then glance at Morrow almost apprehensively. All but Morrow sat in the chairs and a couch that formed a conversational group around the fireplace. Jake noted that Madame Laurent sat on the couch next to Lindstrom, but that Morrow had not moved from behind his desk. Jake and Peter occupied chairs set an angle to the couch, with Jake in the one nearest Morrow’s desk. Jake sat casually with one leg resting on the knee of the other.
Lord Alfred leaned from his chair toward his long-time friend to hand Lindstom two sheets of paper. “I assume you recognize these, Cecil.”
It took only a moment. Jake saw the doctor’s face turn pale, and he made a choking sound, but quickly recovered and said in a rather blustery tone, “Why no. I’ve never seen these before.”
“That is odd,” Lord Alfred said in a deceptively mild tone, “for Mr. Bolton here saw you retrieve papers exactly like these from under the blotter on my secretary’s desk. Now, I wonder how you might have known to look for such—and in just that place.”
Madame Laurent buried her face in her hands and began to whimper.
Jake had been watching Morrow at the desk and saw a look of surprise cross the secretary’s face and a surreptitious movement of his shoulders. Suddenly, the secretary had whipped a pistol from a desk drawer and rose to stand at the desk.
“Don’t anybody move,” Morrow said. “It’s over, Celeste, Lindstrom. But the three of us are getting out of here right now.”
Madame Laurent’s whimpers turned to sobs. Lindstrom put an arm around her shoulders and she turned her face into his neck.
“Shut up, Celeste,” her brother snarled. “Now is not the time for your histrionics.”
“You might have some difficulty getting by my men posted at the front door.” Peter Fenton sounded almost bored, but Jake knew that Peter, who had a gun tucked in the waistband of his trousers and covered by his coat, was poised like a panther, awaiting an opportunity to act. Jake had no firearm, but, typical of soldiers in the field, he did have a knife tucked into his boot.
“They’ll not shoot at his high and mighty lordship, now, will they? He will shield us quite nicely, I think.” Morrow waved his gun at Lord Alfred to move.
Lindstrom and the woman had risen and were moving cautiously. Jake noted that Lord Alfred was making a point of moving slowly. Madame uttered an unintelligible cry and her brother said, “Celeste, I told you to be quiet.”
But he had made the mistake of glancing at her, and Jake used that split second to grab his knife and throw it at Morrow. It caught him in the shoulder and the gun went off. Madame Laurent screamed and would have collapsed but for that fact that Lindstrom still had an arm around her.
Peter had his weapon out now and pointed it directly at Morrow. “The tables have turned, I do believe.”
Morrow was clutching his shoulder and blood seeped between his fingers. The bullet had grazed Madame Laurent’s arm, which was bleeding rather profusely. She sank down to the couch again.
“Well, will you look at that,” Peter said, still in his bored tone, “we have brother and sister with matching wounds.” Then in a harsher tone, he said to Morrow, “At this point your gun is useless, but drop it anyway and get over there by her. And you, doctor, you who minister to the great and powerful, will see to their wounds, if Lord Alfred will be so good as to ring for a servant.”
The doctor reached for the medical bag he had brought with him, but Jake intercepted him. “I’ll just have a look inside, if you please.” He opened the bag and removed a pistol. “Ah, I see you did not please. Ah, well . . .”
At that moment, the men Fenton had posted earlier rushed in, guns drawn.
“Lawks,” one of them said. “We missed the fun.”
“As soon as the doctor has finished with those two, tie the hands of all three of them,” Fenton ordered, “and we will have a bit of a chat before you take them off our hands.”
Both wounds were superficial, and when a Blakemoor servant had brought a basin of water and some cloths, the doctor made quick work of dealing with them, and then the three sat side-by-side on the couch, their hands bound with heavy cord; each wore a glum expression.
Jake noticed that Lord Alfred’s expression was rather stoic, and he seemed tired, but he roused himself enough to offer his “guests” drinks all around. Jake rose to help him and cast an inquiring glance at Fenton before according the prisoners such hospitality.
Fenton shrugged and said, “All right. I am quite sure it w
ill be their last drink for a while—a very long while.”
Jake suspected Fenton also intended the drinks to soften the prisoners for interrogation. When these had been distributed, with the prisoners imbibing them somewhat awkwardly because of their tied hands, Fenton sat back, looking as relaxed as he might on an afternoon social call.
“You three may be interested to know that your friend Talbot was arrested this afternoon. He gave us much of the story, but perhaps you will be so kind as to fill us in on such details as he left out,” Peter began.
The three sat across from him looking stubborn.
“Clever of you to divide your efforts, by the way,” Peter went on just as though the prisoners were engaging with him in his conversation. “I mean you had us quite confused for a while there, with some information going to the continent and some being sent elsewhere. As I said, clever.” He paused. “But you know, treason is a very serious offense. Actually, a hanging offense.”
Madame Laurent let out a long sigh ending in a whimper.
“And then there is the murder,” Peter added still in that conversational tone.
“Murder?” the woman said in shocked surprise and looked from one of her companions to the other.
“I know nothing of a murder,” Morrow said.
“Ah, but the good doctor does, I think,” Peter said and now directed his words specifically to Lindstrom. “Surely he remembers a young footman serving in the house of the Marquis of Trentham. His name was Richter. Fired for ‘pilfering.’ Talbot tells us he was caught looking through your medical bag, Dr. Lindstrom. He found something other than medical instruments, did he not?”
Lindstrom did not respond, simply staring blankly at the wall beyond Peter’s head.
Lord Alfred made a choking sound. “Oh, my God! Cecil, that cannot be true, can it? It is hard enough for me to view you as an enemy agent, but murder? Murder! How could you—you a man sworn to heal, not destroy?”
Lindstrom shot a glaring look at his one-time friend. “Stuff you and your self-righteousness, Alfred. You have no idea what it is like to live just on the fringes of society all your life.”
