He made no pretense about watching her, his lips set in a strange twist, his gaze fixed on her face.
She skirted the edges of the light, pretending to give him space, as a lower-level servant would a gentleman. He did the same, careful to keep his face in shadow, and her fear propelled her higher up the sheer cliff face of terror.
She forced herself to give a polite nod as they passed, baskets held close to her body, but he made no similar response. She sensed his head turn as she moved beyond him, keeping her in sight as she faded completely into the gloom.
She refused to turn her head, looking straight and lengthening her stride. She strained to hear his footsteps continue on, and relaxed her shoulders a little when they did. Only when she reached the corner of Chapel and South Audley did she give herself permission to look back.
She didn’t see him where she expected him to be, and her gaze skittered, panicked, up and down the street.
She found him standing only a little farther down from where they’d passed each other, staring at her with his head cocked to one side, as if deliberating with himself.
For a second they both stood completely still. And then he took a step toward her. A deliberate, purposeful step.
Gigi turned in the direction of the market and ran.
27
The coach inn was in chaos. Durnham’s coach was forced to stop at least a mile down the road from the big building, and Jonathan leaped out to see if he could find out what was going on from someone in the line of carts, wagons and coaches.
Most didn’t know either, but an enterprising stable lad eventually wandered down with news about two coaches caught in gridlock, with panicking horses and furious drivers, not to mention complaining passengers.
Jonathan looked up at Durnham’s driver. “Any point finding a different inn?”
The man shook his head. “Next one’s a fair distance, but there’s no turning round in this lane anyway. We have to go forward.”
Jonathan clenched his fists. He wanted to be away, to do what needed doing, so he could get back as fast as possible to Madame Levéel.
He had sensed the capitulation in her nod this afternoon. Yesterday afternoon, he corrected himself. It was now way past midnight. She might still be waiting up for him, he realized. He hoped she was still inclined to take him into her confidence when he did see her.
Two hours of interminable waiting finally deposited him at the inn, and he was able to book passage on a coach to Dover. He wrote a brief note to Edgars, hesitating as he sealed it. He took out another piece of the inn’s rough parchment and wrote an equally short note for his cook, begging patience.
He handed both letters to Durnham’s driver to deliver on his way home, along with a detailed note to Durnham himself, and felt the weight of his exhaustion tugging at him as he watched the carriage disappear into the night.
The message would be delivered long after dawn, even if Durnham’s driver made good time.
The call to Dover sounded behind him, and Jonathan turned and pulled himself into the large, squeaking coach. The chase for Greenway had begun.
* * *
The shadow man had found her at last. The thought jolted through Gigi with every slap of her boots on the cobbles as she raced for the market. There would be enough eyes and ears there to make it impossible for her follower to do anything to her.
It could be another watcher he had sent out for her, but she didn’t think so.
This was him.
She looked over her shoulder again and saw he was gaining, although he wasn’t running at full tilt like she was.
As if it were beneath him. As if her capture was inevitable.
That, more than anything, told her she was looking not at an underling, but at the man himself.
Anger at his arrogance added an edge to her fear.
Or perhaps he’d seen which house she’d stepped out of. Knew even if he failed to run her to ground here, he could always find her later.
Her feet stumbled at that thought, but she steadied herself. He couldn’t have seen her come out the side lane. He’d only turned onto Chapel once she was already walking down the street.
Though even if he hadn’t seen where she’d come out, he would know that if he watched Chapel Street long enough, he’d find her eventually.
He couldn’t even be certain who she was. She’d worn her cook’s apron and cap deliberately, and he hadn’t seen her in anything close to a full light.
Something about her—her walk or looks—must have struck him as familiar, and he was taking his time stalking her, curious rather than hot on the trail.
She had no doubt that would change when he finally saw her clearly. If he’d been telling the truth to her father, he’d been introduced to her, or at the very least had watched her at embassy functions.
She, on the other hand, had had too many new acquaintances in Stockholm to juggle in her head, and she had no hope of remembering him.
The lights and sound of the market hit her as she turned the last corner to the square, panting with exertion. The wooden barrows and tables were jauntily lit by lanterns and the smell of baking bread filled the air.
She forced herself down to a steady walk and made her way straight into the thick of the crowd, in case he asked around about a woman running.
Once safe in the arms of the market-goers, shielded and protected, she relaxed a little. She edged to a stall selling fish, tried to angle herself so she could see if he came into the market, but there were too many people.
“Fresh fish! Fresh fish!” The shout near her ear made Gigi cry out and drop one of her baskets, and it broke with a loud snap under the boots of a large laborer walking past, hefting a crate of fruit.
He gave her a filthy look as he kicked the basket back toward her and disappeared into the crowd.
Gigi picked up the broken wicker with shaking hands, and then turned indignantly to the fishmonger who’d startled her. He avoided her eye, busying himself with stacking the boxes of fish before him.
“We make home deliveries,” he told her at last.
She opened her mouth to say she wouldn’t need a home delivery if he hadn’t caused her to drop her basket, but then snapped it shut. She’d been wondering how to get home.
And it hadn’t escaped her that she had to do the shopping, shadow man or no shadow man. Her relationship with Edgars was too unstable for her to risk coming back empty-handed. He might take it as the last straw of disrespect and fire her, the consequences with Lord Aldridge be damned.
If she had her shopping delivered, she could sneak into the back alley at the top of South Audley without her purchases slowing her down, and get to Aldridge House without using the main roads.
“I should think you would deliver,” she told the stallholder, handing him her broken basket to throw into his rubbish bin. “And I expect your best price.” She chose her fish and gave the address, then began to move from stall to stall, keeping watch, cautious as a mouse.
She saw her man once, standing with his back to her, watching the lane they’d both used to come to the market.
She would have to choose another way out, but that wouldn’t be difficult. And he couldn’t watch them all.
With every moment that passed, the buzz of panic in her ears grew louder. It seemed harder to choose produce, as if the quality and size of the chicken would decide her fate, or the gleam and color of the apples was the difference between life and death.
Snow White, she thought, as she pointed irrationally away from the dark red apples on one side of the cart and chose the rosy pink and green ones instead.
Only she wouldn’t be sleeping until a kiss woke her, unless Lord Aldridge’s kiss could bring back the dead.
And now she was putting Aldridge into the role of handsome prince. She hunched her shoulders in disgust.
No one could save her from this other than herself.
The market was getting emptier, as cooks and servants headed home to make breakf
ast, starting the day before their lords and ladies arose from bed. She’d have to leave before she lost the shielding crowds.
She did a careful check to see if the shadow man stood where she had last seen him, but he had gone, and she forced herself not to swing around wildly to make sure he wasn’t right behind her.
Instead, she turned calmly in the direction she’d chosen and began walking toward the exit, letting her gaze sweep the crowd as if she were searching for someone.
She saw him at last from the corner of her eye, standing out from the others in the market because of his still watchfulness. He hadn’t seen her, and she slipped between a footman carrying half a lamb wrapped in brown paper and a group of women chatting loudly as they made for one of the far lanes.
The sun had yet to rise, and she used the darkness to her advantage, keeping the footman between her and the shadow man.
When they reached the lane she increased her speed, dodging around the women and running to the corner, then turning right, in the opposite direction of the one she needed to get back to Aldridge House.
She kept up her pace, working her way back to Chapel by a circuitous route as the sun rose at last, checking behind her at every corner.
She really was a little mouse, just as she’d told Aldridge. But she was alive, and the letter was still safe in the pocket of her petticoat. Now that she’d made her decision to trust Aldridge, she couldn’t wait to spill her secrets to him and be rid of it. If the shadow man was going to get her, she wanted the letter in the right hands, at least.
It was still early, but Edgars would expect her back by now. Long before now, truth be told. And he would have a mean temper and a pounding head on top of it, if she were any judge.
She stopped at the corner of Curzon Street and South Audley, looking down the street. All she’d need was to slip onto South Street, which ran parallel to Chapel, and then access the back lane from there. If the shadow man were watching anywhere on Chapel Street, he wouldn’t see her return to Aldridge House.
There was a sound of female voices behind her, and she turned to look.
Two women, one plump and trying to juggle three baskets, the other sturdy enough but not as rounded as her companion, were stepping out of a small bakery, the only shop open on the narrow street at this hour. Gigi was surprised when the sturdy one raised her hand in greeting.
She waited for them, trying to think where she could know them from.
“Thanks for waiting, love; thought it were you standing there. It’s time we ’ad a chat.” The sturdy woman set down her baskets and studied her. “ ’Specially when I heard it said at market t’other day you be the new French cook at Aldridge House. Could ’ardly believe me ears. I’m Mrs. Thakery. I’m to the back o’ you and down a little way, facing South Street. Cook for Lord Matherton.” She nodded to her companion. “This be Mrs. Lambert. Works three doors down from you on Chapel, at the Ingleton place.”
“I’m very pleased to meet you. I am Madame Levéel.”
“Madame Levéel, is it?” Mrs. Thakery gave her a hard, disbelieving look, and Gigi stared back in surprise.
This woman couldn’t recognize her; she’d never seen her before.
To cover the moment of sharp silence Gigi turned to Mrs. Lambert. “May I help you carry your extra basket?” The older woman lifted her head with a jerk, then smiled.
“Much obliged.”
Gigi took it from her and waited for Mrs. Thakery to pick up hers. She’d stopped staring and was rubbing her hands to get the circulation going in her fingers before she picked up her heavy load again.
“Tell me, Madame Levéel, you take after your mother, do you, in your looks?” Mrs. Thakery spoke conversationally as they walked toward South Street from the bottom end of South Audley. The sun was high enough now to illuminate Mrs. Thakery’s face clearly. Her lips were set in a twist, and her brows were arched.
“I do.” Gigi hefted Mrs. Lambert’s basket.
“Knew a Frenchwoman who looked very like your mother would have looked, then. Years ago, this was. I worked for her in her kitchen as a maid. Not like most ladies, she was. Came down into the kitchen all the time. Knew her way around an oven, did my lady.” Mrs. Thakery didn’t so much as glance her way. “Did me a big favor. Got me the job as cook for Lord Matherton, truth be told.”
“Is that so?” Gigi’s throat tightened.
“Heard you got a job for someone, yourself. That little wisp of a girl Iris was trying to feed up. Over at Goldfern House she is, now.” Mrs. Thakery set her baskets down, and they stopped and waited for her to rub her hands again.
“Where did you hear that?” The tension in her wound a little tighter. She had hoped there would be no outside talk about Mavis’s move down the road, but Mrs. Jones, the housekeeper at Goldfern, could be a gossip. It seemed that she was.
“News travels fast down the back lane,” Mrs. Thakery answered, and something in her eyes gave Gigi a little comfort. This woman did not mean her harm. “Speaking of back lanes, did Lord Aldridge find you yesterday?”
“Lord Aldridge?” She couldn’t think what the woman was talking about, until she recalled the way Aldridge had appeared out of nowhere at the rag-and-bone man’s cart. She’d been so startled, felt so guilty for her subterfuge, it hadn’t occurred to her to ask him what he was doing back there. “He was looking for me?”
“Oh, aye.” Mrs. Lambert spoke for the first time, chewing on the words like a particularly tasty morsel. “Came round the corner while me and Mrs. Thakery were having a little chat in the back lane. Were in a mighty hurry to find you, he was.”
Gigi breathed in sharply. Why had Aldridge been looking for her?
She supposed it no longer mattered. She would have to face him after breakfast this morning and tell him the truth. “He found me.”
“Well.” Mrs. Thakery slid her a speculative glance. “That’s all right then.” She looked up ahead, and Gigi saw a man stumbling down the road toward them. “Would you say Lord Aldridge is a man who keeps his promises?”
Gigi stopped short. “Why do you ask?” She tried to keep her tone even as she squinted in the growing light to see if it was the shadow man or not.
“Made a promise to me, yesterday. To sort out a little problem he heard Mrs. Lambert and me discussing. Just wondered if his word is good.”
“I hope so,” Gigi said. “I’m counting on him myself.”
Mrs. Thakery’s gaze never left the man coming toward them.
“I hope so, too.” Mrs. Lambert’s voice was low and nervous. She was staring ahead as well.
Mrs. Thakery bumped her basket to Mrs. Lambert’s in a gesture that spoke of solidarity.
“Would the man coming down the street be the problem Lord Aldridge promised help with?” They’d moved forward enough that the sun wasn’t completely in her eyes anymore, and she had a good view of him. He wasn’t the man who’d followed her. He was younger, wearing evening dress and barely able to walk in a straight line.
“Yes. Sir Ingleton’s son.” Mrs. Thakery kept walking forward, but there was a heaviness to her tread that hadn’t been there before.
“Well, I doubt Lord Aldridge has had a chance to do anything yet,” Gigi said. “Let’s turn down South Street, shall we, walk you to your door? Mrs. Lambert and I can take a side alley to the back lane. Avoid any unpleasantness.”
It was what she’d planned to do anyway, but having Ingleton stumbling about, sure to cross paths with herself and Mrs. Lambert if they carried on past South Street, was a convenient excuse.
Mrs. Lambert relaxed. “Quite right, m’dear. Much more sensible.”
They turned down South, and for the first time since she’d seen the shadow man that morning, Gigi felt safe.
28
There was a strange carriage waiting out on Chapel Street. Gigi caught sight of it as she came down the side alley to the kitchen door. She stopped and stared at it for a moment, dread sinking through her. She’d be in trouble if Aldridge n
eeded to go out early, and her not in the kitchen to make his breakfast.
Ah well, it was only seven in the morning, and if he wanted such an early start, he should have told her sooner.
She pulled open the door and had taken three steps down into the kitchen before she registered the crowd of people below her. She stopped and stared at them.
“What’s wrong? Has something happened?” She caught the gaze of a slim, foxy-looking man with ginger whiskers and a brown jacket, and then noticed Iris, standing white-lipped and wide-eyed beside the fire, away from the rest of them.
“Who are you?” The man with the brown coat had a deeper voice than she would have guessed, from the look of him. He was of medium height, and while his coat and trousers weren’t expensive, they fit him well and were neatly pressed. His brown eyes didn’t leave her face.
“That’s Madame Levéel.” Edgars shouldered past a group that Gigi had finally sorted into Rob, Harry, Babs and two strangers. “That’s the thief.”
She looked at Edgars with astonishment. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“She’s no thief and you know it.” Iris took a farther step away from the crowd, as if they were tainted. “You’re the one with something to answer for, going through her things.”
Gigi gaped. “You went through my private belongings?” She caught Edgars’ eye and he glared back at her before dropping his gaze.
“My name is Gilbert. I’m a senior constable from the Queen Square Public Office.” The man in the brown coat stepped forward. “Mr. Edgars called my colleagues and me in early this morning. Claims the jewelry in your trunks is stolen.” He gestured with his hand, and for the first time she saw her mother’s jewelry laid out on the kitchen table, the black velvet pouches she used to store it piled to one side.
“That jewelry is my mother’s, which I inherited on her death.” She spoke clearly, slowly, though her heart was racing. She looked at Edgars again, trying to make sense of it. “Why would you do this?”
When Edgars wouldn’t answer or look at her, she turned to Rob. “Where is Lord Aldridge? What does he have to say about what Edgars has done?” Her gaze went back to the pile of pearls, diamonds and gold on the table, and she had to force herself to remain in place, even though everything in her wanted to scoop it up and hold it close to her. It was a tangible link to her mother, and how dare Edgars touch it? Use it against her.
Banquet of Lies Page 18
