Andrea Pickens - Merlin's Maidens 03 - The Scarlet Spy

by The Scarlet Spy (mobi)

  The idea helped him shake off his melancholy musing. There was a good chance he would encounter Major Fenimore at the ball this evening. If not, he could always stop by White’s on the way home.

  “This is a rather unusual situation.” Mrs. Merlin took a moment to pour a cup of tea before opening her notebook.

  “That is one way of putting it.” Lynsley went to stand by the hearth. But despite the blazing fire, he could not dispel the chill in his blood. “The duke approached me on a purely personal basis. We have known each other for years, and though he has no notion of my true duties at Whitehall, he thought that I might be able to advise him off the record on what he should do.”

  “At first blush, the death of his grandson from an overdose of opium appears to be a personal tragedy and not a matter of government concern.”

  The marquess nodded. “I thought the same thing, despite Sterling’s insistence that the young man had discovered some sinister forces at work here in London.”

  “Grief can stir up strange imaginings,” said the headmistress softly as she began jotting a few notes. With her mild manners and ruffled silks, she presented a picture of matronly propriety—save for the point of a razor-sharp poniard peeking out from beneath her cuff.

  “Indeed,” agreed Lynsley. “Still, I made a few informal inquiries, thinking that if I found any evidence of foul play, I could ease a bit of his pain by helping to bring the miscreants to justice.”

  Mrs. Merlin’s pen hovered over the page. “And?”

  He blew out his breath. “And I fear there may be some truth to his accusations.” Coals crackled in the hearth as he contemplated the flare of flames. “There is an old adage—where there is smoke, there is fire. In this case, a visit to several opium dens favored by the ton turned up some very unsettling information. Lord Robert Woolsey was not the first gentleman to die under suspicious circumstances. Seven have perished over the past six months, including a diplomat from Antwerp and an envoy from Venice.”

  “Unsettling indeed, but still not something that your branch of the government has any authority to handle. It seems more a matter for the local magistrates than our Merlins.” She paused for a fraction. “However, if this were simply a sordid story of drugs and debauchery, you would not be here telling it.” A tiny smile momentarily softened the pinch of her mouth. “Much as I enjoy your company for tea, Thomas, I am aware that you do not waste your time in social calls.”

  “You are right—there is a deeper, darker mystery here,” answered the marquess. “A web of intrigue that seems to spread from the slums of St. Giles to the mansions of Mayfair. God only knows where it goes from there.” Lynsley heaved a sigh. “Opium is only a small part of the mix. My informants have heard rumors of a sophisticated scheme of embezzlement, one that somehow siphons money from legitimate government contracts to a private consortium. Some shipments are diverted and sold for personal gain, while others are made with inferior materials, and the difference is simply pocketed as profit.”

  There was a small silence as he pressed his palms to the marble mantel. “Unfortunately, I have no other details as to what specifically is involved. But if it is true, essential services and military supplies are being compromised while a small circle of conspirators make a fortune.”

  “That certainly casts a different light on the duke’s personal tragedy.” Mrs. Merlin set aside her teacup. “If it is true.”

  “We can’t afford not to follow the thread and see where it leads,” he replied. “If there are high government officials tainted by corruption, it could have disastrous repercussions for the country. A scandal at this point in time would seriously weaken our efforts to stop Napoleon’s march eastward.”

  “Yet you seem reluctant to act.”

  “It is never easy to send one of our students into danger. Especially when the enemy is naught but a swirl of smoke and shadow.”

  “Of course it’s not easy, Thomas,” replied Mrs. Merlin. “Keeping England safe from all its enemies is a difficult, dirty business. That is why the Academy exists.” Seeing his fingers tighten on the polished stone, she added, “If it’s any consolation, the girls understand the risks and accept the challenge. They believe as strongly as we do that our freedoms are worth fighting for.”

  “An eloquent speech, as usual. So you think I should have a clear conscience?” The marquess glanced up at the gilt-framed portrait of Sir Francis Walsingham, but the stern features of England’s first spymaster offered little in the way of sympathy. “Even though I am considering putting one of our Merlins into a nest of vipers with little to go on save for rumor and innuendo?”

  “If you are asking for a second opinion, I would say you have no choice but to do so. I take it you do not feel it is a case that can be handled through any normal channels of investigation at Whitehall.”

  He shook his head. “Given the sensitive nature of the charges, I do not trust involving any of the other departments.”

  Mrs. Merlin opened one of the document cases on her desk and took out a sheaf of papers. “One of our operatives working on the East India docks recently submitted a report on the trafficking of illegal goods from India and China. It should provide some useful leads. Indeed, one item already comes to mind. There is a new source, as yet unidentified, of extremely potent opium coming in from the East. At the same time, the Levant Company has suffered the loss of a number of shipments, which has driven up the price.”

  Lynsley frowned. “I shall have one of my men take a closer look at the activity around Mincing Lane, as well as attend the next fortnightly auction at Garraway’s Coffee House.” He thought for a moment. “I shall also send a sample of the narcotic found next to Lord Robert’s body to Lady Sheffield for analysis. She may be able to identify its place of origin.”

  “Lady Sheffield?” Mrs. Merlin’s brow furrowed. “Isn’t she the one who was recently accused of poisoning her husband?”

  “Malicious gossip,” replied Lynsley. “The earl was a brute who drank himself to death. As for the lady, she is a serious scholar, a highly respected member of the Scientific Society, and a brilliant chemist. I’ve used her before, and her work is impeccable.”

  “I should have guessed the truth. The ton is always quick to attack a female of imagination and intelligence.” The headmistress reached for a fresh sheet of foolscap. “Those investigations should turn up some answers. As for the duke’s suspicions, did he give you any clue of what we are looking for?”

  “There isn’t much to go on,” replied Lynsley, pursing his mouth. “Based on a diary found in the young man’s rooms, Sterling believes his grandson was investigating a group of gentlemen who call themselves the Scarlet Knights—on account of their red waistcoats and wild carousing from dusk to dawn.”

  “I’ve heard rumors of their revelries.” Mrs. Merlin tapped the pen to the tip of her chin. “Drinking, gambling, and raising hell in the less savory parts of the city is not uncommon behavior for blades of the ton, but the Knights are said to carry excess to the extreme.”

  Lynsley turned from the fire and clasped his hands behind his back. “It would all seem juvenile, if not for the people involved. Lord De Winton is said to be one of its regulars, as are several foreign noblemen. Their names are noted with red ink in Lord Robert’s diary.” He withdrew a small object from his coat pocket and placed it on the leather blotter. “This was found as well.”

  The headmistress picked up the gold key and carefully studied the blood-red enameled poppy crowning its end. “What is it for?”

  Lynsley’s lips thinned to a grim line. “That is what we need to discover. Unfortunately, Lord Robert left no hint of its significance in his writings. But I have a strong feeling that it will unlock the secrets we seek.”

  “If we put it in the right hands.”

  “Yes. The right hands.” The marquess’s voice was barely audible over the hiss of the glowing embers.

  The headmistress took a moment to sharpen her quill. “I think it’s time we
summon Sofia.”

  Chapter Two

  Brushing the grains of gunpowder from her buckskins, Sofia took a seat on the wooden bench outside the headmistress’s private office. With its dark wainscoting and stone floor, the foyer offered few frills to soften a student’s anxiety. A summons to report to the headmistress was never a purely social call. It usually signaled serious school infractions—discipline, detention, demerits. Or dismissal for failing to meet the rigorous standards of performance.

  Sofia drew a deep breath and touched the tattoo above her left breast. Only a very few students ever made it to the Master Class and received the small black badge of a hawk that marked them as true Merlins. The rest were assigned to less demanding duties, serving as the eyes and ears of England around the globe.

  Were Mrs. Merlin and the marquess having second thoughts about her rank? Lord Lynsley’s oblique words might have been meant as a kindly warning. Though his austere face rarely revealed any emotion, his blue eyes always held a spark of warmth when regarding any of the students. He had chosen them all—skinny little urchins abandoned in the stews—and monitored their progress over the years. In some sense, he was like the father none of them had ever known.

  Had she let him down? Sofia couldn’t help but think that the recent emphasis on ladylike manners reflected badly on her martial skills. Her gaze slanted to the window, where the fencing grounds, the stables, the shooting ranges, and the training fields stretched out as far as the eye could see. A Merlin must be the match of any man when it came to weapons or hand-to-hand combat. Perhaps the headmistress and the marquess doubted her steel. Her flesh began to prickle. Perhaps they were about to strip her of her commission.

  Sofia stilled her fidgets by fingering the necklace beneath her sweat-dampened shirt. The thin filigree chain was new, purchased on a field trip to the fancy shops on Bond Street, but the gold locket had been in her possession since … a long time ago.

  The case had the well-worn patina of age. The faint outlines of an initial were unreadable, the engraving crisscrossed with nicks and scratches. She liked to think it was an S carved into the precious metal. But whatever the letter, the locket had served as a personal talisman in times of trouble. A lucky charm. It had kept her safe in the savage streets; it had seen her through the difficult adjustments to Academy life.

  Drawing it out from her shirt, Sofia opened the worn case and peeked at the tiny portrait. The pigment had faded over the years, blurring the features, the smile, the curling strands of raven hair that framed the fine-boned face. But the image was indelibly etched in her memory. She knew every nuance by heart. When she was a child, she had fancied a resemblance between the young lady and herself. And now?

  Her own sea-green gaze looked away from the painted eyes. It was not wise to dwell on childish dreams. The Academy lessons all stressed that one had to be practical and pragmatic. Dispassionate. Emotion had no place in the line of duty. It didn’t matter who she was; it only mattered what she had become.

  Strange, but her roommates had never given much thought to their heritage. It had not bothered them to know nothing of their past, their parents. Afraid of appearing too sentimental, Sofia had feigned the same devil-may-care attitude. But in private, the picture had seemed to whisper a tantalizing question.

  Who am I?

  “Sofia. Mrs. Merlin will see you now.”

  Quickly, tucking the locket back inside the folds of linen, she stood and squared her shoulders. She would not show any sign of weakness. She was born to be a Merlin.

  “Reporting for duty.” Sofia snapped off a salute as she came to a halt in front of the oak desk.

  “At ease.” The headmistress regarded the martial stance and muddied boots for a long moment before setting aside her pen. The wrinkles on her brow appeared to deepen slightly. “I did not mean for you to march straight here from the stables, my dear.” Sofia saw her slant a quick glance at Lord Lynsley, who was standing half hidden by the marble hearth. “Why don’t you go back to your quarters and change—to the indigo blue silks, if you please. The marquess and I are in no rush.”

  Sofia felt her throat constrict. She turned on her heel, then hesitated. To hell with behaving like a lady. If she was to be drummed out of the Merlins, she would not go meekly.

  “I would rather stay dressed as I am.” Her chin took on a mutinous tilt. “With all due respect, I feel it unfair that my mastery of manners appears to have counted as a black mark against me. I may not wield a saber or stiletto quite as well as Siena or Shannon, but I’m a better shot and more skilled when it comes to stealth. It’s unfair to demote me to the ranks of a mere observer without giving me a chance to prove myself in a mission.”

  “You think we are judging you unfit for active duty?” Mrs. Merlin set aside a plate of strawberry tarts and brushed a bit of sugar from her fingertips.

  Sofia’s martial tone turned more tentative. “Why else would you wish for me to dress in satins and lace? I … I assumed you were going to assign me to some menial work, like serving as a lady’s maid to some foreign diplomat’s wife.”

  “All of our students go on to do important work, whether as a tavernkeeper or a tweenie,” replied the headmistress with a hint of reproach.

  Sofia colored. “I meant no disrespect to my fellow students. It’s just that I … I feared that …” She let her voice trail off, unsure of how to explain her misgivings.

  “You feared that in comparison to your former roommates, you would be seen as somehow lacking?” It was Lord Lynsley who broke the awkward silence.

  She nodded, not daring to meet his eye.

  “As I said earlier, each Merlin is meant to have different skills. That is the strength of this school.” His lips twitched. “If all our students possessed Shannon’s explosive temper, the place would long since have gone up in smoke.”

  “And Siena shrouded herself in an air of mystery that was unsuitable for many missions,” added Mrs. Merlin.

  Shannon did have a tendency to set off sparks, thought Sofia. But her new husband, a raffish Russian spy by the name of Alexandr Orlov, seemed to have tempered her fire. Together they made a formidable team and at the moment were somewhere in Prussia, working to prevent Napoleon from marching any farther east.

  As for Siena, she was also recently married—to an earl, no less—and on a clandestine assignment in Italy. Sofia gave an inward sigh. She had never met Lord Kirtland, but Shannon had said that Byron’s poetic heroes paled in comparison to the raven-haired earl …

  “… So, I trust you will have no cause for complaint,” finished the headmistress.

  “Sorry?” Roused from her momentary musings, Sofia snapped to attention.

  “What Mrs. Merlin means is, you will find the situation no less challenging than those faced by your friends.” As Lynsley turned, the candlelight caught the deep lines of worry etched at the corners of his eyes. “And no less dangerous. Indeed, to be truthful, I am having second thoughts about asking anyone to undertake the assignment. It may be an impossible one, even for a Merlin.”

  “Whatever it is, I should like to try, sir.” Seeing his brow furrow, Sofia quickly added, “What is there to lose?”

  “Your life, to begin with.” Lynsley looked more serious than she had ever seen him. “As for the other ramifications, I wish I knew what they all might be. In this particular case, I cannot give you a name or a face of the enemy. I would have to toss you into the heart of London Society—a spider’s web, however silken—and expect you to unravel the lies and intrigue by yourself.”

  “I’ve managed a number of sticky situations here at the Academy, sir.” Sofia tried to appear calm and collected, though her heart was pounding wildly against her ribs. “I am adept at using both my weapons and my wiles. Whatever is called for, I won’t let you down.”

  “It is not myself that I am worried about,” replied the marquess softly. “I don’t send any Merlin into battle unless I feel she has a decent chance of achieving victory.”


  Standing her ground, Sofia quickly countered. “We are trained to deal with adversity, are we not? The very reason we exist is to take on a task when the odds seem impossible.”

  “She has a point, Thomas,” said Mrs. Merlin.

  Lynsley sighed and allowed the smallest of smiles to appear on his lips. “I see you wield rhetoric as well as a rapier, Sofia. You are right about the Academy’s purpose, but that does not make it any easier to send you into mortal danger.” Reaching into his pocket, he took out a small packet sealed with a wafer of black wax. “You will need to read over these documents before you come to London.”

  The feel of the paper set her palms to tingling.

  “Unfortunately, I cannot stay to make the detailed explanations. I have a pressing engagement this evening in Town. Mrs. Merlin will go over the basics of the assignment and work with you on refining the skills you will need to masquerade as a lady of noble birth.”

  “It was not for the sake of preserving my sofas from mud that I requested the change of clothing,” said Mrs. Merlin dryly. “Once you change from breeches to blue satin, we will be devoting every waking hour to perfecting your poise and your polish. Lord Lynsley wants you ready to leave for London on the day after tomorrow.”

  “Unlike most other missions, this one will allow us the opportunity to meet socially,” continued the marquess. “You will, after all, be joining the ton at the height of the season, and as the widow of an Italian count, you will quickly be included on everyone’s guest list.”

  “How—” began Sofia.

  “I hope to have all the particulars worked out by the time you arrive in Town.” Lynsley was already reaching for his ebony walking stick and charcoal-gray gloves. “In the meantime, I trust you will pay close attention to all of Mrs. Merlin’s lessons.”