by The Impostor
He stepped back, pulling himself from her embrace. “Imagine if you don’t,” he said. It took her a moment to remember the thread of their conversation.
Imagine what would happen if she didn’t attempt to escape Liverpool, he meant. Remembering her own sure knowledge of her doom only moments before, she nodded. “You may have a point.”
She swiftly yanked up her skirt to tuck her rolled cartoon into her garter. When she looked up, she was gratified to see the same stunned-ox expression upon Dalton’s face that had surely been on her own a moment ago.
She shook her skirts sedately down once more. “Shall we go?” She arched a brow at him, serenely holding out her hands to take the rope harness.
Wordlessly he helped her into it but she imagined that his breath was coming a bit faster than necessary and his hands lingered on her a bit too long.
Then he turned to wrestle with something behind him. Clara noticed an odd cupboard built into the wall for the first time. Then Dalton opened it to reveal a darkened shaft. Clara picked up the candle and edged forward to peer warily down… and down… until the shaft simply disappeared into blackness. A warm flow of rising air toyed with the messy strands of her hair. She smelled… lye?
She pulled her head back in and closed her eyes for a moment. “You’re sending me down the linen chute?”
He nodded, obviously very pleased with himself. “We can get you all the way to the cellar unseen. No one will be working at this time of night, and we can take the tunnels to St. Stephen’s chapel. Stubbs is waiting there with the carriage at this moment.”
Clara sighed. “Someday, my love, we must discuss my feelings about using doors.” But not now. Grasping the upper casement of the opening, she went in feet first with Dalton’s help. Sitting on the edge of the hole with the wood biting into her thighs, she froze when he reached to touch her face.
“Be careful, my Clara.”
Turning her eyes to his unearthly silver gaze, she blinked at the emotion she saw there. The mask, it seemed, was well and truly gone.
Clara looked about her at the most secret establishment in the history of England and marveled at her own presence here. She’d never thought to see the inside of a traditional gentlemen’s club, much less be welcomed in a den of spies.
They were all rather darling in their way. The big frightening fellow, Kurt, had brought her a dish of cream puffs that she was certain constituted an apology for his attack. He only grunted when she praised them. She ate one to please him, trying desperately not to blush at the memories that filled her mind.
Button, a prim and elegant fellow, had entertained her with tales of his life in the theatre that he claimed would be perfect fodder for her drawings.
A scraggly little man who seemed vaguely familiar shyly handed her a golden comb for her hair. She thanked him solemnly and forbore asking its origin.
“You done right, bringing the gentleman back to us,” Stubbs said shyly. The young doorman seemed sincerely infatuated with her. Clara wagered with herself that he fell in love at least once an hour.
Dalton and James Cunnington remained in conference in one corner of the large room. Dalton kept an eye on her, she knew, for she would catch him at it every so often when she felt his gaze. Which was ridiculous, of course, especially since there could be nothing between them.
Except for his rather astonishing offer earlier…
She’d just arrived and had been introduced to the members when Dalton had pulled her aside.
“You should understand, this isn’t over. I fully expect Liverpool to come after you.” His beautiful eyes were worried.
Clara had nodded. “I know. We’ll simply have to make him understand that he cannot rule our—my life.”
“It isn’t that simple, Clara. You’re a complication. Liverpool dislikes complications.”
“Oh, I think that there is one way to get Liverpool to listen.”
She reached into her satchel where she had placed the piece of tattered wallpaper and handed it to Dalton. The bold ink lines made Dalton widen his eyes.
He shook his head. “This is dangerous! And somehow—I’m not sure how, precisely—it’s treasonous. Have you any idea how dangerous Liverpool can be?”
“Seeing that I have been miming for my life this past week, yes, I think I have an inkling,” she retorted. “But how am I to go on to live a normal life when all this is done?”
“Not this way. I can’t bear to think what will happen to you if you take this particular tiger by its tail. There must be another way.”
“I suppose I could flee to the West Indies after all,” she muttered.
“Come work for me.” The words came out in a rush as if from somewhere secret inside Dalton that he hadn’t been aware of.
She looked as surprised as he felt. Dalton continued. “The Liars have never had a good suspect identification system. I want to hire you to be the official Liar’s Club artist and drawing teacher.”
“Oh, posh, I cannot even teach art in a school, for I have no other real ability. My watercolors are tepid, and my oils execrable.”
“Well, my mistress of the execrable oils, this is one place you could teach. It would serve our young Liars well to be able to sketch a suspect to share with the others. Had I that skill, James would have identified Nathaniel Reardon days ago, and saved us all much grief.”
Clara had only gazed at him for a moment. “I don’t think further association between us is a good thing. I would be miserable and so would you.” Then she had turned and walked away, her heart weeping at every step.
Now, Clara could only play charming guest to the Liars, and try to ignore Dalton’s burning gaze.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Dalton watched as Clara charmed his men with her pirate smile and her fey beauty. They were smitten to a man, particularly when she took a chunk of charcoal from the grate and began to sketch each Liar in all his glory.
They clamored for more, scuffling for place in line to be next to be captured by her swift strokes on paper. Maps and files were sacrificed to keep pace with her swift hand. Dalton found himself reaching into his own coat to touch the two rolls still hidden within.
He’d never taken his evidence to Liverpool after all. Inconsequential, for they all knew it was only a matter of time until Liverpool came to them. The guards would be well able to describe Kurt, for who else quite filled those massive boots?
Still, Dalton felt more comfortable facing down his former mentor on his own ground. He looked around him, at the smoky interior, at his men gathered around the woman whom he would have given it all up for, and still might have to.
His own ground.
His own heart and his own mind. He knew precisely what he wanted now, and what he was willing to pay for it.
Dalton looked back down at the two rolls of paper in his hand. He’d never taken his evidence to Liverpool.
Finally, the sound of marching feet drew near. Liverpool, with a silent Reardon at his side, had arrived with enough of the Guard to roust the entire Liar’s Club.
Liverpool wasted no time on preliminaries. “I’ve come for the woman.”
As one, the Liars stepped in front of Clara until her slender figure was out of sight. Dalton stepped to the fore and felt the warm strength of his men’s support at his back.
“I’m afraid you cannot have her, my lord.”
Liverpool gave a quick nod. As one, the Guard leveled their muskets at the wall of Liars.
“Must I repeat myself? Hand over the woman.”
“Clara. Her name is Clara, my lord.”
Liverpool gazed at him for a moment. “Do you realize precisely what you are doing?”
Dalton nodded. “Yes, I do.”
Liverpool’s calm broke first. His face colored and Dalton could see his hands twitching at his sides. “If you go through with this, it will be for your personal benefit. Not the Liars. Not the Crown. Not England.”
Dalton shook his head regretfully. “Can�
��t you see? She is England. The beauty, the fire, the spirit of England. When I defend her, I am defending my country. There must be more to us than simply hide-bound traditions and arbitrary borders. What are we fighting for if not the treasure of our finest women?”
“Your romantic ideas always did get you into trouble, Dalton.” Liverpool gaze had not softened, but Dalton started at the use of his first name, which Liverpool had not used since young Dalton Montmorency had first come into his title.
“If it is trouble that I am in, then trouble there may be, for I’ll—” Dalton looked behind him and grinned. “We’ll not give her up to you. Furthermore, should you try to take her again, remember that there is nowhere on earth you can hide her that we cannot find her.”
A low murmur of agreement rose from behind Dalton. He stopped smiling to gaze at Liverpool with utmost gravity. “We like her and we mean to keep her.”
Liverpool only scoffed. “As what? And why in the world would you trust her? I’ll admit her covert skills are competent enough, but she will expect to continue as Sir Thorogood.”
Dalton smiled. “Oh, she’s not Sir Thorogood. And you cannot prove that she is.”
Liverpool’s eyes narrowed skeptically. “No? Then who is Thorogood?”
Dalton’s grin widened. “I am.”
James stepped forward. “No, I am.”
Stubbs and Button moved next. “I am, guv’nor!” “No, sir, it is I!”
One by one, the Liars stepped forward, all claiming the same. Liverpool gave them all a disgusted glare. “This is not amusing. You do realize that I’ll have no choice but to disband you for this mutiny?”
“No, you mustn’t!”
Dalton turned to see Clara stepping out from behind her human shield, the rolled drawing in her hand. “Clara—”
She waved him to silence. Dalton subsided, but he did not have a good feeling about her plan.
Clara steeled herself for Liverpool’s intimidating presence and moved to stand before him, head high. “I want to bargain with you, my lord. My… cooperation for your lenience.”
Liverpool nodded. “I’m interested. Go on.”
“I want you to leave the Liars as they are. I want you to free Dalton from any consequence he may have earned in your eyes from his association with me. In return, I will give you this.”
She handed Liverpool the drawing and held her breath. He took it carefully, ever suspicious, and turned away from his Guard to unroll it.
Clara wasn’t sure, but she may have heard him curse. She could hardly blame him, for the drawing portrayed him very clearly, standing over four figures, one upon a pedestal, three surrounding it, all with their limbs tied with strings that led up to the giant Liverpool’s mighty hand.
But Fleur was no longer an opera dancer, she was now a sad woman draped in the British flag. She was unmistakably England herself. And the three worshipping figures had weary, noble faces and were labeled “Right,” “Truth,” and “Justice.”
In her lone deliberation of the ceiling earlier that evening, Clara had realized something about the rigidly principled Lord Liverpool. None of his pursuit of her was personally inspired.
From her own observation and from Dalton’s stories she had suddenly understood that his lordship viewed people in only three ways. There were the harmless ones—who were to be ignored. There were the dangerous ones—who were to be eliminated.
Then there were the useful ones—who became his tools. She had wafted directly past harmless, and a kill order undoubtedly meant that she was dangerous in his mind. …
So she must find a way to become a tool.
Lord Liverpool swiftly rolled the drawing. “I shall keep this, I think.”
“Please do.” Clara nodded gravely. “I only meant it to demonstrate that if you chose, you could find me enormously useful.”
Lord Liverpool gazed at her for a very long moment, until Clara felt herself want to fidget. She tightened her clasped hands and held very still.
“I agree to your terms on two conditions,” Lord Liverpool said shortly. “One, after today Sir Thorogood will not draw so much as a bucket of water for the rest of you life.”
Clara nodded. It hurt to lose that part of herself, but it was only what she had expected him to ask for.
‘Two, you will draw one last cartoon, according to my direction. You have given me a way to dissolve every scrap of public curiosity that you stirred up about Fleur, and to finally bring the Knights of the Lily into the light of day, where they will disappear like the shadows they are.”
“And you will not punish Dalton and the Liars?” Clara persisted.
Liverpool contemplated her for a moment. “Do you realize that you’ve asked nothing for yourself?”
Clara dismissed the comment with a shake of her head. “I only want to be left alone. Do you agree not to punish Dalton and the Liars?” She was prepared to stand there all day insisting on that, but Liverpool simply gave a sharp nod and gestured for the Royal Guard to leave the club.
Then he turned back to her, a chill light in his eye. “Now you must draw for me.” He turned to beckon to the silent man who had accompanied him. “Nathaniel, it is time.”
“You want me to what?” Clara stared at Liverpool and Nathaniel in shock.
“Your final cartoon, Sir Thorogood,” said Liverpool. “Consider it a last hurrah.”
“But with Wadsworth as hero? What of Nathaniel?”
“Nathaniel you shall portray as the last conspirator.”
The injustice left her breathless. She appealed to Nathaniel, but his set white face gave her no reassurance.
“It must be so, Clara. The Knights of the Lily must be exposed, or they will continue to work unseen. We cannot afford to lose one of the main suppliers of arms to the British troops. Young Wadsworth’s support is contingent on the preservation of his family name.”
“But Nathaniel’s reputation will be mined! He’ll be destroyed!”
Liverpool nodded. “Reardon knows his duty.”
Nathaniel shook his head. ‘The public curiosity about Fleur must be satisfied, according to our version of the facts. In addition, the Knights of the Lily must be disarmed. If the group is made a proper laughingstock, if anyone associated with it is run thoroughly through the gossip mill, the Knights of the Lily will die a public belated death. Unfortunately, it seems I have been recognized as the third man. Some gossip got hold of that fact and London has been abuzz ever since this morning.”
Clara pressed one palm over her aching heart. “Oh, Nathaniel. I’ve mined you.”
Liverpool lifted a brow. “Quite. Perhaps that will teach you to keep your nose where it belongs, young woman.”
“My actions would have been entirely unnecessary were you doing your job!” Clara blurted.
“Clara!” Nathaniel took her arm and turned her away, putting himself between her and Liverpool. “Clara, this is not the time or the forum.”
She looked away grudgingly. “He doesn’t care about you, Nathaniel. He doesn’t care about anything!”
“You’re quite wrong, Mrs. Simpson.” Liverpool’s tone was chilly and expressionless. “I care about England.”
Clara straightened her shoulders. “So do I, my lord.” Stubbs entered warily, carrying paper and ink. Clara took her supplies to the large desk and sat behind it.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to begin.” She looked up at both men. Her heart ached at Nathaniel’s set face and raged at Liverpool’s indifferent one. “It should not take more than an hour.”
Merely an hour to destroy a man’s life. How powerful she was. What an arbiter of change she had become.
When she was done she left the office to hand the last cartoon to Liverpool. She stared at him dry-eyed, her heartache too deep for release.
“Here you are, my lord. My betrayal of Lord Reardon is complete.”
Liverpool’s lips twisted. “Don’t be so tragic, child. Reputations come and go. Reardon’s will recover.” He took
the drawing and unrolled it, then nodded approvingly. Without a word, he dismissed her, turning to speak to Dalton.
Reluctantly, Clara turned to Nathaniel. “I have learned my lesson well. I shall never draw another political cartoon.”
Nathaniel took her hand. He looked terrible, his own pain flashing quickly in his eyes.
“What will you do now?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I shall go on, I suppose. Liverpool actually thinks this is for the better, for who could suspect a traitor to be a member of the Royal Four?”
She gaped at him “It is you? Does Dalton know?”
“He does, as he should. After all, I took over from him as the Cobra. Liverpool called me home to England as soon as Dalton stepped down.”
Clara smiled. “Your father must be so proud.”
Dark pain flashed across Nathaniel’s face, just for an instant. “He doesn’t know, and he cannot. His mind is not what it was and Liverpool fears that telling him will compromise me.” Shrugging, Nathaniel gave her a forced grin. “It matters little, for my father never thought that highly of me in the first place.”
“Oh, Nathaniel.” Clara couldn’t find the words. “I—”
He kissed her knuckles and released her hand. “Stop apologizing.” With that, he was gone.
Liverpool was leaving as well. At the last moment, he turned to cast a disparaging glance over the massed Liars, then looked to Dalton. “Who would have thought that a boy I raised would ever lower himself to keeping such base company?”
Dalton eyed Liverpool solemnly. His godfather would never understand. “I am not you. I shall never be you. But I am of value to you all the same, as are they. I hope to further earn my place among them. They have yet to give me a Liar’s name.”
Liverpool sniffed. “Why you should want one, I’ll never know. But carry on, amuse yourself with your disagreeable little club. Get to hell by your own road.”
