Behind the Mask (House of Lords)

by Brooke, Meg

  Behind the Mask

  Meg Brooke

  Kindle Edition

  Copyright 2012 Meg Brooke

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  Behind the Mask

  Meg Brooke

  ONE

  August 25, 1834

  The sun was just rising over the roofs of Brussels when Lord Colin Pierce reached the offices of Baron Stockmar, chief advisor to King Leopold, in the Royal Palace. Outside the Royal Palace, the Paleizenplein was still quiet and empty, and he saw almost no one as he passed through the elaborately decorated halls of the palace itself. But there was a buzz of activity in Stockmar’s offices, where it seemed there was always someone working. Colin suspected that there was a room hidden somewhere where Stockmar’s aides slept in bunks so that they could be on call at all hours of the day and night.

  A fresh-faced young man greeted him and knocked softly on the door of Stockmar’s private office. “Enter!” came the call from within, and Colin was shown inside.

  Stockmar stood before the windows that looked out on the Palace of Charles of Lorraine, a piece of paper held very close to his face. There was a single lamp on the desk, its faint light clearly not bright enough for the baron to read whatever was on the paper. Colin had to fight not to smirk at the little economies Stockmar enjoyed.

  “My Lord,” Stockmar said, not looking up from the paper. “I have a letter here from the Princess of Leiningen. She says that it is not possible for the Princes Ernest and Albert to visit this year, as her daughter is going on another progress.” He crushed the paper into a ball and tossed it onto his desk. “That woman will be the death of me,” he growled, but he was grinning wryly. Secretly, Colin knew, King Leopold’s chief advisor enjoyed sparring with his master’s sister, who also happened to be the Duchess of Kent and the mother of the heir to the British throne. But the duchess had been gleefully thwarting her brother’s attempts to arrange for his nephews, Ernest and Albert, to become better acquainted with their cousin, who was, as yet, free from any romantic attachments. An alliance would provide Leopold with a direct line not only to the British monarch but also to the man at her side, both highly desirable connections.

  “Princess Victoria is young,” Colin replied in flawless German, the language Stockmar generally preferred. “There is time for her to get to know her cousins. King William will not die this year.”

  Baron Stockmar raised one eyebrow. “Are you certain of that?”

  Colin shrugged. “As certain as I can be.”

  “Well, it is as may be, I suppose. Will you take some tea or coffee?”

  “Coffee would be most welcome,” said Colin, who had been at the Duchess of Wittelsbach’s salon until nearly four. He had been looking forward to snatching a few hours’ sleep when he had received Stockmar’s summons.

  As the coffee was being wheeled in, the baron took a seat behind his desk, and Colin dropped gratefully into a chair across from him. “Mount Vesuvius is erupting in Italy,” Stockmar said idly.

  “Is it?” Colin asked, glancing over as the servant departed. Stockmar must be waiting for something, or he would not waste time with this useless chatting.

  It was only a few moments until he discovered what that something was. There was another knock at the door and Sir Robert Adair entered.

  Colin rose to greet the king’s ambassador to Belgium. “Sir Robert,” he said.

  “Good morning, Lord Pierce,” Adair replied, helping himself to a cup of coffee. As he did so Colin considered the implications of His Majesty’s Ambassador being here so early in the morning. Something was very wrong.

  “Shall we sit?” Adair asked. Colin reclaimed his chair and Adair took the one next to him. At a nod from the ambassador, Stockmar fished another document from a pile on his desk. He slid it across. Colin scooped it up and read it carefully.

  “Has this been verified?” he asked, looking from the ambassador to Stockmar and back.

  Adair nodded. “Three agents have testified to its veracity. The assassins left Algiers on the sixteenth of August. We think they will put ashore in Ormesby or Gorleston by the thirtieth.”

  “And the Princess Victoria’s progress?” Colin asked, understanding now why Stockmar had told him about such a seemingly useless piece of trivia.

  “Suffolk and Norfolk,” Adair said.

  Colin groaned. Both the towns Stockmar had named were in Norfolk. “Which houses will she visit?”

  Stockmar rummaged for another paper. When he produced it he stared at it for a moment. It never failed to amaze Colin the amount of intelligence that lay in the piles on the man’s desk. “She is already at Rundle Chase. After that she goes to Middleton, then Hafeley and Sidney Park.”

  Colin nodded grimly, glancing down at the letter from Stockmar’s informer again. There was a plot to kill the heir to the throne of England. The assassins meant to strike as she made her trek from great house to great house at the instigation of her mother and that snake Conroy, and they meant to do it in little more than a week. “What can I do?” Colin asked.

  Adair sipped his coffee idly, as though they were discussing an upcoming hunt and not the death of a future monarch of England. “Do you know anyone in any of those houses?”

  Colin nodded. “Lord Rundle is a friend of my father’s,” he said, “But he is an old military man. He has had Rundle Chase crawling with guards for a week, you mark my words. If I were going to choose any of those four houses, it would be Sidney Park. It is in a low wooded valley in the Broads, an area of rivers on the east coast of England, very secluded, and not very heavily populated. It would be easy to reach stealthily, and the grounds are not protected by walls or fences. Also, it would give them the most time to prepare their operation, since it is her last stop.”

  “And the lord of Sidney Park?”

  “Viscount Sidney?” Colin asked. He tried to picture the man, an old, stodgy Whig whose best days were behind him. But then he remembered that that Viscount Sidney had been dead six years, since just after Colin had left England for the Continent. The new Viscount Sidney was... “Yes, I know him,” Colin said, only realizing it as the words came out. “He and I were at Cambridge together, though he was a year my senior.”

  “Do you think you could secure an invitation to Sidney Park?”

  Colin thought for a moment. He knew that Leo Chesney, Viscount Sidney, sat in the House of Lords, and that the session had only ended last week. With any luck he would not yet have journeyed into Norfolk. “Perhaps,” he said carefully. “What would I be allowed to tell him?”

  Adair glanced at Stockmar. “Tell him that it is a matter of national security that you be included in the party traveling to Norfolk. You may explain who you are looking for, and why, but only to Lord Sidney unless circumstances arise that make it necessary for you to reveal your purpose to others. You understand?”

  Colin nodded. That would have to be enough. “I will leave as soon as I can.”

  “Good,” Stockmar said. “I think it best that you travel from Dunkirk to Dover. You can catch the ferry if you depart within an hour. There will be a packet ready for you when you leave Brussels.”

  Colin stood.

  “Good luck, young man,” Adair said.

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  Colin’s small apartment was only a two-minute walk from the Royal Palace. He had no servants and no valet—in his line of work, it was simpler to avoid those sorts of complications.
There was a woman who came in twice a week to clean, some relative of his landlord’s, but she would not be surprised to find him absent. Once he had had a secretary, but the man had turned out to be a French spy, and Colin had trusted no one with his work since. He had managed to stay largely in the good graces of his superiors for six years working for the Foreign Office, and he planned to continue on a good while longer. Entanglements only complicated things, which was why he also did not keep a mistress or engage in liaisons with the many lonely widows of Brussels, as some of his counterparts and even his superiors did. He had made that mistake once, and he would not repeat it. Adair had been keeping a Flemish count’s widow for two years, and though both of them were circumspect, Colin privately believed that the attachment was the reason Adair had had such difficulty negotiating the cessation of hostilities between the Flemish and Dutch troops last year.

  Colin preferred simplicity and ease, and so it did not take him very long to make himself ready to depart. In the last six years he had become quite adept at making quick escapes. Within half an hour he was back at the Royal Palace, and twenty minutes later he was on the road to Dunkirk.

  Four hours and two changes of horse later he arrived just in time to catch the afternoon ferry. When he had found a private corner he at last opened the packet that had been tucked inside his coat since leaving Brussels.

  Inside there were four thin sheets of paper. One listed the official and unofficial communiqués that had passed between the Belgian, French, Greek and British spies working the vast network that stretched over the whole Continent. From it he learned that the plan to assassinate the Princess Victoria had been in place for at least two years, and that the assassins who had been sent to England were the second group, the first having been intercepted and killed in Spain back in February. That group had been three men; the Foreign Office and Stockmar’s spies concurred that there would likely be four or perhaps even five men this time, and that they would have greater support behind them, perhaps even one of the leaders of their organization.

  The second sheet contained concise descriptions of the three men from the Foreign Office who would be acting as Colin’s assistants. They all sounded horribly green, though Colin supposed that none of them were younger than twenty-three, which was the age he had been when he had first gone to the Continent in the service of the Foreign Office. Before that he had done exactly what these young men were now doing. It had not been easy work, acting as a secret agent in England, trailing foreign dignitaries and learning to read four different languages simultaneously. But it had prepared Colin for the work he was about to do. As he perused the final two sheets of paper he felt the familiar thrill of excitement at finally having something to do after months of listening to cryptic conversations in the drawing rooms of Brussels. He knew the two years he had spent in Belgium had been a punishment for what had happened in Vienna, and that he deserved to be chastised. Still, the tedium of reporting to Stockmar each week, of parsing the Princess Victoria’s every move before they were relayed to King Leopold, of actually having to discuss which of the king’s nephews he thought the princess would like better, had nearly driven him mad.

  The last two sheets were an analysis of the strengths and weaknesses of Sidney Park and a discussion of the family that inhabited it. From the sloppiness of the hand Colin guessed that the papers had been prepared after he had left the Royal Palace, and much of the information in them he knew already. Still, he read them dutifully.

  He had not seen Leo Chesney in more than seven years. Back then he had been simply Lord Chesney, Viscount Sidney’s only son and heir. Colin remembered a tall, blond young man with an effortless athleticism that belied his uneasy, awkward way with women. When he looked over the papers he saw that Leo had three sisters, two of whom were only a few years older than the Princess Victoria.

  Carefully Colin memorized each of the documents. Then he ripped each paper into several little pieces and stuffed them back into the envelope. Slipping the packet back into his coat, he went to the back of the ferry. It was a bright, sunny day, and there were several people out on deck, but none of them noticed as Colin took the packet from his coat and dumped its contents and then the envelope itself into the sea.

  TWO

  August 27, 1834

  “Leo, where have you been?” Eleanor cried as her brother came in. It was nearly eleven, and he had insisted last night that he wanted to leave before the morning was out. But then that letter had come for him at breakfast, and he had gone off, promising that he would be back in an hour.

  “I’m sorry, Eleanor,” her brother said, handing his hat to the butler and taking out his handkerchief. In the last week the heat of London had become rather unbearable, and now he patted his brow as he said, “I had to see an old friend.”

  “Oh?” she asked.

  “Yes, and now I need to speak with you,” he added, taking her elbow and leading her into the drawing room. When the door had closed behind them he turned to her, his blue eyes shadowed beneath his brows as he frowned. “I’ve invited Lord Colin Pierce to come to Sidney Park with us, Eleanor.”

  “You’ve invited—but the princess and her entourage will be arriving there in a week!” Eleanor cried. “We can’t have a houseguest while we are preparing for her arrival. There’s too much to do as it is without me having to entertain some friend of yours.”

  “He’s not just coming for a visit, Eleanor. He’s coming for the princess’s stay as well.”

  Eleanor felt suddenly dizzy. Perhaps it was the heat—that would be better than feeling faint over something as silly as an unexpected houseguest. But she had been preparing for the princess’s visit to Sidney Park, her family’s ancestral home, since she had learned that the Chesneys were to be favored with her presence three weeks ago. A flurry of letters had been sent back and forth to the steward and staff in Norfolk. New linens and furniture had been ordered, menus planned, and party invitations sent out. Still, there were so many things to do, so many elements involved in a royal visit, that it made Eleanor’s head spin. Her mother had turned most of the work over to her under the pretense that it would one day be Eleanor’s duty to plan such events on her own, and that the practice would be instructive. Eleanor knew that these protestations were a cover for the fact that her mother loathed parties and balls and all the other accoutrements of society and would rather not be bothered with them. But with her younger sisters too occupied with their social schedules to provide any assistance, all the work had fallen to her, and she had been running herself ragged the last three weeks. Eleanor had been forced to give up the other work in which she was engaged, helping her friends Cynthia and Clarissa, the Duchess of Danforth and the Countess of Stowe, and Cynthia’s sister-in-law Imogen Bainbridge, set up a boarding house and school for indigent children. It had frustrated her to no end to have to write to Cynthia and tell her that she would have to put aside the work for a few weeks for this infernal visit. She had been looking forward to a few days of relaxation at Sidney Park before chaos descended. “Oh, Leo,” she said, putting a hand to her temple. Perhaps she had a headache.

  “I’m sorry, Eleanor, but it couldn’t be helped,” Leo said, looking meaningfully at her. “Lord Colin Pierce works for the Foreign Office, you see.”

  Now she really would faint. “Leo, is there something wrong? Why is the Foreign Office sending a man to Sidney Park?”

  Leo shrugged. “It’s just routine, he says.”

  “And do you believe him?”

  “Eleanor, we went to Cambridge together. Pierce is a good man. He won’t get in your way, and he won’t cause any trouble. But he will be journeying up with us this afternoon. Or with you, I should say.”

  “Where will you be?” Eleanor asked.

  He shifted uncomfortably. “That’s the other piece of news. I have to stay in town at least another day.”

  She almost grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. “Leo!” she cried, dismayed. “How could you?”

/>   “Eleanor, it can’t be helped. Brougham and the others want me to present our proposals for next session to the king.”

  “But the session is six months away.”

  “Apparently he likes to have a few months to ruminate,” Leo grumbled. “Listen, it’s not what I want either. If I could I would have been in Norfolk last week, although I would have missed that very entertaining afternoon with Lord Marsh on Sunday,” he added, grinning. Eleanor blushed and looked away. She had hoped that everyone would forget that debacle, though of course her hope had been an extraordinary one in view of the fact that she had only known Lord Marsh for about two weeks before he decided to propose to her. It hadn’t been his fault, she supposed—if he had known what sort of woman she was, he would never have been so foolish. But the dunce had decided not to wait for a better acquaintance, which had resulted in a rather embarrassing scene in the drawing room on Sunday. Realizing that she had no comment to make about the unfortunate affair, Leo said, “But it isn’t up to me. I promise you, Pierce won’t be any trouble. Just pretend he isn’t there.”

  “With Maris in the house?”

  Leo frowned. “He’s too old for Maris. And he’s a sensible man. He’ll avoid her if she tries to flirt with him.” Then his expression shifted slightly. “You, on the other hand, might want to consider him.”

  Eleanor blushed. “Leo, I don’t even know the man.”

  Her brother grinned. “Very well,” he said. “Will you tell mother? I really must get back to Westminster.”

  “I suppose I will,” Eleanor said dutifully.

  “Thank you, Eleanor. I’ll be with you by Saturday.” He kissed her cheek and was gone.

  Sighing, Eleanor took a moment to collect her thoughts and then went out into the hall, trying to decide what she should say to her mother. She was just starting up the stairs when someone cleared his throat behind her.