Ah, this must be the wax exhibition. What looked like live human beings stood in the large windows, with pedestrians stopping to stare in awe. He slid heavily off his horse and tied it to a post, brushed some road dust from his clothing, and entered the exhibition to claim his true love.
He paid his admission to the thin, pale young man at the entrance, asking where he might find the proprietress. The ticket seller pointed toward the rear of the building. Nathaniel passed through the various tableaux of the exhibition, which included figures from ancient societies—Greece, Rome, and Egypt, as well as what he had to admit was a spectacular rendition of the Battle of Trafalgar. A bleeding, dying Nelson lay in the middle of the tableau, surrounded by other wax naval officers. Clever.
Was waxworking profitable? If so, he must encourage her to stay in this business.
And then there she was, chatting enthusiastically with a customer over a figure dressed in some foreign military uniform. He waited politely for her to conclude, then waved to her.
Her expression was one of pure shock, he noted with satisfaction.
She didn’t realize I’d come for her so soon.
“Nathaniel, what are you doing here?”
“Good afternoon, dear Marguerite. Weren’t you expecting me?”
“No, not at all.”
Ah, how lovely she was, tossing her burnished hair about like that.
“Come now, Marguerite, there’s no need to pretend with me. This is Nathaniel, your former brother-in-law, who holds you in the highest regard. We both know that your performance at the Fleet was for my mother’s benefit and that you really wanted to know more about my enterprises.”
Her quirked eyebrow was just charming.
“Nathaniel, did you think I wasn’t serious that day? I meant it. I don’t want to see you or your mother ever again. Ever.”
“But, Marguerite, I’m getting rid of my ship, so there won’t be any more naval adventures. Just as you asked. That other part you said was just silly. How could you possibly not desire contact with your brother-in-law?”
“I don’t desire it. Listen to me—my two conditions held equal weight. Cease your foolish piracy and forget you were ever related to me. You and your mother are greedy leeches who prey on hapless victims, whether for money, position, or power. You are thoroughly detestable. My connection with you is finished and I will never entertain your presence ever again. Ever. Again.”
“You can’t be sincere.”
“But I am, and I’ll prove it to you. Come with me.”
He followed her without question, his eyes on her swaying hips as she led him to the front of the exhibition hall.
“Mr. James,” Marguerite said to the mousy little man at the ticket counter. “This gentleman is leaving. He is not welcome back to the exhibition, ever. Understood?”
The man nodded. “Yes, madam.”
Marguerite held open the door for him. “Good day to you, Mr. Ashby. I expect never to see you again.”
The door banged shut behind him.
He mounted his horse in disbelief. Did she really mean it? That she wasn’t interested in him? She hadn’t given him a chance, though. He hadn’t even had an opportunity to show her his journal. That wasn’t fair of her. The horse snuffled beneath him, as though in agreement.
He considered turning back. Surely he was mistaken in her attitude. She had been under tremendous strain as of late, what with being at Trafalgar, then being pressed into service with His Majesty’s government. Maybe she’d come around with time.
If only her eyes hadn’t been devoid of any warmth. He shuddered a little at the thought. No, there hadn’t been any passion, or even kindness, in those eyes at all. When it came down to it, the visit had been altogether unsatisfactory. And he was wearing a very dapper new top hat.
No, the more Nathaniel put actual thought into it, the more he realized that Marguerite must have actually meant what she said at the prison.
So what did that mean for him?
It meant that it truly had been all for nothing. He had no glory, no title, and Marguerite had callously thrown him aside. Had he not ever been in charge of his destiny? Had he always been at the mercy of other people? All of his effort, smashed against the shoals like a ship with no captain.
How depressing.
And what now? An existence alone with Mother, who would never let him forget this. She’d always led him to believe that Nicholas was the great disappointment of her life, but lately it seemed as though she was just as dissatisfied with Nathaniel.
Oh, the carping that will go on for months and months until I am driven to the bottle.
Actually, if he wanted more interesting diversions, he’d heard about a quiet place in London where one could relax the nerves by smoking opium. He’d never tried it before. Might be interesting.
Perhaps Polly would like to sneak away with him. Mother would go completely unhinged if she found out he was cavorting publicly with a house servant. It would be even worse than a relationship with Marguerite.
The thought heartened him greatly. Perhaps he could still enjoy life after all.
* * *
Marguerite’s life returned to near normal over the next two weeks. Madame Tussaud sent over a half dozen figures from the Dublin collection, and also wanted to swap the Nelson tableaux with her. Tussaud had created a scene of Nelson with Hardy in the admiral’s cabin on Victory, poring over maps and plans together. She now wanted to see Marguerite’s interpretation of the admiral’s death. Marguerite and Mr. James labored quickly to dismantle the death tableau to ship it to Dublin, filling the space with other figures until Marie’s replacement tableau arrived.
She had nearly washed away all thoughts of Darden, Nathaniel, Trafalgar, and the Ferdinand intrigue from her mind. Even Brax had become a rare visitor. She smiled. Probably busy crowing about his promotion to his friends.
She relished the time alone at the waxworks, with no interference by any of the men who had created such turmoil in her life. Pitt. Darden. Fox. Grey. She’d been buffeted in the wind by all of them.
Talking to awed customers, sculpting, and rearranging tableaux brought her comfort and peace. So much peace that she began missing Madame Tussaud and Joseph with a strange intensity. As though it might be worth a sea voyage to go back and rejoin them.
Foolish girl. You do Marie a far better service by remaining in London.
Nevertheless, she decided to write a letter to Marie when she returned to her rooms that evening. Letter writing bridged the distance between them.
Perhaps a letter to Claudette was in order, as well. She hadn’t communicated with her aunt in weeks. Had the dogs destroyed the King James Monstrosity yet? Was Little Bitty painting family portraits by now?
But there would be no letters written this night.
She had hardly removed her bonnet and unpinned her hair before her landlady was rapping anxiously on her door.
“Mrs. Ashby, there’s a gentleman here to see you. Says it’s extremely urgent that he speak with you.”
It was probably something to do with the shipment to Dublin. Agents always got nervous when they inspected crates and found wax corpses in them.
“I’ll be right down, Mrs. Grove.”
She repinned her hair and went to greet her guest in the parlor.
“Why, Sir Brax! I assumed with your promotion conferred upon you that you had completely forgotten your old friends. Have you come to show me your new insignia?”
“This is no time for joking, Marguerite. I’m here on serious business.”
This was only the second time she had seen him without a ready smile or witty remark, the first being when he kissed her. She’d best be on her guard.
“Why? What’s wrong? You can tell Lords Fox and Howick that I’m not interested in any further wax—”
“It’s not that. You’re in terrible danger.”
“Me? From what? Or whom?”
“Hastings. Fox has had him watched ever since t
he Ferdinand plan was thwarted. An enemy courier was trailed after he was seen leaving Hastings’s quarters in London. The courier was intercepted before boarding a ship back to France. He had a coded message to Napoleon on him. It translated to say that Hastings understood and accepted his assignment to get rid of the waxworker. Marguerite, he plans to kill you. Tonight.”
“You’re joking. Darden might be a turncoat, but he would never do me harm.”
“You’re wrong. He intends to do you great harm. Listen to me. Fox has instructed me to hide you until they can find Darden and arrest him.”
“What do you mean, find him? Isn’t he in his quarters?”
“No, he must have left after the man watching him went after the courier. Marguerite, there’s no time for long explanations. I’ve got to remove you to a secure place.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know. A few days, maybe?” He held his hands up in a gesture of appeal. “Please, I’ve got to do my duty by you. I beg you to come with me.”
Oh, a curse on these pothering men about their duty, duty, duty. Honestly. Weren’t they all just serving their own means in the end? Perhaps it was time she considered her own destiny instead of flailing about inside theirs.
I need to make my own protection.
She sighed. “Very well. But I need time to put my things together. Come back in an hour.”
“An hour? Ridiculous. I’ll wait here. You should be able to be ready in fifteen minutes.”
“An hour. And Sir Brax, you can make yourself useful in the meantime by purchasing some food. I’ve had no supper, and I’m famished.”
With a grunt of disapproval, Brax did as she asked, warning her on his way out that he would be back in precisely an hour.
Marguerite really only needed a few minutes of privacy. She stepped lightly into the dining room, which was darkening in the setting sun. On top of the sideboard were the objects of her quest. A pair of slant-fronted knife boxes stood polished and proud at attention. She tried to slide a finger under the lid of one. It was locked. She went to the second box. It was also locked, but the mechanism jiggled insecurely.
Marguerite opened the drawers of the sideboard, looking for a thin, long-handled implement. Ah, a serving fork. That would do. She wiggled the narrow end of the handle inside the lock until it broke free.
She pulled out the sharpest, most ill-humored looking knife she could find, then quickly replaced the lid and put the fork away. She dashed up the stairs, knife in one hand and skirt in the other, to begin packing for her flight out of London.
She waited silently in the parlor, a lone traveling bag at her side, the knife in her lap should Darden show up unexpectedly before Brax. Fortunately, Mrs. Grove had gone out somewhere, so she didn’t have to explain why she was sitting in a room alone with a stolen knife clenched in her fist, her only company a steadily burning lamp.
Could she use it? She wasn’t sure. She was a noxious blend of fear and anger, and either one might propel her to use it to protect herself. But could she really be incited to use it against someone she once loved? She ran a finger along the blade and shivered. Please, just let Brax hurry up and return so she could escape with him.
The knock on the front door startled her so badly she dropped the knife on the parlor carpet. She picked it up with trembling hands and answered the door with the knife behind her back.
Most unfortunately, Darden had indeed arrived before Brax.
She knew he was a traitor, and now a potential murderer, and her last encounter with him had been thoroughly disagreeable, yet still she was uncontrollably drawn to him.
He wore the same woolen cape, but this time over civilian clothing. He filled it out just as well as his uniform. But what matter? He would look impressive wearing sackcloth.
“Yes?” Marguerite croaked. She cursed herself for sounding so nervous. “How may I help you?” she asked, forcing her voice to sound confident, even a little belligerent.
“I have important news for you. Your life is in danger.”
“Indeed?” She held the door open without inviting him in.
What do I do? Keep him engaged in conversation until Brax returns?
Darden looked furtively down both sides of the street. “Are you going to invite me in?”
“Perhaps. What exactly is your news?”
“Who is here in the house with you?”
“No one. I mean, Mrs. Grove is out, but returning at any moment. I expect her any time. Why?”
“You’re not safe here alone. Let me come in.”
“Why, Captain Hastings? You can tell me your news from where you stand. Or do you not really have anything to tell me?” She gripped the handle of the knife more tightly behind her back.
Will I have to use th is? Can I?
Darden sighed. “Marguerite, you are the most exasperating woman a man ever had to deal with. But deal with you, I will.”
With a sudden blow of his fist to the door it banged inward, startling Marguerite backward. He stepped across the threshold and slammed it shut behind him.
“You simply can never obey anything I say, can you?”
Why does his voice sound so menacing to me?
She gripped the knife handle even tighter in her right hand. Her hand was going numb. She took several steps backward into the parlor.
“Listen to me, Marguerite. I don’t know what Selwyn has been telling you all this time, but you are in great danger from him. He intends to do you great harm, probably tonight.”
“How very interesting. He says the same of you. Only Brax isn’t under suspicion of treason by Mr. Fox, is he?”
“I suppose not. But you don’t know as much as either of them would have you believe. Stop staring at me like that. Sit down so I can talk to you civilly.”
“I prefer to stand to hear whatever you have to say.”
“Don’t be daft.” Darden reached for her left wrist. She instinctively shrank from him and raised the knife from behind her back.
They both froze, each staring at the blade poised in midair, glinting in the parlor’s lamplight. It shook in Marguerite’s unsteady hand.
“Good Lord, woman, were you planning to use this on me? Is your mind unraveling?”
“No, I’m just interested in my own self-preservation.”
“As am I.” Still holding on to her left wrist, he grabbed her right with his other hand and yanked it downward. Her hand was too numb from clenching the knife to resist him, and the knife fell with a dull thud to the carpet once again. Darden lightly kicked it to one side.
“That was very foolish, Marguerite.” His voice was deadly calm.
She was fearful of him, but even more afraid of showing it. She tossed her head to one side.
“No more foolish than you, cavorting about with Napoleon and selling Britain’s secrets.”
He loosened his grip on her. “I can’t talk about that now. Right now, what’s important is that you must come with me.”
“I won’t. You can’t force me.”
“You think so? My dear Marguerite, you have no understanding of how much I can do.”
And she was instantly transported back to Victory as Darden swept her up in his arms once again and carried her through the front door. He effortlessly lifted her onto a waiting horse, and sprang onto it behind her before she even had the wherewithal to protest, much less scream into the sparsely populated street that she was being kidnapped.
Darden pulled his cloak forward so that it protected her against the night air. She clutched at it with both hands. He wrapped one arm around her and grabbed the reins with his other hand, clicking commands to the horse with his tongue.
She was alone with this traitor and had no weapon, yet somehow she felt powerless in a dreamy, hypnotic way. Was she as unhinged as he said she was, to not struggle? Surely she could slip down into the street? Or at the very least she could cry for help. Instead, she leaned back into him to feel his strained breaths.
D
arden instinctively leaned forward so that his face was against hers. It was coarse with a few days’ growth. The aroma of cloves, so distinctively his, settled around her.
How extraordinarily difficult it was to simultaneously hate and love the same person.
Darden urged his horse quickly, but not frantically, through the streets of London. He said nothing to her as their bodies swayed together to the beat of the horse’s rhythmic clip-clopping.
A shout in the distance behind them jerked Darden’s head away from hers as he turned to find the source of the voice. He swore under his breath and spurred the horse to move faster.
“Almost there.”
Marguerite finally found her voice. “Where, exactly, is ‘there’?”
“It’s probably better if you don’t know.
Marguerite tried another approach. “Brax is coming for me, isn’t he? To keep you from harming me?”
Although she couldn’t quite be sure what his actual plan was. Why hadn’t he killed her the minute he had her alone at Mrs. Grove’s? Why the furtive dash through London to some unknown location?
“Selwyn is an indiscreet, foolhardy half-wit without the brains God gave a mule,” he replied.
Which was no answer at all.
“Hold on tightly,” he said as they approached St. James’s Park.
But she didn’t have to. Darden moved his arm even farther around her, clutching her so tightly she was having difficulty breathing. He skillfully guided the horse through the dark paths in the park, occasionally glancing behind him. Brax’s shouts—Marguerite was sure now he was coming to her aid—were getting distant.
They were heading toward the Admiralty buildings.
Was he planning to kill her in front of Fox and Grey?
But Darden headed past Admiralty House and then beyond Banqueting House. Where was he going?
Darden hardly slowed as they approached the Palace of Westminster. He seemed to be looking for a specific entrance. He found it, and shouted to whoever was behind it to let him in. The gate creaked as it was opened by unseen hands.
A Royal Likeness Page 43
