He inserted the pin in its slot, and felt the compartment release gently into his hand. Dread shot through his spine as he slowly pulled it out. What if nothing remained in the secret compartment beyond what was presented at trial? What if he was utterly, completely mistaken in his belief? How could he then exonerate Belle—
“What in the name of St. Peter are you doing here?” thundered a voice from behind him.
“I don’t believe you. Do you have a marriage certificate?” The longer Belle listened to this woman, the more she was convinced she was an escaped lunatic.
“You’ll not ask any more questions. I’ll ask them. First, where is my pipe? I need it.”
“Your pipe? You mean Wesley’s pipe?”
“No, it’s rightfully mine. He and I shared it and he meant to leave it for me. He’ll be furious when I tell him I don’t have it.”
What was she talking about?
“I have it at my lodgings. I can pick it up and bring it back here to you tomorrow morning,” Belle said.
“Oh yes, you believe you’re very clever, don’t you, Miss Stirling? You’ll dash out of here, never to return, and because Darcey White is just a simple, stupid member’s daughter, who will believe any outrageous lie fed to her, she’ll go along with it. Is that what you think? Is it?”
“Miss White, I—”
“I’m not Miss White! I’m Mrs. Stirling! Wesley’s beloved.”
Doubtful. “My apologies, Mrs. Stirling. What would you like me to do?”
“I’d like you to shut your gob. I said I would be asking the questions. Don’t interrupt me. Be quiet so I can think.”
Darcey’s eyes rolled back in her head as she rubbed her temples.
Belle looked down the length of the counter. Could she reach the other end and open her pistol box before Darcey realized what was happening? The girl was crazed, but didn’t seem dangerous. At least not yet. But Belle had enough experience to know that the sight of a revolver in her hand calmed the barmiest opponent. So far, she’d had no cause to actually fire it at anyone.
Of further concern were Darcey’s glazed eyes, reminding Belle of Wesley’s glassy looks that accompanied his periodic outbursts.
The slow smile returned. Darcey was calm again. “You do know your man is probably in Newgate by now, don’t you?”
“My man?”
“Putnam Boyce. He made the secretary that was delivered to Lord Harrowby.”
“Yes, but Mr. Boyce had nothing to do with the conspiracy.”
“What difference does that make? I’m a parliamentarian’s daughter. Do you think I don’t know how to make political gain? To twist things to my own purposes? A word in the ear of a tavern owner, a whisper to a newspaper owner, and soon we have scandal that benefits me immensely.”
“Miss Wh—Mrs. Stirling, how could a scandal involving Mr. Boyce possibly benefit you? Presumably you don’t even know him.”
“No, but I did know you. And I knew from Wesley that you were squiring about with him. He was with you at my Wesley’s end, wasn’t he? So to ruin him would be to ruin you, a most agreeable outcome. Combined with my other actions against you, well, something was sure to work and lead to your arrest.”
“My arrest for what?”
“Why, for your involvement in the Cato Street Conspiracy. What the authorities didn’t understand is that you pushed Wesley into it, and allowed him to take the blame for your activities.”
“What you’re saying is completely false. I knew nothing of Wesley’s involvement with Arthur Thistlewood.”
Darcey lifted a shoulder. “No matter. I just needed others to know the truth of the matter. Although thus far nothing has worked properly. Which is why I had to come visit you myself.”
“I don’t understand. Why did you need me wrongly implicated in the Cato Street affair?”
“Wrongly, dear sister-in-law?” Darcey’s smile was that of a demon. “My life was ruined when Wesley went to jail. I wanted you to hang, so that you would have the justice you deserve for throwing Wesley to the hounds and not bringing your supposed influence to bear in getting him released from Newgate.”
Belle was speechless.
Darcey’s voice dropped to nearly a whisper. “Not only that, I am laying claim to this lovely shop for myself as the nearest Stirling kin. A suitable inheritance, since Wesley didn’t see fit to leave me his pipe. I must speak to him about his oversight when I meet him later for supper.” She sighed. “But as I was saying, others have refused to take the action I have been calling for. You aren’t arrested, you aren’t on trial, and you most definitely are not hanged. And I intend to correct matters. Now.”
Belle changed her mind.
This woman was dangerous.
And no one in the world knows that I’m trapped in here with her.
Put turned, the long compartment still in his hand.
Lord Harrowby. Couldn’t the man have stayed away just ten more minutes?
“I asked, who are you, and what the devil are you doing in my home? Quickly, before I have you arrested.”
“I’m Putnam Boyce, sir. I’m the cabinetmaker who was contracted to build this secretary.”
“What of it? How dare you skulk your way into my home and paw through my desk. You’ll be fortunate if you’re not on the gallows by morning.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll be on the gallows anyway if I don’t clear my name of the Cato Street Conspiracy. I made the secret compartment of this desk and I simply need to check it to ensure there aren’t any secret documents in it that might exonerate me.”
“Lord Liverpool and I have already thoroughly searched out the desk, and found the compartment you’re holding. Look inside, you’ll see that it’s empty. All the documents held in the desk were presented as evidence in court.”
Put looked down. The main opening was, indeed, cleared of its contents.
“Yes, sir. However—”
“I can’t understand why everyone is still so blasted concerned about Cato Street. First that street woman, now you.”
“What street woman?”
“Some vagrant. Never gave me her name, but made reference to one of the conspirators. Let’s see, which one was it? Shipley? Sparling? No, Stirling, it was Stirling. Now I remember. She said that Stirling was actually an innocent, having been goaded into the conspiracy by his sister. I rightfully dismissed the woman as being mentally unsound. She insisted on this sister’s guilt, though. You say you were the cabinetmaker Stirling contracted to make the secretary. Do you know this sister?”
“I do.”
“Could she be guilty?”
“No, my lord. It is impossible that Annabelle Stirling be guilty of anything.”
“Is that so? And you claim innocence for yourself, as well? Very convenient for a man who has used subterfuge to enter my home. Poisonous varnish, wasn’t it?”
Put sensed that this board could warp in either direction. It was up to him to make sure it lay even. Calm and steady pressure was required.
“My apologies, Lord Harrowby, for my intrusion. However, I ask your indulgence. If you would kindly extend me just one more moment of grace while I examine the rest of the secret compartment, assuredly I can put your mind at rest.”
“But I’ve already told you, Lord Liverpool and I emptied the compartment. It’s empty.”
“If I may?”
Harrowby nodded at him impatiently.
Put held up the box and slid up the secret back panel that revealed the long, narrow space beneath the emptied section. Harrowby gasped. “It would seem I was mistaken.”
The closest Put would get to an apology from an aristocrat.
Inside was a sheaf of tightly rolled paper. Put fished it out, struggling to work his large index finger into the narrow space. He finally got a corner pulled out, and the rest followed easily.
Placing the secret compartment on the floor, he unrolled the papers out on the desk, holding them flat with his hands. “My lord, this is what I was hoping
for: Wesley Stirling’s journal. Shall we read together?”
“Yes, yes, of course. Let me light a lamp.”
The cabinetmaker and the earl stood shoulder to shoulder and read Wesley Stirling’s final writings.
It was a long chronicle detailing Wesley’s struggles, disappointments, fall into opium addiction, his love affair with a woman named Darcey White, and his ultimate entanglement with Arthur Thistlewood at Miss White’s behest.
But it was the end of the journal that concerned Put the most.
... D——is consumed with the notion that Belle is the source of my difficulties. When we are together after indulging ourselves with opium, I can believe it to be true. But when I separate myself from D——, I wonder if, in fact, my sister isn’t necessarily the harpy D——envisions her to be.
It is very confusing sometimes.
My great hope is that Mr. Thistlewood’s plan succeeds, and that a new government is formed in which I will be his trusted advisor. I will finally be my own man, and perhaps D——will be content to stop her persecutions of my sister. Only then will I decide if I can live with her as man and wife.
If our plan fails, and I hesitate to look into my future if it does, I worry that D——will attempt something vindictive against B——. Yet I cannot warn B——now, lest I place D——in trouble.
D——has been to the shop to covertly visit Belle. I’m not sure I approve of D——inspecting my sister without her knowledge. D——is capable of great hostility, I believe, and I dread to think of what she might do under failed circumstances—
“Good Lord,” Put said. “This woman is unhinged. She must be the source of all the rumors. Miss Stirling might be in grave danger at this very moment.”
“I’m afraid it’s going to be of no concern to the government, Boyce. We achieved our aim of destroying the conspiracy, and no one will take up the cause of a quarrel between a conspirator’s doxy and his sister.”
So that was how the board was warping. Very well. When could a peer be trusted either for payment or for justice?
To his credit, Harrowby flinched under Put’s hard stare. He held up his hands. “I can’t help you, Boyce. My regrets.”
Put got up wordlessly, folded the papers, and pressed them into Harrowby’s hand. “Have my tools sent back to my shop on Curtain Road,” he barked at the Earl of Harrowby, who meekly nodded.
Once again, Put fled into the streets of London, where it was now raining with malicious force. Ignoring the soaking downpour, he ran like an overflowing river, jumping over and around anything in his path on his way to Oxford Street.
Darcey could hardly believe her moment had come. The flicker of fear in Annabelle Stirling’s eyes was a glorious sight to behold.
“What do you want from me?” Belle asked.
Yes, there was fear in her eyes, but not enough of it to suit Darcey. Wesley’s sister had always been too uppity, too sure of herself. She had to be brought to her knees first.
“I want you to beg for your life before I kill you.”
Belle’s gaze shifted to the other end of the counter and back to Darcey. This wouldn’t do at all. Belle Stirling wasn’t nearly frightened enough.
“I’ll not beg anything from you,” Wesley’s sister said. Spat, was more like it. It was time to get this arrogant biddy under control.
“You’ll do as I say. Everyone always does, eventually.”
“I’ve never paid attention to foolishness, and I don’t intend to start today.”
How dare she accuse Darcey of being a fool. “Do you think I’m not intelligent enough to bring you grief? Who do you think left that stinking pile of garbage in front of the shop, and hired those boys to smash your windows? Who would have suggested that you be recruited by other groups wanting to overthrow the government? They were all my brilliant ideas, you know.”
“You’re insane.”
“I’m as sound as anyone, and certainly more so than a feather-brain who couldn’t figure out how to save her brother.” Ha, what a fine dig at Wesley’s sister.
“You know nothing of my relationship with Wesley. And I prefer to know nothing of yours.”
“Then perhaps I should give you deep, intimate detail. About our long nights together at the Horse and Groom. And how I had him completely at my mercy. He did whatever I told him to do.”
“Stop this, now.”
“In fact, no act was too dangerous for my Wesley when it came to my desires. I held complete power over his weak mind.”
“Don’t you dare speak ill of my brother.”
At the loud crack that rang in her ears, Darcey stopped, stunned. It was unbelievable. Wesley’s sister had just struck her in the mouth with her fist.
Darcey put a hand to her lips and looked at her fingers, which came away bloody. “How dare you! You nasty little drab. Killing you will be my greatest happiness.”
“This will not be my last day on the Lord’s earth.”
“That’s a lot of bluster from someone who isn’t the one holding this.” Darcey held up the blade and pointed it at Belle, smiling.
Belle took a step backward. Much better.
“I’m going to slice out your guts and feed them to my dog. I’m going to cut off your head and carry it through London on a pike. I’m going to—”
Darcey was so busy enumerating her planned acts of humiliation for Belle’s dead body that she didn’t notice the draper pick up a large wood spindle from the counter until it was too late. Belle swung it at her, but missed, and it fell to the ground.
How dare this twit attempt to strike Darcey White, twice?
Darcey shoved the knife back into its pouch. Why hurry things?
She picked the spindle up. “Your aim is off.” She swung it herself, with much better accuracy. Belle’s head hit the counter with a satisfying crack before she crumpled to the floor.
But before Darcey could finish her off with the knife she intended to plunge as far into Belle’s heart as she could, she was distracted by a terrible clamoring at the door behind her.
Go away, she thought. The Stirling Drapers shop is not open for business.
But the banging went on endlessly, distracting her from her important task with the prone figure before her.
She tucked the knife back in its pouch once again and turned to see who was creating so much fuss. At that moment, the door crashed open and a thoroughly soaked man came barreling inside.
She could hardly believe her eyes.
“Wesley, sweetheart! I didn’t expect you to meet me here. I’m almost finished with matters here, and then we can sup together.”
Wesley looked at Belle’s fallen form, then back to Darcey. She smiled and held out her arms. How proud he must be of what she’d accomplished here thus far.
“Kiss me, love. Ignore that little bit of nastiness on my mouth. Your sister here”—she nudged Belle with her foot—“was a little spirited and thought she could best me. But we see who is more powerful now, don’t we?”
She walked to Wesley, expecting his arms to open and enfold her. What was wrong with him? As he approached her, his eyes, they were so ... heated. But not in the lustful way she was used to seeing. Had she made a mistake? Did he expect to see more blood? Easily fixed. She withdrew the knife from her pouch again and held it up for him to examine.
The sight of it froze him in place and he locked gazes with Darcey once again.
From behind her, Darcey heard faint movement, a reminder that she must return to the business at hand—
“Drop that knife or I’ll strangle you myself.” Wesley’s voice boomed inside the shop. Whatever was the matter with him? Her Wesley would never treat her so roughly.
Why, this wasn’t Wesley at all. Who was it? She needed time to think.
But the man refused to give her time to deliberate on what was happening. He grabbed her wrist and shook it to dislodge the knife, which clattered to the floor.
She reached out her free hand and scratched him, as deeply
as she could manage, across the face. The man yelped in pain and released her. Darcey searched the floor for the knife. Ah, there it was. She bent down just as the man swiped at the air to grab her again, while clutching his other hand to his cheek.
May you suffer for eternity, she thought, for daring to impersonate my Wesley.
The knife’s leather handle felt warm and comfortable in her palm, like the touch of an old friend. She should have stolen it from her father’s collection long ago.
The man reached for her again, but this time he made contact with her neck. So her attacker thought he might choke her, did he?
Darcey brought the blade up in the air, intending to thrust it into the man’s neck, but he released her neck and stepped back from her, and she cut through air.
And thus her dance with the man continued relentlessly, he trying to divest her of her weapon, Darcey slicing through the air at him, the man dodging her lunges.
Dodging all of them, damn him.
But she still held the knife firmly in her grasp, and he would eventually tire. She would stab him, then return to Belle and slice her heart open, as well. And Wesley would be impressed by the quick dispatch of her two enemies.
“Darcey.” She heard her name spoken in a flat tone, and turned toward the sound of it.
She saw the cloud of smoke and flash of fire from behind the shop’s counter just before the deafening bang that followed it. What was this? As if in a dream, she felt herself slowly falling backward, down, down—ah! Such exquisite pain as her head struck the floor. All was eerily silent in her murky dream. She turned her head in time to witness her knife dropping down beside her.
She tried to focus on the movements surrounding her. Familiar faces hovered above her own. Wesley? No, it was that other man. Why was he poking about her bodice? And why was Belle there? She should be dead, killed by Darcey’s own hand. No, wait, she hadn’t had an opportunity to stab her yet.
Darcey felt around blindly for her knife. Her entire upper body felt like it was weighted down and completely unmovable, preventing her from turning her head to one side and looking for it. Where was it? Gone, it was gone. How could she kill Belle now, and wipe that idiotic look of concern from her face?
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