“You should talk to Luke,” Norah said, and Vivian’s gaze snapped to hers in surprise. Norah laughed. “It is obvious to everyone that the two of you are mad for each other, but it seems you haven’t had that conversation just yet. Communication is often the key to solving life’s riddles.”
“Were you always so wise, Lady Sandton?”
“Absolutely,” Norah laughed.
Male voices came from below, and they did not sound pleased. Within moments Trevor and Luke were in the boxing room. Neither appeared satisfied.
“No luck with the future Prince Consort of England?” Vivian asked as Luke came to join her in the middle of the room.
“He’s an amiable chap, I’ll give him that,” Luke said. “But not very trusting. He even suggested I was trying to postpone the wedding so I might have Princess Charlotte to myself.”
“He apparently didn’t know you’d already wed,” Vivian said with a smirk.
“Indeed,” he replied, but did not return her amusement. “We will have to wait and see if he heeds my warning.”
There was no humor in his eyes. It was heartbreaking to see him like this, and Vivian didn’t like this new, subdued version of her normally jubilant husband. The sooner this spy business was over and done with, the better.
Another messenger came just after seven in the evening, just as Luke and Vivian sat down to dinner with Norah and Trevor.
Trevor read over the message before he offered it to Luke, who took it gingerly, as if it might explode.
Vivian watched as his eyes darted across the page, but the message was short, and he refolded it and set it aside moments later. “It seems my efforts with Leopold were for naught.”
Vivian sighed and sat back in her chair, her dinner of roast and potatoes forgotten. “Well then. It seems this will either be the beginning or the end of my promising career in espionage.”
Chapter Twenty Five
Gaining access to Carlton House was impossibly effortless, and it made Luke uneasy.
They moved through the conservatory, and the pillars and high arches reminded him of the cathedrals they’d recently visited. He and Vivian had entered the house from the southeast, along the back garden to the conservatory on the basement level. Ian’s man inside the royal household, who turned out to be an under butler, was there to admit them without comment before he disappeared into the house. They were now on their own, but from the layout they’d studied into the night and all day, they were able to navigate their way easily enough.
The ease of it all grated on Luke. Easy at the forefront only meant difficulties at the end.
“Luke, stop fidgeting,” Vivian whispered beside him. “You’d think this was your undercover mission.”
“No, but it’s yours. And I don’t like it.”
“We are not turning back now. We are almost there.”
Three more rooms to pass before they reached the servants’ stairs on the opposite side of the house. They would come up to the principal floor just outside the octagonal gallery. From there, it was up another set of stairs, and finding the access to the attic.
They passed another maid, the white of her cap pulled down over her brow as she carried two porcelain water pitchers down the hallway. Luke turned to watch her further, thinking he recognized her, but she couldn’t be who he thought she was.
He turned with Vivian and moved into a servants’ staircase. They paused and listened, but after a beat of not hearing any echoing footfalls, they moved quickly up the staircase.
They paused again at the base of the second set of stairs leading up to the upper floors, but he was suddenly in the path of Lord Castlereagh.
Luke quickly turned back, but then the Foreign Minister called out his name. He was caught.
“Go,” he said quietly to Vivian and she walked on as if she’d meant to walk away from him all along.
Luke spun around and smiled at Lord Castlereagh.
“Foreign Minister,” Luke said with a bowed head. “Such joyous celebrations are afoot!”
The Foreign Minister glared. “I told you to stay far away from this house.”
Luke shrugged and threw a suggestive glance behind him. “Sometimes I just can’t help myself.”
Castlereagh’s displeasure was clear. “This is hardly the time to chase a bit of skirt. I suggest you leave at once and return to your wife. For shame, Lord Kenswick. You’ve been married less than a month.”
Luke shrugged again, a wicked grin plastered on his face, as if he didn’t care that he’d been caught stepping out on his new wife. It didn’t matter the Foreign Minister had jumped to the worst possible conclusion, only that Castlereagh hadn’t noticed the maid in question was in fact Luke’s wife. That would be more difficult to explain.
Castlereagh held out his arm, and indicated Luke was to accompany him. They moved through the octagon gallery and out into the great hall. Castlereagh pointed at the front doors.
“Send my regards to the newlyweds,” Luke said with a tip of his hat. And like that, he was gone. He trotted down the stairs under the grand portico, and disappeared into the crowd amassed on Pall Mall.
It was all up to Vivian now.
* * *
The upper level was a flurry of activity as the Prince Regent prepared for his daughter’s wedding, but no one seemed to notice a lone maid amongst the crowd. Which was fortunate, as Vivian did not want to be seen.
She moved past the grand staircase, through a library and an armory before she found the set of rooms the maid had indicated had access to the attic. She was in an office of sorts, and it was thankfully deserted. After searching the paneling along the ceiling, she found what she was searching for. Using a chair as a step stool, she climbed quickly, pushing open the panel in the ceiling and hoisting herself into the attic.
A jungle of wooden beams met her, much as she’d expected. She’d seen enough architectural drawings to know how buildings worked. There was enough space between the walkway planks and the ceiling to stand upright, if she was careful of the few lower-lying beams. Luke would have been too tall to stand at his full height.
The lighting was low as she moved slowly down the planks, and some tilted and twisted under her weight. No doubt the constant construction Carlton House seemed to be under had made some of the supports unsteady.
She’d reached the end of the house, and had to be above the correct room. In the rafters of the attic the rooms were not divided as they were on the main floor but there was a chimney stack reaching up from the room below to the roof above. The Crimson Drawing room had a fireplace. This had to be the right spot.
Vivian swung under another series of beams angled to the roof. There, near ten feet from her, sat a curious looking water pitcher, a thin, blackened rope peeking out the top. An identical one sat ten feet towards the wall, both evenly positioned from the exterior wall, near the bricks of the chimney.
The black rope was a fuse, Vivian realized. These were the grenades. If they exploded, the shock of energy would take out the support beams. The ceiling would come crashing down upon those below.
She couldn’t reach the devices from the planks of the walkway; she would have to shimmy out onto the support beam.
“You really shouldn’t.”
Vivian froze. Laced with a thick French accent, the voice didn’t belong to the kind of person Vivian had thought she might encounter. She’d expected one of the traitors, Redley even, but the voice belonged to a woman.
Vivian turned around slowly. A dark-haired woman dressed as a maid stood a few feet behind her, her head tilted as she regarded Vivian.
She nodded towards the two porcelain pitchers. “You could reach them, pour certain, but that beam isn’t well supported. It nearly collapsed when I set them there.”
“Have you lit them?”
“Does it matter if I have?”
“I don’t particularly want to die up here.”
“Why not?” the woman asked, her French accent clipping her tone.
“I’m willing to die for my country, n'est-ce pas?”
Vivian moved closer to the first explosive and the woman moved with her.
“You should be on your way, non? You are unarmed, and yet you stand here, persisting. How very quaint.”
“I assure you I have no intention of allowing you to murder the heads of my government.”
“You have an adorable line of courage through you,” the woman mocked. “Like a kitten with its hackles up. You’re not what I assumed you to be.”
“Do not presume to know me. My courage seems to always arise whenever the occasion requires it. Any attempt to intimidate me will be met with sheer stubbornness.”
Of course, she would find a quote for a time like this.
“Then I cannot frighten you away, non?” the Frenchwoman asked and closed the distance between them.
Vivian shook her head. “I am rarely frightened by the will of another.”
“If intimidation will not work, I will have to resort to other means,” the woman stated. “Last warning.”
“I’m not leaving until you do.”
The woman’s kick came out of nowhere, and Vivian staggered back from the blow. An arm swung towards her head, and something from her father’s lessons, or Quan’s, registered and Vivian blocked the attack with her forearm. The woman pursued with a series of strikes in rapid succession. Vivian’s reactions were more self-defense than actual skill, but she managed to block the attack and scurry away.
“You’ve had some training.” The woman pursued her across the beams. “Wherever did he find you?”
Vivian didn’t dare ask who she was referring to, though it could have only been Luke.
She moved away from where the royal wedding had begun beneath their feet, and hoped she could distract the woman long enough for the wedding to conclude.
Vivian swung through the rafters, the beams like the arms of the tree branches she’d careened through as a child. She moved lithely through them, careful not to cause too much of a disturbance lest someone below come to investigate. The longer she could delay, the better, but how long would this cat and mouse game continue?
It couldn’t, Vivian realized. The woman was likely to get tired of this charade and leave Vivian to go light the explosives.
“Are you doing this for love?” the woman’s voice echoed throughout the wood lining the attic. “You know it is all a charade, non? An act. He doesn’t love you. He is simply using you.”
Vivian ducked under a beam and pressed her back against the wood. If the woman came closer Vivian could…
Could what? What could she possibly do? She wasn’t armed; they’d decided against it in the event she was discovered. It would be more difficult, and more damning, to explain her presence in Carlton House carrying a loaded weapon. If this woman was who Vivian thought she was, aside from that raising a thousand questions, Vivian knew she was no match for her physically. A trained French spy? Vivian could not hope to overpower her.
You don’t need to be stronger or better trained, Quan’s voice echoed in her head. You just need to be cleverer. Fight smart, fight dirty if you must.
“He needed something from you,” the woman taunted, her voice closer.
At best, if Vivian could get on the other side of the woman, she could reach the explosives before the woman overtook her.
Vivian found a broken plank, about the length of her arm, and held it tightly in her hand, ready to swing if necessary.
She edged around the beam as the woman continued her taunts, the thickness of her accent obscuring some of the words, but Vivian did not pay attention. Her mission was simple: allow the heads of the government to get out alive.
“He doesn’t deserve your allegiance,” the woman sneered.
Vivian twisted around the pillar and swung the wood with all her strength. The woman didn’t expect the blow and Vivian caught her off guard.
Vivian turned and ran, not sure if the woman pursued, but after a moment, she could hear footsteps behind her, and suddenly, and arm came around her and pulled her to the floor.
The two women rolled along the walkway. Vivian kicked and scrambled away, but tripped as she got to her feet. The woman grabbed at her ankle and Vivian slipped again, the wood hard against her hands and knees as she fell again.
Vivian kicked once more and her heel made contact with the woman’s cheek. Then she was on her feet, and scampering towards the other side of the house, but again the woman overtook her. She clutched Vivian around the neck, and threw her against a wooden pillar, her hold tight.
“Your husband doesn’t deserve your allegiance.”
“My husband loves me,” Vivian gasped out, and she knew it was the truth, even if Luke had never said the words.
The woman laughed. “That man loves himself, and nothing else.”
“You are wrong.”
The Frenchwoman was stronger than she looked. Her nails dug into the flesh of Vivian’s neck, as Vivian struggled against her.
“I know him all too well,” she sneered and leaned closer to Vivian. “I should, as I was once his wife.”
A fury and a will to live like Vivian had never known overtook her. She grabbed a handful of the woman’s dark hair and pulled her head down as Vivian’s knee came up. The woman—who could only be Colette—stumbled and released Vivian with a curse. Vivian pushed her and the woman stumbled. She twisted to catch her balance as she fell, barely touching the floor before she was on her feet again.
Vivian ducked and wove around her, striking her on the shoulder and neck as Quan had taught her. Colette swung again, but Vivian bobbed out of her reach. Again, Colette swung, but her hand hit the beam as Vivian ducked, the wood splintering on impact.
Colette staggered back a step and Vivian took the opportunity again to dash towards where the true danger lay.
She slid down the beams and found the first device, right where they’d left them. The beam was indeed flawed, but Vivian moved carefully over the area. She kneeled beside the cream water pitcher and yanked the yarn wick from the seal of wax.
Vivian rose, the fuse clutched tightly in her hand. One down, one more to go.
She turned to where the other explosive was positioned a few yards away, and froze.
Colette had lit the black wick fuse of the other explosive. The fuse flared to life and began to burn towards the wax seal. Beneath the seal was an abhorrent amount of gunpowder that would ignite and detonate everything around it.
Including Vivian and Luke’s not-dead wife.
With a smirk, the woman tossed it to Vivian, who caught it and stared at the burning fuse in horror.
“It seems your husband will lose another wife today. Such a waste, really. You could have served your country well.”
Without thought, Vivian grasped the burning end of the lit fuse and yanked hard. Pain seared through her hand, but it barely registered as she separated fuse from device.
Colette stared at her in fury, her gaze darting between the water pitcher and the fuse burned into Vivian’s hand. Hard eyes filled with rage met Vivian’s and Colette charged towards her.
Vivian grasped the water pitcher by the handle and swung. The pitcher made contact with the woman’s head and shattered as Colette fell onto the wooden support planks above the crimson drawing room. Before Vivian could think, she found the other pitcher and shattered it over Colette’s head. A black cloud of fine gunpowder engulfed the space. Vivian took a few steps away and coughed as the gunpowder entered her lungs.
A heartbeat or two passed and the woman did not move, but Vivian didn’t wait any longer. She turned and ran.
Her heart pounded loudly in her ears, as she jumped down into the office rooms from the attic. She encountered no one as she slipped down the servants’ stairs all the way to the basement level. She practically ran through the corridors, past the wine cellar and the grand staircase. The basement level was a maze of rooms, but her late night study of the layout afforded her no mistakes. She finally escap
ed through a door on the western side of Carlton House. Once outside, she shook what black powder she could from her own clothing and hair and pulled the white apron over her neck. The white cap was discarded as well, a mystery dumped in a bush for some gardener to wonder over later.
She ducked between the amassed carriages that lined the front of Carlton House and slipped unseen into the crowd. No one looked at her, more concerned about the royal wedding that had happened beneath Vivian’s feet.
Luke, she simply needed to get to Luke.
And he was there, near a lamppost across the road, where he’d said he would wait for her.
His eyes grew wide as he saw her, and she was in his arms before either could say another word.
After a long moment he released her, looking her up and down. His eyes grew wide. “Vivian, you’re covered in gunpowder. Are you hurt? What happened?”
“They’ve been destroyed. The devices, they were in water pitchers.”
His eyes clouded. “There was a maid… I knew she looked off!”
She loosened her grip on the waxed fuses still wrapped tightly in her fist and offered them to Luke.
He looked down and his gaze darkened. “Your hand…”
She didn’t feel the pain but didn’t want to see what damage had been done. “The maid, she lit one. I had to pull it, or else…”
Luke laughed and kissed her firmly. “You are mad, woman, but I love you for it.”
He pulled her into his arms and she buried her head against his chest. She took a deep steadying breath of comfort before she pulled away.
“Luke, listen to me, please. The other woman, the maid, she was my height, dark hair, bright blue eyes. I don’t understand how, but it was Colette.”
“Come,” he said and pulled her through the crowd. “This isn’t over yet.”
Chapter Twenty Six
The implications of Vivian’s words swarmed about in Luke’s head but he tried to tamp them down. The madness surrounding the streets around Carlton House and St. James Square, all the way to Piccadilly, made it difficult to escape the crowds.
The Spy’s Convenient Bride: The Macalisters, Book Five Page 32
