Dangerous to Hold (13 page)

“Nor manners, nor scruples. You’d be much better off with Wrotham.”

“But why hasn’t he answered my notes?”

“There could be any number of reasons. Only he can tell you.”

Julia looked down and carefully stirred the silver spoon in her cup. When she looked up, the calculating glint was back in her eyes. “You and Wrotham were very close at one time, were you not?”

It was common knowledge, so Amy didn’t try to deny it. “I was his mistress once, but that was more than ten years ago. We parted as friends, and we have remained on good terms since then.”

“Do you know what I admire about you, Amy? You
don’t have a jealous bone in your body. If I were you, I’d want to scratch out the eyes of any woman Wrotham looked at.” Julia forgot the silvery laugh and giggled. “Only, it’s the other way round, isn’t it? It’s women who can’t take their eyes off him,”

“Jealousy,” said Amy dryly, “is something women in our position cannot afford. Only wives are allowed to be jealous. Remember that before you begin to spread rumors about Wrotham. You wouldn’t want to make an enemy of him.”

“No indeed,” said Julia.

She did not remain long after that, and when she left she was more like herself—in short, full of herself.

From an upstairs window, Amy watched her enter her carriage, then she went immediately to her escritoire in her bedchamber where she began to compose a letter to Catherine. Her thoughts were chaotic, and she started over several times. She’d just begun on her fifth attempt when a footman brought a large package that had just been delivered to the house. Inside, there was a framed watercolor of Hampstead Heath, with a note attached.
Happy birthday, Amy
, she read.
Love, Cat.

She stared at that note and watercolor, feeling as though her heart would break. When she had control of herself, she called for her footman and ordered her coach to be brought round. A few minutes later, she sent another footman after him to cancel the order. For this journey, she preferred the anonymity of a hackney coach.

Catherine watched
El Grande
in silence as he used the tongs to add coal to the fire in her study. Major Carruthers had chosen to sit at the desk, and he was absentmindedly drumming his fingers as he reviewed the facts of the case. They had been talking for more than an hour, going over things in much the same way as she and Marcus had done the week before.

This wasn’t the first conference she’d had with Major Carruthers. They’d met earlier in the week in a back room of a ladies’ dress shop. But it was the first time she had seen
El Grande
in a long while. She knew that Marcus was fishing at a friend’s place in the country for a few days. There were no servants in the house; she had encouraged the McNallys to visit their daughter in Twick-enham, and they would not return until the next day.

El Grande
caught Catherine’s stare and he smiled. “English summers are hard to get used to,” he said, pointing to the fire in the grate.

“Autumn has arrived early,” she said. He was a year younger than she. But he had a presence that had nothing to do with age. Still, it was not the same presence he’d possessed when he was the leader of the partisans. He’d been everything his legend said he was and more besides. But that was before they’d driven the French from Spain. Now he was only a shade of his former self. It hurt her to see him like this, but what hurt her most was that she didn’t know how to help him.

When Major Carruther’s fingers stopped drumming, his companions turned to look at him. He was a commanding figure even though he wasn’t in uniform. His height was well above six feet, his face was handsome
and in spite of his forty-eight years, there was no gray in his crop of thick brown hair.

“Interesting,” he said, “very interesting. Did I mention that Wrotham’s war record is outstanding? No one in his regiment has anything but good to say about him.”

Catherine said, “So you think he is telling the truth?”

“I didn’t say that. Appearances can be deceiving. Where was I? Oh yes. Now that I’ve done a little digging and have more to go on, here’s how I see it. Colonel Barnes was murdered. There’s no doubt about that. As for the other ‘accidents,’ frankly, I don’t believe they were accidents. I’m with Wrotham on that, and for the same reasons. It’s too neat and tidy. There were no witnesses. So where does that leave us? I’ll tell you where.”

He went on at some length, going over the same ground that she’d gone over with Marcus. He always came back to the same thing: if all these men had been murdered, it was logical to assume that one of the survivors was responsible, either Marcus or the Rifleman.

“But if Wrotham is the murderer,” said Catherine, “why would he draw attention to the deaths of these men? It doesn’t make sense.”

Carruthers replied, “What better way to throw us off the scent should he be the last survivor and people begin to ask questions? But all this is speculation until we know more.”

Then without warning, he pounced on her. “And we mustn’t forget you, Catherine,” he said. “You have a motive for doing away with Wrotham.”

Color bloomed in her cheeks. At their last meeting, she’d had to tell Major Carruthers that she was the woman Marcus had married in Spain. She’d told him only that she’d done it out of anger, because Wrotham had been trifling with her, and that she’d assumed he would annul the marriage once the war was over. It had never occurred to her that the major would conclude that her vendetta against Wrotham might be a murderous one.

Then she caught the twinkle in his eye and remembered that Major Carruthers liked nothing better than to shake people up. Relaxing, she said, “I suppose you’ll say
next that I’ve involved British Intelligence just to throw you off the scent.”

Catherine looked at
El Grande
and found herself responding to his smile. For a fleeting moment she saw the old
El Grande
, the man who had been her friend and mentor.

Carruthers was frowning down at his fingers, which had started to drum again, and he clenched them into a fist. Looking up, he said, “I can’t investigate the Rifleman when I don’t know who he is. As I’ve already told you, there shouldn’t have been any Riflemen there at the time. They must have been deserters who had the bad luck to run into a French patrol. We may never find out.

“In any event, all we have to go on is Wrotham.” His eyes were trained on Catherine. “Whether or not he knows that you are Catalina doesn’t matter. We want you to accept his proposition and find out what he’s really up to, if anything. Gather as much information as you can. Who does he see? Where does he go? Work your way into his confidence and see what he knows. If he’s innocent, well and good. Then we’ll know the Rifleman is behind everything. But, for the moment, let’s proceed on the assumption that Wrotham is guilty. It’s safer that way.

“If he’s the killer, remember he has struck many times. It goes without saying that you will take every precaution. You know how to take care of yourself.”

“I understand,” she said quietly, “and I accept.”

As soon as she said the words, she began to feel the blood pumping through her veins. She was on a mission again, and all her senses and faculties were sharpening. She had wished for a little more excitement in her life—but not this much excitement.

Major Carruthers said, “You must never drop your guard. You must always suspect the worst.
Always.
I hear Wrotham is a charming, presentable gentleman. He has a way with woman. Don’t let him get too close to you.”

“Let me reassure you on that point,” she said. “I know what Wrotham is, and I completely despise him.”

She flashed a look at
El Grande
, but this time, he did not return her smile. He said, “If you betray your dislike, he may become suspicious.”

“I know how to do my job,” she said.

“Good girl.” Major Carruthers rose to his feet. “Barnes was one of my best Observing Officers. He was also related to the Minister. I’m under great pressure to get to the bottom of this. There are still details to be worked out—your contact and so forth.”

“What about Robert? Doesn’t he have a part to play?” She and
El Grande
had always worked together.

“Absolutely not, but I’ll leave him to tell you why. I know you want some time together. Shall I wait for you, Robert?”

“Thank you, no. I’ll find my own way home.”

“As you wish.”

When Catherine returned to her study after seeing Major Carruthers out,
El Grande
rose from his chair and held out his arms. She walked into them without hesitation.

“Oh, Robert, I …” She was too overcome to say more.

“I’ve missed you too,” he said. “You’re well? Happy?” He held her at arm’s length.

“I’m fine. And you?”

“I don’t have the nightmares any more, and Father Mallory says that’s progress. But Catalina, why did you agree to take this mission?”

She pulled out of his arms. “Because Major Carruthers is right. This is the perfect opportunity to solve the mystery. No one else could get as close to Wrotham as I can. No one else could play the part of Catalina.”

He had a way of fixing his gaze on people that made them question the truth of what they were saying, what they were thinking, what they were feeling. That look always made her squirm.

He said, “You’re not still trying to punish Wrotham for what he did to your sister?”

“I don’t know why I ever told you about Amy,” she said crossly.

“For the same reason that I told you about my family. We are friends.”

“That’s not the reason. It’s because you have a talent for making people tell you their darkest secrets.”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

She let out an exasperated breath, then laughed. “No. It’s not for revenge. It’s for all the reasons I gave you, and …”

“And?” he prompted.

“I don’t know if I can put this into words. My life lacks something, but I don’t know what. Oh, not a man. In fact, a husband would only spoil things for me, take away my liberty.” She shrugged helplessly. “Life, of late, has become too tame. Am I making sense?”

He touched a hand to her cheek. “Poor Catalina. Poor me. The war has changed us. It seems we are both making our souls in our different ways.”

She didn’t want to pursue that subject because there was something that was bothering her. “Robert, you don’t really think Wrotham is the murderer, do you?”

“No. I keep remembering that threat I used to force him to marry you.”

“Wrotham mentioned that, too. You threatened to kill all his comrades.”

“It seems to me that if he’d wanted his comrades dead, he would have called my bluff.”

She shook her head. “You and Wrotham think alike. He thinks you meant what you said and now you are acting on it.”

“Dios!
And why should I do that?”

“That’s what he wants to discover.”

They both smiled. “I wish,” said Catherine, “that we could do this together, just like the old days.”

“Carruthers won’t allow me to be a part of this. He knows my days as an agent are over.”

When she began to protest, he went on quietly, “You know, yourself, my heart wouldn’t be in it. I’m not the man I once was. I’m not
El Grande.
I’m a man who doesn’t see much point in anything. I wouldn’t be a help to you. I’d make mistakes, and that could prove disastrous. Major Carruthers knows that—which is why he won’t allow me to be part of it.”

Before she could respond to this, the knocker
sounded on the front door. It took a moment for Catherine to remember that there were no servants to answer it. When she rose, he rose with her.

In his grave way, he said, “We’ve said everything that needs to be said, haven’t we?”

“No, don’t go. It’s such a long time since we’ve seen each other. I’ll get rid of whoever is at the door, then we’ll talk about the old times. All right?”

He was very gracious. He always was. “I’ll take a turn in the garden,” he said.

She watched him leave by the French doors, then she hurried to answer the knocker. At first, Catherine didn’t recognize the lady who stood on her doorstep. She was dressed in black and a heavy net veil concealed her face. Then the lady pushed past her and entered the house and recognition dawned.