Sari Robins (4 page)

Adjusting his own coat, not a Weston, but decent enough, Heath reclined into the opposite chair.

Lady Bright sighed. “I was just telling Mr. Bartlett here about the terrible wrong my poor cousin George has suffered.”

“A travesty.” Penelope’s lovely face was troubled. “One that must be righted. Especially since he has finally agreed to consider marriage. Why, Mama’s been after him for years, but now, only after Grandmama’s death, and the terms of her will—”

“That’s enough dear,” Lady Bright interjected with a meaningful glare. “There’s no need to bore these men with unnecessary details. They simply need to understand the significance of this injustice.”

Nodding sagely, Dagwood set his quizzing glass to his eye. The man had the most astonishing way of focusing on a person, making him feel, for good or ill, that his commanding attention was completely trained upon him.

Penelope leaned toward Dagwood. “Mr. Bartlett said something about you only handling matters pertaining to the Crown.”

That’s not what I said
, Heath thought, but correcting Penelope would earn him no credit.

Peering through his monocle, Dagwood pursed his lips. “Mr. Bartlett is quite right that I’m assigned the task of representing the Crown on legal matters. This can entail serving a function in the courts, providing legal advice, questions involving public welfare. Law officers are consulted for intricate legal matters involving debts to the Crown, thefts from the Crown…”—he smiled, and Heath knew this was his trump card—“exceptional prosecutions…”

“This is extraordinarily exceptional!” Lady Bright declared. “This Jezebel should be prosecuted to the full extent of the law! She should be hanged!”

Jezebel?
This was a new twist.

Tilting his head, Dagwood held open his hand. “One cannot make accusations without evidence. We must be very clear on the facts before making a case for exceptional prosecution.”

Dagwood would be careful about this, especially after the Beaumont affair. Penelope had been right about one thing: it had been a wretched bungle. Although the evidence had seemed unambiguous and had pointed directly at Beaumont’s guilt, the real culprit had designed it to be so. Dagwood had arrested and tried to convict the wrong peer of the realm, very publicly, and very aggressively. When the truth had come to light, it had been a terrible embarrassment to their office and to Dagwood personally.

Since then, Dagwood had asked Heath to review every case with him and to assess every matter with a critical eye. Heath had been more flattered by this task than any other in his short career.

“But this thief cannot act with impunity!” Lady Bright shook her fist, making the lacy handkerchief flutter.

“I’m not saying she or he will get away with it.” Dagwood waved a hand. “I’m simply saying that the matter should be investigated thoroughly before one arrests anyone, or even goes about declaring another person’s guilt. One wouldn’t want to be sued for slander, now would one?”

“No…certainly not…but she couldn’t…could she?” Lady Bright frowned, the conversation obviously not going as she’d anticipated.

Dagwood shrugged, noncommittal. Then he turned to Heath. “And what have you to say on the matter, Bartlett? You have a knack for prosecutions.”

Heath rubbed his chin. “I believe that a full investigation is in order. To see if a crime has been committed.” His gaze moved to Lady Bright. “And to protect those who are interested in seeing justice properly done. Slander can be a wretchedly messy affair and can be avoided by a detailed inquiry.”

Lady Bright nodded so vigorously her chins jiggled. She obviously included herself in those to be protected by Heath and his office, a nice twist in their relationship.

“Excellent notion.” Dagwood smiled. “I will leave it in your capable hands, then.”

Heath inclined his head. “As always, I am at your disposal.”

Dagwood motioned to Lady Bright. “I do not wish to be presumptuous, but may I surmise by your cos
tume that the period of mourning for your dear mother has ended?”

Lady Bright’s cheeks tinged pink. “Yesterday. And not a day too soon; I could not stand to wear all black any longer.”

Heath withheld his smile as Dagwood moved to the next question, “Then shall we all be celebrating an auspicious occasion soon?”

Lady Bright sniffed. “I pray it be so. But at the moment, I can think of nothing but my poor cousin George. How can we go about our business as if nothing has happened? Nay, it cannot be borne. Not until justice is done.”

Dagwood shot Heath a telling glance. This lady was going to press her advantage for all she was worth. “Then we must start the investigation at once. Lady Bright, if you would introduce Mr. Bartlett to your cousin and to all of the pertinent parties?”

Lady Bright smiled, a calculating gleam in her eye. “Of course.”

Masking the fact that he felt like Hercules with his twelve tasks, Heath asked, “And the alleged thief?”

“Lady Golding.”

Heath felt as if he’d just swallowed a hunk of powdery coal. “Lady Golding?” he croaked.

“Are you all right?” Penelope leaned forward, her gaze concerned.

Coughing into his fist, Heath motioned to his throat. “A tickle…nothing…” Trying to regain his composure, he coughed once more. “The baron’s widow?”

Glowering, Lady Bright snorted. “The very same
Jezebel. I should have known that any lady who would drive her husband to kill himself—”

Heath suddenly felt sick, but he pasted a smile on his face. “Wasn’t…he killed in a duel?”

“Driven to it, I’ve heard. And who can blame him after his wife caused his dearest friend’s death? Well, the lady is a…” Lady Bright scowled. “I cannot say such things in front of my virtuous Penelope, but you know of what I speak.”

Pressing his lips together, Heath inhaled a deep breath, trying not to get too much rose perfume.

“Can you get started today?” Dagwood asked, keen enough to note Heath’s discomfort.

Standing, Heath nodded and stepped over to the window. He stared blindly out at the garden, wondering what tricks destiny was playing on him to set Tess in his path twice in one day after so many years apart. “Yes, of course. I will see justice done and the culprit duly punished.” And he meant it. If Tess had done the crime, she’d suffer the consequences. It was as simple as that.

Then again, when it came to Tess, nothing was simple.

T
ess was careful to keep her face fixed and her body positioned in a relaxed pose as she tried to keep her eyes locked with Wheaton’s icy blue gaze. Wheaton disdained weakness, and she wasn’t about to give him the impression that he unsettled her, even if staring into those eyes was like looking into the bleakest winter frost.

Withholding a shiver, she smiled, casually allowing her eyes to drift away, and they invariably fixed on the odd ghouls that her supervisor kept on his mantel. Tess couldn’t fathom why anyone would want a porcelain collection of miniature goblins and ghouls. With their beady eyes, rapacious mouths and thorny talons, they seemed enthralled by the goings-on in the gilded chamber of Wheaton’s house.

The room was warm, yet, as usual, Tess was chilled, feeling no effect from the crackling flames in the hearth. The pleasant scent of cloves filled the air. Tess liked how Wheaton added spices to his grate; at Christmastime her superior always sent her a bag of
cloves so that she could do the same. It was a nice gesture, one that reminded Tess that Wheaton was capable of being a shade warmer than a cold-blooded shark.

“It was a stroke of good luck unearthing that informant at the harbor,” Wheaton declared, leaning back into the seat facing hers. “Now we know of a link in Séverin’s intelligence network. If we can compromise that link, we can impair the frog’s access to information in London. Let us see Napoleon cause mischief without eyes and ears here.”

When he was excited about a matter, as he was at the moment, Wheaton’s face grew flushed, his bulbous nose reddened, and his thick jowls shuddered with each animated breath. When he was like this, Tess couldn’t help but be astounded by Wheaton’s striking resemblance to Father Christmas. Today his snowy white hair was tied back at the neck and his big bushy brows were a little neater than usual, but the likeness was there still. Tess liked imagining Wheaton with sprigs of holly in his long white mane. It helped her see him in a warmer light, something she found necessary to continue working with him.

“Aside from naming the countess, did the informant have anything more to say about her connections?” Tess asked, feeling that the information was less than solid.

From his perch behind Wheaton’s chair, Mr. Reynolds, Wheaton’s wiry “secretary,” added in his nasal voice, “He was a tough nut to crack, but once he did, he was almost done for. He gave up little else.”

Tess shuddered. No matter Mr. Reynolds’s quaint title, Tess knew he was never near a quill or foolscap. The coldness he exuded was far different from Wheaton’s. Wheaton was matter-of-fact about the brutal side of his occupation; Reynolds, on the other hand, seemed to take an unnatural pleasure in his work.

Adjusting her sleeves, Tess took pains not to look Reynolds in the eye. The secretary’s piercing brown gaze was disturbing, like a foul itch that Tess wasn’t allowed to scratch. Tess had yet to understand why Wheaton relied on the man so heavily.

Wheaton looked up at Reynolds, castigation in his icy gaze. “You’re going to have to work at keeping the buggers alive longer if they’re to be of any use. You can’t let your zeal get the best of you.”

Zeal? Tess licked her lips, trying to ignore the revulsion budding up within her. She often lay awake at night haunted by visions of Wheaton and Reynolds setting their ruthless hands on anyone she might know or hold dear.

Inclining his head, Reynolds pursed his reedy lips. “I’ll try to do better next time.”

Turning back to Tess, Wheaton nodded. “See that you do.”

Tess swallowed, pasting an easy smile on her face.
They’re patriots. Their work is necessary to safeguard our homeland. They would never harass a fellow countryman or an innocent. They are in the service of good, and as such would not hurt anyone I love.

Wheaton’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t get thin-skinned on me now, Tess. You understand that these are
traitors—threats to the Crown and a danger to everyone and everything that you cherish.”

“Is there ever the possibility…” Tess cleared her throat. “That you…get the wrong person?”

“Never.” Wheaton made a cutting motion with his hand. “To draw my attention, one has to intend to do harm or actually inflict injury on our land. You know as well as I that only someone up to no good draws my ire.”

Exhaling, Tess forced herself to believe him. Aside from the fact that she felt too tied up with the Foreign Office to extricate herself, she took great pride in the work that she did on behalf of her country.

Wheaton spared Reynolds a glance. “Leave us.”

Reynolds hesitated a moment, and Tess felt his disturbing gaze on her as if he wanted something. She refused to meet his eyes, feeling guilty about it and yet justified. If it weren’t for Wheaton and the work she did, she would never associate with such an odd man.

Without a word, Reynolds slipped from the chamber.

Tess’s shoulders dropped slightly with relief. Wheaton alone was bad enough; with Reynolds she felt as if she was constantly under that unsettling scrutiny.

Leaning forward, Wheaton enclosed Tess’s hand in his warm, meaty grasp. “You are a sharp lady, Tess. Sharp enough to comprehend that the Reynoldses of this world have a place, as do you. Each of us does our part to the best of our ability, keeping in mind the greater good.”

“Yes, of course. I just–—”

Squeezing her hands, Wheaton smiled in a grandfatherly way. “And to protect the greater good, we must dirty our hands a little. A necessary evil, so to speak, but one we did not choose. Were it not for Napoleon’s voracious thirst for power and England’s steadfast resolution to stop him, we would not be at this place and we would not be forced to do the things we do.”

Tess knew she was being worked on, but didn’t mind. She wondered if all of Wheaton’s assets needed a bit of bolstering now and again.

He sighed. “We are simply doing what is necessary to protect ourselves, Tess. I shudder to think what Napoleon and his dog Séverin would do if their merciless reach came over our dear land. The French are animals. Without honor or thought for the innocents in this game. They sent a lady here to infiltrate London society. A lady, for heaven’s sake! This is not a game of lawn battledore! Men use knives and firearms, not paddles and shuttlecocks! It’s a dangerous business. No place for a lady.”

It was reassuring that Wheaton deemed her intelligence gathering as so low risk. Yet he failed to consider the wreck and ruin that might result to her already tattered reputation if anyone knew that she was passing along information to the Foreign Office. Wheaton held society in disdain, and did not care one whit about its favor. Tess wished she could be so cavalier; whether accepted or reviled, it was her world and she couldn’t help but care.

Wheaton scratched a snowy whisker. “Could you
imagine what Séverin would do if he ever learned of you? I don’t think he would appreciate the innocuousness of your efforts on my behalf.”

Tess doubted that
all
the information she passed along was completely harmless. A little fact about a looming debt or a cousin in France could lead to further questions and deeper secrets still. But that was not her purview, and Tess chose to believe Wheaton’s little lie, for she could not bear to dwell on the truth of it.

Wheaton’s bushy brows rose. “Can you imagine how he would treat a little flower like…what is your assistant’s name? You know, the one with the pretty dark curls.”

A chill slithered up Tess’s spine.

He shrugged. “I’m simply giving an example.”

Tess willed her heart to calm. She felt like one of those newfangled lanterns, the ones with the many mirrors reflecting the inner light. With different people she showed different aspects of her personality, but none of them was the whole picture.

Now, with Wheaton, she was the appearance of calm indifference, but she listened, hard. Nuance was her specialty; hidden meanings, his.

Removing her hand from his, Tess coughed into her balled fist to adjust her voice to an even tone. “Is that something you anticipate?”

“What?”

“Exposure.”

“I must anticipate every move our enemies might make. Even the most repulsive.” Again that grand
fatherly smile. “But this is all conjecture. There is no danger that I foresee. To you or to your assistant.”

Tess met that icy, all-too-innocent gaze. She realized that it was a mistake to try to paint Wheaton as anything but the cold-blooded viper he was. Better to appreciate the dangers than to get bitten by the hand that supposedly fed her.

He sniffed. “I am simply reminding you how important the work that we do is to all that we hold dear.”

“I wouldn’t be doing the work if it wasn’t important.”

“May I remind you that it was money that led you to sign on in the first instance. Not patriotic duty.”

Looking down, she made a point of examining a fingernail. “You seem to forget the fact that you were threatening to tell everyone that I’d written the article on the Brinkley affair in the
Girard Street Crier
.”

“Would it bother you if people knew?”

She shrugged. “Not so much anymore. But at the time, yes, it was quite incendiary. And staying anonymous did greatly influence my decision—”

“There’s no need to discuss matters long forgotten,” he interrupted, holding up a hand. “I’m simply hoping to encourage your efforts where they have been less than forceful.”

She looked up. “When have my efforts been less than required?”

“When it comes to that society for females.”

Tess smiled. “I would think that you have more important things to engage your valuable time—”

“That’s why I’m the one who
thinks
and you’re the one who simply gathers the information.”

Tess licked her suddenly dry lips, waiting for him to drop his coup de grâce. Wheaton’s gaze was too self-satisfied; he knew something, for sure.

“Countess di Notari made application for membership at your society yesterday. Something you would already know if you were investigating the society as I’d asked you to.”

Tess willed her cheeks not to warm. “I spend a considerable amount of time and energy at the society—”

“On those wretched ‘good works’ projects, not on the members’ activities. What can you learn of use if you whittle away your hours at Marks-Cross Street Prison?”

“Other members volunteer with me. But that’s not the issue. So what if the countess the informant mentioned has applied for membership? That doesn’t paint the entire society as seditious.”

“But it’s telling.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps she wanted an easier entrée into London society.”

“How telling her membership application is will be for you to discover. As part of that process, you will investigate the society and its members and find out all I wish to know.”

“When did the countess arrive in London?”

“Last week.”

Exhaling, Tess considered it a long moment. “And she already made application for membership at the society. That is a bit hasty, considering setting up house, retaining servants, entering society…”

Wheaton smiled. “There’s a girl. Get the scent.”

I’m not a hound.
But Tess knew that this was a compliment, coming from Wheaton. She nodded. “I’ll get started straight away.”

“I have a golden opportunity for you.”

“Do tell.”

“The president of the society, the Earl of Wootton-Barrett’s daughter—”

“Lady Edwina Devane.”

“Yes, her. Well Lady Devane has asked for a volunteer to oversee the new applicants and evaluate them. Lady Janelle Blankett has expressed interest in the position, but you will ensure that the job comes to you.”

Her brows furrowed, evidencing her surprise. “How do you know all this?”

Leaning back, Wheaton smiled. “Oh, I have my sources.”

“If your sources are so good, then why do you need me to look into the society?” And who was providing Wheaton with such information? But whoever they were, Wheaton clearly wanted more than they could provide. Tess wondered if it was one of the servants.

“Stop challenging me on this, Tess, and do what I’m paying you for. You shall use the cloak of office to learn everything about the countess. Where she calls, with whom she eats, with whom she corresponds, and most especially with whom she shares her bed. At the same time, you will ingratiate yourself into the upper echelons of leadership in the society and get to know all of the members.”

“I’m still working on Searles and Jacobs. And then there’s the Hogsworth matter.” She didn’t bother to mention her work at Andersen Hall since Wheaton clearly disapproved of her good works.

“Put everything off. This is more important. The countess takes full priority.”

“As you wish.” Tess rose, anxious to be free of Wheaton. She didn’t mind the work, felt good about aiding her country, was proud of her efforts and her independence. Yet she wished that she could collaborate with people a little less…zealous, as Wheaton put it. Then again, a wilting lily would make a dreadful spy.

“I’ll report to you next week, sir.”

Wheaton stood. “Report to Reynolds.”

Tess ignored the drop in her belly. “Not to you?”

“No.”

“Is this…is this a permanent arrangement?”

His smile was noncommittal. “Nothing’s permanent in our game, except for the fact that our enemies are dogged and so are we.”

Nodding, Tess absorbed this new twist. She of all people knew that if a situation had the opportunity to worsen, it would.

“He prefers a report every third day.”

She straightened. “Every third day? Even if there’s nothing to report?”

“That’s what he’s asked for.”

“What a waste of time! I can do more good gathering information than making arrangements for clandestine meetings with him.” Pulling on her gloves,
she shook her head. “No. I’ll contact him as soon as I have some intelligence to share.”

“He will not like it.”

“Then I’ll report to you.”

He tilted his head. “I’ll be traveling a bit.”

“But you will be back in London.”

“Off and on, perhaps. But I still want you to report to Reynolds. He’s asked for more responsibility, and I want to see him rise to the occasion.”