The Wicked Spy (Blackhaven Brides Book 7) Page 12

  “Then make them available,” the young man blustered.

  “I wonder if I might be of assistance?” Louis said politely, bowing to the blushing young lady.

  Distracted, the young man stared at him suspiciously, then jerked out a bow in return. “Why, have you taken our rooms?” he demanded.

  “Alas, no, or I should, of course, have given them up to the lady. I have a room you would regard as barely large enough for one let alone for two.”

  “Then you’ll forgive my shortness, sir, but I fail to see how you might help,” the man exclaimed crossly. “Unless it be by beating this fellow until—.”

  Louis laughed, a curiously calming sound. Anna felt as if she were at the theatre enjoying a particularly fine performance. “Well, this fellow’s hands are clearly tied. But I know for a fact, they have more than one set of excellent rooms which would be quite suitable for you and your lady.”

  This appeared to be a possibility that had not struck the tightly wound young gentleman before. He opened and closed his mouth without saying anything.

  “I hope you will forgive my informal manners,” Louis added winningly as the clerk hopefully produced the key for what he said were an equally good set of rooms. “But I could not help hearing that you had been held up and robbed.”

  The young man scowled as though suspecting derision of some kind. And in truth, it must have been galling to be robbed while one was trying to elope.

  “You see,” Louis mourned, with just the right degree of shame and fellow-feeling, “the same misfortune befell me not two weeks ago, so I have every sympathy with your plight.”

  The young man brightened. “Truly? I suppose it was not on the Carlisle road?”

  “It was on the Carlisle road.”

  “But this must have been close to when we were robbed! Did the villain take much?”

  “Everything, more or less,” Louis said with a sigh. “You?”

  “Oh, yes, the same,” the young man agreed hurriedly, presumably not wishing to be outdone by someone who had lost more. “Rough, insolent fellow he was, too–utterly terrified my wife. I should like to meet him again and punch him on the nose!”

  “I should like to see you succeed,” Anna murmured below her breath.

  “I hear he is long gone, sadly,” Louis said, ignoring her. “But you should most definitely report the incident to the local magistrate…if you have not already done so.”

  So that was it, Anna realized with awe. He wanted them to report the robbery to reinforce his own story, his own character. And the couple suspected nothing. Even though Louis stood before them in the young gentleman’s own coat, shirt, and necktie. In fact, the victim blushed a fiery red. So did his lady. He began muttering about the urgency of his business in the north preventing him speaking to the authorities until now. But first thing tomorrow, he would indeed seek out the magistrate.

  Eventually, Louis took pity on him and interrupted the painful tangle of promises and self-justification by introducing himself and his friends. Of course, there were so many titles that the couple, Mr. and Mrs. Bradley, were quite overwhelmed and grateful for the notice.

  They parted cordially, Mr. Bradley now quite reconciled to the alternative accommodation offered by the hotel.

  “I wish them happy,” Tamar murmured as they walked toward the dining room. “But, frankly, it’s unlikely. He’s far too concerned with his dignity to have grown up enough to marry anyone. Let alone face the scandal of elopement.”

  “Don’t preach propriety, Tamar,” Serena advised. “Some of our best friends eloped.”

  “They weren’t seventeen years old,” Tamar pointed out, “but I take your point.”

  As they were shown to their table, they drew both curious glances and bows of recognition from several patrons. Anna waited until Tamar and Serena were involved in one of their own bantering arguments, before she spoke quietly to Louis.

  “How did you know they would not recognize you?”

  He smiled faintly. “Experience.”

  “It still might come to them,” she warned.

  “But they will never believe it. They are already…invested in my being Sir Lytton, the friend of marquises and beautiful ladies.”

  She frowned. “You understand people quite horribly well.”

  “Don’t you?”

  Anna opened her mouth and closed it again. “No. I thought I did, but I don’t. I only understand the viler impulses.”

  His gaze was too perceptive and she hurried back into speech. “Did you really cause that scene simply to add to your credibility?”

  “Only partly.” He lifted his brandy glass, swirling it gently. “I wondered why the hotel was so determined not to give him that particular set of rooms. They’re empty.”

  Her eyes widened. “You saw the hotel’s book.”

  “I glimpsed it.”

  “They must be expecting someone more valuable than Mr. and Mrs. Bradley.”

  “Even so, why not give the Bradleys those rooms and save the other vacant set for the future guest? Why make such a fuss?”

  “I suppose you will tell me why.”

  “Perhaps because the room is set up in some way for that particular, important guest. And they are not sure exactly when he—or she—will arrive.”

  She regarded him. “Nothing is ever straightforward for you, is it?”

  “Not when I know something is happening. Will you meet me again tomorrow?”

  The change of subject threw her for an instant. As if he didn’t already know what she was going to say.

  Chapter Ten

  Dinner with the Tamars was undoubtedly a fun way to spend an evening. Louis would have found it so, even without the thrill of Anna’s presence by his side. As it was, he rejoiced in her nearness while making the most of the company. Outside, the windows of the cozy dining room, snow began to fall and blow against the panes, adding a touch of magic to his contentment.

  His plans, always, fluid, began to alter once more. Whoever Anna was, whatever she was, he could very easily make her part of those plans. If she would play. If he could convince her. If he could see this through to the end.

  But he was making too many assumptions, running ahead of himself.

  As he waited with his guests in the foyer for their carriage to be brought round, he placed Anna’s cloak about her shoulders. She glanced up with a smile to thank him. He wondered yet again what it was about her that fascinated him. It was more than beauty, though undeniably that helped.

  For a little, they stood together by the window, watching the snow in silence.

  “What are you thinking about?” he asked, at last.

  “You,” she said, disconcertingly. Her gaze strayed to his face. “But then, you know that already, don’t you?”

  “I wish I did.”

  “You are still clutching Serena’s cloak.”

  He accepted his dismissal with a twisted smile and walked over to the sofa where Serena and Tamar sat in quiet conversation. He came from behind them, and they obviously did not discern his approach, for he heard Serena murmur, “You know you should not encourage them, Rupert. It could so easily end in scandal.”

  “I’m not encouraging anything,” Tamar protested. “Though I’ll not deny he’s good for her. He makes her…”

  “What?” Serena asked.

  “I don’t know. Softer, happier. Normal.”

  It wasn’t a conversation for his ears, so he swerved around the sofa at a wider angle to pretend he hadn’t overheard them. “Your cloak, my lady,” he said with a civil bow. “And your carriage, I believe.”

  But in the flurry of departures and farewells, he was only too aware of his triumph and the rapid beat of his heart. Almost like a boy approaching his first love with naive hopes and dreams. Almost. If Louis had ever been naive, it had been so long ago he couldn’t remember it. With Anna, he had no illusions, only a drive to know more.

  She gave him her hand as they parted, and her fingers clun
g to his just a little too long.

  “Tomorrow,” he murmured, and her face flushed adorably as she turned and hurried after Serena to the carriage. The snow had gone off for now but lay in wet white splodges on the road.

  As the carriage pulled away, he found himself gazing across the road at the coffee house opposite. A few old soldiers and a couple of drunk youths sprawled in the window. And one man whom he knew very well indeed.

  Gosselin.

  And he was staring straight at Louis, his eyes wide, his jaw slack with shock.

  Louis laughed aloud and gave him a mocking bow, before he turned and walked back into the hotel.

  Discovery had always been inevitable. In fact, Louis welcomed the coming encounter. Gosselin needed to die. After he had given up what Louis needed to know.

  He strode upstairs to his room and lit a few candles before he shrugged off his coat and threw it on the bed. The slim dagger was already in position in his stocking. He loaded the old pistol he had used playing the highwayman and sank into his favorite chair by the window.

  Across the road, Gosselin still sat at the same seat in the coffee house. Louis settled in to wait.

  It was well after midnight by the time Gosselin left. Louis’s waning excitement surged back, but his enemy didn’t even glance at the hotel, merely trudged through the freshly falling snow all the way up the high street until he turned off to the right, as if he were going home.

  Louis would have thought Gosselin was avoiding him, if he hadn’t taken so long to leave. As it was, perhaps he meant to double back.

  After another hour, Louis grew tired of waiting. Rising, he shrugged into his greatcoat, put the pistol and a spare dagger in his pocket, and pulled on his boots.

  The snow was still falling as he left the hotel and walked to Cliff View, every nerve alert for attack. There was none.

  Even as he approached Gosselin’s house, he knew his bird had flown. The house was in darkness. Of course, it could have been to lure him into a trap. Just in case it was, Louis walked around the back of the house and broke in through the kitchen window, as he had the last time. But the house felt empty, Louis only went through the motions of searching for his enemy. He knew he was wasting his time.

  Eventually, he sat back on his heels by the dying kitchen stove and thought. Gosselin wanted him dead, for fear of what he might tell the British, or whoever ended with the power in France once Napoleon fell. That was a given. But it seemed he would not risk himself over the endeavor. Why? What was he about in Blackhaven that was so precious?

  Gosselin had been watching the hotel from the coffee house, but he hadn’t been watching Louis. It wasn’t outside the realms of possibility that he was watching for whoever the Bradleys’ rooms were being kept for. Someone secret, someone important. Surely someone British.

  So how was Gosselin even aware of him? No one knew better than Louis that the French had no spies close to the British government any more. Even the one they used to have had never been much help. But Gosselin must have found someone in the last few months, someone who was working with him, perhaps, providing him with moment-by-moment information. Someone, who could have arrived in Blackhaven recently and unexpectedly.

  Anna had a bother-in-law who was a civil servant. She had arrived unannounced to visit her brother less than two weeks ago. It had crossed Louis’s mind that she had come for him, but what if she had another task?

  It didn’t ring true to him. She didn’t strike him as someone who would betray her country. But people did things for all sorts of reasons that made no sense to anyone else. She had secrets, motives she had never explained. He could not be sure of her, and he needed to be. He had no more time to woo her. He had to win her.

  *

  With the healing of his wound, Louis seemed to be returning to his old habit of sleeping only a few hours in a night. Despite his busy evening, he woke early, Anna and the deliberately vacant hotel rooms jostling for attention in his mind.

  He rose and dressed by the light of one candle, which he carried with him as he left the room, for the hotel was still in darkness. The only servants stirring at this hour would be in the kitchen. Louis walked quietly downstairs to the floor below, and along the passage to the corner rooms which Mr. Bradley had so coveted.

  Skills learned from a Paris burglar before he was ten years old had been honed by years of collecting information people did not want to be discovered. Unlocking the door, with the aid of instruments adapted from scissors, tweezers, and a comb, was the work of moments.

  He closed the door softly behind him and looked around. Several doors led off the main sitting room, to bedchambers. And in the sitting room, pride of place had been given to a large table in the middle of the floor. Six chairs surrounded it, and at each place had been set a neat sheaf of blank paper, an ink stand and several pens.

  A room for work, not relaxation.

  Louis swiftly checked the furniture in each room, but the desks, chests of drawers, wardrobes, and night stands were all empty, with no obvious space for any secret compartments.

  He stood by the central table, frowning. The setting up of this room was a minor matter for a squad of well-trained servants, the work of minutes. There was nothing here to cause the kind of resistance offered to the Bradleys yesterday evening. These rooms could easily have been theirs, and the mirror set at the other end of the passage quickly prepared for the other guests.

  Unless there was something he was not seeing. The secret was not in the furniture, so it had to be in the room itself. In the walls…

  The sitting room walls were lined with wood paneling that made it quite difficult to make out the bedchamber doors in poor light. Louis went to the outside walls and peered closely, raising his candle to check every inch he could reach.

  The tiny hole was almost invisible, like a dark spot in the grain of the wood, but it was enough clue for Louis, who began to push at the wood paneling around it until with a sudden click, a door opened inward.

  Beyond was a dark, narrow passage that had to run between the walls. Louis entered. As he pulled the secret door closed behind him, he found a lever that obviously opened it from the passage side. He found the tiny hole which had first drawn his attention to the panel and put his eye to it. It gave him a fine view of the sitting room.

  Turning, he followed the passage along to some roughly cut stairs leading downward, along another short passage and up a shorter set of stairs that came to a dead end.

  But no, another wooden lever, similar to the one at the other end of the passage, only smaller, stuck out above his head. When he pulled it, a trap door unlocked, and Louis, suddenly, could smell horses.

  Warily pushing up the trap door, he climbed out. He was in a stall of the hotel stables.

  This was the reason those particular rooms were being reserved, presumably, at the hotel owner’s discretion. The occupants would have a secret way out, if necessary. A way to avoid unwelcome visitors or even to spy on those one had invited.

  Louis blew out his candle and left the stables. Dawn was breaking, and the stable boys would soon be out and about. It was time to walk up to Braithwaite woods and meet Anna.

  The passage was an interesting discovery, but one he decided not to share with her yet. At least, not until he had discovered who she truly was. Not until she was won. Excitement stirred in the pit of his stomach. Oh yes, it was time.

  *

  Anna woke the following morning, full of both excitement and certainty. The way Louis had looked at her last night, the way he had just stood silently by her side as she gazed out of the window… He was ready to eat out of her hand. A kind word, a kiss, and she would win. She felt in her bones how close she was. The victory, as well as the prospect of the kiss, made her heart drum.

  When she opened the curtains, the bright beauty of the land under snow added to her anticipation. Like a child, she wanted to go out and play in it, be the first to make her footprint in the pristine whiteness.

 
She dressed in the dark riding habit as usual, though as a concession to the cold, she donned a dark red military-style spencer under her cloak. She used only the hood of the cloak to cover her hair and sallied forth.

  She could hear the sounds of servants moving around various parts of the castle, cleaning and setting fires, carrying water and preparing breakfast. She left by one of the quiet side doors and walked through the crisp snow, leaving a trail that would be easy for anyone who cared to follow. It didn’t matter. By the time she returned, she expected her business to be completed. She would travel back to London with him…in separate vehicles, of course, but she could rely on him, surely, to go there just to meet her. If she promised enough.

  The snow seemed to muffle all the usual sounds of early morning. All she could hear was the crunch of snow under her boots. Her breath streamed out in front of her.

  As she entered the woods, a bird flapped above her, dislodging some snow from a tree branch that scattered over her head and shoulders. The woods looked different, the paths hidden, the trees white and silvery like some magical land in a fairytale.

  Coming upon the fallen tree, she brushed a patch of snow off it with her gloves and sat there to wait for him.

  What if he doesn’t come, and I’m wrong about everything?

  I’m not wrong. I’m not.

  She could hear him, the faint crunch of snow, the rustle of brushed branches. At least she hoped it was him. Her fingers strayed to the stiletto, not in her gloves today but in a different pocket in the folds of her habit.

  But it was Louis who wandered through the trees, moving easily and without hurry, as if he, too, was enjoying the first snow of the winter. He wore his gentleman’s morning clothes, buff pantaloons and a blue coat beneath his open greatcoat. He carried his hat, and his dark blond hair had fallen forward over his forehead. He looked boyishly handsome, almost angelic—which he was not.

  “Anna.”

  She stood, meaning to go to meet him as she had planned, but he increased his pace, catching her before she had taken more than a step, and taking both her hands. As she looked up at him, smiling, her hood fell back, barely covering her head at all. She thought it would make a charming image, and he appeared to agree.