The Casanova Code (16 page)

“This isn’t the
Messenger
,” he insisted. “And the letter was in a book addressed to my father.” He grimaced, placing his hand on the head of the golden fowl.

“You’d prefer to accuse your father of treason than of having a lover?” She tilted her head in consideration. “That makes little sense to me.”

“I don’t wish to accuse my father of treason.” His face twisted. “The implications would prove disastrous.”

“To Constance?” she asked, feeling a tug of jealousy. The woman had humiliated Ashton in front of a stranger, and yet he still showed concern for her.

“Yes, Constance, but more importantly to Matthew.” He shook his head. “The boy doesn’t deserve that burden.”

“And yourself? Your reputation would be affected as well,” Edwina said, noticing for the first time that he stood by a fowl synonymous with his past exploits.

He barked a laugh, stepping away from the table as if he could read her thoughts. “My reputation has already been tossed to the wolves.” He paced in the confined room. “As much as I would wish this note was a harmless exchange between a man and his lover, I can’t ignore that it could conceivably be something else entirely. The book came from Calcutta. That’s a substantial distance for a romantic relationship.” He shook his head. “No. It must be a letter concerning government secrets. Why else would it be in code?”

Edwina kept her skepticism to herself. Tomorrow she’d speak to Sarah about researching past newspapers for clues as to the senior Trewelyn’s past. “Have there been other notes?” she asked. “Multiple communications might assist my translation.”

“This is the first one I’ve found.”

“That doesn’t mean there aren’t others,” she said. “Others that you weren’t here to intercept.” He was clearly not accepting the possibility that the notes were of a nonthreatening nature. She decided to take a different tack. “Assuming there are others, do you suppose your father would keep them in his study, or would he have left them in the gallery?”

“I would assume the study, but we should investigate both,” Ashton replied. “Just to be certain we find them all.”

“We?” Surely this was one task Ashton could handle alone.

“There are too many books and too many places to hide a packet of letters for one person to do a thorough search.” His lips tilted in that rakish smile that went right to her heart. “You’re the only one I trust to help me locate them.”

“I think that’s impossible,” she protested.

“That I trust you?” His eyebrows raised in a pleading sort of way.

“No,” she said, but then regretted the implication. “Of course, you can trust me, but I can’t help you search. Not here. Even your stepmother takes exception to my being here. To say nothing of the nature of the chamber.” An unanticipated shiver titillated the tips of her breasts.

“You know the gallery is private.” His voice dropped to a low tone that managed to make her rib cage vibrate in a most pleasant way. Did all men have that ability, or just this man? She suspected the latter. “You’ve been there before. The contents can no longer shock you, not anymore.”

The truth was the contents of that gallery were shocking at best and the images had stayed with her for days. She wouldn’t mind exploring further, but only if she were alone. It would be just too difficult to return to the gallery knowing Ashton would be watching her reaction. “I was lucky to come here and leave without being discovered the last time. I don’t think we should tempt fate again.”

She handed the original coded note back to Ashton. “I suppose a woman can trade secrets just as a man, but I do think this was written in a woman’s hand. Perhaps when you return it to your father, you’ll be able to determine where he keeps the other communications, if there are others to keep.”

She unfolded the brown wrapping paper while Ashton secured the note in his pocket. Immediately, she noted the Raja
mon
. “I don’t recognize any code markings, but it would be best if we could compare this to the markings of other parcels that have passed through Calcutta.” She looked up. “When will you return the coded message to your father?”

“This evening if possible. I’ve noted that ever since I’ve returned home, my father spends more and more of his evenings as well as his days at his office on the docks. Assuming he spends this evening at home, I’ll talk to him then.”

Now that she had witnessed Constance from a different perspective, she recognized Ashton’s position in the household. “He expects you to entertain his wife.”

Ashton nodded. “As Constance inferred, he believes it to be one of my more useful abilities.” His hand tapped his injured thigh.

“Then he doesn’t know you very well, does he?” she snapped. Ashton regarded her with a sort of gratitude in his eyes.

“No,” he said. “No, he doesn’t. At least, not as well as you.” He maneuvered past roosters, chairs, and a settee to stand before her. He lifted her fingers. “I wonder, Edwina, if I might write you while I’m traveling on my father’s behalf.” While his voice remained noncommittal, his eyes pleaded with her. She felt her heart soften. “You value your brothers’ letters so greatly, I hope you might consider—”

“Yes,” she said quickly, then tempered her wide smile so as not to appear overeager. “I’d enjoy hearing of your thoughts.”

What a shame Ashton’s father didn’t recognize all the fine traits that his son embodied. There was so much more to him than implied in that silly Casanova name. In fact, if his father knew his son better, he might even recognize him as an equal. Which inspired a thought. She stepped back so she could focus her thoughts. She glanced at him askance. “You know, Ashton, if you truly believe this note is one of espionage and the Guardians are part of it, there is really only one way to discover the truth.”

“I’m afraid I’ve come to a similar conclusion.” His face appeared older, more solemn than moments before. His eyes reached hers with the sad realization.

“I will have to join the Guardians.”

“Y
OU
SAY
YOU
FOUND
THIS
WHERE
?” H
IS
FATHER
looked at him skeptically.

“In between the secret entrance and the inner door of the gallery,” Ashton replied, working hard to keep his expression blank. “It must have fallen out of the pillow book when I hid it in the gallery the night those vigilantes stormed our doorstep.”

His father’s brows lowered in confusion. “I thought I checked there.”

“It was wedged into a corner,” Ashton said, hoping he sounded convincing. He’d never been the best of liars. He’d found no need for it. But this whole coded message incident was teaching him skills he never knew he had. Now he wished he had crumpled the paper a bit to support his story. “I’m not surprised you missed it. I would have overlooked it myself except you mentioned you were missing some sort of correspondence.”

“Did you read it?” his father’s gruff voice barked.

“It looked like gibberish to me, sir. I couldn’t make any sense of it.” He raised his brows in what he hoped was an innocent expression. “Does it have a purpose?”

His father’s glare was certainly not one of appreciation or gratitude. Any hope that discovering the missing message would somehow gain him a level of respect in his father’s eyes vanished.

“No purpose I’d wish to share.” He opened the center drawer beneath his desk and deposited the paper. Ashton tried to see if this was just one of several such notes in the drawer, but his father’s action was too swift to facilitate such an observation. Once he’d closed the drawer, he hunched over his desk as if to further protect the coded message with his presence. “Constance tells me you’re taking her to some silly recital this evening. I’m not certain how you can stomach that sort of poppycock but—”

“I can’t,” Ashton interrupted.

“You can’t what?”

“I can’t stomach that poppycock. I’ve escorted Constance on these many occasions in deference to you, sir. But I don’t enjoy it and I’m having difficulty continuing to do so.”

His father leaned back in his chair with a faint glimmer of respect in his eye. “Is that so?”

“It is.” Ashton gestured to a chair in front of the desk. His father nodded, and Ashton lowered into it. “You’ve sent me out on the road on the drayage carts to observe the various districts, and quite frankly, I’d prefer to spend the evening discussing where improvements can be made with you, than standing by Constance while she chatters incessantly about some nonsense.”

“Improvements?” His brows lowered. “What sorts of improvements?”

“I’ve noticed some of the equipment needs a good overhaul to operate efficiently. We could use the railroad lines much more effectively, and I’ve heard rumblings about a new internal combustion motorcar coming out of Germany that—”

“A motorcar?” His father laughed. “A rich man’s plaything. Next you’ll be saying we should deliver freight from a hot air balloon.” He reached to a crystal decanter to pour himself a snifter of brandy.

Ashton smiled, refusing to take the bait. “Right now the motorcars may be expensive toys used to carry passengers. But this is only the beginning. Reliable motor wagons will be built in time. The sort of motor wagon that can haul freight, and we should be positioned to take advantage of it.”

“Freight without horses? I’m not sure I want to see that day.”

“Nevertheless, it’s coming whether you’ll be alive to see it or not.” His father scowled at him in response. “It’s much like the use of rifles in the military,” Ashton said, warming up to the analogy. “The old muzzle-loaders were deadly, especially against enemies armed with knives and stones. But when the breechloaders came into being, the victors of a skirmish became the ones with the better weapons.” Ashton formed his fingers into the suggestion of a gun. “The ones who could accurately pick off their enemies at a safe distance.”

Ashton watched his father’s reaction, hoping the change in conversation from freight to military would give him some sort of clue as to the secrets hidden behind his father’s eyes. The old man sat for a moment, considering the talk of rifles. “You’re not suggesting I arm my cart drivers, are you?”

Ashton laughed and leisurely picked up the Falcon stamp and slid his finger over the raised edges. “No sir, I am not. I had hoped to prove to you, sir, that I can be of some benefit beyond that of profligate.”

His father grunted.

“In fact”—Ashton modulated his tone to convey the serious nature of his words—“I believe I can be of even greater service.”

Now he got a reaction. His father ran his eyes over him, considering, then reached for his waiting glass of brandy. “What exactly are you proposing?”

“That you introduce me to the Guardians.”

His father nearly choked on his drink. Ashton was about to pound on his back when normal breathing returned. “The Guardians,” he rasped in a tight airy voice. “I thought I told you to forget about them.”

“When I was in Burma, I heard of a group that endeavored to bring items of cultural importance of other countries back to England: statues, pieces of temples, small artifacts, that sort of thing.” He leaned over and poured himself a glass of brandy. “After you mentioned the Guardians, I’ve been thinking how that kind of activity would prove profitable to a man invested in moving freight. Now that I’ve seen the operations of Falcon Freight, I’ve noted that parcels from all over the world pass through your fingers, in a manner of speaking.”

His father’s eyes narrowed. “I still don’t see . . .”

“If I’m going to be a part of Falcon Freight, then I think I should be a part of the Guardians as well. ‘In for a penny, in for a pound,’ I always say.” He pointed to his father’s new Excelsior stamp pad. “May I?”

“You believe you’re to be part of the operations of Falcon Freight, do you? The company I started with a horse and a map?”

Ashton simply rolled the
mon
stamp over the ink pad—best to give his father some time to adjust. Eventually, his father’s glare weakened. “I suppose if the company is going to outlast me, it’ll need some innovations. I’ll consider the motorcars.”

“And the Guardians?” Ashton persisted.

“That’s not up to me. The other members have to vote on any new inductees. It’s a secret society you know. We’re careful about who we allow at our meetings.”

The Guardians’ meetings couldn’t be that secret if Edwina had already cracked the code used in the
Mayfair Messenger.
Ashton bit back his smile as he rolled the
mon
stamp on a blank piece of paper. “Now that’s a nice improvement over the old inks.” He blew on the paper to help it dry, then wrinkled his nose. “Hope they can do something to improve the smell.” He grinned up at his father. “See. Progress.”

“You shouldn’t even know of the Guardians,” his father continued, nonplussed. “I’ll need to talk to the others before I introduce you.”

“And when will you do that?”

“We’re a secret society, Ashton. That includes the meeting dates and location.” His father sighed and shook his head. “We should meet again within the month. I’ll let you know the outcome.”

Ashton stood, carefully folding the stamped paper, then placed it in his pocket. “I’ll be anxious to hear the results.”

• • •

T
HE
TRULY
WONDERFUL
THING
ABOUT
LIVING
IN
A
MOD
ern city such as London was that mail could be delivered up to ten times in a single day. The truly miserable thing about such a modern city was that the mail often arrived without a single envelope for her. Ever since she had agreed to correspond with Ashton, she discovered that she held her breath waiting for the postman to ring with a delivery. Ashton wrote to her daily, based on the dates he’d placed on the letters, but they didn’t always arrive in a consistent pattern. He wrote that he’d approached his father about joining the Guardians, which filled her with apprehension. If the group was involved in the sort of espionage that Ashton felt they could be, she anguished that he would come to regret his decision, all the more worrisome because she felt she had a part in encouraging him to join.

While they waited for a response from the Guardians, she wrote Ashton with stories about the calls she made with her mother. She advised him of Isabella Bird’s announcement that she planned to travel next to Korea and Japan. She told him about her kitten Isabella’s antics and about the ads being considered for investigation by the Rake Patrol. She shared news of her brothers’ travels. Like her childhood, it seemed once again she was left behind while the men around her experienced adventures. But with Ashton’s frequent letters, she didn’t feel alone at all.

“Edwina, where is your head?” Claire asked. “Normally, you’d have torn through the personals in the
Mayfair Messenger
by now. You’ve barely glanced at the paper.”

“Sorry. I was lost in a bit of whimsy, I suppose.”

“It’s true.” Faith joined in Claire’s scrutiny. “You haven’t been yourself lately. Ever since that Sutton affair, you’ve seemed distracted. We barely see you anymore.”

Edwina was about to explain her mother’s intent to call on everyone she’d met at the Sutton soiree and the ensuing boredom such calls presented, but she didn’t get the chance.

“I think she’s daydreaming about Mr. Thomas,” Sarah said with an air of confidence. “He came by the office yesterday, asking for you.”

“Why would he look for me at the
Messenger
office?” Edwina asked.

“He called at your house yesterday. Didn’t he leave a card?” Sarah asked. “He said your mother was out and no one knew where you had gotten off to on that bicycle of yours, so he thought he’d check at the office. I think he had something special to ask you.”

“Probably not to ride your bicycle,” Claire said with a quirk of her lips. “You’d best not take up smoking cigarettes. That would drive the poor man into a fit of apoplexy.”

Edwina grinned. Her passion for bicycling was becoming a constant bone of contention with Walter. “I’m certain it’s nothing.”

“He seemed very serious,” Sarah added. “I think he may be looking to secure your future. Where were you?”

“Walter is always serious,” Edwina replied. “He is a kind and considerate man, but he’s always serious.”

“Edwina,” Faith said, rattling the paper, “did you see this message in the personals? It’s in code.”

Edwina pulled the paper closer to her. She recognized the number code immediately. She removed her journal from her reticule and opened to the page with the alphanumeric translation key. Thus she determined the date and address of the next meeting of the Guardians.

“What is it?” Faith asked.

“Just notice of another meeting of the Guardians.” Edwina tried to keep the excitement out of her voice. “As nothing untoward occurred at that last meeting I assume . . .”

“What’s this?” Sarah picked an envelope from the floor. “A letter from your brothers? It fell when you removed your journal.”

“That’s a local letter,” Claire observed. “Just a regular stamp.”

Edwina felt a flush rise to her cheeks as she snatched the envelope from Sarah’s hands. That, unfortunately, was her undoing.

“It’s from that Casanova, isn’t it?” Sarah accused. “There’s nothing but trouble down that path, Edwina.” Her eyes narrowed. “Is that where you were yesterday?”

“No. I haven’t seen Mr. Trewelyn since I discovered him and his brother in the park two weeks ago,” Edwina admitted. She knew herself to be an awful liar so she didn’t even try. Though recent events had given her lots of opportunity to practice. “They were launching Matthew’s model ship.”

“Casanova’s brother,” Sarah sneered. “Do you believe that? Did you not see how closely they resemble one another?”

“They share a common father, Sarah; they should resemble one another.” She slipped the letter into her journal and closed it. “I think you’re being needlessly cruel.”

“And I think you’re being needlessly foolish,” Sarah replied.

“Enough,” Faith intervened. “There’s no reason for you two to snip at each other. Even if Mr. Trewelyn is known for his . . . charm, I’m certain Edwina has done nothing that would violate the principles of respectability. Isn’t that so, Edwina?”

She bit her lip, not wishing to lie, but not willing to be totally honest either. She’d neglected to mention the secret gallery that night when she’d slipped into Trewelyn’s library. Likewise, they didn’t know about the kiss, or her discovery of the scandalous netsuke and its influence, or that she’d been in Ashton’s parlor without benefit of a chaperone, not that anything had occurred that would require a chaperone’s interference. So she nodded in response to Faith’s question. Somehow not giving voice to her answer made it less of an untruth.

She turned toward Sarah. “I had hoped to ask a favor of you and Claire, but I can’t mention the reason for the request. I’m not certain now if I can count on your cooperation.”

“A favor of me?” Sarah replied, her eyebrows rising above the frame of her glasses. “I can’t imagine what you would want from someone like me.”