A Spy Unmasked (Entangled Scandalous) (11 page)

As expected, there were no safes in the guest chambers. He searched the Falk’s baggage, careful not to disturb the order of their contents or the way each article of clothing was folded. He had already rummaged through the Maxwell’s belongings and found nothing of significance—no gold gears, incriminating lists, or sketches of military-worthy devices.

Maxwell and Falk were on the list of conspirators. So what was their plan?

He closed the baggage and was about to quit the room when he spotted a ream of paper under the wardrobe. Flipping through the stack, he noted that the sheets were all blank. Nothing unusual here, since Maxwell and Falk were stationers and made their living selling paper. Nonetheless, Robert’s training had taught him to never overlook even a simple find. He held a sheet to the light. It was fine quality, white wove and bore the watermark F&M, distinguishing it as from their stock.

Perhaps the ream was for Delmont as a gift? It was clearly not commissioned. If had been, it would have a watermark bearing his crest.

He returned the paper beneath the wardrobe, then went to the window, opened the casement and stepped onto the ledge. He knew the layout of the house—the viscount’s bedchamber was around the corner.

The ledge was ornate stone, only six inches wide. He carefully stepped past empty rooms, until he came to the right window. He dared a quick glimpse inside.

He was in luck. The chambermaid was inside and she had opened the window while she tidied the room. He could hear her humming as she worked, oblivious to his presence. He waited until she entered the adjoining sitting room before swiftly climbing into the room and hiding behind a settee in the corner.

Her tasks finally completed, she closed the window and departed.

Seconds later, he emerged. He found the safe in a closet behind dozens of the viscount’s hanging jackets. He expected to find money, jewels…a hint as to the mastermind’s identity and the secret group’s agenda.

He found a single, blank sheet of paper instead.

Similar to the ream in Falk’s chamber, it was white, wove paper, not the cruder, less expensive laid stuff, but it lacked a watermark. He flipped the sheet over, looking for any marks, however small, he may have initially missed. He saw nothing.

Why hide a single sheet of foolscap?

Unless it did indeed have something written on it…something indiscernible to the human eye.

Robert recalled a bottle of invisible ink stashed in the desk drawer of his study. He used it to deliver messages to the Home Office. He often wrote with black ink over the invisible ink so that if the missive fell into the wrong hands it would not be suspected. The only way to see the ink was to heat the paper by holding a flame close to its surface.

He spotted a tinderbox on an end table by the bed and lit a candle. Heating the paper, he waited. Five seconds, then ten.

Nothing. Not a mark.

He frowned. What the devil?

If Delmont had yet to compose a message, then why lock up a blank sheet?

Chapter Thirteen

The séance was to take place in a room specifically designated for the viscountess’s spiritual communications, on the first floor of an addition in the rear of the house. Circular in shape, the only way in or out was through the single door leading to the main part of the house. No French doors opened into the back gardens, and a single window was heavily draped, blocking out any moonlight.

The women walked inside. Several gasped; others froze in surprise. Sophia’s eyes widened as she surveyed the scene. Dozens of candles glowed in the space. A large round table dominated the room. At first glance she thought the walls were painted black, then realized they were a deep burgundy—the color of blood.

Vivian was waiting by the table. Dressed in a flowing robe exactly the same shade of burgundy as the walls, her gold turban presented a striking contrast. Her dyed-red hair was unbound and fell down her back.

“Please take your seats,” she instructed, before finding it necessary to prod the gaping women. “Hurry now! I’ve already prepared the room and I dare not keep the spirits waiting.”

Sophia sat between Jane and Emma Brass.

The viscountess placed a glass bowl of water with a floating candle in the center of the table. “Water and fire are two of the essential elements. This shall be my focal point.” Reaching for a tinderbox, she lit the candle in the bowl.

“It’s time to pick our deceased.” She held up the beaver hat from the morning. “Lady Cameron can do the honors.”

Lady Cameron’s face was tense, and her hand trembled as she reached in and pulled out a scrap of paper.

The viscountess plucked it from her and cleared her throat. “Charles Peckwick, the fifth Earl of Stanwell.”

There was a collective gasp as all heads turned toward Jane. She stiffened and all color drained from her face.

Sophia touched Jane’s sleeve. “Did you put Charles’s name into the hat?”

Jane whimpered. “I did not! Who would do such a thing?”

The women eyed Jane with disbelief and pity. Sophia felt a simmering anger. She didn’t know whether it was because the others doubted Jane’s word or because of their ill-disguised pity. Did they truly believe Jane was the reason behind her husband’s suicide?

“You must pick another name,” Sophia said sharply.

“But someone here wishes to speak with him,” Vivian said.

“It doesn’t matter. His widow does not wish it,” Sophia retorted. “Whoever put the earl’s name in the hat was acting selfishly.”

“I suppose if Jane is adamant about it, we shall choose another,” Vivian said.

Jane stood. “Wait! Let us move forward. I do have something to say to my husband.”

Sophia stared at Jane. “You don’t have to do this. Nothing can come of it.”

Jane squeezed Sophia’s hand. “It’s all right.”

The viscountess nodded. “How very brave of you, Jane.”

She then went around and snuffed all the other candles in the room. Smoke swirled in the air until the floating candle in the center of the round table was the only remaining light. The viscountess took her seat, and her gold turban glowed in the candlelight, highlighting her face, while her burgundy robe blended with the dark walls.

“Everyone hold hands and remain silent,” Vivian directed.

Jane’s grasp on Sophia’s fingers was cold and tight, while Emma’s was slightly damp.

Please don’t let Jane think this could be real!
Sophia thought.

She was afraid for her cousin. Jane’s emotional state had been fragile since the suicide. She was just beginning to come out of her shell and enjoy life. What would this farce do to her?

For several seconds there was silence. The air seemed to vibrate with anticipation.

“I sense Charles’s presence!” the viscountess said. She lifted her chin, her dark eyes bright in the flickering candlelight. “Charles! Charles, are you here?”

Silence.

“Charles!”

Sophia felt it then. A slight tremor in the table—a sort of frisson that made the hair on her nape rise and gooseflesh appear on her arms. The tremor increased, shaking the glass bowl and making the floating candle flicker.

“Sweet Lord!” Lady Cameron cried out. “It’s working.”

Across the table, Lady Falk and Lady Maxwell’s mouths fell open as they gaped at each other in alarm.

Sophia glanced at Jane. Her complexion was pale as parchment, her brown eyes wide in her delicate face.

Someone must be moving the table. Sophia looked to each woman, trying to discern who was responsible and how they were pulling off such a feat when Vivian’s shout startled her.

“Yes! Yes! Charles is among us. Do not separate your hands, or you’ll break contact with the spirit.”

Air swirled around Sophia’s silk shoes and ruffled the pleated hem of her gown. Had Jane or Emma Brass brushed against her? The women sat motionless, enthralled.

The viscountess raised her gaze to the center of the room, directly above the floating candle. All eyes followed her movement.

“I see his face. Red-gold curls, blue eyes…he always was a handsome one,” Vivian said.

A strangled cry escaped from Jane.

“Are you at peace, Charles?” Vivian said.

The trembling of the table increased.

“He is caught in between death and the afterlife. He is trapped,” Vivian said.

Emma Brass leaned toward Lady Falk. “Suicide is not sanctioned by the church.”

In the quiet room, Sophia clearly heard her words. No doubt Jane had as well. Sophia wanted to slap the woman senseless.

“Charles’s spirit is growing stronger, and his full form is taking shape. He is dressed elegantly in a moss waistcoat, ruffled shirt, striped stockings, and breeches. He is twirling his pocket watch, and there is a fob dangling with a bit of gold,” Vivian said.

It was Sophia’s turn to gasp. Was the viscountess describing a gold gear? Was it possible Charles had possessed one?

Had Charles been a member of the secret group?

“It is time. Who has questions for Charles?” Vivian asked.

All heads turned to Jane.

“Jane wasn’t the one to put Charles’s name in the hat,” Sophia insisted.

“Anyone can ask questions,” Vivian said.

Jane’s mouth opened, then closed. Pushing back her chair, she rose, still clutching the hands of the women on either side of her. Her gaze never wavered from above the glass bowl where Charles’s spirit supposedly hovered. Her lips parted to speak.

Just then the flame on the floating candle snuffed out and the room was plunged into complete blackness.

The women screamed and broke hands. The table ceased trembling.

Seconds passed, and Sophia heard flint strike iron. She blinked at the glow of light as the viscountess lit a wall sconce.

“The connection is broken. Charles is gone,” Vivian proclaimed.

Sophia glanced to her right.

Jane was, too.

Chapter Fourteen

Sophia flew down the hall and headed straight for Robert’s room. At her panicked rapping, the door swung open. Powerful relief filled her that he was present. Without a doubt, she knew he would be able to help.

He was obviously changing from an outing, and his starched shirt was only partly buttoned, revealing the corded muscles of his throat and a tanned V of flesh. A jacket of blue superfine hung on a knob from the chest of drawers.

A glance at her face made his blue eyes narrow. “What’s wrong?”

“Please, you must help. The séance was a disaster. Jane locked our chamber door and won’t answer. I need to get inside.” She knew she was blabbering, but she was truly frightened for her cousin.

Robert clasped her shoulders and led her into the room. He kicked the door shut with a booted foot and sat her in an armchair by the fireplace. Kneeling beside her, he looked into her eyes. “Take a deep breath, and start from the beginning.”

She quickly summarized the evening’s events.

“If Jane believes Charles’s spirit was summoned,” Robert said, “then she is in shock. She may be incapable of answering or unlocking the door.”

“What should I do?”

His mouth curved in a smile. “I’m an expert lock pick, remember?” He stood and walked to a nightstand by the bed. Reaching into the top drawer, he withdrew a small, black leather case. His eyes caught and held hers. “You must be calm when we open the door. She needs you.”

She jumped to her feet. “Of course.”

They left his room and hurried down the long hall to the cousins’ shared chambers. Glancing both ways to ensure they were unobserved, he withdrew a thin metal rod from the case and inserted it into the lock. Seconds later the door opened.

She started to run inside, but Robert grasped her arm and shook his head.

Despite the tight knots in her stomach, she forced herself to take a deep breath before slowly approaching the bed. Jane was lying on her back, her eyes open but unfocused on the ceiling, her body completely still. For a heart-pounding moment, Sophia wondered if her cousin was dead until she spotted the slight rising and falling of her chest.

“Jane, it’s me. It’s Sophia.”

No response.

Robert stepped forward and reached for Jane’s hand. Sophia watched as he pressed two fingers on the inside of her wrist. She realized he was checking Jane’s pulse in the same way a surgeon had once examined her father.

Jane blinked and turned her head to look at Robert, hovering above her. “Please do not fuss over me, my lord. I’m fine. Just tired.”

She struggled to sit. He took her arm and assisted her. “I suggest you do not stand just yet, Lady Stanwell.”

She nodded woodenly, and then to Sophia’s dismay, tears welled in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.

Robert sat beside Jane on the edge of the mattress and placed an arm around her shoulders. She began to weep aloud, yielding to compulsive sobs that shook her frame, and rested her head on his shoulder. He gently rubbed her back.

Sophia gaped, uncomfortable with Jane’s outburst and at a loss as to how to help her. Robert, on the other hand, did not shrink away from the tears. Reaching into his pocket with his free hand, he retrieved a handkerchief and offered it to her.

His comforting ministrations shocked her. Never had she suspected the professional, calculating spy could show such empathy. He had not known Jane long. To the contrary, Jane’s sole purpose had been to serve as a proper chaperone for Sophia during the house party.

Yet here he was, patiently soothing Jane like a father would his little girl.

Sophia studied Robert’s chiseled profile. She felt a strange comfort as he took charge with quiet assurance. He was proving to be a complex man—a fascinating enigma that she felt compelled to unravel.

Who was the real Robert Ware?

For long minutes no one spoke, while Jane sobbed. Eventually she ceased crying and loudly blew her nose in his handkerchief.

“I apologize,” she said. “I never thought of myself as a weepy woman.”

“There’s no need to apologize, Lady Stanwell. You’ve been through a traumatic event,” he said.

Sophia moved close. “I’m so sorry you had to experience that…that farce.”

Jane glanced at her with red, swollen eyes. Her expression was one of wretchedness, and her voice trembled. “It wasn’t a farce. How do you explain the table? The precise description of Charles? Right down to his preferred attire?”

Sophia shook her head. “I don’t know, but there must be a logical explanation for—”

“I can help with that,” Robert said, drawing the women’s attention to him.

“What do you mean?” Sophia asked.

“There is no such thing as a medium. Viscountess Delmont is no exception.”

“Do you have proof?” Jane asked.

“I do,” he said.

“Please show me, my lord,” Jane said.

Robert stood. “It requires a short trip. I can take you now while the rest of the party is occupied in the drawing room playing cards. Are you feeling well enough?” He looked into Jane’s eyes. Sophia had the distinct impression he was checking to see if her pupils were focused.

Jane nodded. “Yes, a change of scenery may do me good.”

He held out his hand and helped her struggle to her feet.

She visibly trembled, and Sophia noted her face was pale as carved marble—just as it had been during the séance. She was about to voice her concerns when Robert spoke up.

“We can do this later,” he suggested.

Jane shook her head. “No. This can’t wait. I’m exhausted from the grief of losing my spouse. Can you understand, my lord?” she asked in a low, tormented voice.

Robert hesitated, and a flicker of indefinable emotion passed over his face before he hid it with a polite smile.

What had she seen? Sorrow? Loneliness?

Or was it a quirk of the candlelight in the dim room?

“I will take you. Lean on my arm,” he instructed.

He escorted the women down the hall, and they descended the grand staircase. Sophia thought he would turn right and head to the round room where the séance had been conducted, but to her surprise, he led them out the front door instead.

It was a warm May evening, the stars luminous against a curtain of black. A crescent moon cast a soft light over the marble statues around the fountain. Bobbing lanterns illuminated the main footpath leading down to the boxwood hedges and distant maze.

Robert took one of the lanterns and led them away from the main stone path to the dim back gardens. Here the ground sloped down and the white stone facade of the original manor home gave way to the newer polished stone of the addition.

He stopped and studied a small casement in the stone wall. “This is where the séance took place.”

“You intend to enter from outside?” Sophia asked. “There is no access from the gardens, and the window is too small to climb through.”

“So it would appear. But there is access to the room.” He dug the toe of his boot into the grass they stood upon. “Here.”

“There’s nothing there,” Sophia said.

Bending down, he dug his fingers into the grass and pulled back a perfectly cut, rectangular patch of lawn to expose a wooden door with a wrought-iron handle.

Surprise spiraled through Sophia. “A trap door?”

He pulled on the handle. The door squeaked on its hinges and opened to reveal a narrow wooden ladder. She could see only the first few rungs. The rest plunged downward into darkness.

“Where does the ladder lead?” Jane asked.

“To an underground tunnel and a hidden chamber beneath the room,” Robert said. “It’s similar to a root cellar, but much smaller. A wooden pike is connected to the center of the round table you occupied. I suspect a servant manipulated the pike during Lady Vivian’s communications to simulate a disturbance by the spirits.”

Sophia’s skin crawled as she gazed down the trap door. It would almost be like being buried alive. She had never been afraid of small, dark spaces, but the endless blackness below made her hesitate.

Jane grasped her skirts and crouched down. “I want to see for myself.”

“Wait! Is it safe?” Sophia asked.

“I can take you both.” Robert turned to Jane. “Are you certain you feel up to this?”

Jane’s face was no longer pale, but high with color. Her eyes flashed with determination and passion. “Absolutely.”

“I’ll go first with the lamp to check if it’s clear, then return to assist you. If you spot anyone, leave immediately and head back to the house.” There was a lethal calmness in his eyes that made Sophia shudder.

He was gone before she could respond. Looking down, she followed the light from the lantern. The yellow glow flared into the darkness until it faded and then disappeared completely.

The women remained silent. Sophia’s heart seemed to batter against her ears, until minutes later, Robert’s voice echoed from below.

“It’s empty. I’m coming for you both.”

She heard the scrape of his boots on the wooden ladder. His head emerged a moment later. “Who’s first?”

Jane put her foot on the first rung.

“Careful, now. The ladder is steep. Go down backward,” he instructed.

Sophia followed after Jane. Her heart pounded, and sweat trickled between her breasts. She descended the ladder and stepped onto a dirt floor. The lantern’s glow revealed a narrow walled corridor. The air was musty, the space cool and damp, and dust mites swirled in lamplight. Skittering sounds through rotting leaves made gooseflesh rise on her arms.

Rats!
She clutched her skirts with sweaty palms.

“Follow me,” he instructed. “The tunnel leads to the chamber.”

They walked single file through the narrow tunnel. Sophia followed directly behind Robert, his air of calm and self-confidence keeping her anxiety at bay.

“How much farther?” she asked, her voice strained.

“We’re almost there,” he said.

The tunnel turned right, then a slight left, and then opened to a round chamber. The smell of damp earth remained, but nonetheless, she felt an immense relief as they stepped out of the constricting tunnel and into the chamber. Robert hung the lantern on a hook in the wall, and Sophia scanned the space. Just as he had described, a pike hung from the center of the ceiling.

He grasped the freestanding handle. “Someone was down here during your séance who shook the table and made it tremble and helped the viscountess communicate with her spirits. There are also small holes all around the ceiling.” He picked up a bellows resting in the corner and inserted the end into one of the holes. “Air can be blown above, making the participants feel as if ghosts are swirling around them. The entire séance was just as Sophia said—a farce.”

“I don’t believe it! I was taken for a fool,” Jane said.

Robert’s eyes were like bits of stone. “From what Sophia told me, you were not the only one fooled tonight. Whoever put the Earl of Stanwell’s name in the hat had ulterior motives.”

“That’s just it. Neither of us has any idea,” Jane said.

Sophia’s tone was harsh. “The viscountess is coldhearted to use such chicanery.”

“I’m not convinced she knows of this room,” he said.

Both women stared at him. “What do you mean?”

“Her husband may be responsible. Vivian has always been peculiar. Delmont may be humoring her to keep her out of his business affairs.”

“You’re jesting,” Jane said.

“From what I’ve seen and heard, she truly believes to have contact with the world of spirits,” Robert said.

“She’s crazed,” Sophia said.

Robert shrugged. “Perhaps.” He turned to the tunnel. “Come. We must leave before our absence is questioned.”

They retraced their steps and climbed the ladder. Cool night air filled Sophia’s lungs. She breathed deeply as Robert shut the trap door and concealed it with the grass.

Once back in the main part of the gardens, Jane turned to him.

“I don’t know how you learned of it, my lord, but I am eternally in your debt,” she said.

Robert’s eyes were contemplative. “Stop blaming yourself for your husband’s deeds, Lady Stanwell. Life is too short to perpetually punish yourself. You are not responsible.”

Jane’s dark eyes shone bright in the pale light of the moon. “You’re right, my lord. I vow that tomorrow will be a new day.” She curtsied. “If you will excuse me, I’m quite exhausted and will retire for the night. You need not worry, however, I promise not to lock my cousin out.”

A corner of his mouth pulled into a smile, and he bowed.

Sophia was both surprised at his tone and thrilled by his words of advice. She had tried to tell Jane before, but she had been unable to help. After what Robert had shown them this evening—combined with the force of conviction behind his statement—would Jane finally be able to put the past behind her?

Sophia looked to Robert as if he could answer her question. He watched Jane depart, an intense but secret expression on his face that heightened Sophia’s curiosity about him even more.

He had gone out of his way tonight. He had unlocked the bedroom door, had held and comforted her cousin, had discovered the trap door and taken them down the tunnel and shown them that the séance had been nothing but a well-orchestrated hoax. She could not have done any of those things. She was beginning to see him in a different light. Deep down, he was not the scheming, sly spy that he worked so hard to portray.

She was honest enough with herself to admit that she’d always been attracted to him, but his physical attributes were not what drew her now.

There was more to him…much more that enthralled and lured her. Her scientific mind wanted to learn the truth—wanted to unravel the layers of isolation and aloofness that shrouded him.