By the King's Design (29 page)

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Authors: Christine Trent

BOOK: By the King's Design
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“But now we don't know where the dinner will be held inside his home,” Davidson said. “How will we figure that out, if no one on the earl's staff knows about the dinner?”
Thistlewood smiled. “Let's not assume too much. I think what we need is an excuse to get into Lord Harrowby's home ourselves and examine it. Suggestions?”
James Ings piped up. “We'll break in through the servants' quarters in the middle of the night and club any of them over the head that gets in our way.”
“Fool!” Davidson hissed. “The servant quarters are in the attic. Are you going to make your approach by balloon?”
“I must agree,” Thistlewood said. “A late-night entry attempt is not only risky, but completely unworthy of men who call themselves Spencean Philanthropists. We need to be clever, yet bold.”
John Harrison spoke, probably for the first time in one of these meetings. “I know what to do. Let's send the good earl a gift, one of great value that he'd be happy to receive. A couple of us will serve as the deliverymen, and can inspect the place freely if we manage it during a time that most of the servants are out. Davidson can't go, for obvious reasons.”
Thistlewood clapped slowly and bent his head in acknowledgment to Harrison. “Excellent idea and good reasoning, Mr. Harrison.”
“Hear, hear,” the other men called out.
Blast it all, why hadn't Wesley thought of such a good idea?
I should volunteer to deliver the gift.
“And so, what remains to decide is exactly what this gift should be.”
William Davidson stood again. “If memory serves me, the earl and his countess are celebrating their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary soon. Perhaps an anniversary gift from his old servant who still esteems him?”
They shouted suggestions as though whoever was loudest would win. “A diamond bracelet for his wife!” “A fancy dog!” “A rare book!”
Thistlewood shook his head at all of these suggestions. He raised his hands again for more quiet. “Friends, all of these gifts are small tokens, and would be taken into the house by whatever servant answered the door, and we would promptly see that door closed in our faces. It must be heavy, or bulky, or both, to allow us access to the home.”
“How about a piece of furniture? Bet the earl would like an elegant desk that he can sit behind so he looks important.”
Wesley turned at the voice coming from behind him. It was Richard Tidd, a balding man with heavy jowls and thin lips, giving him a simian appearance.
Now Thistlewood granted Tidd a beaming smile. Being shown favor by Thistlewood felt as though you were one of Christ's apostles and had just figured out the meaning of a parable while sitting at His feet.
Wesley wanted that smile. He cast about in his mind for something to contribute. The conspirators would gain access to Lord Harrowby's, offering the gift of a desk as a way to access the inner reaches of the home. And once they did—oh, of course!
Here was Wesley's opportunity to be as useful as Davidson, Edwards, and Tidd.
“I know a master cabinetmaker, Mr. Thistlewood.”
Thistlewood's eye was upon him. “Do you now? And is he discreet?”
Was Putnam Boyce discreet? Wesley hardly knew the man.
“He is, sir. And he makes aristocratic-quality pieces. He'll make one for us without asking questions, long as we apply enough guineas to his palm.”
Thistlewood nodded. “Well done, Mr. Stirling. Go see your cabinetmaker, and offer him whatever it takes to have the desk done in the next two weeks.”
Wesley breathed deeply in self-satisfaction. He'd pleased his savior.
The meeting broke up soon thereafter, and Wesley hurried back to the Horse and Groom, where Darcey waited for his news. He told her everything in great detail, except the part where Thistlewood cornered him at the end, to ask if he could meet with him privately elsewhere to discuss further details. It made Wesley realize that he wasn't quite ready to give up his room at the lodging house to move in with Darcey.
In celebration of his accomplishment, Darcey brought out a bottle full of a dark liquid. She jiggled it back and forth. “Laudanum. Have you tried it before? It's an opium tincture; this one is blended with brandy.”
He hadn't. But he was more than willing to rejoice over his success in whatever way Darcey wanted. And as his mind mellowed from the potent substance, he realized it was quite easy to ignore Darcey's increasing power over him, and to believe that it was his own decision to embroil himself in a massive conspiracy.
 
Thursday, February 3, 1820
 
Put was pleased with his new commission, especially since it came from Belle's brother. The boy was a bit cagey and probably a ne'er-do-well in Put's opinion, but Belle was blind to Wesley's faults, and so for her sake he would also be blind to them.
Besides, the boy seemed earnest in his desire to make a surprise gift for Belle, in the form of a secretary. Although Put understood the secrecy that had to be involved, he didn't understand the immediacy of the project. Two weeks was hardly enough time to create the piece.
But Wesley was eager for the desk and offered entirely too much money for it. Put suggested about half the price for it. They discussed specifications, shook hands on it, and Wesley left the shop, whistling.
Which left Put to figure out how to produce the finest desk he could possibly imagine in a mere two weeks. He had to finalize the design, select wood from his seasoned stock, then cut, shape, glue, nail, and possibly veneer pieces together.
It was an impossible task. The only way he could complete it in time would be to dig out some old desk carcasses from the storeroom and see which one might serve as a good foundation for what he had in mind.
He would get it accomplished for Belle. Maybe she would actually listen to him for five minutes when he delivered it.
 
Belle returned to her lodgings, exhausted from a busy day followed by a trip to St. Bart's to drop off some lengths of Welsh wool flannel. Once again, Wesley had disappeared from the shop early, and she'd had to manage completely on her own the entire afternoon.
It was time to talk to her brother again. How could he expect to have a greater role in the shop if he was going to randomly evaporate without warning?
She heard his voice from behind his door and went to it, raising her hand to knock on it. She stopped when she realized that there was a second masculine voice in the room. Their voices were low, and Belle could hardly distinguish one from the other. Snatches of their conversation floated through the door.
“... is almost ready for delivery ...”
“His wife will be none the wiser... .”
“Need to keep these lodgings ... may need to hide here.”
“Pains ... penalties ... for the king.”
“Timing is right ... prime minister ...”
“... be rid of the tyrannical wretch ...”
“... great reward for you, Mr. Stirling ...”
Belle felt a knot forming in her stomach. Dear God, what were they talking about? What was Wesley involved in? She heard shuffling in the room, and scurried up the stairs to her own room, lest they open the door and find her eavesdropping on them.
She ran to her window overlooking the street to see who would emerge from their lodging house. It was a tall, hulking man whose long, dark sideburns hung low underneath the rim of his beaver hat.
As if he realized he was being watched, he paused and turned to look up at Belle's window. She stepped back, but not before seeing the hateful intensity of the man's gaze underneath his frown.
She shivered. What manner of men was Wesley associating with? And what were they plotting?
Furthermore, what did it mean about someone's wife being “none the wiser” and that the timing was now right? And exactly what sort of reward was Wesley being promised?
She sat back down and pressed her fingers to her forehead, rubbing her brow as though it would somehow inspire answers.
It sounded as though they were talking about the king's ongoing battle with the queen, and that Wesley was somehow engaged in it. Was he being paid to help gather evidence? Was that what was almost ready for delivery? But that was impossible. Surely she was just imagining things based on the scurrilous articles she was reading in the newspapers. Besides, how could Wesley have any connection with the House of Hanover, except through her?
She dropped her thumb to her lap as her heart thudded to a halt.
Am I responsible? Have I unwittingly given Wesley access to the king?
It couldn't be. Wesley couldn't be
that
foolish.
But he'd been mysterious for months, and the king's vitriol against his wife had been going on even longer. Who knew what men of the gutter the king might be seeking out to gather evidence? And what men of the gutter Wesley was secretly associating with?
And if word reached the king that Wesley was her brother, then the king might think Wesley was a trusty conspirator.
She rubbed her eyes. She was being ridiculous.
Belle had a sudden urge to run to Put's shop, another outlandish impulse. As though the man would want to see her again after her last jumpy performance in front of him. If only she didn't have an overwhelming desire to flee to him when she was troubled.
Well, there was no help for it. She'd have to confront Wesley, lest he get himself in over his head. There might still be time to prevent him harming others. Or himself.
She went back downstairs and knocked on his door. He opened, and seemed confused to find Belle there.
“Oh, I thought you were—never mind. What do you need, Sister?” Wesley leaned inside the door frame, his arms crossed in front of him.
“Let me speak plainly to you,” she began.
“Ha! Yes, please do. It's so rare that you speak your mind to me.”
“May I come in?”
Wesley shrugged. “Depends what you want to say.”
“Who was the man that just left here?”
“You mean Mr. This—why do you ask?”
“So that was your bosom friend, Mr. Thistlewood? He has the look of the devil about him. I heard you, Wesley. Talking. Or should I say conspiring?”
Her brother went rigid. “What did you hear?”
“Enough to know you're up to something dangerous and stupid. Something that you think will earn you great favor but will probably result in catastrophe.”
Wesley grabbed her arm and roughly pulled her into his room, slamming the door shut behind her.
He held on to her arm and put his face close to hers. Through gritted teeth he said, “What did you hear?”
She pushed against him with her free arm and he released her. Enough was enough. She'd been patient with Wesley for years, but rough handling her like this was beyond the pale.
And before she could quite stop herself, Belle unleashed several years of anger on her brother.
“How dare you! You are the most arrogant, self-centered man, no, boy, I have ever encountered. One would think you were the spoiled, pampered pet of a rich mistress, as much as you strut about thinking that you're owed some special place and favor in society for no effort. Even with me you do it. You think you deserve ownership in the shop because you wink at the female customers and make daring suggestions with them. And when I don't consider that proof of maturity and responsibility, what do you do? Why, you take revenge on me by disappearing from the shop for hours at a time, to meet who knows what tramp or trollop.
“Is that supposed to impress me? Do you think as I stand here that I'm overcome with remorse at not making you an owner of the shop? Truly? Especially since I just overheard you discussing something that probably amounts to treachery at best, treason at worst.
“Tell me, Brother, what ingenious plan do you have for achieving the recognition that has so long eluded you? Are you helping to manufacture evidence for the king to use against the queen? Will you aid in seeing that poor woman dethroned?”
Wesley grew still. “What did you say?”
“I'm asking you if Mr. Thistlewood is an agent of the king's. Are you two conspiring to bring false evidence against Queen Caroline so that the king can divorce her?”
Wesley blinked as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing.
“Yes. Yes, that is what's happening. You've rooted us out, Belle.”
Such imprudent people were always shocked when they were discovered in their foolhardy plans, Belle thought.
But Belle didn't like his tone. It was too ... smug. And confident. Quite unlike his attitude just moments ago.

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