Dangerous Deceptions (13 page)

“After everything that happened this summer, Mr. Tinderflint thought I should learn how to defend myself properly,” I told Olivia. “He engaged Monsieur Janvier for me.”

Olivia flushed, and if the intensity of her color had borne any relation to the length of the scolding she intended to deliver, we would have been there until well past the dinner hour. Fortunately, Monsieur Janvier gave her one of his showiest bows and held out a hand. “Would you care to try my dance, Miss Pierpont?” he inquired.

“Could I?” Olivia clasped her hands together. “Do you have a spare knife?”

Monsieur Janvier laughed. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, but we must begin with something more basic. Now, if you are attacked, Miss Pierpont, it is most likely to be by a man, and he is unlikely to expect serious resistance, so he will grab hastily. Here, for example.” Monsieur Janvier took Olivia’s wrist and held it up for her. “They do this, however, without realizing they have brought their weakest point, that is, their thumb, into easy reach . . .”

Within a half hour, Olivia was doing a creditable job of breaking some of the basic “brute grabs,” as Monsieur Janvier called them. By the time Felix packed his violin away, Olivia was gasping for breath, her hair was disordered, and perspiration traced streaks down her powdered face. I had never seen her so happy.

“You are a quick study, Miss Pierpont,” said Monsieur Janvier as he reclaimed his coat. “You are welcome at my lessons anytime you choose to come.”

“Oh, thank you!” Olivia squeezed my hand. “Peggy, you are entirely forgiven. Although . . .”

I rolled my eyes at her feigned hesitation. “Although what, Olivia?”

“I’ve always wished I could dress as a man.” She peeped shyly at Monsieur Janvier. “Could you teach me that?”

Monsieur Janvier smiled. “Wearing the clothing is not the difficulty, as your cousin could tell you. As with all impersonations, it is how the body moves, and how one talks that completes the illusion. The clothes are only the finishing touch.” Olivia listened to this like someone who had been hungry all her life and had just been invited to a banquet. If the truth be told, the intensity in her face made me a bit uncomfortable.

“What about swordplay?” Olivia breathed.

Monsieur Janvier looked Olivia carefully up and down. “I could, and I think you could learn. But what would your parents say to such instruction?”

“My mother would faint,” Olivia answered. “My father—”

My tutor held up his hand. “No more need be said. Normally, I would not consider it. But I have been told a little of your recent adventures. I think you are not a girl who will stay out of trouble, and if you are going to enter into trouble, it is better you go in with some skill and science.”

Olivia beamed and curtsied. “Thank you, Monsieur Janvier.”

“He” laughed again and made his bow to us both. As he straightened, we shared a serious look, Monsieur Janvier and I. I knew we both hoped this was not the beginning of something rash. Unfortunately, we also both knew there was no way to tell.

THIRTEEN

“Oh, Peggy, how marvelous!” Olivia cried as we hurried down the corridors to my room, and the supper I hoped was waiting for us. Monsieur Janvier’s lessons always left me ravenous. “I still can’t believe you never told me. What else have you been concealing, you horrid thing?”

“Cards, mostly.” I patted my new stomacher, which I carried wrapped once more in its brown paper. “I’ve become quite adept at it. But, Olivia, you do know this is serious, don’t you? What Monsieur Janvier is teaching me, us, it’s not for fun and games.”

“Of course I know, but it’s still marvelous.” Her eyes took on that misty quality that meant she was already seeing past the confines of this dull moment and into her dreams of the future. “I can’t believe I’m going to learn to use a sword! And to dress like a man! Do you think Monsieur Janvier might let me go backstage at the theater? I’ve always wanted to!”

I rolled my eyes. “You will run short of exclamation marks if you keep on like this. What do you intend to do with all this knowledge? Take to the highways and hold up carriages with sword and pistol?”

“Now, there’s a thought!” cried Olivia cheerfully. “And would it not make an excellent play?”

It was at this point, I fear, my sense of humor wavered. “Don’t give me cause to regret this, cousin.”

Olivia snorted. “I’d ask when I have given you cause to regret anything, but I suspect you’ll just make faces at me.”

“Exactly,” I agreed as I pushed open the door to my rooms.

Guinevere greeted us immediately, with a high-pitched tale, full of sound and fury. The withering look Libby gave me as she left to see about our dinner told me this was not the first complaint Guinevere had made during the past hour. Olivia, of course, noticed none of this. She just scooped up her dog and rubbed its nose with her own, making the most amazing series of cooing noises. How was it possible that a girl bloodthirsty enough to want to learn how to stab people with assorted sharp objects could be so besotted by a tiny nuisance of a dog?

“Thank you for getting her back for me, at least for a while,” said Olivia, her words slightly muffled by fluff as she kissed the top of Guinevere’s head before setting her down on the floor to patrol the room at a wobbly trot that reminded me rather too much of myself in my court mantua. “I’ll say this, Peggy,” Olivia went on. “The world had better take care. When Princess Anne grows up, she will be a formidable woman.”

“You noticed that, did you?” One of my duties as maid of honor, and godmother to the royal white hounds, was regular attendance at the nursery to help supervise walks and other activities congenial to dogs and their small princesses. I had, as a result, experienced the full measure of that young royal’s headstrong and too-clever ways.

“And if I were you, I wouldn’t turn my back on that governess,” Olivia went on. “I think she’d do you an injury given the opportunity.”

“Oh, she’s made that perfectly plain. Fortunately, open murder of one’s social inferiors is frowned on at court. Most of the time, anyway.” It was scarcely a matter of months since someone had tried to do exactly that to Olivia herself. “Frankly, I wouldn’t blame you if you decided to have nothing more to do with any of us.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Peggy. As if I would ever desert you, especially now. You’re learning to fight. You’ve become a confidential agent for Her Royal Highness. I could expire with envy.”

“I’d change places with you if I could.” I attempted to speak lightly, but failed. “Maybe your father would be less eager to remove you into a hateful marriage.”

“That won’t happen, Peggy.” Olivia spoke firmly, but I would have been more willing to believe her if she’d been looking at me instead of at Guinevere, who was in turn yipping at a loose hearth tile. “He’s just angry now. He’ll soon see it’s better for us all that you remain here.”

“I can’t be sure of that, Olivia.” I plumped down on my footstool. “There’s something more going on.”

“With my father?” she replied incredulously “Peggy,
I’m
supposed to be the dramatic one. Father’s a banker. He wouldn’t know an intrigue if it bit him.”

“Yes, well, it’s never too late to learn something new.” I watched pensively as Guinevere waddled back and forth in front of the hearth, looking for more wayward tiling. “Has anything changed at your house since I’ve been away?”

“Aside from the fact that the days are screamingly dull and Mother keeps to her bed most of the time, no, not a thing.”

“No new visitors? No unusual meetings? My uncle hasn’t left for somewhere and refused to say what it was about?”

“You must be joking.”

“No, I’m not.” I lifted my face so she could see there was not a trace of amusement here. “There must be some reason why your father is set on me marrying Sebastian Sandford.”

Olivia appeared ready to give a heated answer, but that would have to wait. Just then, Libby made her entrance at the head of several servers with trestle and board to set us up a table for dinner, lay the cloth, and present the trays. The jostling, sidestepping, and strained beggings-of-pardon this invasion set off made further conversation not only unwise, but next to impossible. I noted that two of these servers were spotty Norris and young Cavey. Norris, at least, was giving Libby a whole series of grins and winks when he passed close by her, which was frequently. More winks were exchanged as I distributed tips for their service and for the bottle of wine that I was fairly sure was more costly than my allowance strictly admitted. I felt confident some of what I gave Norris would wind up in Libby’s pocket. They clearly had an understanding, and given the sheer number of darting glances between them, I suspected it extended beyond the purely financial.

I dismissed all and sundry, saying we would serve ourselves. “You may go as well, Libby,” I added.

For a moment I thought she was going to rebel. She knew full well we were about to say all sorts of interesting things, some of which might lead to profit, or at least fame below-stairs. But it seemed my maid was not prepared quite yet for open and public defiance. Either that, or she succumbed to the temptation of a few leisure moments with her Norris.

Once the door closed behind them all, Olivia and I settled ourselves at the table. It was a light supper, with a breast of mutton with collops and greens, fricassee of kidney beans, a purée of salsify, and a boat of sauce to pass, as well as roast potatoes and fresh bread. We were so occupied with passing, pouring, portioning, and tucking in, I nearly forgot our earlier topic. Olivia, however, did not.

“Peggy, I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but you know there’s really only one reason Father wants you married.”

“That would be to get me off his hands,” I said. “I’d believe it, except I’m already off his hands. There is something else.” I scowled at my plate, pushing the greens about as if looking for the answer underneath the boiled stems.

Olivia fell silent for a long moment, which was unusual. What was even more unusual was the serious expression that overtook her. While I was pushing greens about, she occupied herself with slowly mashing the fricasseed beans into a pale paste. I wished I knew something comforting to say. It was one thing to imagine strangers involved in dubious, even criminal, activities. But one’s own flesh and blood? That was quite another matter. She must feel it extremely.

Yet as I watched fresh light blossom in the depth of her gentle blue eyes, I was abruptly reminded that this was Olivia seated before me. She felt all manner of things extremely, but hers weren’t the feelings of a normal person.

“What if you’re right?” she breathed, much more to herself than to me. “What if Father is involved in nefarious dealings?”

“Olivia, I never said—”

“You did!” She pointed her fork at me. “Or near enough. You’re trying to spare my feelings, I know, and you’re a dear. But think about it.” That fresh light brightened to a veritable sparkle. “He could be anybody.
I
could be anybody, just like you.”

I nearly choked on my bite and had to grab for my wineglass before I could sputter, “Oh, Olivia, don’t wish for that.”

But she wasn’t paying any attention. She was too lost in turning her world upside down, reordering it in terms of hoped-for adventure. “He owns a banking house. He could be holding money, or anything, for anyone! Everyone says that King James threw the Stuart crown overboard when he crossed the channel. What if he didn’t? What if it’s in Father’s vault? He could be a secret Jacobite, gathering treasure from the Highland lairds and passing it to the court in exile—”

“That is about as likely as your mother being a deadly assassin.” Olivia opened her mouth and leaned forward eagerly, and I could only groan. “Forget I said that, please!”

“But he could be conspiring with Jacobites. It’s not impossible. I’ve heard that some of those lairds signed over their estates and inheritances to other family members before the uprising so they wouldn’t be seized if things went wrong. That sort of thing takes a lawyer, and a bank.”

I stared at my lovely English rose of a cousin. “Only you could make such leap seem even vaguely possible.”

Olivia laid her hand over her heart and gave a seated bow. Then she noticed the expression my face had screwed itself into and laughed. “Of course you’re right. He probably isn’t harboring any sort of dread secret, more’s the pity.” She said this to the remains of her mutton. Guinevere yipped hopefully from near her hems, and Olivia picked a bone out and laid it down for Guinevere to happily, and noisily, gnaw. She watched the little savage pensively. I found myself wishing I hadn’t brought the subject up. I loved Olivia. She was true, and she was brave. But while I’d not forgotten her love of drama, it seemed my belief that she would come back down to earth with the rest of us once the dramas all became real had been hopelessly naive.

There was a black currant caudle pie for dessert and, with only some misgiving, I set about brewing a pot of Sebastian’s tea for us to share.

Olivia stared at the steam swirling from her cup. She barely blinked when I cut her a slice of pie. For my part, my appetite had grown muted. I left my pie alone and sipped the steaming beverage. Soon I began to feel somewhat calmer. Perhaps there was something to the stuff after all.

I was not the only one who thought my cousin looked far too solemn. Guinevere grabbed a bit of Olivia’s skirt in her teeth and tugged. Olivia tossed the little creature a scrap of pie crust to gobble down.

“We’re not asking the right question,” she said suddenly.

“We’re not?”

“No.” Olivia spoke slowly, as if the words had not quite finished forming themselves in her mind. “Remember the very end of your argument with Father? He went from ordering you to marry to trying to find out what you’ve been doing since you came to court. Why was that?” She paused, her attention focused inward. She was watching that argument in her thoughts, turning it over with her dramatist’s sensibilities, looking for the thread of story and character. “What did he say? Someone placed you here, deliberately, to do his bidding. He wanted very much for you to hand him a name.” Her eyes narrowed. “If Father just wanted to get you away from court or honor his agreement with Lord Lynnfield, why would it matter to him how you got here in the first place?”