Dangerous Deceptions (22 page)

“A foreign-looking parson sort in a wig about ten years out of fashion?” said Olivia.

“That’s what I thought. But Senior Clerk Kerridge tells me the apparent parson’s name is Herr Pietersen. He’s a banker from Sweden, and he’s doing business on behalf of the Swedish ambassador. Someone with an odd long name, sounded like Gillyflower, but wasn’t.”

“Gyllenborg,” I said, and they both stared at me. I shrugged. “He came to a drawing room. He didn’t drink, at all. It made him memorable.”

“That was lucky,” admitted Olivia.

“Ah!” Matthew held up his hand significantly. “But it wasn’t all luck.”

My annoyance, which had begun to ebb, returned in its full force and compass. “I swear, Olivia, I’m not letting you near him anymore. You’ve infected him with the Madness Dramatic.”

Matthew, sensing perhaps an unwanted diversion of our previously rapt attention, went on. “Well, because this Herr Pietersen works for His Excellency the Swedish Ambassador Gyllenborg, Herr Pietersen is important. Kerridge has to conduct him up to the partners’ offices right away. He asks me to step into the sitting room, and he’ll have someone bring me coffee. And sure enough, the fellow who gets this unenviable job is the same fellow I picked out as being the youngest apprentice.

“So, while this new fellow’s setting out the coffee, I start making friendly conversation. You know the sort of thing—must be nice for thems as can do as they please and hobnob all day drinking brandy while the likes of us freeze in the basement because they can’t be bothered to pay for coals. He’s chuckling and agreeing, and pretty soon I’m saying how this coffee’s all very well, but I’d rather nick out for some honest English beer instead of waiting around here for the mucky-mucks to finish up, and the ’prentice asks am I buying? And I say I am, and he shows me out the back door and across the alley, where there’s a public house. There, I stand him to a jug of beer and a pipe of tobacco. Or three.” Matthew rubbed the corner of his mouth.

“But what did you learn?” demanded Olivia.

“I learned that his name’s Weeks. I also learned that with Mr. Weeks, Sir Oliver has taken to ’prentice one of the most foulmouthed men I’ve ever met. First came the complaints about the work, how it’s run, run, run all day, fetching this and carrying that, and finding oatmeal—”

“Oatmeal?” cried Olivia, and I repressed the urge to slap my hand over her mouth so Matthew might be able to finish his story. “Is Father banking for horses?”

“That I don’t know. I asked, and Weeks shrugs and says, ‘His . . . nibs is paid to find seven thousand barrels of oatmeal, so we finds him seven thousand, it’s all the same to me.’”

“Seven
thousand
barrels of oatmeal?” I exclaimed. “Is that sort of thing normal for a bank? I thought they just handled gold. Coin. Made drafts and letters of exchange.”

Matthew shrugged. “Apparently the House of Pierpont has been branching out into other businesses.”

“But oatmeal?” The face Olivia pulled would have had her mother in fits. “It’s so dull!”

Now it was my turn to smirk, and I did so. “What came after the complaints and the oatmeal?” I asked Matthew.

“The bragging about the ladies, naturally. It seems the House of Pierpont holds the jewels and plate for some of the most high and mighty of the realm, many of whom Mr. Weeks believes are giving him the eye and he could swive any time by crooking his little finger . . .”

“I don’t think that’s how swiving is accomplished,” said my cousin sweetly.

“Olivia.”
I tried the glower again. Olivia shrugged. Matthew was grinning, and I paused to spare him a glower as well. It had no more effect on him than it did on Olivia. I made a note to myself to apply to Monsieur Janvier for lessons in the more advanced forms of glowering. Clearly, my skills needed to be sharpened.

“Did you see anything of an old man who arrived in a great black coach?” I asked Matthew. “Possibly accompanied by a pack of ruffians with staffs and pistols?”

“No,” said Matthew. “And I’m glad of it. So will you be, once you hear the rest. While Mr. Weeks is warming to his theme of willing women, I’m considering how to get myself out of there. Just then, a new fellow walks in. He has a bright blue jacket on his back and blue hat on his head. He calls for a barrel of wine and one of water.”

“A barrel of water?” I frowned, and Matthew nodded. “He himself taps the wine cask and serves out the wine to the other patrons, making sure all the glasses are handed across over the top of the water barrel.” He waited, clearly expecting me to understand why on earth a man would do such an extraordinary thing. Olivia clapped her hand over her mouth.

“Then he invited us all to toast the king,” said Matthew. “And everybody did, loudly and repeatedly.”

“Don’t you see, Peggy?” said Olivia. “The glasses passed
over the water.
”

I did see, and I blushed for having been so slow. “It was a Jacobite tavern?” I said incredulously. “My uncle has a Jacobite in his employ?” Mr. Walpole had said there were “stirrings.” It was beginning to look as if he was right.

“And a noisy one, too,” said Matthew. “The wine had them all up making speeches about how this time they’d show German Georgie his place and how the new Regent of France would honor the old king’s promises, and the silver would soon be flowing up north for guns and men.” He paused. “That’s why I drank so much, Peggy. I didn’t dare stop while they were talking and toasting.”

Of course. They’d have set on him in a mob if it had looked like he wasn’t keeping up with the rest. Revolution was like a court masque. Nothing truly innovative could happen if the participants stayed sober.

“I see that, and I’m sorry,” I told him. “Were they serious, do you think?”

“I don’t know,” said Matthew. “Drunken men in taverns say all kinds of things. In fact, in the middle of all this speech making, Mr. Weeks is back on about the ladies, and wouldn’t the German princeling love it if he knew some of his wife’s associates were taking such fine care of their persons and their property as some he could name.”

“Did he name any?” I asked.

“Oh, yes. He went on, and at length, about one masked individual in particular who had just hired out a box in the strong room for her most precious jewels. You can imagine where he went with that—”

Olivia waved this away. “Out with it! Who is she?”

“Sophy Howe.”

TWENTY

Shortly after Olivia and I left the academy, I formed a plan of how I should deal with all of Matthew’s news. It was a good plan, subtle yet practical and effective. It had every chance of succeeding in all its aims, I’m certain of it.

Unfortunately, I cannot remember one single bit of it, because by the time the coach pulled up in front of the gatehouse at St. James’s Palace, my head was aching, and I fell prey to a fit of violent sneezes.

I had, in short, caught cold.

It was a horrid and complete cold, accompanied by fever and chills, a nose that dripped constantly, and a head that felt like a swollen bladder on a stick. Libby dosed me with rhubarb and brandy and made me sit with my feet in a hot mustard bath. I lay in bed for nine days, wretched to the bone. I was by turns frantic to be up and doing, and bored beyond endurance. The physician prescribed regular bleeding and a black purge. I must have been delirious with fever and rhubarb at that point, because I believe I told that learned gentleman to go stuff his purge somewhere most unsuitable.

Matthew sent me a dreadful-smelling concoction to rub on my chest. This, he said, was an infallible remedy from his father the apothecary. He also promised he’d sneak in on the public dining day, when everyone would be busy and no one would notice a gentleman entering my rooms.

To add to all these diverting pleasantries, I received another letter from Mr. Tinderflint. I had been writing him regularly with my news, and the inquiry from the princess about the growing rumors of King George staying permanently in Hanover. This was the first reply I’d received, however, and it was filled with his usual level of clear reasoning and steady reassurance.

My Dear,

As much as I miss London, I will admit there are many fine advantages to be had here and I am certain to be quite comfortable for the duration of my stay. I have a most excellent cook and can assure you I am well looked after and entertained.

I read your last letter with great attention. I cannot understand how the news that the elder Mr. G was remaining at his country house came to you. I know of no such plans on his part. Indeed, his business there being successfully concluded and the hunting finished for the season, I expect him to be returning to London shortly after the new year.

As to that other business which I was sent here to pursue, I have not been idle. Early inquiries have produced definite results. Alas! They were not the results I hoped for. I had hoped to find that particular jewel we seek in this city, or at the very least nearby. But from what my friends now tell me, its ownership has been transferred, and I must seek its likeness in a much different location from the one I expected. I understand this will be disappointing news for you, but please believe I am pursuing every line of investigation open to me. I hope to have more news by next week at the latest.

Write to me soon, my dear. I find myself thinking of you a great deal, and naturally, I am anxious to hear how you and Jane do.

Yr. Obedient,

Mr. T

Bored and out of sorts as I was, my reply was short, to the point, and not entirely in the best humor.

Mr. T:

Jane and I both suffer from the same wretched cold. I’ll pass on your message to Mrs. PG as soon as I’m better, whenever that happy day should occur.

I know you will be interested to hear of Jane and her would-be suitors. I’m afraid we are too late. She has rather more about her than she can conveniently manage at this time, including Mr. W. And Mr. S has joined the throng, although he is likewise occupied with S.H. Jane tries to go about her business in a calm and straightforward manner, but these gentlemen are making that exceedingly difficult. There is also some indication that her former interest, Jacob Waters, might be about to make a reappearance.

Should you be in possession of any useful advice, I shall be sure to pass it on to her.

Yrs.,

P. Mostly

I found myself rather proud of my new cant name for the Jacobites. Of course, I’d been drinking brandy and rhubarb again, which might have accounted for it.

Mr. Tinderflint’s was not the only letter I received during that endless succession of bedridden days. Olivia wrote with regularity, urging me to rest so I could recoup my health more quickly. Having taken my hints about the inadvisability of committing too much to paper, she ended these notes with the simple reminder that we had “much left to do before winter sets in.” Meaning that since Matthew’s foray into the bank had yielded more questions than answers, it was her opinion that we now needed to search Uncle Pierpont’s book room.

The letter that wounded, though, was from Sebastian.

I’d had no choice but to write him. I had to grit my teeth and grip my pen and beg him to understand that I was truly sick and could not make any progress with his request. The answer I got back was nothing short of infuriating.

My Dear Miss F,

I have confirmed your story from certain reliable persons. You have my sympathy in your affliction but are not to spare a thought for me. I am well looked after and comfortably situated. I do, however, look forward to your return and the successful conclusion of our business. Otherwise we must allow that business to take its natural course.

Yrs.,

S.

With this in hand, I had no real need for Molly’s court gossip. For Molly also came to sit with me—and bring me a terrible-tasting tisane she swore was an infallible remedy from her grandmother. Why cannot a remedy be infallible and pleasant at the same time?

She only meant to be of use with her updates on the doings in the court. Unfortunately, these were at least as unpleasant as any cold remedy. Sophy and Sebastian had become inseparable. Sebastian had been making himself present at just about every public event, and not a few of the private ones. Always, he was seen on Sophy Howe’s arm or as her partner at the card tables. The two of them were rapidly becoming notorious for the size of their winnings. I wasn’t surprised. If Sebastian hadn’t been a card sharper before he sat down with Sophy, he would be one now.

But that was not what left me frightened and raging against my unforgivably weak constitution. I was afraid because I understood what Sophy was really doing. She was fishing for information about me. Sophy wanted me gone from court, preferably after I’d been thoroughly humiliated. She would be more than ready to use extortion, her poisonous pen, and all Sebastian’s cunning to accomplish this goal. She wasn’t even bothering to hide her scheme. Not only did she write me her own little notes every day inquiring after my health, but she actually sent me a present. Molly Lepell was in my room on Invalid Watch when Libby brought it in.

When I saw what my maid carried, I gaped. Even Molly looked consternated, except she didn’t sneeze at the same time. It was a fresh jar of tea, not only as large and expensive as Sebastian’s, but in a jar that was an exact match for the first. There was a label on the ribbon, written in very large block letters, as if intended for someone who was barely literate.