The Danger of Desire (17 page)

For all her stern, no-nonsense, Mrs. Tupper had a soft heart. “Then you go on up to the herb garden there and get those things I told you. You remember?”

“I remember.” Her voice sounded hot and stupid, like there was a fist inside her throat making her windpipe feel raw from not crying. From feeling so useless. She wasn’t useless. She
was
a bloody prime filching mort, not a damned mop squeezer. She was old Nan’s girl—finest there was. If he wanted proof she could filch, she’d give him bloody proof.

CHAPTER 12

S
he ducked around Mrs. Tupper, ran up and out through the side gate, gave some stupid cove who was hanging about the lane, the stink eye as she fled by—what the hell did he think he was looking at—and headed north along Paradise Row to the Physic Gardens.

The gardens themselves were mostly brown and bare, and covered with a silver white rime of frost, but there were still rose hips and witch hazels to be cultivated. And toward the back of the garden were glasshouses where Mrs. Tupper’s precious herbs could be bought.

But Meggs would get to the bloody herbs just as soon as she did a bit of business with ... who? There—a doddering old Quakerish fellow in a long, old-fashioned coat and cape was meandering his way out of the garden.

Cawed hand and all, it would be simple enough to bung him. He was an easy target, slow and unsteady on his pins. And rich. She didn’t normally like to steal from old people, but he was well enough set up, and she was madder than a toad full of pins.

And her nasty, analytical brain had already made its catalog: old-fashioned black frock coat of beautiful, tight merino wool over a long waistcoat, all fastened with a long row of polished, silver buttons. Purse in the outside pocket of the coat, right side.

All she had to do was brush by a fraction too close and give his spindly frame a bit of a bump. And then, as she played the Good Deed Doer and reached out to catch him, she plucked up his purse like an egg from its nest.

“Goodness, sir! Take care, before you do yourself an injury.” And as they both brushed and straightened their disarranged clothes, she emptied the lour silently into her special pockets and let the purse drop to the ground underfoot.

The old man smiled and waved her off, oblivious to all the business under his nose. “Thank you, dear girl.”

Almost enough to make her ashamed. Almost, but not quite. And off she went toward the herb sheds, where Himself caught up to her before she’d even reached the thyme. She’d seen him coming, of course. Hard to miss a man like the captain. Especially when he looked mad as a bear with a sore head. Well, that would make an even pair of ’em, then.

He was dressed rough, with only his sea cloak pulled on over his shirtsleeves. Come after her in a rush, he had. Knew she would be up to no good. His face was taut and set, but he only took her arm to lead her out of the way and said tightly, “Don’t you think that’s enough?”

The Bible said to turn the other cheek. All she seemed to be able to go was give it. But giving cheek was her stock in trade. “Enough for what?”

“Enough for one bloody morning. You make one stupid mistake and you’ll blow my whole operation. Not to mention get yourself hung by midday. That was William Forsyth, one of the founders of this garden, as well as being the bloody Royal Gardener, whom you just robbed.”

“Well then, here. You take it.” She passed over the lour, which he took, and the next moment shoved back at her as if it were a snake.

“Don’t give it to
me
.”

“Why not? You said I couldn’t keep it. And you said I couldn’t get nicked.”

“God almighty. I don’t have time to sort out your tantrums.”

“I’m not a child.”

“Then stop acting like one.”

“Stop treating me like one. And stop stealing my brother from me.”

Oh, Lord, now she’d gone and done it. She closed her eyes and started to walk away. To get away from him and the mortification that threatened to swallow her whole.

He stopped her with a hand at her elbow, gentle but solid-like. He meant to have this out now. He spoke in that instructing voice of his, firm but patient. “I am not trying to take your brother from you. I have been doing exactly what you so cogently advised me to do, make use of his abilities to tail and follow people. We’ve learned a great deal about three of our most highly placed subjects in the past two days.”

“You could have learned twice as much if you’d a let me help.”

“I shouldn’t have to explain this again. You’re a clever girl, so put that devious brain of yours to work. I need you to be a housemaid. It’s important. It will become more important in a few days’ time when you’re employed in one of these men’s house.”

“So why you gotta teach Timmy to fence?”

He took a minute to answer, as if he hadn’t thought of the reason himself yet. “I thought it might be good for him to have the company of men. Look, Meggs, I can see you’re protective of him, but a young boy needs more than just a sister. He needs a man to show him ... well, how to be a man.”

“But he’s not a man, is he? He’s naught but a boy.”

“I was twelve when I went away to sea. And he’s years ahead of where I was in terms of maturity and sharpness, or toughness. He’s had a much harder life.”

“Mayhap, but in education, where does he measure up?” She flung her arm out in frustration. “He can barely read or write. He’s as sharp as they come with money and shop signs and the like, but nothing more. Nothing that will make him a gentleman.”

Sweet Jesus and all the saints. Why couldn’t she just keep her mouth shut? Oh, he was surprised at that. He couldn’t keep his eyebrows from flying upward in astonishment.

“I didn’t think you were ambitious for him to become a gentleman.”

She had already said too much. “Yeah, well, that’d be a lark, wouldn’t it?”

“It would be a bit of a stretch, but not unheard of. It could be accomplished.” He was weighing it out seriously. “I could see it done. And with the money I’m paying you, you could certainly afford to buy him a naval preferment.”

“In the navy? In the middle of a war? You’re out of your skull.”

“Best time for advancement.” He looked away, and she could see that toughness flowing across his face, the way water carved lines in boulders.

“Doesn’t he have to be a gentleman to start?”

“Do you think
I’m
a gentleman?”

“You? Don’t make me laugh. If there was only one thing I knew in the whole world anymore, I know that.”

He gave her a big piece of that chewed-up smile, the one that made him look a little silly and completely harmless. “Thank you. If I am a gentleman, it’s because I became one. I wasn’t born a gentleman. My father was a hardworking, industrious Scots farmer, but barely a gentleman. I became a gentleman because I went into the navy. And the navy was the making of me.”

“And you think it could be the making of the Tanner?”

He looked her in the eye. Honest man was the captain. “I do.”

And she was getting tired of fighting. “Maybe you’re right. I know he won’t listen to me anymore.”

“I’ve a friend who’s presently the captain of a sloop on Channel duty. Working with the Revenue and staying on patrol. Fairly easy, if tedious duty. But he owes me a favor and might take your brother on as a midshipman.”

“And that would make him a gentleman?”

“It would make him an officer, eventually, and gentleman will follow.”

“But what if he got blown up, like you, or drowned. He doesn’t even know how to swim.”

He had no reassurance to give her. He knew her better than to try. Something bad could always happen. “It’d be a damn sight better than being hung for a handkerchief. You can’t treat him like a child. And
you
”—he turned those icy, furnace eyes on her—“can’t afford to act like one.”

He was right. This was business. He was counting on her to be a professional. She took a deep breath and tried again. “I’m sorry. But my hand is fine. I can dip for you. So please, leave off the mopping about.”

The tension eased out of him on a deep breath. But he still said, “I can’t.”

He turned to walk her back toward the glasshouse, and she saw the cove from the lane—the one who had eyed her. He was picking his way across the garden plots without once looking down at the rows of plants. But he did keep darting glances at the captain. That was six ways from wrong.

“Right then, sir.” She raised her voice and held up her hand, ticking off Mrs. Tupper’s list as if he had just given her instruction. “Thyme for the fish sauce, marjoram, dill weed, and vanilla bean, but only if it can be got cheap enough.”

“Meggs? What are you on about now?”

She smiled meaningfully the conspicuous cove and lowered her voice. “Fella there’s got an unseemly interest in our business. No, don’t look. You just take your time going home, nice and slow—an easy promenade along the river here so you don’t hurt that leg, and leave him to me.”

“I’m not so crippled as all that.” His voice was both question and warning. “What are you planning?”

“As you like to say, Captain, the less you know the better. And I’ve got Mrs. T.’s herbs to buy, haven’t I?”

Less than an hour later, Meggs gave him the information like a present.

“He’s army or I’m Betty Martin. Handkerchief in his pockets, embroidered, with the initials R.E.—careless that, to have his initials—and plenty of lour. Made it ever so difficult when you went out by the water stairs for him to get a wherry down river, when he hadn’t the fare to follow. He went off up the Row, but see now”—she pointed out from behind his study curtains—“there’s his replacement. Come up river in a wherry from the Whitehall steps. I recognized the waterman—you know the fella—nasty, greasy, yellow beard, squint eye? But look at the way yer one’s walking there, back and forth—all military. Stiff rump and spine. Don’t have a decent slouch to rub a-tween ’em, those two boys. And that bag he’s got slung across his coat there? That’s got the Broad Arrow on it. That’s British Military issue then, right? And don’t get me started on the boots—him and the other one. This one’s let ’em go all scruffed up, but every popinjay and macaroni on Bond Street could tell by the cut and the leather, they’s every inch Horse Guards.”

He smiled at her, and it was like a warm fire had been lit, all pleasure and comfort. Oh, Lord, when did she come to this, to feeling like he was the sun and she was a little weed in the ditch, desperate for his rays.

“Lass, you are a credit to your profession. Your Nan would be proud of you. I know I am. Well done.” He sat down in the desk chair and leaned back, pleased and relaxed. “I think it safe to assume our watchers are what are commonly called Intelligence Men.”

“Never say. Fancy that—hiring men like that to do the thinking for the rest of them. Shame really. No wonder the war’s not going so particular their way. Someone really ought to train those boys up.”

He laughed outright. “I’ll take great pleasure in telling them you said so. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Captain.”

“I wonder if I might be permitted to give you something in exchange? By way of a reward?” He passed over a small parcel, all wrapped up in paper.

She untied the twine and found a thick cloak, plain and serviceable to be sure, but on the bottom, all wrapped in beautiful, foiled paper was a bar of scented, milled soap. She breathed in the scent. She could not allow herself to use it when she was stealing, but until then, perhaps she could wash her hands with it before she went to bed so she could have the scent to breathe off her fingers all night long. That would be heavenly. She got a warm, quivery spot deep within her at the thought.

“Thank you for the clothes. And the soap. I can’t use it, of course, when I’m working.”

He looked a little put out. Offended even. “Why not?”

“Mark of a good thief—never leave any trace, even a scent. Have to be invisible, Nan used to say that. Taught me to use my nose, just like my eyes, or my ears. But it was lovely, the soap. Thoughtful-like.”

“You’re very welcome.” He looked pleased, even if he wasn’t quite smiling.

Like he might have had a quivery spot all his own, the captain.

Hugh stepped out of his front door feeling almost lighthearted. Must have been because he had actually slept last night. Or perhaps he was just getting used to the dreams. Or perhaps he was very much looking forward to this morning’s work—bearding the putative lion in his den. With luck, he might even provoke a fistfight. Anything to appease the rolling hunger surging through his blood. The thought of putting his fist into someone’s jaw pleased him to no end.

Bloody minded, that’s what he was this morning. And happily so.

Thanks to a message from Admiral Middleton’s inestimable clerk, and through his own contacts, Hugh had all the information he needed. He knew exactly where to find Major Rawsthorne within the warren of rooms between the Privy Garden and Little Scotland Yard.

The man Meggs had spotted in the Physic Garden, Robert Ellis, as they had identified him, followed him downriver like a netted sardine. Hugh disembarked his wherry at the Whitehall stairs and made a meal of climbing up to street level and making his slow, ponderous way across the greensward and into Little Scotland Yard. Once through the gateway, Hugh changed his pace, just for the fun of it, to pass quickly through the stone corridors. Ellis had to jog to keep him in sight, until he fetched up at the unmarked and unnumbered offices of Major Rawsthorne. If the major was surprised at being run to ground in his own warren, he hid it well, only displaying his annoyance and displeasure by snapping his fingers at a subordinate to close the door Hugh left purposely open.

“McAlden, isn’t it? I hope you’ve come to make your report.”

Hugh returned the major’s lack of courtesy. “Rawsthorne. Good.” He opened the door again and called down the hallway, “Robert Ellis? Come now, Lieutenant Ellis, don’t malinger out there in the corridor. Major Rawsthorne would like reports to be made.” He turned back into the room and without further preamble, instructed, “Call your dogs off, Rawsthorne.”