The Fashionable Spy (19 page)

“I do not see quite how you expect to find him in all this traffic,” Julia complained. She straightened her hastily donned hat, pulled on her gloves—thankful no one had seen her leave the house without them on—and leaned back to take a deep breath.

“You heard me tell Sam to follow that man,” Victoria replied over her shoulder. She leaned out of the window to search the street ahead.

“Well,” Julia said with a practical turn of mind, “that does not mean you will find him.”

“Pay attention. Stick your head out of the window to see if you can spot him. I should very much like to know what it was that sent him off in a pelter, and just where he went. Not necessarily in that order, mind you.”

Considering that two elegant young ladies hung out either window of the carriage, and that they rattled down one of the more important streets of the capital at top speed, it was curious that they attracted only mild notice.

“Sam must think us utterly mad,” Julia called across the interior of the carriage.

“Well, he does know us pretty well,” Victoria countered.

Julia stiffened, then withdrew to the interior. lugging on her sister’s arm, she explained, “I just saw Mr. Padbury. He was dressed in the oddest clothes, very plain and rather dun-colored, not his usual hues at all. Just as though he didn’t wish to be noticed. And, Victoria, I believe he was searching for someone. He sat in his phaeton, but I should wager he paid not the least attention to anything but the road ahead, much like we do. I wonder who it is that he searches for. Not a lady, I’d say.”

Victoria absorbed this while she stuck her head out of the window once again. They neared the vicinity of the war office, but saw no sign of Sir Edward. He had vanished.

“We might as well return to our house, Sam,” she announced to the coachman, distinctly disgruntled. “We lost him.” She slumped back against the squabs with a sigh and a wry look at Julia.

“I thought it a harebrained thing from the first,” Julia said. “Once a man gets his lead, there is no following him, is there?”

Victoria folded her hands, contemplating them while she considered the evidence. “I cannot begin to make any sense of this. I think we had better have a cup of steaming hot tea and some biscuits before I acquire another headache. I do not have the recipe for that excellent restorative Sir Edward gave me ... yet. But I fully intend to get it, among other things.” Her voice had trailed off into a whisper toward the end of her words.

* * * *

At the war department the gentleman Elizabeth had dismissed as an incompetent and overly paternal old wigsby raised a surprised face as the door opened to admit one of his more useful and productive agents.

“I say, Hawkswood, you were not due in today. Something special?” Bushy gray brows rose as his visitor advanced upon the desk with what seemed like menacing steps.

“What do you know of Victoria Dancy?”

A cautious facade slipped over the esteemed gentleman’s face. “Why?”

“You just may recall that particular document you gave me to decipher, the one that has proved to be such an enigma?”

“Indeed. And?” The gentleman in black looked from beneath his gray brows, frowning slightly at a man he considered his friend.

“I just saw a duplicate of that paper on a desk in Miss Dancy’s house.” Edward placed his fists upon the desk to confront his superior.

“Um. Most remiss of her. I shall have to scold her next I see her.” The mild tone was at odds with the seriousness of the case. Leaving papers about was not the done thing, even if they seemed to be innocent lists from all appearances.

Edward leaned across the desk, pinning the gentleman with a fierce gaze. “You mean she is a spy for
our
side?”

“Quite. I usually try to keep my agents apart. The less you know about each other, the less danger you are in.”

“But a woman? A frail, delicate woman?”

“Anyone less frail and delicate than Miss Dancy I have yet to meet. She’s as tough as old boots, in spite of her appearance. Used her for a couple of years now. A pity Napoleon murdered her parents, but it brought us valuable help, what with Miss Elizabeth so skilled in counterfeiting.”

Edward stared slack-jawed at his superior. He groped for a chair, then eased himself down. “I think you had better tell me everything, and start at the beginning, if you please.”

* * * *

Victoria poured out the steaming tea into delicate porcelain cups with a steady hand. She offered a cup to Julia, then looked up as Elizabeth flounced into the drawing room. “Trouble?”

“I am still annoyed with that old wigsby at the war office who patted me on the head, assuring me that the attack was nothing at all. I suspect quite differently.”

“You reminded him of the dead iris?’’

“Indeed I did.” Elizabeth dropped down upon a fragile chair covered with needlepoint and accepted a cup of tea. The sisters chatted for a time, discussing the matter that most involved them at the moment.

The door opened again, and Sir Edward strode into the room. He stopped before the trio, looking at first one, then another, fixing his gaze upon Victoria last of all.

“I trust there is an explanation for your unusual behavior,” Victoria said in a quiet little voice. In this mood, Sir Edward was more than a bit intimidating.

“I should like a cup of tea, if you please,” he said as calm as he could be, seating himself on the sofa tolerably close to where Victoria perched, in wide-eyed amazement “And then. Miss Dancy, I believe you and I ought to put our heads together. Perhaps, just perhaps, we might solve that cipher!”

The fragile china cup fell from Victoria’s hand to crash on the carpet.

* * * *

That night Victoria went upstairs, completely forgetting her candle, with a most confused head. Sir Edward working along with her in the same cause? What a relief he was not a spy for the enemy. That the news offered all sorts of opportunities escaped her for the moment.

She slipped inside her room, then softly closed her door behind her, leaning against it as she contemplated the altered circumstances in her life. She welcomed the dark, wanting to be alone with her thoughts, and Letty would be in here the minute she saw a light.

A faint scraping noise alerted Victoria, and she froze. Someone was in the room with her. It was
not
Letty, who feared the dark and would have candles blazing. Victoria thought the noise was the sound of a drawer.

She clamped her mouth shut, inching along the wall, hoping to see something, anything. How fortunate she wore thin leather slippers and a gown that didn’t whisper.

Suddenly she espied a figure, faintly silhouetted against the dim light that came in through the window. He was all in black, with a mask, and a black cap on his head. He was soundlessly plowing through a drawer of her bureau, tossing things left and right.

Her foot struck the leg of a chair he must have moved, and he paused, glancing up directly at her. He started toward her.

Victoria screamed.

The figure in black panicked, dashing pell-mell toward the window, and went over the ledge. How he managed the two-story drop to the ground, she didn’t know, and dared not run to the window to find out. He might have a gun.

Julia threw open the door, bringing candlelight on the scene. “Goodness, what happened?” She surveyed the mess of clothing tossed about the room with concern.

“Tomorrow we are taking our guns out” for a bit of practice,” Victoria said in a voice that shook just a mite. “Someone is a trifle too inquisitive.”

Chapter 11

The sun had barely risen when Victoria slipped from her bed, relieved to be able to get up at last. She’d slept poorly, tossing and turning while she puzzled over who might be the masked intruder. There had been a familiarity about that shape, had there not? But it had been so dark, how could she be sure? Yet, had she come marching in with a candle, she might have been harmed, or worse.

Once she slipped a pretty blue muslin day dress over her head, she began to organize and sort her belongings into piles, thinking all the while. She confessed that the sneak thief had not been the only man on her mind during the long hours of the night. Sir Edward had loomed there as well.

He was not her enemy. He had a right to all those papers she had seen in his library. If she had revealed what she’d discovered, she would have known sooner! Now she could finish sculpturing his head, then go on to her next real assignment without a backward look—but certainly with regrets. Her mistrust of him had colored her words, her thoughts. How he must feel about a young woman who did the sort of things she did was not something to dwell upon.

Pausing in her work, she considered her position. Perhaps—if she had not ventured into such a daring, unladylike pursuit—he might possibly . . . No, she shook her head at the very nonsensical notion. Besides, she possessed a strong desire for revenge. The Dancys owed Napoleon and his minions their due.

Letty entered the room, gasping in dismay at the chaos.

“A fine mess this is!” Victoria declared as she placed a neat stack of shifts back into a drawer.

Timid little Letty glanced up with enormous gray eyes and silently nodded while folding one of the sheer cambric nightgowns to be returned to the bureau. She worked quickly, efficiently, and said nothing.

Sable poked his nose around the door, then trotted in to sit at Victoria’s feet. He looked about with curiosity.

“And well you might wonder. Sable,” she said to the dog.

The last of the neatly folded garments was plopped in a drawer. Victoria pushed it shut, then dismissed Letty with a pleasant word. She did
not feel
pleasant, however. Now that she was alone, her room returned to more normal state, she was able to hunt out her gun, prudently tucked in a tiny drawer in her bedside nightstand. Would she use it? Could she, in defense of herself or her country? Men had to face that decision, why shouldn’t she?

“Mercy, Victoria, do put that nasty thing down. I never suffer an attack of nerves, but I shall if you continue to wave that gun about in the air like that.” Julia paused in the doorway before entering the room.

“It is not loaded.” Victoria lowered the pistol so the end aimed at the floor, then studied her sister’s face , “What have you done, love? You have the oddest expression. I should say you look guilty of something.”

Julia fidgeted with the handkerchief she carried. Avoiding her sister’s eyes, she inquired, “Did you truly mean that you want us to go out to the edge of town to practice our shooting?”

“We can scarcely go to Manton’s to test our aim.” The noted gunsmith kept a gallery where gentlemen practiced daily to improve their skill. Victoria had never heard of any lady who went there.

“Very well. Only, you must know I am not happy about this in the least.” Julia turned to meet her sister’s curious gaze with obvious reluctance.

“What have you done?” Victoria knew her elder sister all too well.

The handkerchief turned into a tight little ball as Julia took a deep breath. “I sent a note to Sir Edward, requesting his help.” At the look on Victoria’s face, she continued. “This is serious, not a prank. We need a sharp-witted head to assist us. If he believes we are wise to practice with the guns, I shall go with you and not complain.”

Victoria stood silently a moment, considering Julia’s words. Her natural desire to run from the man who fascinated her to the point of idiocy warred with the very practical necessity of obtaining support in the threat against her and her family. Her sigh was neither deep nor angry, more like one of regret.

“Of course, my dear. You are using that great common sense you possess in such abundance. It is foolish beyond permission for us to go haring off without advice.” She gave Julia a rather vulnerable grin. “Perhaps we can persuade him to set up the targets for us?”

“Targets? What targets?’’

The rich male voice brought Victoria around to the door in a whirl. “Sir Edward? What are you doing up here?”

“Mrs. Winton urged me to come over to investigate the scene where the intruder had been at work. Pity you restored order so quickly. I should have liked to observe the room just as he left it.” He limped into the bedroom, poking his cane about, inspecting the four corners, the bureau—where one dainty lace snippet peeked from a drawer—and the bed.

“Next time I shan’t touch a thing until you have surveyed all, sirrah.” He was merely being helpful, she reminded herself. But she had caught him eyeing her bed.

Had he kept from touching her at the windmill because he was a gentleman, as Sam seemed to believe so strongly, defending Sir Edward with vigor? This was a new perception, one she had not truly considered before. Rather than believing her uninteresting and unworthy of his attention, had he considered her beyond intimacy? She glanced at him, wondering which motive had prompted his behavior.

Of course, she had never wished him to make love to her. She was not so stupid as all that. But his kiss was another matter. It had been thrilling. And, she readily admitted, she would have enjoyed more than the one she had received before that hateful taunting.

“Your sister said you intend to practice with your guns. When? And where do you plan to go?”

Giving Julia a pleased glance, Victoria explained about the vast meadow beyond London where they had drilled in the past. “I propose that we go directly we are ready. Shall you wish to act the referee, sir?” she inquired. It was well-known that gentlemen usually did not approve of women shooting guns, believing it to be a male province.

“I think I shall, actually.”

The speculative look on his face forced Victoria to turn aside with concealed delight. Then she quickly sobered. This was not a game they played. The practice could mean saving a life, one’s own life, and that raised it far above a mere game. She pulled a jade jockey hat from her wardrobe, then turned to Julia. “The sooner done, the better. I know you do not relish it, but think of the girls. Would you not defend their lives the best you could if necessary?”

That suggestion galvanized Julia into action as nothing else might. She swiftly marched from Victoria’s bedroom with a purposeful stride.