The Pretender (40 page)

The hospital was bustling, but still many of the nurses and volunteers stopped to give Agatha their condolences. Her lies cut deeper into her, like bindings outgrown. As she slowly progressed to the cloakroom set aside for the volunteers, Agatha felt like a deceitful crow amongst the angels in her fraudulent mourning black.

Finally, she escaped into the blessed privacy of the cloakroom, only to discover Mrs. Trapp and her daughters were there before her.

"Ah, you've come to the meeting after all, Mrs. Applequist? I didn't expect you'd feel up to it."

"The war effort will not wait for me to finish mourning, Mrs. Trapp."

"True enough, true enough. Still, I rather thought you'd be busy with that houseguest of yours." The woman's eyes glittered with curiosity.

Houseguest? Had the prying biddy somehow learned that Simon remained in the house? "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"That brown-haired fellow I saw up on the landing the last time we called. Very handsome, he was, and so nicely dressed. Family, I assume?"

With horror, Agatha realized that James had been spotted.

And by the biggest gossip in London, too! "Ah, you mean my… cousin, ah, Merryl… pickle… dor."

"Pickledor? Would that be the Brighton Pickledors? Well, what do you know?" She nodded to one of her daughters. "Kitty was just saying to Lady Winchell how he had that Brighton look to him. You know, all bookish and thin, but good-looking as well."

Agatha's hands stilled, her cloak half off her shoulders. "Lady W-Winchell?" she choked out. "Wh-when did this occur?"

"Oh, just a moment ago. I'm sure you saw her. She left just before you came in. All in a rush she was, of a sudden."

"Oh, no, Mummy. It was at least ten minutes past," Kitty contradicted.

Agatha pulled her cloak back on, then whirled for the door. If she could catch Simon—

Harry and the carriage were long gone. Agatha paused on the walk for a moment. Should she hail a hansom and return home to warn Jamie? But Simon had impressed on her the need to remain safe inside the hospital.

Then she knew what to do. A boy on foot would likely be faster than a carriage. She'd send a messenger to the club and one back to the house as well. Satisfied with that solution, she turned to reenter the grand double doors of the hospital—

To find two very frightening individuals standing in her way.

"Best you don't let on, madam." The larger one spoke with a decidedly French accent. "We would not want to hurt such a little woman."

The two Frenchmen were dressed just well enough that they caused no comment as they each took one of her arms. Agatha cast around for help and saw a small tattered fellow watching her intensely. He seemed oddly familiar, as if she'd glimpsed him before.

Feebles?
mouthed Agatha. The little man gave a swift short nod, then indicated a nearby carriage with a jerk of his head. Agatha looked ahead to see an ordinary hansom parked along the street.

Then she spied the trailing silken skirts of a pale green gown draping through the open door of the cab. In a moment, her suspicions were confirmed as Lavinia Winchell leaned out to smile in her direction.

"Agatha, darling! I'm so glad to see you made our appointment."

Agatha began to struggle then, for she had the sudden conviction that she would never see Simon or Jamie again if she entered that carriage.

She risked a glance at Feebles, who had followed them at a distance. He gave her a helpless look, but she could see that there was no way he could stop her abductors. Even had there been only one of them, he was simply no match.

Still, he would tell Simon. If he didn't foolishly risk himself to save her, as it seemed he was considering. For he had moved closer still.

"Oy there, guv'nor! Would ye be wantin' a bigger hack? Me mate's got a right nice rig, fit the four of ye better—"

Feebles's sales pitch was interrupted when one of the giants lifted a hand to his throat. The thug pinned Feebles to the side of the hack with one hand and proceeded to load Agatha into the carriage with the other.

"Get rid of that wretch," hissed Lavinia to her henchman.

"But why? He's done nothing to you," gasped Agatha. She leaned forward, but Lavinia sent her back into her seat with a vicious slap that made Agatha's ears ring.

Then she saw the pistol that was pointed directly at her heart. Helplessly she watched as, with one flick of his wrist, Lavinia's ruffian flung Feebles nearly ten feet. The man landed facedown on the street, in the path of any wheeled vehicle that came along.

The last Agatha saw as she was driven away was the poor little man in the tattered brown coat lying still as death on the cobbles, along with any chance of word reaching Simon in time.

Simon finally managed to get away from Jackham. Agatha was waiting for him at the hospital and all he could think about was getting her home. Now that they'd reached an understanding, he intended to spend every possible moment in her arms.

As he told Harry to return to the hospital, and settled back into the cushions, Simon could think of nothing he'd like better than to make an early night of it. His palms went damp to think what Agatha might dream up for that night.

Would she wait for him fully dressed, so that he could reveal her slowly, removing one piece of clothing at a time? Would she continue that delightful habit of hers—approaching him clad in nothing but a silken wrapper? Or would his enchanting little maniac devise something wholly new for their mutual enjoyment?

It occurred to him that perhaps it was time that he took the initiative in lovemaking. He smiled to himself. Then again, why not let her run things for a bit more? She so obviously enjoyed it, as did he.

Finally, he was back at the hospital. Letting his mounting desire speed him along, he rushed inside, expecting her to be waiting for him in the entrance hall.

What he saw instead was a bloodied Feebles struggling against a number of nurses and orderlies who were obviously trying to coax him to a treatment room.

"Let me go, ye rotters! I'm all right, so get your bleedin' paws off me!"

Agatha was nowhere to be seen. Sick fear began to twine its way into Simon's gut. In two strides, he was on the little group. He pulled two orderlies away by force, then grabbed Feebles by the collar and towed him free.

"Thanks, guv'nor. I've been tryin' to get to ye ever since I woke up."

"What happened? Where is Agatha?"

"She got took away in a carriage, sir. Right off the street. Happened so fast, I couldn't stop 'em. Giant blokes, they were." Feebles indicated the bloody gash on his head. "The littlest one did this to me with one hand."

"Did you recognize them? What about the carriage? Can you describe it?"

"The carriage were just a hack. The two blokes was Frenchies, I'm pretty sure. One of 'em said something to your lady."

French. It was everything, but it helped them not at all. "What else?"

"There was a lady in the carriage, sir. Posh sort. She'd been to the house to see your lady. You've seen her yourself, I think."

Dear God. Lavinia. Agatha had been right all along. If only he'd listened to her!

Simon shook off the thought. He needed to hurry. "Feebles, go to Miss Cunnington's house and gather everyone there, from James down to the cook. I'll head back to the club and start bringing in everyone who is in town. I fear we're going to need all the help we can get."

The afternoon light was fading as the carriage rumbled through the London streets. Lavinia sat silently, her only expression a cold smile of satisfaction as she continued to hold the pistol on Agatha.

Agatha was silent now as well, for she had exhausted every plea and threat she could think of to make Lavinia let her go. Now she only sat pressed to the door, as far from the thug at her side as possible, while a continuous stream of hopeless plans ran through her mind.

At one point, she realized that they were driving through Covent Garden. With a hot burst of grief, she remembered the day she and Simon strolled the length of the market.

Tears gathered in her eyes as she leaned closer to the window. If she thrust her head out just so, she would be able to see the very spot where—

A sickening impact struck her skull, and she was knocked to sprawl on the sticky floor of the hack.

"Stay down, you little fool. Do you think I'll chance someone seeing you?" Lavinia waggled the pistol at her, and Agatha realized that she had been struck with the iron barrel.

Lavinia turned to the one henchman who rode within the carriage with them. "Bind her well. And keep her down on the floor. It's where she belongs," Lavinia added with a sneer.

It was growing dusky by the time the carriage stopped, but there was enough light for Agatha to be alarmed by what she saw.

They were at the docks. Even this late, there were many men about, but even had she been able, Agatha wasn't sure she would have tried to enlist their help.

Some were merely tattered and unshaven, but most were burly and openly foul. They made Lavinia's thugs look like upstanding citizens.

Then Agatha was wrapped into her own cloak and tossed over the shoulder of the larger man. With her hood flopping over her face, leaving her with only a view of the ground, she couldn't be sure what route they traveled.

With the man's broad shoulder in her belly, it was all she could do to force each breath. All she knew was that they walked for a time over warped pier planks, in such bad repair that her captor had to step carefully for fear of putting his huge foot through a gap.

Then she was loaded—rather like a sack of goods-—into a dinghy. Her hood flopped over her face completely then, and all she could do was listen as Lavinia snarled orders to her minions.

Agatha lay on her side in several inches of oily water, and most of her concentration was taken by holding her mouth and nose free of the wet. By the time the boat scraped against something larger, she had swallowed more of the bilge than she wanted to think about.

Rough hands hauled her up and over, then she was tossed onto someone's shoulder once again. She knew he then traversed some sort of steep stairway, for her head banged against every tread behind him.

"I believe I shall vomit now," she muttered faintly.

The fellow apparently understood more English than he spoke, for she was quickly dumped onto a hard, gritty surface.

"Thank you," she said politely. She wasn't being facetious, for she hadn't been so comfortable in hours.

She heard Lavinia complain, "Oh, for pity's sake." Then the hood was whisked away from Agatha's face and she was physically propped sitting against a wall.

She was in a small wooden room and, by the rocking motion beneath her, most definitely on a ship. Remembering Jamie's stories of his incarceration, Agatha wondered at this reuse of a known prison, until she realized that a boat made a wonderful dungeon, for it could be moved at will.

Lavinia stood before her, her features twisted in a sneer. Frankly, she looked most unattractive that way. Agatha wondered if she ought to tell her so.

"Well, why don't you speak now? No more pleas for your life?"

"I believe I've used the best ones already," replied Agatha.

"Look at you, sitting there as cool as frost. You truly think he'll come for you, don't you?"

Agatha could see no reason to deny it. "Indeed, he will."

"Ha! James Cunnington has never truly loved a woman in his life!"

James? Did Lavinia think what Simon had thought, that she was James's mistress? Then the bitterness in Lavinia's voice leaked through Agatha's surprise. "Is that what this is all about? You're angry because James wasn't in love with you?"

"Not for a moment, and if you were more intelligent, you would know that he never loved you, either. You can play games all year with that chimneysweep of yours, but you'll never make James jealous, because he'll never love you enough to care."

"Chimneysweep?" Agatha asked faintly.

Lavinia smirked. "Of course. I've had your house watched since first you rented it using James's account. My man saw a chimneysweep go in and never come out, and lo and behold—your previously nonexistent husband had come home. I must say you did a magnificent job with such raw material. I found him to be quite… entertaining."

Agatha would have laughed, but the seething hatred in Lavinia's voice was far too frightening. "But why were you watching me? What could I possibly be to you?"

"James told me some amusing stories of his youth, and in them he mentioned his favorite means of avoiding punishment. I never forgot Mortimer Applequist. Then when
Mrs.
Mortimer Applequist began to make withdrawals, I knew that another of James's lovers had been unearthed."

Simon had been right after all. He hadn't been the only one watching the bank. "How did you get access to James's account? Did he tell you?"

"Not willingly. I had to dose him first. I had some… expenses come due. It was something of an emergency."

The lady was a known gambler, and not a very good one.

"So you drugged him to
rob
him?"

Lavinia smiled knowingly. "A man will drink anything if he thinks it's an aphrodisiac."

"Oh, Jamie, you silly sod," whispered Agatha to herself.

Then Lavinia's gaze hardened. "But there was so little money in the bank. I drugged him again to find out where he kept his other valuables, and that's when I stumbled across his secret life. I thought about blackmailing him, but why squeeze a poor man? Instead, I conceived a plan to sell my information to the Voice of Society."

With a swirl of mint-green silk, Lavinia began to pace the room. "That's when my countryman tracked me down and asked me to strike a blow for France."

Now she was claiming patriotism? Agatha couldn't let that one go by. "You mean—paid you to strike a blow."

"Indeed. Paid me well. They promised me a great deal more if I could discover the names and missions of the others. But James wouldn't talk, not even while drugged."

Lavinia spread her hands, indicating the boat. "So I decided to steal him away, somewhere I could keep him well dosed and wear him down. I'd already taken the money, you see. I had to get those names!"