Wasp (42 page)

She opens her mouth and without any prompting the words spill out. Richard listens in silence. He offers her a kerchief, which she presses against her face. Outside, in the dark, something crashes through the trees sending twigs rattling to the forest floor. Richard leans forward. Wasp hears the whisper of thick material as a blanket is spread over her legs.

‘You’re shivering,’ he explains.

‘I have to save Moth. I need to get her out of that velvet-lined dungeon and away from the Abbess. It won’t be easy. Kingfisher and Leonardo will be after her like hunting dogs. I was told the House of Masques holds everyone in its thrall, and it’s true.’

‘You’ve proved strong enough to come this far.’

‘Have I? Throwing all my problems in your lap doesn’t speak of courage. The Abbess branded me. Pressed a hot iron against my skin because I broke the rules. I’ll have it for life. Not only on my arm but in my head and heart too.’

His mouth is inches from her ear. His breath comes in short, sharp bites. ‘I have rooms in Portsmouth near the harbour. Father doesn’t know about them. The landlord owns a shipping business and, thanks to my ministrations, enjoys favourable import duties on his cargoes. The place is hardly a palace but it’s comfortable, at least for a while. I go there when Father is conducting private business in the city and use it as I please. You are welcome there. I doubt even the Abbess’s bloodhounds could sniff you out.’

‘Where is your father? Is he at the party?’

‘Last I saw of him he was climbing the stairs with a bottle of canary tucked under one arm and the Duchess of Hambleton on the other. I shall be the last thing occupying his thoughts.’

Wasp sighs. ‘I still don’t know how I’m going to smuggle Moth out of the House. I’ve no idea where she’s being kept and I can’t keep asking.’

‘Are your Sisters prone to bribery?’

‘I suspect most would sell their mothers for a shilling.’

He fumbles in his jacket then drops something heavy into her lap. Coins jangle. ‘That should be enough to open doors and seal mouths.’

Wasp slides the purse into her reticule. ‘I don’t know how to begin thanking you, Richard.’

‘Indeed you do.’

He lays a hand on her arm. Wasp’s mouth has gone dry. She tries to move. Her muscles won’t obey. ‘What are you doing?’ she whispers.

A rogue lick of starlight peeks through the trees and illuminates his face. His teeth seem to leap out at her. ‘You were so upset tonight I thought you might welcome a distraction.’

‘Take your hand away. I am a Masque. No one touches me.’

His fingers caress her sleeve. ‘Going against your Abbess carries a dreadful risk,’ he murmurs into her ear. ‘More so than even you know. Everything bears a price. You’re getting by far the better bargain. You and that girl whose hide you’re so keen on saving. This caper is going to cost.’

‘Richard—’

‘It’s all I want. It’s all I ever wanted. Not so much to ask, considering the life you must’ve led already.’

Friend’s voice in her head.
You want a decent supper, lass, you’ll have to pay for it.
And then her father.
You’re nothing but a painted whore.

A price. Always a price.

Wasp settles back against the seat. ‘Just like your papa after all,’ she says.

‘No, you don’t understand.’ His fingers leave her arm and linger above her cheek. ‘I only wish to touch your face.’

‘My face?’

‘Yes. A few moments, no more.’

‘You are not permitted to—’

He waves her into silence. ‘You rejected me in the park. You accuse me of setting up a clandestine Assignment then you interrogate me about George. Not satisfied with that, you go onto demand favours as if you and I were close kin. I am not here to be used. What I ask in return is little enough, don’t you think?’

‘I’ve done worse things,’ Wasp murmurs, closing her eyes.

‘I should accompany you into the House,’ says Richard. ‘I’ll say you took ill at the party and I brought you home.’

‘What about Nightingale?’

‘She was busy with the other guests. I’m sure your Abbess will understand.’

‘Keep your end of the bargain and I shall not burden you with anything more than we agreed to.’

Outside, city windows slide past in candlelit blocks. His face lights up, darkens, lights again. He’s back on the opposite seat, slouching like some idle, pampered squire. The carriage turns into Crown Square and draws to a halt in front of the House.

Seated behind the reception table is Hummingbird. Candles flicker over the rolled-up scrolls of the following day’s Assignments.

‘Where is the Abbess?’ Wasp asks. ‘Still indisposed?’

Hummingbird puts down the quill she’s been fingering. ‘In a manner of speaking. You’re back early.’

‘Perhaps I can explain this unexpected return,’ Richard says, stepping forward.

‘Perhaps you can.’

Wasp casts around the otherwise empty hall. ‘Why is Kingfisher not here?’

‘Now that,’ Hummingbird says, ‘is a very good question.’

Wasp rouses Eloise and orders a hot posset to settle her stomach. The maid brings it to Wasp’s bedchamber and places it on the bedside table.

‘I had to heat the milk myself,’ Eloise says. ‘Cook is not about at this hour.’

‘Fine. Please leave towels and a fresh shift outside my door.’

‘Anything else,
enfant,
or am I permitted to enjoy a little sleep before daybreak?’

‘Go to bed. I won’t need anything more tonight.’

‘Very well, but you will be sure to return that gown, oui?’

Too tired to care about the House’s precious garments, Wasp dabs her aching body with a wet towel. If she has to humour Richard for the sake of herself and Moth then so be it. She wipes the smell of Nightingale’s chosen perfume from her breasts and runs the towel over her face, clouding the water in the basin with face powder.

Feeling better, Wasp ties her hair behind her neck. She scoops up the ball gown and hooks it over the back of the chair. She pads naked to the window. Hummingbird has taken Richard into the Scarlet Parlour, something she lacks the authority to do. Wasp found herself dismissed. She heard neither Richard’s explanation for their early return nor Hummingbird’s response.

Outside, the moon drags itself from behind a patch of cloud and shivers Crown Square with pale light. Waiting as instructed, horses snorting and pawing the road, is Richard’s carriage.

It’s still there when, sleepless, she checks again two hours later.

Wasp turns over in her bed. Grey light trickles between the curtains. The air feels cold against her cheeks despite the orange bowl of embers hugging the bottom of the hearth. She swings her legs out from under the coverlet and stands, stretching. Richard’s purse is tucked beneath her pillow. She’ll have to think of a better hiding place. In the Comfort Home things were stuffed up sleeves or tucked into skirt linings. No such opportunity in a place where clothes and bed linen are changed daily.

She goes to the dresser, plucks a towel and rubs her face. The coarse material invigorates her skin. She pulls the curtains wide. Beneath a washed-out sky everything is the colour of ashes. Wasp half expects to see Richard’s coach and team still waiting by the kerb, but apart from a scattering of hawkers pitching their wares no one else is abroad.

A knock on the door. Hummingbird slips uninvited into the room. Wasp isn’t sure if she’s pleased to see her old friend or not. The Masque’s eyes are puffy and her hair unusually tangled. Her emblem resembles a livid welt on her pale cheek.

‘Anything wrong?’ Wasp ventures.

‘That Kitten of mine is killing me.’ Hummingbird perches on the edge of the bed. ‘I’m going to put her in a room of her own before I commit murder.’

‘Is she keeping you awake?’

‘I don’t think she knows the meaning of sleep. She spends night after night fidgeting and whispering. Again and again, hour after hour, and much worse than any other new girl. I’ve yelled at her, poked her, thrown a pillow at her head, but it doesn’t make any difference. I’ve even threatened to tip a pitcher of water over her. Yet each morning she’s up and about like a spring bunny while I’ve got my head under the pillow feeling like death.’

‘I didn’t think a Kitten could best you, Hummingbird.’

‘Neither did I but, short of murder, what can I do?’

‘She wasn’t the sole reason for your late night.’

‘Indeed not. Your escort hadn’t even left before Nightingale turned up. She’d make a spitting cat look sweet-natured. Richard had to explain everything.’

‘What did he say?’

‘It doesn’t matter. He’s been recompensed for his trouble and Nightingale is a mite less put out. I’d tread softly around her for a day or two though. She thought you’d been kidnapped.’

‘Where is the Abbess? Is she still unwell?’

‘Yes.’

‘What does the Fixer think?’

‘The Fixer has troubles of his own. Are you coming to breakfast?’

‘I’m not hungry. If I get an Assignment send it up.’

‘Can I do this?’

Wasp holds both hands in front of her face. Her fingers shake so badly they’re long, pink blurs. She flexes them, stretching the muscles, then balls them into fists. She must gamble everything on this one attempt. There’s no other way. She can’t go tiptoeing around the Masques, hoping one of them will tell her something. They’ll just as likely inform the Abbess, or the Abbess will find out anyway. Things might go wrong whatever Wasp chooses to do. She’s already tried collaring Moth’s former mentor, Red Orchid.

‘I want to know where Moth is being kept.’

‘Go and ask the Abbess.’

‘I can’t do that, as well you know.’

‘So why do you think I can help?’

‘You’ve been here longer than me. I’ll wager there’s not a rat in the rafters you can’t account for. You’re bound to know where Moth is. You’d make it your business to know.’

‘Even if that were true why should I tell you anything? You’re too stuck on that little duckling. Everyone says so.’

And that had been that.

Wasp sits on the edge of her bedroom chair, careful where she puts her legs. She’s pinned up a fold in her gown to fashion a makeshift pocket for Richard’s purse. The coins swing against her thigh whenever she moves. What if the fastening breaks and the purse tumbles out at the wrong moment?