What a Gentleman Desires (11 page)

Mailer
hrummphed
with some bravado. “As you all know, I plan to live well into my ninth decade, and die in the arms of my latest mistress.”

Now came a voice Daisy hadn’t heard as yet, muffled by the mask, but definitely male. “What an ass you are, Post. Have you ever seen a ninety-year-old teat? Because that’s the best you could hope to get.”

They were little boys. Horrible, filthy little boys. It was the woman. Daisy felt certain of this. She controlled the others. She’d heard how many of them speak? Post. Burn. That last voice. Perhaps one other, earlier.

That left one. One who was there, masked as the others, but not speaking. Why? Because he had nothing to say, or because he let the woman speak for him?

Daisy couldn’t be certain. She had no way of knowing if she was right or wrong...but it seemed logical to her that the woman would have a consort. Didn’t all the most renowned villainesses of history have a consort? Or perhaps some variation on a witch’s
familiar?
Someone physically stronger, able to dispatch those she condemned? A presence, albeit in the background, that reminded anyone foolish enough to challenge her that she was not without her protection?

She would have to ask Valentine his opinion...directly after he was done tearing a verbal strip off her hide for having sneaked up the hill to eavesdrop, of course.

Daisy came back to attention as the woman ordered the session closed. There was some foot shuffling, a final prayer having some slight connection to the Lord’s Prayer, but horribly profane, and then the unexpectedly bright light from the lantern as it was held high and the descent begun.

She all but dug herself into the ground, counting slowly to one hundred, and then to one hundred again, before making her way back down the hillside, hoping to locate the spot she was supposed to have been inhabiting for the past half hour.

Valentine was already there, drat him.

“I should have tied you to one of these trees,” was all he said as he grabbed at her hand and began pulling her back up the hillside. “You heard everything, of course.”

Daisy hoisted her skirt so she wouldn’t trip, and said nothing.

“Silence is as good as a yes, you know.”

“I—I don’t want to go back up there.”

“Oh, no, Miss Marchant. In for a penny, in for a pound. You’re not backing out now.”

“Speaking of
now,
I don’t like you very much right now,” she told him as the stones came in sight thanks to the full moon.

“I’m not particularly in charity with you at the moment, either, so I suppose that makes us even. There,” he said when they’d reached the circle. “Sit down right there.”

Daisy’s eyes grew wide. “On one of these stones? No, absolutely not.”

“Sit. Down.”

She sat down.

He sat down right beside her.

The gesture didn’t make her feel any better, especially when he immediately jumped up again, swearing, and rubbing at his hip. “What in hell do you have in your pocket?”

Now she felt really silly. “My sewing scissors. To... I thought if I needed to...defend myself— Oh, stop glaring. Your eyes are positively shooting daggers in the moonlight.”

“I’m not shooting daggers—I’ve been
stabbed
by one. I have never met a woman who can drive me so close to insanity, do you know that?”

“Yes, and I’m not proud of that, no,” Daisy told him, twisting her fingers together in her lap. She tipped her chin toward the spot where the altar had been placed. “Is...is there anything over there?”

Valentine sighed, and went to look, poking at the grass with his sword stick. “Chicken. No, I correct myself, it was a rooster. The obligatory sacrifice to the netherworld, I suppose. I don’t think the woman is some sort of witch or true believer. This entire business of devil worship and the rest is nothing more than a sop to get her what she wants. She’s humoring the others, even trapping them into doing her bidding. A woman. God, I never would have believed it, and neither will anyone else.”

She couldn’t seem to control her tongue. “So you noticed. I agree. Post—Lord Mailer, that is—finds all the ceremony fatiguing, I believe, but Burn—that would be your Mr. Charfield, of course—is more invested in all the...theatrics. I imagine some would find it all strangely empowering, rather like rousing war whoops before going into battle.”

“War whoops?”

“Yes, done both to invigorate and terrify. I’ve read about the Native Americans, and the Saxons, of course. The Mongols. And the Vikings—stop shaking your head like that. You did ask. But to continue. I couldn’t tell much about the others, and I don’t think one of them spoke at all. Do you think that’s because he’s only a more minor member? I don’t. I think he’s her consort. No one can lead simply with determination. There always has to be a show of force somewhere. All the great leaders of history knew this.”

Valentine rubbed at his mouth. “Sweet Jesus. I’m terrified you’ll faint in fear, and you’re turning this into a
classroom.
” He returned to the fallen lintel stone and sat down once more. “So, you figured out the code.”

She nodded. “Yes, but I think I’m done now, except to say you should be quite ashamed of yourself.”

He turned toward her. “Because of—damn it, woman, I didn’t
do
any of those things.”

“No, but you thought them up, didn’t you?”

“Not really, no. I, um,
borrowed
them from something I read. We found some journals the Society had been keeping, recording their—let’s call them
exploits—
and picked from any number of possibilities. Look, I should probably start at the beginning.”

Daisy wrapped her cloak more tightly around her. “Yes, I suppose so. I’m in no great rush to return to my room in any case. I wouldn’t dare sleep, for fear of nightmares. Please, if you would, begin with
we.
Who are
we?
”

It took some time, and Daisy had to bite her tongue now and again, to keep from interrupting with a question, but at last she understood. Or thought she did.

We
were the Redgraves, the entire family, including, unbelievably, their own grandmother, all of them out to aid the Crown and keep both old and new scandal away from their name. Their own grandfather had founded the Society, their own father had resurrected it some years later, and now persons unknown to them had invented their own version, their own aims and ambitions.

Jessica, the current earl’s wife, had nearly been a victim of the Society, and it was her father, Turner Collier—his code name Miner, as colliers were miners—who had helped form this latest group. It was through meeting Jessica that Gideon, the earl, had learned about the Society, and it was Collier and his second wife who had been murdered by the Society, their coach then set on fire.
Started him off flaming here, didn’t we, to help him on his way?

Collier had been the
Keeper
of the Society rules and journals, second in command to Barry Redgrave—Valentine’s father. The journals kept by each member ever since the first Society was active had all been found, but the
bible,
where Collier annually condensed
all
the information, had been destroyed by Collier himself before his death. The bible had been the key to understanding the journals, and contained a list of all members and “guests” by name as well as code.

The Redgraves had made much progress, but there was still so much to know before the Society could be destroyed.

Many of the members whose code names were culled from the journals were now dead, but clearly some remained alive, like Burn, and Post, and Hammer. And, also clearly, the Society continued to bring in new members, all of them set on handing the country over to Bonaparte in turn for whatever reward they coveted. They employed the same method of recruitment and entrapment, the hellfire club. And, probably thanks to Collier’s knowledge of the area, had both adopted the rites and made use of tunnels and beaches at Redgrave Manor to carry out some of their plans. Until, having no further use for him, it would appear, the Society had him and his wife murdered.

The Redgraves believed the last of the Society to be active during their father’s years as Exalted Leader or whatever he called himself were now all dead, either through age or execution, and there was no way of knowing the identities of any of the new Society unless they could break the code found in Collier’s journal. Charles Mailer (Post) and Archie Urban (City), had been the last known code names the Redgraves knew, save for Hammer. Although the Society had many members, the inner circle wielded the power, limited to a Devil’s Dozen of thirteen.

Prime Minister Perceval seemed to believe the Redgraves when Gideon went there to tell what he knew, but had then forbidden them to involve themselves: a request clearly ignored. Valentine planned to insinuate himself into the Society via Lord Mailer in order to gain information and hopefully destroy the Society from the inside, and when he looked at the governess in her drab gown, bun and glasses, saw the disdain and intelligence in her eyes, he’d assumed she was an agent sent by Perceval to watch both Mailer and himself.

“Me,” Daisy said at last. “I still cannot imagine why you would have thought such a thing.”

Valentine put a finger to his mouth. “
Shh,
I’m not done. Don’t you want to know what’s going on
now?
”

“But I already do, don’t I? You’re going to be invited to
perform
for them tomorrow night—and how you’ll get around that I don’t wish to so much as contemplate. Mr. Frappton, poor man, is going to be royally entertained—something else I don’t want to think about—and then coerced into treason as a proof of loyalty, and then summarily murdered to protect Burn. The Society, thanks to its own bumbling—in my opinion, they really should have kept that Frenchman alive—are being forced to meet their French counterparts on Redgrave land one more time come the new moon, and that’s when you’ll have them. Because there aren’t really pirates, it was you Redgraves. Pirates? What nonsense.”

“Yes, what nonsense,” Valentine repeated, grinning.

Daisy’s mouth dropped open as she stared at him. “You can’t really mean that’s true?”

“As my sister’s soon-to-be husband said, and all that he will say, is he gained assistance from a least-likely but exceedingly talented and proficient party. Some questions aren’t to be asked, and I only hope Simon knows how to contact these men again. Now, if there are no more questions for tonight—I’m certain you’ll think of others for tomorrow—I suggest we return to our beds.”

He stood up, held out his hand, and she took it. “You don’t think we were missed, do you?”

They began making their way down the path, Valentine in the lead.

“I hope not. I can’t be certain Mailer won’t check on me a second time, and Piffkin may have rolled over in his sleep, giving the game away.”

“You put your valet in your bed to pretend he’s you? You know, Valentine, that was rather brilliant. Not that anyone would think to come looking to see if I am in my bed.”

“You keep the door locked, and as I’ve said before, I doubt anyone would dare...and that was before I knew about the scissors.”

Daisy concentrated on her footsteps for a while before asking, “Who do you think that woman could be, Valentine? Someone called her Exalted One.”

“But only the one time, did you notice that, as well? It would appear she has no code name. I wonder if those fools even know who they’re bowing to, what with the masks.”

“I still think she isn’t the sole leader. I think there have to be two of them. A woman can be so easily overpowered. Physically.” As she said the words, she had a horrible flash of Rose being grabbed by strong men wearing those awful masks. She gasped aloud, and couldn’t stop herself from staggering as she felt the blood draining from her brain.

Valentine turned around at once, letting go of her hand and taking hold of her at the shoulders. “What? Did you hurt yourself? Daisy, are you all right? You didn’t stab yourself with those damned scissors, did you?”

“No, no. I’m fine,” she said, but she couldn’t look at him. It was dark enough beneath the trees that he probably couldn’t see her face. Or her sudden tears.

“No, you’re not. I can feel you trembling. You’re so damn calm, and logical, reasonable—I should have realized the true effect all of this is having on you. You’ve led a sheltered life, no matter how independent you pretend to be. My God, the vicar’s daughter, come face-to-face with a hellfire club. What could be worse?”

Knowing your own sister was one of their victims. Sensing her terror, forced to acknowledge her fate. Remembering the lessons of her father, dutifully searching for, but finding no forgiveness in her heart. Wanting them dead, wanting to kill them all. Rose. Oh, sweet Jesus, Rose...

Daisy couldn’t hold herself together any longer. She broke down. Completely.

Valentine drew her to the ground with him, settled her on his lap as she held on to him with all of her strength, sobbed against his chest for what seemed like hours.

He loosened her bun, softly stroked her hair, her cheek, rocked her as if she were a child.

“I’m sorry,” he said in a broken voice, over and over again. “I’m so, so sorry.”

At last, she stopped; there simply were no more tears to cry. She didn’t feel better. She felt drained, empty. Hollow inside.

She said nothing as Valentine wiped at her face with his handkerchief, then put it to her nose and told her to blow, as if she were a toddler in the nursery.

“Good girl,” he said bracingly, and somehow she smiled.

“And you’re a good man,” she told him, touching her hand to his cheek. “Thank you.” She moved in closer, and pressed her mouth lightly against his.

He was so sweet. He held her, but only lightly. He stroked her hair again, somehow brought them both to their feet while not breaking the kiss. She felt his arms encircle her back, slid her arms around his neck.

They kissed. That’s all. They simply kissed. At a moment like this, anything less wouldn’t be enough, while anything more would be profane.