A Most Dangerous Profession (6 page)

A letter to Robert Hurst from his sister Triona Hurst MacLean upon his going to Eton to study as a youth.

Father told me you weren’t taking your studies as seriously as he’d hoped, but then that’s not surprising. He’s a difficult taskmaster; no one could fulfill his hopes with their studies and still have time for things like food and sleep.

Father may worry about you, but I don’t. I know of no one more driven than you. Considering you’re but a lad of sixteen, that’s a serious statement indeed. It makes me wonder where you’ll end up once you’re a man grown. The world has no boundaries for someone who savors success and is willing to work for it.

R
obert stretched out his legs and admired the reflection of the flames in the gloss of his boots. “I wondered when you’d return.”

The man who stood before him on the thick library rug merely grinned. He was a small man with wizened features and shrewd blue eyes. His back was visibly crooked, yet he moved with an unusually quick walk. “Ye said not t’ bother ye until we had some information, so I waited until we was certain.”

“So you found her?”

“Aye. Ye said she had a taste fer luxury and so she does. She’s at the George, sir.”

Robert smiled now.
Aha, Moira. I know you too well.
“Good work, Stewart.”

“Thank ye, sir. She is using the name of Mrs. Randolph. Och, and she’s turned into a brunette, sir. I almost didna recognize her, except she smiled at the porter and—” Stewart’s face reddened.

“I quite understand.” Moira MacAllister wasn’t the sort of woman one forgot. It wasn’t just that
she was beautiful, though she was, spectacularly so. It was the combination of her looks, her spirit, and her vibrancy. One never forgot how she looked, but more important, one never forgot how she made you feel. Just one smile could grab your soul . . . and she would extract it if you weren’t careful.

Fortunately, Robert was careful. He wasn’t as immune as he wished—the way she’d affected him at Bancroft’s sale proved that—but that had been a momentary lapse. He was protected by years of outrage at her perfidy and lies. “Ask Leeds to watch Mrs. Randolph this evening. I have information that she won’t leave until the morning, anyway.”

Stewart blinked. “But, sir, I can—”

“Mr. Stewart, you are one of the few men I trust with my most clandestine efforts. However, this is no ordinary woman. She charms like a cobra and she’s managed to escape more than once by using that charm. I won’t have that happening again.”

“Sir, I can assure you that I’m no’ likely to become a slave to a woman, beautiful or no’.”

“I’m gratified to hear that. But where this particular woman is concerned, I’ll take no chances. Take Leeds to the inn and make sure he sees her before you leave, so he knows whom he is to watch. Then you are to return here to prepare for a journey tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir,” Stewart replied stiffly. “Will there be anything else?”

Robert eyed his offended servant and said softly, “Yes, you can cease being so dramatic.”

Stewart flushed and bowed. “Yes, sir. I’ll take Leeds to the inn right now.”

“And tell him I may visit our little thief before the night is out. I have some questions that need answers and I must start my journey come morning.”

“Aye, sir. Am I to come with ye?”

“Yes. You’ll be playing the part of my groom. Leeds will be a footman. I shall take two more footmen and an undergroom, as well.”

“Very good, sir. If I might be so bold, is Buffoon a-comin’, too?”

Robert sighed. “Stewart, I’ve told you many times that my valet’s name is ‘Buffon,’ which is a highly regarded French name.”

“Beggin’ yer pardon, sir, but I dinna care wha’ the French think.”

Robert hid a grin. “Why do you ask about Buffon?”

“It just seems tha’ whenever we bring yer valet along, we end up in more mischief than usual,” Stewart said in a distinctly morose voice.

“You think him bad luck?”

“Aye. I also think he’s a whey-faced, weak-kneed, poufy-shirted fool.”

“Pray don’t hold back,” Robert said politely. “You can tell me what you
really
think of my valet.”

Stewart broke into a reluctant grin. “Sorry fer bein’ so forward, sir, but that valet o’ yers is nothin’ but a Frenchified piece o’ lace.”

“I know. That’s why I take him with me.”

Stewart blinked. “I beg yer pardon?”

“People judge one by one’s servants. When they see Buffon they assume that I, too, am a whey-faced, weak-kneed, poufy-shirted fool. That ruse has helped me on more than one occasion.”

“I ne’er thought o’ tha’.”

“Which is why I will ask you to do less thinking and more doing.” Robert waved a hand toward the door. “Off with you, Stewart. And tell Leeds to keep a sharp eye on Mrs. Randolph. She has been known to disappear from locked rooms.”

“Och, sir, have no fear. Leeds is as good at watchin’ as I am.” Stewart gave a smart bow and left the study.

Robert regarded the closed door for a long time before he rose and went to his desk. There, he sat and, using a key hidden under an inkwell, unlocked a drawer and pulled out a leather folio holding a thick stack of papers. The dispatches told the exact
locations of Miss Moira MacAllister, as well as whom she spoke to, for how long, and—where they could—what about.

The first report was from two months before Robert had met her years ago. The last one had been added late last night.

Robert closed the folio and sat back in his chair. He’d never worked so hard to keep up with anyone in his life—not for personal, nor professional reasons.

Yet despite the many papers in the thick folio, he knew a lot of information was missing. “You’re hiding something, Moira MacAllister, I could feel it in your voice. Whatever it is, I’ll find out.”

Leeds was already retired for the night, but at Stewart’s slight prod, the ex-soldier was wideawake in an instant. He donned his street clothes and pulled a cap low over his broad face, then they rode to the inn.

The George was one of the best inns in Edinburgh, with over eighteen guest rooms furnished with the best of everything.

Leeds looked about the inn yard, visually marking doors and windows. “ ’Tis a big hotel. Wish’t it were a mite smaller. Who is this miss we’re watchin’?”

“A Miss Moira MacAllister, though she’s goin’ by the name o’ Mrs. Randolph. She tol’ the innkeeper she was waitin’ on her husband to join her.”

Leeds scratched his chin. “No husband?”

“Nary a one as far as I can see. I think she pretends she’s married to keep men away.”

“Lor’, the people the master consorts with. I think his work fer the Home Office is more than he lets on. Don’t ye think so, Stewart?”

“The master dinna pay either o’ us t’ think,” Stewart said sourly. “He pays us to
do
.”

“A bit out o’ sorts, are ye?”

“Aye, the master was a bit harsh this evening. He was sure I was fallin’ under the spell of—”

Stewart broke off as a woman passed before a downstairs window. The George had a private general room for the fairer sex, where they could take tea or meet together. “That was her; she’s in the lower sitting room.”

The woman passed the window again, pausing this time to lift the sash and look outside, presumably at the threatening weather. Her dark hair was piled upon her head, contrasting with the creamy whiteness of her skin. The light from a lantern lit her face and showed that her eyes were delicately slanted, her eyebrows tilted to an exotic angle, her
nose straight and patrician. But it was her mouth that caught a man’s attention. Something about the curve of her full lips suggested sensual pleasures best not spoken aloud.

“Gor’,” Leeds choked out.

Stewart nodded.

“Sweet gor’.” Leeds breathed again.

Stewart punched Leeds in the shoulder.

“Ow!” Leeds rubbed his arm, looking offended. “What was tha’ fer?”

“Tha’ was to remind ye to keep yerself professional at all times. Mr. Hurst says she’s a seductress, and if she can get ye under her spell—” He scowled. “I think she might be a witch. So watch ye’self and dinna get cocky, or ye’ll come to a great fall.”

Leeds’s eyes had widened and he sent an almost fearful glance at the now empty window. “How do I protect meself from a witch?”

“Dinna let her gaze fall upon ye. But if it do, make certain she dinna think ye’re payin’ her any heed. So long as she dinna think ye’re followin’ her or out to harm her, ye’ll be fine. But if she sees ye—” Stewart shook his head.

Leeds gulped and nodded. “I’ll stay low to the wall, I will.”

“Good. Note who comes to see her, and find out their names and such. If she leaves, follow her, but
be discreet. Send word to Mr. Hurst when ye discover her direction.”

“What if she leaves town altogether?”

“She won’t; Mr. Hurst says she’s due to leave tomorrow morning. He’s goin’ to visit her this evenin’, though, so dinna be surprised to see him. In the mornin’ we’ll be travelin’ with Mr. Hurst.”

Leeds brightened. “Where are we goin’?”

“I dinna know, but I’ll be a groom and ye’ll be a footman. Buffon will be comin’, too.”

“That lace-bowed jackanapes?” Leeds sighed. “I suppose there’s no help fer it. How does Mr. Hurst know so much about this woman’s plans?”

“How does he know anythin’? He’s a smart one, he is. One o’ the best. And I’ve a feelin’ that whatever important business Mr. Hurst is upon, this woman might be a big part o’ it. She might be a spy.”

Leeds looked every bit as impressed as Stewart wished. “Och, I’ll no’ leave me post.”

Satisfied he’d done his best to convince Leeds of the importance of their work, Stewart bid him good night and disappeared into the darkness.

Diary entry by Michael Hurst as he waits for his release from captivity.

Yesterday I discovered that my assistant, Miss Smythe-Haughton, has initiated a hare-brained scheme to charm my captor in the hopes of winning my release without the onyx box. I dislike her undertaking such an endeavor and expressed my displeasure, which she ignored. While the box is a crucial link to finding the long-lost Hurst Amulet, that cannot justify her putting herself at such risk. Especially when I saw the expression on the sulfi’s face when she attempted—of all the witless things—to dance for him during dinner.

Miss Smythe-Haughton might be a crack cryptographer and have a way with winning support from the locals, and she may be the only woman I know who can ride camels as if born to it, but the woman dances like a lame bear. Since the sulfi did not order her beaten, I must surmise that he has an excellent sense of humor.

A
n hour later, Robert rode into the inn yard. He cast a quick glance around and saw Leeds idly grooming a horse in direct sight of the door.

Leeds flicked Robert a glance from beneath the brim of his hat and nodded toward the wide door.

Robert touched the brim of his own hat and dismounted, tossing the reins and a coin to a waiting linkboy before entering the inn.

Mr. King, the proprietor, bustled forward. “Och, if ’tisn’t Mr. Hurst! How good to see ye, sir.”

“And you. I trust you’re busy this time of year.”

“Filled every room,” the innkeeper said proudly.

“Excellent.” Robert removed his hat and set it upon the hall table, his gloves neatly placed across the brim, and then allowed the innkeeper to assist him in removing his greatcoat. “I came to visit a certain guest of yours, and I must ask for your discretion.”

Knowing well how generously “discretion” could
pay, Mr. King beamed. “Indeed, sir, I’ll no’ breathe a word. Which guest are you wishin’ to visit?”

Robert took a shiny guinea from his pocket and dropped it into the landlord’s hand. “Her name is Mrs. Randolph. If you’ll give me the room direction, I shall announce myself.”

“Ah, Mrs. Randolph. She’s a loverly woman. In fact,” he added archly, “the porter just delivered her bath. She’s in room seven, top of the stairs to the right.”

“Thank you. Do you happen to have an extra key?”

“Of course!” The landlord scurried to a small room off the foyer and returned with a large iron key. “Here ye are, Mr. Hurst. If ye need anything else, jus’ say th’ word.”

“Thank you.” Robert took the key and crossed the foyer. So Moira still had a weakness for a hot bath. He wondered what other things about her were the same. Did she still enjoy warm, buttered bread? Reading the morning paper over hot tea and crumpets? Lolling in bed until the afternoon?

Of course, Moira’s idea of lolling was rather vigorous, and the memories warmed him as he headed up the stairs.

After he found her room, he pressed his ear to the door. He heard humming, followed by a splash.

Good. She won’t have that damned pistol on her.
Still, he’d take no chances. He pulled out his small silver mounted pistol and checked it quickly. Then he slipped his key into the lock, turned it, and swung the door open.

Moira was indeed naked and glorious in the bath . . . and holding a pistol aimed right at his heart. “What an unpleasant surprise,” she murmured, her smooth voice at odds with the anger that sparkled in her green eyes. “May I suggest that the next time you decide to surprise a person, that you have your pistol ready
before
you get to their door? I heard the chamber click.”