Dangerous Deceptions (21 page)

“You could go in disguise,” Olivia informed him, and I know I did not imagine the envy in her voice. “We could get you a coat and some velvet breeches. You could pretend to be a lord with gold to deposit—”

“No,” Matthew cut her off. “There’s not a coat in the city that’s going to allow me to pass as an aristocrat.” He held up his callused, paint-stained hands. “This isn’t the court we’re talking about. It’s a banking house. They’ll be looking more closely at anyone who goes in, and they’ll be sober.”

“There you have a point,” I said. “But what are we to do?” I thought for a moment about asking Monsieur Janvier to undertake the task. “He” could most certainly pass himself off as a gentleman. But that would involve taking yet another person into our confidence. To be sure, my dancing master was good at keeping secrets, but I already had too many people who knew my particular business.

Olivia, however, was smiling, and she lifted her cup to us both in salute. “We might not be able to pass you off for a gentleman, Matthew, but what about a clerk?”

NINETEEN

We decided our venture would be the next day. There were three reasons for this. The first was that I’d already arranged for Molly Lepell to cover for me with Her Royal Highness. For a wonder, Mary had this time not disappointed any of us. She might be sneezing after every other word, but she was on her feet and back in her place. The second was that it would give us the maximum number of days before Sebastian’s ultimatum played out to make good use of anything we learned. The third, as Matthew himself pointed out, was that it meant he would have less time to change his mind.

There was no problem in making Matthew look the part. His best coat was a sober and surprisingly un-paint-stained blue. With Libby’s help, we were able to procure a better waistcoat than the one he owned. His good shoes had brass buckles, and although he seldom wore it, he did own a short-queue wig. His place at the academy allowed him considerable freedom of movement, so choosing a time when we could all meet near the bank was limited only by how quickly I could leave the palace after the Wednesday nuncheon.

But watching from behind the curtains of the hired coach as Matthew walked briskly down the street and strode up the stairs to vanish into my uncle’s bank—that was agony.

“He’ll be fine,” said Olivia confidently. Like me, she had donned a mask for the occasion. In contrast to my white and gray creation, hers was a black silk affair meant to call to mind highwaymen and other such ne’er-do-wells. I would have to convince Monsieur Janvier to give my cousin lessons in the art of subtlety. “Honestly, Peggy, you can’t think Father keeps footpads in there for the purpose of knocking young men over the head.”

“Of course not. And if you have any other similarly pleasant ideas, Olivia, you might keep them to yourself.”

“Although wouldn’t it be marvelous if he did?” she went on, apparently unaware that I had even spoken. “Perhaps he’s not working for the Jacobites after all. Perhaps he’s working for the press gangs and—”

I reached out and grabbed my cousin’s chin, turning her face toward me in a manner I’d learned from Libby and assorted governesses. “Olivia. Be quiet.”

“I’m sorry. I promise you, Peggy, Matthew will be out in a moment. Then we’ll be done with this little exercise and can get on with what we should be doing, which is searching the book room.”

I never would have believed it possible, but I wanted to agree with her. I wanted Matthew to fail. If he couldn’t convince anyone to speak with him, if he emerged from the bank this very minute, then he would be out of the danger I had sent him into.

Because that was the worst of this: I was blatantly, selfishly using Matthew for my own ends. That he had agreed to it meant nothing. If Matthew was caught—if he was arrested or worse—it would be entirely my fault. Because I was a coward and a fool and a selfish thing. I had not wanted to risk returning to my uncle’s house, where everyone knew me and anyone might report me, if not to the thief takers or the militia, then to the palace or the papers. I had decided to risk Matthew instead.

“There he is!” cried Olivia.

“Matthew?” I yelped.

“Wake up, Peggy! It’s that foreign-looking parson you told me about. That is the same man, isn’t it?” My cousin lifted her curtain back a little so I could look. Reluctantly, I shifted my attention from the doorway to the figure in the black coat and old-fashioned wig walking down the street, carrying his black and silver stick and an air of intense purpose.

“Yes. That’s the man.”

“I’ve seen him at the house. I’m sure of it.” Olivia craned her neck, trying to get a better look without actually poking her head out into the street.

I could see him from my side of the coach now. He mounted the steps to the bank and walked inside. I pressed my nose directly against the window glass, praying for a glimpse of Matthew. But the door shut at once, and I collapsed back.

“Did you hear?” Olivia rapped my hand with her fan. “I’ve seen that man at the house!”

“That can’t be unusual,” I said, if only to avoid another swat from Olivia’s fan. “Doesn’t your father do business from his book room as well?”

“Only with people he knows personally. And that man’s never been introduced to Mother, or to me. I shall make a note of it.” Olivia pulled her sketchbook and charcoal pencil out of her work basket to set about writing down time, place, personage, and speculations.

“I don’t know . . .” I said.

“Honestly, Peggy, how is it you came to get a post as a spy? You don’t suspect anyone of anything.”

“I suspect you lack understanding of anything resembling the real world.”

Olivia just went on with her notes. I found myself wishing I’d brought such a book. It would give me something to do with my hands. Although my notes would consist of nothing but
Four o’clock, Matthew still inside. Four and a quarter, Matthew still inside. Four and a half, Matthew still inside.

The day was growing chill, and a breeze that smelled of London and lowering winter whipped through the carriage, yet I was scarcely aware of it. All I felt was that a moment passed, and another, and another, and Matthew still did not come out. Another five long moments passed. Another ten. The church bells rang the hour, and Matthew did not come out. The hawkers and the porters and secondhand clothes men with their wares held high on poles came and went past our coach, and Matthew did not come out. Olivia tried several times to engage me in conversation or speculation. I didn’t bother to answer her. My world had narrowed to the dark doorway of the House of Pierpont.

I pushed my mask up and knuckled my eyes. Not only did they ache from staring, but my legs were beginning to cramp from stillness and cold. The foot warmers with which Libby had supplied us had gone stone cold long since.

But then something happened that made me sit up, and lean forward, and dare to ease the curtain open another fraction of an inch. A great black carriage loaded down with hairy, ragged ruffians and their armaments creaked slowly up the street. This unmistakable conveyance stopped directly in front of the House of Pierpont.

“Again?” I murmured.

“What is it?” Olivia peeked out from her side, and together we watched as, once again, the withered man climbed out of the coach, and the ruffians ranged themselves about it. Again, the fellow with the pistol in his belt stayed up top. He must have been freezing, but he waited without visible uneasiness, his hat pulled low over his brow.

“This is just what happened before, isn’t it?” asked Olivia eagerly.

“But what is it?” I asked, speaking more to myself than to her.

Just then, the driver atop the coach turned his head slowly. I ducked back from the window, dragging Olivia with me. The man looked lazily up the street, and down again, seeming to scan the passing crowds like one who is idle and bored, but my scalp had begun prickling with goose pimples.

“We have to move,” I croaked.

“We can’t move. Matthew’s still in there!”

“You think I don’t know that?” I demanded hoarsely. “But we’ve been seen, Olivia. We have to move!”

I have hated myself for many things, but never was that self-loathing so complete as the moment when I thumped on the ceiling of the coach, the signal to drive on and leave Matthew alone in my uncle’s banking house. And our driver did.

“Where to?” he hollered down.

“Around the corner, and stop there!” I gripped Olivia’s hand. I will be eternally grateful that she chose this moment to be sensible.

“It’s all right,” she told me. “Matthew’s steady. If we’re not there when he comes out, he’ll just start back for the academy. That’s all there is to it.”

“Of course,” I said. “Of course.”

But I couldn’t make myself believe it. I did not like that black coach, or its withered owner. I most especially did not like its driver, with his pistol and his searching eyes. Visions of press gangs and worse rose up before me. Matthew might be locked inside the bank with that coach come to take him away, and I was not there. I was lurking around the corner, like a coward and a fool.

I was going to begin crying any moment. I was going to burst from the carriage and run screaming up the steps of the House of Pierpont demanding to know what they’d done with Matthew Reade. I was going to beat Olivia to death with my fan if she didn’t stop that idiotic scribbling and help me work out how we were going to storm the transport jails, where Matthew had surely been taken.

The carriage rocked. I screamed and grabbed at my straight pin as the door on the far side was snatched open. A dark figure scrambled in, losing its hat and wig in the process.

“Stand back, brigand!” cried my cousin, waving the tiny scissors from her work basket.

“Hello, Olivia.” Matthew plumped himself down on the seat beside me. “Hello, Peggy. I’m back. Let’s go.”

I screeched again and threw my arms about him, only to recoil instantly.

“Where have you been? You smell like a tavern!”

“So now you know where I’ve been.” He coughed hard, and the sickly sweet smell of beer that hung so heavily about him grew that much stronger. “Olivia, your father’s clerk smokes like a chimney. Lord knows how he can stomach the stuff. I thought I was going to be sick!”

“I’ve been going mad here waiting for you!” I informed him, in quite a reasonable fashion, I do assure my reader.

“And it looks very well on you. Or it would if it weren’t for that silly mask.” With a grin, Matthew reached out and pulled it off. “Much better. Have you a kiss for your hero?”

I swatted him and turned my face away. Matthew after too much beer and tobacco was clearly not someone I wanted to know.

He fell back against the seat, breathing rather heavily.

“I think we’d better get back to the academy. I’m not sure I haven’t had too much smoke.” He burped. “An’ drink.”

With that pleasing and gentlemanly statement, so in keeping with the elevated character of my gallant swain, I hollered up to the driver to return us all to Great Queen Street.

The sight of Matthew Reade walking through the academy accompanied by not one, but two, masked women was the cause of much comment among the other students, not to mention applause and whistles. Especially as Matthew kept waving and doffing his cap, and was clearly not walking very steadily.

I managed to catch Mr. Torrent by the ear and order him to find us some strong coffee and a basin of plain water.

“What are those for?” inquired Matthew as I deposited both on the library table.

“You are to drink one and soak your head in the other. I do not care which,” I informed him.

“Now, Peggy, you are not being fair,” said Olivia. “Matthew has done us a great good service. It is not his fault there was nothing to find.”

“He left us sitting in that freezing coach and went carousing!” I shouted. “I thought he’d been taken away! I thought I’d condemned him to the gallows! I thought . . .” I couldn’t finish.

Matthew was staring at me, as was Olivia. I plumped myself down on the nearest stool, folded my arms, and turned away. Behind me, I heard splashing, and then the hesitant sort of gulping that comes when a person tries to drink a hot liquid too quickly.

Matthew walked into my field of vision. His face was red, and his damp hair was slicked back from his forehead. “I’m sorry, Peggy. I had too much to drink. I’m better now.”

I glowered up at him. Olivia came to join him. So that things would be fair, I glowered at her as well. “Is she right?” I growled. “Was all this for nothing?”

“As a matter of fact, I did learn something very interesting.” I had the satisfaction of watching Olivia’s face fall at this. “And the tavern turned out to have a part in it.” Matthew pulled up a stool and perched on it, much more steadily than he had walked down the hall.

Olivia, reluctantly, also found a seat.

“On the other side of that bank door is a lobby,” he said. “Very well set up, with tiles on the floor, candle sconces on the walls, the main office on one side, and a waiting room on the other. There’s a high desk guarding the entrance to the office. A sort of chief clerk sits on duty there, with a great ring of keys at his waist. Behind him are the apprentices at their desks, doing what I suppose is the copying and ciphering.” Matthew frowned, concentrating on his inner vision to make sure he’d gotten all the details right.

“As I was going in, I was trying to decide who would be most likely to talk to me,” he said. “Not that I’ve much experience with banks, you understand, but I do know about being a ’prentice. The newest always has the worst time of it, because he hasn’t just got his master’s work to do. Usually, he ends up carrying half the load for the others as well. So as I gave my name and story to the senior clerk fellow at the front, I kept an eye on that line of copy desks behind him, until I was sure I had picked out the youngest man there.

“I told the senior fellow—his name was Kerridge—that my gentleman had a great deal of business overseas, particularly in Paris and Amsterdam. It was not just any house that could manage these sorts of affairs. ‘Oh,’ he says, ‘you may assure your gentleman that Pierpont’s routinely handles letters of credit and bills of exchange from France, the Germanys, and the Netherlands.’ I hemmed and hawed some more, and the fellow starts naming names. I start taking notes”—he indicated his book on the table—“and wondering what on earth I was going to do next. Then I had a stroke of luck. You won’t believe it, but in walks—”