GypsyDukeEpub (11 page)

He almost laughed. His tenure among the gypsies had never been described as a profession.

"I must admit, I am intrigued, but alas, my time grows short. My absence in camp will doubtless be remarked upon if I dally much longer."

Newport stood. "Then we must ask you to join us in a more private locale. This way, your grace."

As he stood, John grabbed Robert's letter from the table. "I would much prefer it if you called me John. Anything else is unsuitable, considering, and could cost me dear."

"As you wish…John."

In a private salon where a fire had been laid, John found his two visitors more loquacious.

Sir James settled into a deep chair and indicated that John do the same. "There's really no way to get round saying what we suspect without insulting…someone, so you'll have to indulge me, I'm afraid. Let's say, for the sake of this discussion, that our information is accurate…and I assure you, it is, your grace."

John fast approached his maximum boredom level. By this time, he had deduced that he dealt with some type of representative from His Majesty's government. He'd forgotten how government officials could speak forever without actually saying anything.

"I follow you not at all, Sir James, and time is passing. Pray, come to the point of this endeavor...sir."

Newport took over the discussion. "We have reason to believe that someone in your, uh…caravan of associates, is aiding Napoleon."

"That is preposterous. These people have visited my estate since I was a boy. Their customs may be outrageous to the aristocracy, but they are loyal."

"I'm sure they are loyal, but to whom? Not to England. They are too often imprisoned."

John's eyes narrowed. "Not to France. They have fared little better across the Channel."

"Our evidence is indisputable." Newport shrugged.

"I would see it then."

Sir James cast a sidelong glance at Newport, and Newport nodded. Who
was really in charge of this discussion?

Sir James held out his hand to reveal several trinkets distinctly familiar to John, but such that anyone could obtain from the Gypsies.

"What of it?" he asked. "Those are available to anyone with enough coin."

"You agree they are unusually conspicuous in their design...from your fellow travelers." Newport spoke as a man pushing his advantage.

"That is so. Each caravan is unique in its…product."

"This was taken from a smuggler on the French shores just as he passed a load of gold to Napoleon's waiting hordes. And before you say it means nothing, be aware that it isn't the first time we encountered these objects. Our first arrest report included a list of objects found on the individual. These…souvenirs are being used as a means of identifying cohorts. Our second such arrest was made in England before the ship ever sailed. This time, the cargo was a packet of information, detailed information from the Foreign Office in London. These trinkets could have been ignored the first time, but not the second."

"And why is that?"

Sir James tapped the bundle. "Because Newport was a plant. He leaked the information to a man suspected of French involvement then followed the trail. It led straight to your gypsies. There is no other explanation for the transfer of the information and the trinkets, your grace."

"What is it you expect me to do? Spy on those who risked their livelihood to hide me? That is not honorable for a peer of the realm...sirs."

"Since when were you interested in that which is honorable…your grace?" Newport's question came more in the manner of an accusation.

"I have grown weary of unenlightened comments such as that in the past few years. Mayhap, I find more honor in the gypsies than the illustrious ton. If you are so concerned with honor, Newport, find your own traitors. Why ask me? Obviously, you have no problem with lying about your identity."

Before Newport could respond to John's outrage, Sir James took control of the conversation again.

"There is no need for either of you to disparage the other. If not for men such as Newport, we would never win the war. And you must admit, your grace, you have become adept at hiding your true identity. No other is in a position to accuse or defend your gypsies. Bare that in mind before you refuse this assignment.

"They will be hanged, or, at the very least deported, and most likely, they will lose all their possessions, if they are not cleared of wrongdoing. We simply don't have the manpower to watch every gypsy. If they are disbanded, you will be left with nowhere to hide from your
uncle."

John's head whipped around, and Sir James smiled humorlessly. "Oh yes, we are aware of your difficulties, your grace."

John frowned. Had he been betrayed by someone he thought he could trust? "I take it that Robert has kept you well-informed."

Sir James nodded. "He had no choice. He is involved in this operation. When he learned of your presence in the gypsy camp, he was most troubled and begged us to give him time to unravel the truth. You have his interference to thank for the liberty of your gypsies."

"Robert should be at Oxford, not running about the country, looking for spies."

Newport stirred. He gave John a direct look that begged restraint. "John…we are at war. Men do things of sacrifice at such a time. Robert's father didn't want him on the front lines. He is the heir with no other male relatives. Yet Robert refused to sit back and do nothing but attend ton parties. He seeks only to protect your honor, not expose you."

"It is irrelevant. I am returning home. I have begun to feel that my uncle is no longer a threat to me, and I miss much by remaining away." More than they could possibly know, if his estate manager's letter was to be believed.

Newport shook his head, but said nothing. Sir James leaned forward. "I beg you to reconsider, your grace…John. We can take steps to protect your interests at home, but we need an inside man with the gypsies. What if this is not an isolated problem? What if all the tribes are involved? Would you sentence them all to exile for the crimes of a few? Surely you owe them more than that."

"I owe them much, 'tis true, but…I owe my family more." He leaned back and closed his eyes. What he wouldn't give to go home right now. He'd convinced himself that it was time, that he was ready to take on his uncle. His twenty-first birthday approached. More importantly, Kitty would be waiting for him. It was a difficult dream to relinquish.

He opened his eyes and reached out to the fire so that he kept both men in sight. "Whom do you suspect, in particular, sir?"

Newport gave a dry laugh. "I think you know the answer to that if you recognize the souvenirs."

John could detect no deception in them. It seemed they had received accurate information. "She is but an old woman. What profit could she find in betraying the country that shields her clan?"

"Perhaps that is one of the things you can tell us, your grace," said Sir James.

John stood. "My time is gone. I will think on what you said." He inclined his head. "Sir James...Mr. Newport."

Newport stood and bowed. "Until tomorrow, your grace. You will be at the gypsy carnival?"

"I'm sure your informants told you I am always there. Bring your horses to be shod."

John stepped out of the overly warm, stagnant inn and breathed in the crisp air of winter. This appointment had not transpired as he'd hoped. He regained his horse and rode back to the gypsy camp, intent on the problem at hand.

As time passed, Kitty's letters had become increasingly sparse. They had also become rather mundane, from a girlish devotion to wait for him forever to a completely ambivalent tone.

Could he risk the additional time away from her? Not if he wanted to ensure their marriage, and he did. Her importance to his happiness had been magnified by their time apart and by his memories of her child-like devotion. Since he left home, he hadn't felt that degree of affection from anyone. Her love was like a beacon, shining in the bleak darkness of his life. He couldn't lose that.

He rode through the darkened forestry with great care, watching and listening for the sound of any other presence.

Before he came to a decision, he should first read Robert's communiqué. Perhaps it would tell him something reassuring, something that could help him make up his mind. But he held forth little hope.

At the gypsy camp, John moved silently, desiring no undue interest in his activities. Several figures moved about the fire circle or between the wagons and tents, but John avoided them. When he reached his own tent, he took one last glance around then slipped inside.

It took only a few seconds to reach for a flint and light a candle. Then he ripped into the seal on Robert's letter.

Somerset,

How surprised you must be at this turn of events. Bet you never saw me as the patriotic type, then again, perhaps you have paid attention to the newspapers and are aware of our difficulties with France.

I realize acting as a spy is not considered the most honorable endeavor. There are often times when lying to the innocent is just as necessary as lying to the guilty, but I focus on the bigger picture. Napoleon must be stopped by whatever means we have at hand.

By the way, your mother did not betray your secret. Michel told me how to reach you. I have not revealed to him what the Foreign Office suspects of his people. I'm sure he would instantly vanish with every other tribe of gypsy folk, along with all our leads.

Give me, I pray, a portion of your time to see this through. I assure you that your affairs are in order. Your steward has been relentless in his pursuit of your aims. Somerset Park flourishes as do your mother and Kitty, though I doubt you would recognize Kitty. She is becoming a young lady. You are a lucky man, or will be, at any rate.

Find the truth, John. You alone can be the deciding factor for Michel's family. I feel we owe it to him. I thought you would feel the same.

I trust Sir Lincoln James and Reginald Newport. I have been involved with them for close to a year. Newport, especially, is adept at removing himself from sticky situations. He would be a good man to have around in a fight.

The final decision is yours. I know you have a multitude of problems to consider right now. Needless to say, I would be disappointed if you and I don't work on this together, but if you decide against such action, it won't hurt our friendship.

Yours, Robert Westley

John held the letter for a moment, staring into the golden flame of the candle before setting the damning sheet of paper alight. If any of the gypsies happened upon such a note, he could very well find his throat cut.

Before he had time to consider the best choice of action, the door to his wagon burst open. The candlelight flickered over the alarmed face of Rasvan.

"John, have you seen anyone sneaking around the camp tonight?"

"No one who isn't usually sneaking about the place."

John's wry comment brought a grimace from Rasvan.

"Enough of that. Dago was found unconscious near the horses."

John felt the hair rise on the back of his neck. "I was there not ten minutes ago. I saw nothing, not even Dago."

"You better come. You're always at the top of the list for an interrogation."

John sighed as he stood. He was tired of being a man that belonged nowhere with no honor. At least, he had Rasvan to stand up for him. Where would he be without him? Could he now betray that friendship even if it seemed he would be helping?

By the time they reached the camp fire, John's face had assumed a mask of indifference. He faced the leaders of the gypsy band without flinching.

Ardaix turned cold, blue eyes on John. "Well, gorgio, what have you seen this night? Why did you leave camp?"

"You ask that of no one else. I did my work. My free time is my own."

"The attack of one of our own demands an answer."

John sneered. "God knows I will never be accepted as one of you, but neither did I attack one I labor beside."

Ardaix's slight wince made John wonder if he regretted his harsh accusation. "Marga says you left the camp alone and rode toward the next town. Why?"

He noted Marga's satisfied expression as she stepped closer to the fire. If she could not have him, she would make his life miserable.

"I was escaping Marga. Her unwanted attentions embarrass me."

She jumped forward in rage, but Ardaix held her tightly by the arm. She looked over her shoulder at him. "Hoquepenes! Lies…I tell you! I want him not. It is for Dago I wait, and see what trusting that gorgio has brought Dago."

John stood his ground against the growing crowd of disapproval, but he didn't respond to her accusations.

Ardaix pushed Marga behind him. "Who is lying now, Marga? Have I not seen you flaunt yourself before John? If Dago is so important to you, go tend him while we settle this."

Marga strutted away from the firelight with a vicious look at John. If looks could kill…

He kept his attention on Ardaix, the only one who mattered. The others would follow his lead, regardless.