Tainted Angel (21 page)

Lina pulled her cloak around her face and tapped the knocker. She wasn’t sure if there would be servants and so she invented a plausible tale in the event—although there were few available to explain an unaccompanied female visiting a widower’s quarters. Thank heaven for the temperance group.

As it turned out a tale wasn’t needed; Carstairs himself answered the door and pulled her inside with little ado. She walked into his arms and he held her tightly, then kissed her. “Thank God.”

“Let me take off Maisie’s cloak—I am heartily sick of it. And I did not lose your hat.”

“Good.” He took it and set it aside. “I am fond of that hat.” Nevertheless she could sense his underlying anxiety as he took the cloak from her while giving her an assessing glance. “You are well?”

“Perfectly,” she assured him, cradling his face with her hands. “Forgive me for my abrupt departure, Lucien—it could not be helped and I shall tell you the whole.”

“I felt guilty enough to pay for the stolen horse,” he admitted, lifting her hand to kiss it.

She laughed. “Then we are out of pocket—I arranged to have her sent back. We are honorable thieves, it seems.” Leaning into him, she breathed his wonderful scent, feeling as though she had arrived home at long last even though she had never been to this place before.

He put an arm around her waist and walked with her to the stairway. “Would you prefer to eat or wash first?”

She grimaced. “I have not been very hungry today.”

He bent and placed his forehead against hers, pulling her gently into his arms. “Constance. Or Jameson.”

“Yes; Constance or Jameson.”

“Then wash first. We’ll put together some tea and toast and hope for the best.”

“Is Maisie about?” Maisie would know what to do with the mass of tangles that currently constituted her hair.

He tilted his head in apology. “I sent her on home—it would look strange, otherwise.”

With a teasing look she began unbuttoning her bodice. “I may need some assistance, then—with the bath.” There was a tried-and-true method by which she could ease his mind, and the spirit was willing even though the flesh was exhausted.

With a smile, he kissed her again, lingeringly. “I will assist—although I may need some instruction.”

Twining her arms around his neck, she murmured, “Then I will show you where everything is.” She had the satisfaction of hearing him chuckle against her temple; she had treated him ill this day and wanted nothing more than to make it up to him.

As was expected, the bath soon evolved into a very satisfying and vigorous lovemaking session, and at its conclusion they sat propped up in his bed, she leaning back against him, wrapped in a voluminous robe while he coaxed her to eat.

“I do feel much better—I believe you have found the cure.”

He kissed the back of her neck and stole a triangle of toast from her lap. “The cure is the same as the cause, then—how ironic.”

She said without preamble, “I went to see Jenny Dokes. She had sent me a cipher and wanted to warn me of something.” Best not to mention the visit with Brodie at the warehouse; Carstairs would send her straight back to Sussex.

Leaning forward, he pressed his cheek against her temple so that his mouth was near to her ear. “Dokes sent you a note out of coverage?”

Lina pretended to consider, although she had little doubt that Carstairs knew of the whole subterfuge—it had been his trap and seizure, after all. “She said she wished only to advise me of what she had learned about Henry Grant, and of his suspicions about me.” She turned her head so as to see his face. “Did you know Grant was tainted?”

“Yes,” he said, and offered nothing more.

She turned around again and nestled into him. “
Mãe de Deus
,” she expostulated mildly. “No one trusts me anymore.” She ran her fingers along the muscles in his forearms, clasped around her. “Speaking of which, how goes your plan to clear my taint?”

“It is aborning.”

“Ah.”

He gently nipped at her neck. “You must stay hidden while I arrange the details. You continue dead.”

“As does Marie. You must have a care, Lucien, or you will acquire a reputation—quite the Bluebeard. Or Samson, from the Bible.”

He stilled, and a small silence stretched out while she could feel his breath on her neck. “Should I tell you of Marie?”

She gently squeezed his wrists, where her hands rested. “If you would—I’d as lief not sleep with one eye open.”

His tone was grim. “Mine is also not a pretty tale.”

But she shook her head slightly. “Oh-ho, my friend—mine trumps yours, surely.”

After a moment, he spoke slowly from behind her head. “Marie did die at my hands; but there were extenuating circumstances.”

She traced a finger along his capable hands, wondering if he had strangled pretty Marie. “I am all attention, then.”

He began his tale, and Lina could hear the constraint in his voice as he tried to give the report without emotion. “Marie was born Marie D’Amberre. Her father was a vicomte in Normandy, and had a large estate along the coast. Her father and her brother were executed during the Terror but not before her father arranged to smuggle her mother and the two daughters to England. Her mother later remarried a fellow expatriate.” He paused.

“An ordinary tale, thus far,” Lina prompted. “Well—not ordinary, but certainly not unusual.”

He continued, choosing his words carefully as he played with her fingers on the coverlet. “Marie was old enough to remember her life before the Terror. They were very wealthy but had to leave it all behind when they fled to England; the new stepfather was penniless. Her mother—” Here he paused for a moment. “Her mother was affected by the tragedies and was an unstable woman. She bitterly resented her reduced circumstances, and her attitude infected Marie, even after I married her and was able to provide for all of them. They could not come to terms with the blow that fate had delivered upon them.” He paused again, remembering. “They were constantly recalling their former situation, and nothing was ever enough.”

Poor man, Lina thought with sympathy—in the unfortunate role of trying to please the unpleasable. She could guess the rest. “And so Marie had a weakness.”

“Yes. She was susceptible to bribery.”

Lina shook her head in genuine bewilderment. “It is incomprehensible to me—there is not enough money in the world to tempt me to aid Napoleon.”

There was a pause while she could feel his chest rise and fall as he took a deep breath. “I am glad to hear of it.”

She smiled at the irony in his tone. “You may believe me or not as you choose, but it is the truth. Pray continue—did you attempt to rehabilitate her as you do me? You have a calling, methinks.”

But he was in no mood to joke. “I caught her once; she was copying the key to a cipher I kept in the safe. She wept and disclaimed, and I didn’t want to believe it, but the evidence was there, right before my eyes. I kept her on a very short string from then on, and our marriage suffered greatly as a result.”

“Another disloyal spouse,” commented Lina, struggling to conceal her revulsion. “We were unlucky, the two of us.”
Santos
, but she’d rather have a weak and frightened husband willing to barter his wife to save his life than a treacherous wife willing to ruin the country that took her in for nothing more than greed.

“I reported her actions to the church hierarchy—how could I not?”

“You had little choice.” Lina remembered how the Vicar had just warned her that Carstairs would not put his personal loyalties before his loyalty to England. There had been a precedent, then.

“The Vicar was very unhappy; he believed she was the one who provided a list of our operatives on the Continent to Rochon last fall—I had kept a copy in my safe.”

Lina carefully controlled her reaction. “Did she indeed?”
Mãe de Deus
—
Mãe doce de Deus
—the irony was thick on the ground; indeed, one did not know whether to laugh or to cry; it was Marie, of all people, who had betrayed her to Rochon.

Carstairs continued, “The Vicar thought to put her to use; to double-cross her and use her to plant false information, but I refused to allow it. In hindsight perhaps I should have, to let her atone for her treachery—albeit unknowingly—and to let her suffer the consequences when the French eventually discovered her information was faulty. Whatever allegiance I had to her had been irrevocably destroyed.”

“But you could not allow it, of course—you are loyal to the bone, my friend.”

“Perhaps,” he admitted reluctantly, his arms tightening around her. “It was a damnable situation.”

“And then?” Lina sensed he was avoiding the completion of the tale and wanted him to get on with it; she was sleepy after her long ride and the session of lovemaking in the bath.

“I’m afraid I was inveigled.”

Lina clasped his hand between hers. “You are certainly not the first man and you shall certainly not be the last.” She knew of what she spoke—being a master inveigler herself.

He sighed. “One night she detained me as I left for a church meeting. She made a tearful plea that I stay with her—that we try to reestablish our marriage.”

Lina was surprised by the stab of jealousy she felt at the idea of Carstairs abed with his late wife. “So you stayed.”

“No; I carried important information to the Vicar and could not tarry with her. Instead I left on a promise that upon my return we would discuss it over a glass of wine.” He paused. “I was nearly to the church before I realized she had lifted the document when she embraced me.”

“Oh, Lucien—how miserable for you.” Lina was truly shocked; Marie had not seemed capable of such cunning, but one never knew, in this business.

His voice roughened, remembering. “I raced to return and found her in the garden speaking with the Comte deFabry.”

Lina nodded—he was the aristocrat whose name she couldn’t remember, the one whom Jenny Dokes had mentioned as a suspect.

“I shouted and they broke apart—the comte sprinting for his horse tied at the back gate; I couldn’t allow my stupidity to result in any more deaths, and so I leveled my pistol and fired. In the darkness I hit Marie—she must have turned to shield him.”

He was quiet for a moment, and Lina lifted his hand to gently place it against her lips. “I am so sorry,
querido
.” Privately, she thought it unlikely that a renowned sharpshooter like Carstairs could so badly mistake his target—his prowess had been legendary among the
guerrillas
, after all. “But the comte managed to escape?”

“He did; I carried Marie to the house and shouted for the servants, but it was too late. I discovered she still held the papers tucked in her bodice; I imagine she was demanding more money.”

Or tarrying with the comte, thought Lina, but did not say it aloud. They sat together in silence for a few minutes, her head against his shoulder as she watched the fire and thought about what he had told her. Brodie was right—the war was indeed wretched. It allowed any flaws or weaknesses in one’s character to be laid bare; flaws that may have never been revealed but for the exigent events the war inspired—the difficult choices of loyalty and allegiance, of life and death.

“You and your dead wives,” she commented. “You must have a care or you will raise an unhealthy suspicion in the Bow Street magistrate’s breast.”

“He believes Marie died of a brain fever. And although you are missing, you are not, in fact, dead.” He bent his head forward so as to speak in her ear. “Although I have been toying with the idea of Vidia’s presumed death just before a new and different person named Lina arrives on the scene to attract my grieving attention.”

“
Deus
,” she observed. “You go through wives like other men go through cravats.”

“I think it could work,” he insisted stubbornly.

Brutally, she scotched any such plan. “It won’t work; I have been told I am as recognizable as the Prince Regent.”

“The snail could shed the shell; adjustments could be made—and those who know your true identity are unlikely to grass on you.”

She sighed and sank down lower in the bed. “This sounds complicated and I am too sleepy to follow.”

“All right; we will speak of it later. However, I’m afraid Brodie must be allowed to think you have drowned—at least for the time being.”

“Did you tell Maisie not to tell him? She is the weak link, here.”

“I did ask her to keep it quiet. Do you think she will?”

“She will follow orders,” Lina assured him, and smiled to herself. “Dear Maisie.”

He chuckled at her tone. “Will she come with us to Suffolk?”

“I would assume so—I am a continuing project for her.”

“And for me.” His mouth was warm against the nape of her neck. “I would like to marry you tomorrow morning, if you are available.”

There was a small silence as his lips paused on her neck. He raised his head and pressed his cheek to hers. “Come, then. Tell me.”

“I do not have fond memories of marrying you, Lucien.”

His arms tightened around her. “It would be done quietly—just you, me, and the Church of England—to correct the improprieties of the first ceremony.”

“Not just yet,” she repeated.

He was surprised, she could feel it. He said carefully, “If you were married to a peer, you would have certain protections.”

She sighed. “Poor Lucien—you are also on a knifepoint of agony.”

“Pardon?”

Turning around to face him, she twined her arms around his neck and embraced him tenderly. “Never you mind—I love you and I cannot imagine loving another and I shall marry you; my hand on my heart. Only not just yet.”

He thought about it, his hands stroking her back. “All right.”

She was nearly undone by a wave of affection. He was not going to press her—he was a fine, fine man—despite the occasional uxoricide. She had best see to it that all plots were resolved in a satisfactory manner, and soon.

Maisie was attempting to coddle eggs in the Kensington house kitchen with little success. Cringing, Lina reflected that the language that spewed from her red-faced companion could peel the wallpaper from the walls.

“Honestly, Maisie—it is not as though anyone truly expects you to cook. Have done.”

The maid regarded the broken eggs scorching on the stone hearth with a fulminating eye. “Mr. Carstairs wants ye to eat eggs.”

Maisie had lately been hired by Carstairs as a housekeeper so as to give her access to Lina, although the charade would not hold together for a moment if anyone could witness the maid’s ineptitude in matters culinary. Amused, Lina rose and approached her. “How anyone could have followed the drum for as long as you did and not know how crack an egg or two is beyond me. Here, let me do it.”

Ceding the pot, Maisie stepped aside to allow Lina access to the grate. “I was needed to drive the oxen,” the other explained, folding her hands with dignity under her apron. “Bein’ as how t’ drivers kept gettin’ shot up.”

Lina expertly broke the eggs into the boiling water in rapid succession with one hand. “Then I must beg your pardon, Maisie—yours was the greater service.”

“Another for yerself—yer t’eat eggs, he says—eggs and milk.”

Lina complied without demur as she actually had an appetite this morning. “Are the two of you conniving behind my back again?”

Maisie gave her an assessing look. “Yer gettin’ skinny.”

“I’ve been skinnier, I assure you.” She leaned forward to monitor the eggs. “Ugh, the ashes haven’t been cleaned out in months. Have we any toast?”

Reminded, Maisie placed bread in the toasting rack and set it before the fire. “How soon before we go to the country? A bit o’ fresh air will put some color in yer cheeks.”

Lina contemplated the fire for a moment, aware that Maisie was uneasy with the unnatural inactivity of the past two days. “It’s a delicate matter, Maisie. There are double-crossings to consider, which hopefully do not include your own.”

“I’ll stand bluff, don’t you fret.” Maisie turned the toast rack to the other side. “I’m just sayin’ ye need to start thinkin’ about the babe, is all.”

With a smile Lina disclosed, “Then plan for three days out—Mr. Brodie has a scheme and I believe it is a good one.”

Maisie arched her brows in surprise, although she didn’t take her watchful gaze from the toast. “That soon? What’s to do?”

Lina rose and removed the eggs with a wooden spoon, ladling them into teacups for want of any other dishware. “A masquerade ball, my friend—which is always such an excellent diversion. Do you remember when I played the Condesa de la Torres in Barcelona?”

“Ah me,” sighed Maisie. “Are ye plannin’ fer the menfolk to have another duel?”

“Such a simple way to arrange for the removal of a problem,” Lina reminisced with a fond smile. “But no—I bring it to mind only because I shall need that costume again, so you’ll have to visit the town house to pack up some of my clothes and smuggle that outfit to me here. And a mask—I shall need a mask that will obscure my face.”

“Aye, missy,” Maisie agreed as she removed the rack from the hearth. “I know just the one.”

“Don’t forget to be unhappy, being as I have died,” Lina reminded her, sliding the egg onto the hot toast and carefully taking a bite. “In the event you are observed on your visit.”

“Who is doin’ the observin’?” Maisie eyed her with alarm as she sat down to her own breakfast.

“Never you mind; but this next is very important, Maisie, so listen carefully. You are also to visit Mr. Brodie at his hotel, to be paid. He will give you a wrinkled bank note that has some letters written on it in ink. Do you follow so far?”

“I’m not daft,” noted Maisie without rancor as she buttered her toast. “Then what?”

“Bring it here; Mr. Carstairs is to see you trying to decide whether there is something wrong with the bill, due to the writing on it. If necessary, you must ask him if the bank will take it in its current condition, to encourage him to examine it.” The letters would be in a difficult cipher, but Lina had every confidence that Carstairs would quietly pass it on and Jenny Dokes would manage to crack it.

“Am I to say it’s from Mr. Brodie?”

Lina smiled. “Only if he asks, and I doubt he will—he is quick on the uptake, is Mr. Carstairs. If he has seen the bank note, you must turn the tea canister around backward as a sign to me—then we don’t have to discuss it again.”

Pausing, Maisie considered the merits of this particular task with a frown. “I’m not so very good at this sort o’ thing—lyin’ to the man an’ all.”

But Lina reminded her, “You won’t be lying, Maisie, and that is exactly why I am asking you to do it—he won’t think I put you up to it.”

“Iffen ye say so,” ventured the maid in a doubtful tone.

“I do say so.” Lina wiped her fingers on Maisie’s apron. “And pray don’t be concerned; we act to Mr. Carstairs’s benefit. Mr. Brodie is the master at turning the tables.”

“He’s not yer master anymore,” Maisie reminded her, picking up the dishes and taking them to the wash basin.

“He never was, my friend,” Lina riposted with relish. “But one must give the devil his due.”

“Ah, me,” intoned Maisie, shaking her head as she began the washing. “I dinna like this talk o’ devils.”

“We entertain the devil himself in three days,” Lina remarked in a cheerful tone. “Say your prayers.” She was feeling considerably better now that the
denouement
was at hand; the anticipation of action always raised her spirits, particularly as she had been constrained to the house for several days. Tapping her slender fingers on the table, she thought out loud. “I must speak to Dokes again—your talk of the duel in Barcelona reminds me that I have a favor to ask of her. And it cannot hurt to draw more attention to the situation so as to put Mr. Carstairs’s discovery of your note in proper context.” She considered her options with a knit brow. “Another comfortable coze between two old friends is probably out of the question—I cannot risk another visit; the first one took her by surprise but she would be ready for me, now.”

“There be trouble brewin’,” noted Maisie to no one in particular as she reached to place the teacups back on the shelf.

Lina laughed. “Now Maisie—we are already hip deep in trouble, after all. Have some faith; have I not brought us about, time after time?”

“’Cept the one time, in Paris,” Maisie reminded her heavily.

With a graceful shrug, Lina admitted, “Well—yes. But all wrongs will soon be righted, and so deftly that those who are hoodwinked will remain unaware.”

“As ye say.”

Smiling, Lina teased her, “And I am dying for one last gambit before I am forced by motherhood to settle down.”

Maisie made a skeptical sound. “Will ye, d’ye think?”

Her eyes dancing, Lina confirmed in a solemn tone, “Indeed. Will you?”

Maisie made a gesture that portrayed long suffering. “I must; ye haven’t the first idea what to do wi’ a bairn.”

Bowing her head with mock gravity, Lina pronounced, “A new leaf, then; for the both of us—staid householders, for our sins.”

“He’s a good man,” noted Maisie, wiping her hands on her apron.

“No argument here.” She gave the other a teasing glance. “Mr. Brodie will miss you.”

Maisie was philosophical as she came back to sit on her stool. “He’ll be by, I reckon. But he’s nowt one t’ be buildin’ a nest.”

Lina nodded, relieved that the maid had no illusions. “Definitely not. He’s already looking to the next adventure—the proverbial rolling stone.”

The two sat together in silence for a few minutes until Maisie rose and said, “I’ll best be on me errands, then.”

Lina responded with a gleam of amusement in her eye. “Can you also bring my costume from the Guildhall in Campine?”

If this request for the widow’s weeds caused Maisie any alarm, she hid it well and only shook her head slightly. “I’ll be needin’ to find a new veil—the last one was torn when that Frenchman started tossin’ ’is fancy knives about.”

“And wasn’t that a nasty surprise? Remind me never to hire a cook who hasn’t been thoroughly vetted.” Much struck by her own remark she added, “Although now that I think on it, I’m afraid that horse has already run—I’m not one to learn a lesson, methinks.”

“I’ll be fetchin’ a new veil in t’afternoon,” Maisie assured her.

“No matter, Maisie—stitch it up as best you can; I’m to use it today.”

With a worried frown, the maid asked, “And what am I to tell Mr. Carstairs iffen he wonders where ye’ve gone to?”

“No need, unless I miss my guess, he has his own mysterious errands to commission this day and should be from home for most of it—which is why your bank note is going to be of such interest when you arrange for him to see it. I imagine it will inspire yet more activity on his part, in fact. If he does ask after me, simply admit you are not certain where I’ve gone, as you were out on your errands.”

Maisie nodded. “Aye, then—I’m to fetch t’ clothes and visit Mr. Brodie.”

Her spirits high, Lina teased, “And pray follow instructions so as not to bring the militia down upon my head as you did in Naples.”

Stung, Maisie protested, “The prelate couldn’t understand what I was sayin’ as he weren’t a proper Englishman, and popish besides.”

“My fault,” Lina soothed. “I shouldn’t have entrusted a Northumbrian with a message for an Italian. Small wonder he thought you were a
bandito
—I would have thought the same myself.”

“No harm were done,” insisted Maisie, who continued nettled. “It were all straightened out wi’ everyone merry in the end; lucky ye can charm the birds offen the trees.”

Lina suppressed a shudder. “Hard work; I have no fond memories of militia men.”

“Nor they of ye.” Maisie gave her a glance.

“I’ll have none of your sauce,” Lina warned her.

“Ah, me,” Maisie said with resignation, shaking her head.