The Fashionable Spy (27 page)

The sisters embraced and wiped the traces of moisture from their eyes; then, while Julia and Elizabeth straggled up to their respective beds, Victoria sought out Lord Leighton in the stable.

“Is there nothing we can do? The runners, perhaps? A message to the war office? I feel so helpless.” She paced up and down in the stable, heedless of her disheveled attire. Only when assured that Sir Edward would handle all himself, and not welcome interference, did she consent to go to her bed.

Victoria fell into an exhausted slumber. The house remained still until a late hour of the morning, when she woke. She felt disoriented for a moment; then all returned. Unable to do a thing about Sir Edward, other than worry, she hastily donned a simple muslin gown, then dashed down and out to the stable.

Sam looked up as Victoria paused in the doorway, her eyes huge with worry, ringed with fatigue.

“How is he?”

“He’ll do well enough.” Sam relinquished his place by Miss Dancy’s pet when she dropped on the clean straw to run a sensitive hand over the dog.

She gave a wobbly chuckle as a tail thumped a trifle weakly, and Sable’s eyes met hers with their customary look of devotion. “Yes, he’ll do, at that.”

Ignoring breakfast, Victoria remained with Sable for some time, stroking the soft curly coat with gentle hands, soothing the dog, until she saw that it slept and appeared more comfortable.

When Sam returned, Victoria met his questioning look with relief. “You have worked wonders, Sam.”

“ ‘Twarn’t me. His lordship that was here did the most. Removed the bullet as neat as could be, and sewed up the wound like a sawbones.”

“How splendid. One never knows what others can do. I trust he has gone home to his bed?’’

“Indeed, miss. Said to tell you he’d talk with you again later.’’

When Victoria returned to the morning room to report Sable out of danger, Elizabeth merely sniffed at the account Sam had given of Lord Leighton’s skill.

“I should like to know why he remained downstairs. We might all of us have been killed in our beds. He
was
in the library, was he not?”

“Two floors below and behind a heavy door. I doubt he heard much, and then, Edward may have had an agreement with him to stay where he was. You do not know.’’

“More’s the pity.”

Julia and Victoria exchanged speculative looks; then Victoria plunged into the other matter that concerned her greatly.

“That gold thread you found—do you still have it, Elizabeth?”

Her sister rose to retrieve the snippet of thread from where she’d tucked it last night. “I gather you recognize it?”

“Yes, unfortunately. Since Sir Edward is gone, there is little to do at the moment. But I shall keep my eyes and ears open, you may be sure.” She took the thread with her to her desk, placing it carefully upon one of the papers she had used for scribbling possible solutions to the cipher.

She spent the day alternating between her desk and the cipher, and tending to Sable. Although the wound looked nasty to her, it was soon obvious that the dog responded well to the treatment it received. By that evening she admitted that she could leave the house and attend a small party given by some friends, at her sister’s insistence. Appearances must be kept up.

“I will not have you sinking into a green melancholy, my dear,” Julia scolded with affection.

“That would never do,” Elizabeth added with a grin.

The party might have been small, but it was select. The cream of Society gathered at the exclusive Harton House that evening. The girls had been delighted to receive invitations, and Victoria was glad her sisters had prevailed upon her to attend; she’d not have wanted to spoil their treat.

Everyone present had to know the details of the sudden engagement announcement, twitting Victoria on the absence of her betrothed. Unable to reveal where he had gone, she merely alluded to an unanticipated trip, for that was certainly the truth, and made the best of things.

Surprisingly, Elizabeth came to Sir Edward’s defense with a stout encomium that astonished Victoria.

“He is wonderfully clever, and enormously kind, you know. I believe Victoria the most fortunate of women to have been captured by him.” She fluttered her fan in a flirtatious manner while making it plain that her dearest sister had been the one besieged.

The following days dragged by in much the same fashion. Between the hours she spent caring for her pet, Victoria accompanied her sisters to the shops.

The delivery of a cryptic note from Sir Edward revealed little beyond that he was giving chase, and requesting that she carry on. Victoria complied. She did not really care to purchase the trappings for a wedding, yet she felt it necessary to pretend. Gossips being what they were, there would be spiteful sniping if she were not seen out and about buying all the frills and furbelows deemed necessary for a bride. She felt a fraud. Her mind dwelt on Sir Edward, not this nonsense.

Lady Tichbourne accosted Victoria while she peered in a Bond Street window at an elegant, but probably expensive, bonnet that was the height of fashion.

“My dear, wherever is that betrothed of yours? He should be doing the pretty with you. What is a betrothed for, if not to carry parcels?”

Victoria had to smile at that bit of silliness.

“Do you marry at St. George’s? And by banns or special license?” Her gaze pierced the shell encircling Victoria.

Here Victoria was on firm ground. “Sir Edward insists on banns, my lady. I shall have Julia and Elizabeth to attend me, of course.”

“The wedding?”

“The first of the banns is to be read this coming Sunday.” Then, turning her face toward the window, Victoria said, “Is that not the most becoming bonnet? I expect it is shockingly dear.” Her hand crept up to finger the iris locket, seeking comfort from the miniatures within. It nestled nicely beneath her mantle, atop her round gown of soft blue merino.

Lady Tichbourne followed suit, and began a discourse on the wickedly high prices of the day.

One thing Victoria noticed as she went about her days was that while she did not see Sir Edward, neither did she observe Lucius Padbury.

Lord Leighton did appear, chat briefly, then would drift away. He twitted Elizabeth, but there was not the least sign of an attachment. It could be noted that she might not speak to him, but she followed his form with what she thought to be surreptitious finesse.

Sunday morning the three Dancy women dressed with more care than usual, then repaired to St. George’s for the morning service. When the second lesson had been read, it was immediately followed by the reading of the banns.

“I publish the banns of marriage between Sir Edward Hawkswood, baronet, of this parish, and Miss Victoria Dancy, spinster, of this parish. If any of you know cause, or just impediment, why these two persons should not be joined together in holy matrimony, ye are to declare it. This is my first time of asking,” the curate announced in his most carrying voice. It echoed through the church with a resounding firmness.

These intimidating words were followed by what seemed to Victoria an enormous silence. She glanced nervously about her, wondering if perhaps there was someone who knew heaven-only-knew-what about one or the other of them. She could see why many women chose to be absent at this formidable event. Some were even superstitious about it, refusing to hear the banns read lest it bring bad luck.

There being no response to his query, the service then proceeded as usual. Victoria tried to concentrate on the sermon, but had little success.

“I should like to know where Sir Edward is now,” Elizabeth whispered as they slowly filed out of the church following the service.

“I presume he is chasing the man who entered the house,” Victoria replied with a semblance of calm.

“He could get killed doing that,” Elizabeth cried softly, then clapped a gloved hand over her mouth in dismay as she saw her sister turn pale.

Lady Chatterton drifted up to where the girls waited for Sam to collect them. “My dears, how lovely to see you. Will the wedding take place right after the banns have been read?” she gushed to Victoria.

Victoria couldn’t fail to detect Julia’s sudden stiffening, and recalled the account given of the previous meeting between this lofty woman and her dearest sister.

“Yes, we intend to have a simple ceremony, with my sisters in attendance. Friends and neighbors, you know.”

“I had no idea that Sir Edward was in the line for a wife,” Lacy Chatterton gushed. “Every chit in Town has been after him this age.”

“Perhaps that is why Victoria is to marry him.”

“Indeed?” Lady Chatterton was forced to meet Julia’s gaze; a novel experience, for Julia looked at her with calm, resolute eyes, not in the least intimidated.

“You see, Victoria ran away from him, rather than chased, and Sir Edward was compelled to pursue her. I fancy there are some men who prefer to do the hunting.”

“Truly.” Frost descended over the elegant woman’s face and she flounced off in a decided miff.

“Do you think that was wise, dear?” Victoria said as Sam maneuvered the carriage up to where they waited.

“I will not have her think I am a mealy-mouthed toad.” Julia glared with unaccustomed fervor at the departing figure, then chuckled. “That was not well done of me, was it? Particularly after divine services!”

This sally was followed by general laughter, and they returned to the Dancy house with lighter hearts. If Julia was concerned about having made a firm enemy, she revealed none of it.

However, Victoria continued to worry about Sir Edward. She wished he might send her another note, or something to let her know he was well and safe. He rarely left her thoughts, and her hours were anxious ones.

* * * *

Edward surveyed the occupants of the tavern at Folkestone. Not a familiar face in the lot. His prey was deucedly elusive, and far more clever than Edward had given him credit for being.

His trail had led Edward past the memorable windmill— the miller returned, from what he could see—into Barfreston, then down to Dover and along the coast. Edward fully expected to shadow his man for as long as it took, but he hoped capture would be soon. Hythe came next, followed by Dymchurch, and Old and New Romney—New Romney dating from somewhere in the thirteenth century, he thought, and scarcely new.

Damn and blast—he ought to be in London with Victoria, not haring about the countryside, following a man who should be a snap to catch, but proved a slippery fellow. About as appealing as an eel, too. Still, Edward wished to see where he fled, and who his contacts might be, prior to apprehending him.

Edward left the tavern, then remounted his tired horse and rode off down the miserable excuse for a road. Small wonder the mail coaches refused to run west from Dover. This track looked fit for nothing more that the cart that took mail into Dover for transfer to the London mail.

He wondered what Victoria was doing, and this contemplation occupied him for some miles along the coastal route to Hythe. This was all smuggling country along here, he recalled, making a note to be well indoors come night. With no moon this evening, who knew what might happen?

On the outskirts of Hythe he paused to survey the area. The town was no longer a major harbor, but the sea still lapped against the smooth shingle shoreline, with innocent-looking fishing boats straggling along the beach. Through the town ran the Royal Military Canal, built as a barrier against the anticipated attack by Napoleon, which had never come to be—as yet.

Edward suspected that Napoleon had finally realized his forces were no match for the British navy, turning his attention to Austria, a far more agreeable task for him.

The first inn came into view and Edward dismounted, tossing his reins to a likely lad, then went inside, thinking this sorry work. Not a familiar face here either. He headed for the innkeeper with a coin in his hand.

* * * *

“Do you know, I have had another request for banknotes. Only these are to be Austrian,” Elizabeth said in a quiet voice, glancing about to ascertain no one was near. She still felt they could trust no one, not even servants of some standing.

“Clever, how they send these along through the various banks. I wonder if they don’t transmit a bit of news the same way?” Victoria said, looking up from the pair of heads she was doing. She had promised Julia for an age to sculpture the twins, and felt this a good time.

“I daresay our surveillance work is not well done.
I
would plan things differently,” Elizabeth declared.

“Well, I do wonder. Geoffrey complained of a severe lack of maps when they entered Portugal. Thank heaven he is fluent in Spanish and French. He was able to get about like a native, drawing hills and rivers to his heart’s content. Although I expect we ought not know such things, for he wrote about that in code. As he pointed out, Wellington is a cagey sort, and plans most carefully.” Victoria watched as Elizabeth began to copy the Austrian banknotes with remarkable skill, her burin deftly cutting the design into the copper sheet.

“I think Geoffrey is a spy for Wellington,” Elizabeth whispered, although there seemed no need for such care.

“It is possible. They are well into Spain now, and Geoffrey is in the thick of it, by all accounts. We hear so little. ‘Tis frustrating.” Victoria turned her attention back to the wax models. “I can see him out on his horse, checking the lay of the land, chatting up
the alcaldes to
learn as many French secrets as possible. He always was one able to charm the bark off a tree. What a family we are, and I shall marry another.”

“What will you and Edward do when the war is over and there are no more ciphers to solve?

“I have asked myself the same question time and again, and the answer has never popped up before me.” Victoria gave her sister a troubled glance.

“I fancy you will think of something.” Julia gave a slight chuckle, then concentrated on her work.

The following Sunday the banns were read a second time, and Victoria felt distinctly uncomfortable to be sitting in her pew with no sign of a betrothed in sight. What would happen if Edward failed to materialize by the date set for the wedding? She would undoubtedly have to claim an indisposition and head for Aunt Bel.