The Pretender (41 page)

"So you held him captive and questioned him?"

"At first I truly tried to get him to run away with me. But he wouldn't leave his tiresome post."

"You can't have truly expected him to."

"Why not? I'm beautiful. I'm skilled. I'm every man's dream, my mother made sure of that. And until James, no man has ever failed to give me precisely what I want."

"So this is a case of 'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned'?" Agatha could scarcely keep the incredulous laughter from bubbling up. Was the woman nothing but a hackneyed jest? "Or will you admit that you simply wanted the money?"

Lavinia's face twisted in sudden rage. "What would you know about the pressures of living up to a certain level of Society? You think goats are good company!"

"Sheep, actually," corrected Agatha.

"Well, that suits you to the ground, doesn't it, little lamb?" Lavinia snorted. "And here you sit, as stupidly as one of your sheep, talking to the wolf."

"Well, I've nothing better to do whilst I wait for S—Jamie. For indeed, he does love me."

Her confidence seemed to be the last straw for Lavinia, for the woman strode forward to strike Agatha sharply across the cheek.

"Silly little fool! Do you believe everything you are told? Men will only use you if you don't use them first." Lavinia began to pace again, her features twisting sharply. "Do you know how I came to your precious England during the Terror? Tied into a sack and hidden inside a coil of rope on a stinking fishing vessel very much like this one. I was but five years old, but even then my mother feared what the
English
sailors would do to such a pretty child. And she was right. I poked a hole through the sacking for air, only to see my mother paying for her passage against her will."

Agatha shook her head. "No woman deserves that," she said quietly. "But to blame all the English for the actions of a few?"

"Few? Even after we arrived in London, there wasn't a man who saw my mother who didn't try to possess her. But she was smart and played them against one another, rising from the mistress of a shipowner to a merchant to a gentleman within a year, and then marriage. She taught me well how to get what I want from men. I landed a lord, did I not?"

Agatha looked around her. "You hid Jamie on this boat, like the one you and your mother crossed over on."

"A brilliant little whimsy, if I do say so myself. One with unexpected side benefits. Boats can be moved so easily, and no one need learn your business."

Agatha found Lavinia's careless attitude chilling. "Do you realize that five men are dead because of you?"

Lavinia seemed surprised. "They are?" A shadow passed over her face. "How remarkable…" Then she recovered. "Well, it serves them right, English wretches. It's too bad that James isn't one of them. I thought he was dead, since my men reported seeing him go over the side during a storm."

"He almost was." Agatha hated to think of the danger Jamie had been in, swimming weakly through the high waves. "If it hadn't been for the tide…"

"Hmm. What a pity. Surely he remembers me questioning him."

Agatha wasn't about to disabuse her of this notion. "But why am I here? I don't know any names."
Please don't drug me, for I know more than I should.
Now she understood why Simon had tried to keep so much from her.

"Of course
you
don't. The very thought is laughable. This sort of thing requires
some
small scrap of intelligence. No, you are merely a diversion. Looking for you will keep James busy for hours. I knew he would be pursuing me the moment I learned he was hiding out in your house this afternoon. I can't afford the complication of having him looking for me, for I've a new and larger mission now. One that will buy my way back to Paris in style."

Agatha decided not to tell Lavinia that James believed her too shallow and silly to enact treason. Surely by now Simon and James knew that she'd been taken and realized that she'd been right about Lavinia.

Vindication of her theory would be much more satisfying if she lived long enough to say, "I told you so."

"I truly don't understand you, Lady Winchell. Your mother was fighting for her survival. You are only interested in money and lust."

Lavinia whirled on her, eyes blazing with scorn. "You're wrong there, little farm girl. I am only interested in moneyed men, who are only interested in lust." She sneered. "Bah! Why do I bother to tell you this? You
trust
men. You're like an idiot child."

"Being trusting doesn't make one an idiot. The shame is on those who take advantage of trust."

Agatha gazed at the fuming Lavinia, her calm seeming to grow as the other woman's left her.

So this was where lies would take one. A life of bitterness and regret. There would never be a single clear moment of pure joy, for how could one trust anything enough to let it happen?

What about herself? Could she forgive herself for her own lies? Now, when her life seemed rather uncertain, she could scarcely remember her reasons at all. Why had she always felt such a need to flee the truth?

Perhaps honesty was a strength of its own.

Lavinia hissed like the viper she was and turned to leave. "I must get back. Gag her," she ordered her henchman. She turned to flare one more icy smile at Agatha. "James will be far too busy trying to rescue you to interfere with me… I wish him luck. He'll need a net, I fear."

She contrived a tinkling laugh and gave the hulk nearest her a poke with her umbrella.
"Allonsy!
We have more important things to attend to. Once I do away with the old man, I may escape this horrid country forever."

James leaned over the privy seat hole and sniffed. The stench made his eyes water. Excellent. Winchell didn't bother to ensure that his staff kept the privy sweet with lime, nor was the tiny wooden shed well ventilated.

This was one of James's favorite "distractions" to work in the field. Where there stood an army, there stood a hundred privies. Not a fatal outcome unfortunately, but it would have to do.

For despite the fact that he was breathlessly worried about Aggie, James was forced to admit the sense in Simon's plan.

"Lavinia panicked," Simon had reminded him. "She's running scared and making mistakes. Her abduction of Agatha may give us the only opening we'll have to search her possessions before she disappears forever. Our duty is to uncover the conspiracy. Don't forget that, James. You are a Liar first."

"Why not simply arrest the lot of them, Winchell too?"

"I don't think she's had a chance to complete what she has begun with her abduction of you. There must be some reason why she is still working in London after your escape. I want to know what that is. As long as Lavinia and her cohorts feel safe, we can hope that they will simply hold Agatha captive as they did you."

Duty warred with family loyalty once again. As much as he ached to search for his sister, he knew Simon was right.

So James satisfied himself with this particularly appropriate bit of sabotage and the knowledge that now, Simon would have sufficient time to search Lavinia's house for any information that would lead them to Agatha's rescue.

Working by feel in the darkness James felt in his satchel for the tin box of salt and opened it carefully on the plank next to the hole. Several feet of fine chain hung from each side of the sturdy box and James took a moment to lay the chains over his shoulder to dangle down his back.

Then he removed the lid from the small crock he carried in one gloved hand. Nestled within on a bed of ash, live coals glowed in the dimness. With a pair of small tongs, James transferred the coals quickly into the salt box. Immediately, the contents of the box began to put out an acrid odor.

"One," he whispered. He tossed the crock aside and swiftly lowered the salt box into the privy until it met the bottom.

"Two." The gas from the vaporizing salt would collide with the foul gases from the privy in a matter of seconds.

The box settled firmly and James released the chains.

"Three!" He leaped from the privy to take cover behind the alley gate.

Simon watched from the corner of the house as James threw himself out of the splintery wooden doorway to run for cover. There was a muffled
whump
and Simon felt the ground quiver beneath his feet. Then the Winchells' privy roof flew high into the air on a geyser of filth and flame.

It was spectacular. Smoking muck hung in the air for a moment, then spattered the grounds and garden in a solid sheet of greenish-brown. Simon heard James give an involuntary whoop of vengeful delight and grinned fiercely.

Then the smell hit him, and he hurriedly covered his face with the hood he carried with him. Even the scent of well-used damp wool within the mask was a welcome change from the odor without.

The doors opened and the household staff rushed out, only to halt in horror. The first of them slipped and staggered in the slime covering the ground, a few of them falling to land in the filth. The others flinched away from the hands reaching for help in rising.

Then the group of servants parted way for Lord Winchell. The man's mutton-chop whiskers quivered in disbelief as he stood blinking at his previously pristine grounds.

There was no sign of Lavinia. It was no more than Simon had expected. She was doubtless still seeing to securing Agatha somewhere. He had to believe that. It was the only thing that kept him focused.

Time to go to work. Simon turned away from the spectacle to make his way swiftly around the house. He'd already confirmed that a side window remained unlocked while James had set up his privy distraction. Now he didn't hesitate as he vaulted over the sill into the house.

He needn't be careful tonight, but speed was imperative. Still, he predicted it would be some time before any of Winchell's staff came upstairs to Lavinia's chamber.

This time, he passed by his lordship's study without a glance. His target lay upstairs, in the secret confines of a lady's boudoir.

Women had twisty minds. There was no telling where Lavinia hid her private papers. Surely not somewhere sensible like a desk or escritoire.

As he ascended the stairs like a shadow, he thought about Agatha's instinctive suspicion of Lavinia Winchell. He wished he could speak to her now to get a woman's perspective on this particular search.

Fury twisted within Simon. If only he had stayed with her. If only he'd—

He shook off the self-blame. Such activity would be pointless if he recovered her safely, and if he didn't, he'd have the rest of his damned existence to hate himself with thorough dedication.

Simon reached the bedchamber he felt sure was Lavinia's and stepped inside. The scent of the room confirmed his selection. The musky-powdery perfume that Lavinia favored made him think longingly of Agatha's refreshing scent.

He quickly lit the candle in his pocket, blessing Etheridge's gift as he did so. Then he examined the room. As he'd supposed, the spindly escritoire contained nothing but blank paper, ink, and pen nibs. There were no books in the room at all. Apparently, Lavinia was not a great reader. What a surprise.