The Scarlet Spy (31 page)

Praying he could recall the way through the squalid rookeries and broken-down gin shops, Osborne turned the horses toward the river. A stretch of warehouses loomed, dark and deserted in the ghostly mists. He counted the passing buildings.
One, two, three …
At the fourth, he turned sharply and pulled to a halt in front of a narrow brick house tucked between the stone structures. The ornate iron gate was slightly ajar, and he took the marble steps two at a time, despite the dead weight of Sofia in his arms.

“Stop, sirrah! You cannot bring your own doxy in here.” A middle-aged matron hustled out from behind a velvet curtain. She was dressed in peacock blue, and the iridescent feathers in her graying hair fluttered wildly in the glow of the oil lamps. Her frown grew more pronounced on surveying his rumpled shirt and muddied trousers. “Indeed, you cannot bring yourself in here. This establishment caters exclusively to
gentlemen—”

“Harkness—I need to know if Lord Harkness is here.” Osborne fought to catch his breath.

“We don’t discuss our patrons,” came the cold reply. “If you—”

“Please! I need his help. This lady is going to die if I can’t purge the poison from her stomach. Harkness knows about such things.” He must have been shouting, for a pair of female faces suddenly peered out from behind the curtain, and several doors opened along the length of a dimly lit corridor.

“She don’t look good, Mistress Mavis,” murmured one of the girls. “Best we get her te shoot the cat.”

Osborne swayed slightly, feeling he was trapped inside some horrible nightmare. “Damn it, I don’t want
any
living thing to die!”

“What Rosie meant, sir, is we got to get yer friend to cast up her accounts,” offered the girl’s companion.

The matron’s stern face softened slightly. But before she could speak, the thud of steps sounded on the staircase.

Osborne looked up. “Nick!” Relief welled in his eyes—to hell if tears were considered unmanly.

His friend was barefoot and still trying to stuff his shirt-tails into his trousers. “Dev. Good Lord, what—”

“I remember back in school you had a trick for making the other boys puke,” he cried. “Can you do it now?”

Harkness blinked, then to his credit did not waste any time hemming and hawing. “Yes, the ingredients are all common enough.” Turning to the matron, he rattled off a list.

She nodded. “They should all be among our medicinal supplies. Fanny, go fetch them from the cabinet. And bring a basin as well.” She pushed up the sleeves of her gown. “There is a sofa in the parlor. Let us lie her down there.”

“My room is empty,” piped up Rosie. “A bed will be a mite more comfortable.”

“Don’t just stand there, gentlemen.” The matron pointed the way. “First door on the right.”

“Thank you,” said Osborne, his voice still unsteady.

“What did she eat or drink?” asked Nick as they laid Sofia on the counterpane.

“I—I’m not sure. Opium and brandy. Maybe some other drug.”

“How long ago?”

Osborne tried to think. It felt like an eternity since he had passed through the doors of the Puff of Paradise. But in actual time?

“A little less than an hour.” A glance at the mantel clock confirmed the guess.

Harkness frowned. “We need to work fast. By the look of it, whatever she ingested was meant to cause a violent reaction. Her pulse is weak, and her breathing is shallow.”

“Sit her up,” said Mistress Mavis. “I’ve seen drug overdoses before. Rosie, run and get a cold compress. And fetch a funnel from the kitchen.”

Osborne cradled Sofia in his arms and brushed the tangled strands of hair from her cheek. Her skin was deathly cool to the touch. “Don’t you dare leave me, love,” he whispered. “We’ve not yet settled our wager on who is the best shot, and honor demands that you not renege on a bet.”

He felt a slight stirring of air against his jaw.

Harkness squeezed his shoulder before moving to the bedside table. “I’ll need a candle and a measuring spoon.”

“Keep talking to her, sir.” Despite the outward show of gruffness, Mistress Mavis took a seat on the bed and set to chafing Sofia’s hands. “Rosie, hand the gentleman that compress,” she directed, seeing the girl return with a dampened flannel. “Place it on her brow, sir. And keep talking.”

Osborne wasn’t sure what he was saying. The words were simply babbling out of their own accord, as if they were a lifeline that could hold Sofia from slipping into darkness.

“Hurry, Nick,” he added as he dabbed the cooling cloth to Sofia’s brow. Her earlier chill had turned feverish. Her face was now sheened in sweat.

His friend held the spoon over the candle flame a moment longer. “Almost done,” he answered. Adding the heated liquid to the glass on the table, he stirred furiously. “How did such an accident happen?”

“It was no accident,” answered Osborne through gritted teeth. “She uncovered some secrets that will send several gentlemen to the gallows, once the evidence becomes known to the authorities.”

“Good Lord.” Harkness gave a last swirl of the liquid. “Open her mouth, Dev.”

The matron slid his trembling fingers aside and helped insert the funnel. “Like this, sir. She mustn’t choke on her own tongue.”

Harkness tipped the potion down her throat. “Be ready to move quickly, Dev. Where is the basin?”

“Here, sir.” Rosie and Fanny took hold of each handle.

Osborne felt his chest constrict. There was no sign of life from Sofia. She still lay pale and unmoving in his arms. “It’s not working, Nick.” His voice sounded unnaturally calm, as if it were detached from his own body.

“Give it a moment more,” whispered his friend. Harkness was sweating, too, the muscles of his clenched jaw standing out in sharp relief in the flickering shadows.

“Thank you for trying—”

There was a sound from Sofia, a zephyr of a groan. Her eyelids fluttered open. “Arrrggh.” She shuddered, then was suddenly violently sick.

A laugh welled up in his throat.

“It’s
not
funny,” she gasped between retches. “Ooooh, I feel sick.”

Sick, but alive. Gloriously alive.

Sofia lifted her chin. Her eyes were slitted in shadow, and her hair was hanging in snarls. Never had she looked so lovely.

“W-what happened?” she asked.

“De Winton tried to kill you with an overdose of narcotics.”

“Damn.” She blinked and tried to focus her gaze. “I … I have to—”

He hugged her tighter and pressed the cloth to her lips. “Rest easy. You aren’t going anywhere tonight. I will find Lynsley and inform him of all that has happened. Let him clean out that nest of vipers.”

She looked about to argue, but her strength sagged and she slumped back against his shoulder.

Looking up at the circle of faces, he managed a wan smile. “Thank you—all of you.”

“I’ve got a clean nightrail in me chest o’ drawers,” volunteered Rosie. “If ye gents will give us a few moments, we’ll see yer lady friend tucked in right and tight.”

Harkness drew him into the corridor. Mistress Mavis followed along behind them and drew the door shut.

“Might I impose on your goodwill a while longer, madam?” Osborne turned. “I must go warn the authorities before the miscreants try to escape from the country.” He raked back his hair from his brow. “But even before I do that, there is another lady who may be in danger. That will be my first stop.”

The matron gave a curt nod. “Your friend is safe here for the nonce.”

“Who?” began Harkness.

“Lady Sommers.”

“You’ll need a coat and a carriage,” said Harkness. “Take mine.”

“I’ve a fresh team right outside. But I’ll accept the loan of clothing.” His mouth twitched. “Sorry to leave you in the lurch, Nicky.”

“I shall take care to see you pay me back. In spades.” His friend grinned. “Wait here. I’ll just be a moment.”

There was a short silence, save for the patter of steps on the Oriental runner.

“If, perchance, your female friend is looking for future employment …” murmured Mistress Mavis.

Osborne smiled. “She has a job.”

The matron sighed. “I do hope it is not with a competitor. Her beauty and body are quite unique.”

“It’s in a different line of work.”

“Ah. Well, good luck to her. And to you, sir.”

Harkness returned and thrust a clean shirt and coat into his arms. “Godspeed.”

Osborne nodded, but he was not going to count on divine help. He would crush the devils who dared harm Sofia with his bare hands if need be.

“Ye best not try te move, miss.”

Though still woozy from the effects of the narcotic, Sofia managed to sit up.

“Here, have some more tea.” A pair of young women were hovering over her bedside, their kohl-rimmed eyes wide with concern.

“Thank you.” Her throat was parched, and she gratefully sipped the sugared beverage. “I feel much better.”

Both were blond and buxom, with rouged cheeks and painted lips that quickly curled up in matching smiles. “Thought ye were a goner,” said the one on the right.

“Aye, and so did Goldilocks.” The one on the left winked. “Right handsome gent is that one. He your protector?”

Osborne her protector?
Sofia quirked a small smile. “I suppose you could call him that. Though we are more like … friends.”

“Oy, trust me, duckie, the gent has far more than friendly feelings fer ye. If I had a toff that said half the things he just did, I’d march him up the aisle afore ye could say ‘Parson’s Mousetrap.’ ”

“The gentleman is not about to make any offers of marriage.” Sofia swallowed the last of the tea. The hazy recollection of strange, seductive whispers was likely just hallucinations brought on by the drugs. “However, I do need to speak to him without delay.”

“Sorry, he’s left.”

“Left?” she echoed.

“Aye, he said something about having te go see Linsey. Ain’t that right, Rosie?”

“Aye,” agreed the other woman.

“I must go too. He doesn’t know—” She nearly swooned as she tried to bolt up and swing her legs to the floor.

“Ye ain’t in any shape te be gallivanting around Town.”

“I will be in a moment.” Drawing in a deep lungful of air, Sofia sought to clear her head and regain control of her senses. Her yoga teacher had stressed that the mind could master the body—it was simply a matter of willpower.

After several more slow, cleansing breaths, she managed to stand. “Where are my clothes?”

“Ye weren’t wearing nothing but that nit o’ rags when ye came in.” Rosie pointed to the tangle of exotic silks draped over the dressing table chair.

“Damn.” Combing her hair back from her face, she added, “Well, if I have to fashion a shift from these sheets, I am leaving.”

A knock sounded on the door. “Is anything amiss in there?”

“I think ye better come in, Nicky, and see if ye can talk some sense into the lady,” called Rosie. “She wants te run after Goldilocks.”

The door opened.

Harkness mirrored her own surprised stare, his eyes widening in sudden recognition.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath. “Girls, kindly step outside for a moment.” He waited for the latch to click shut before letting out a harried sigh. “Lady Sofia! I’d no idea it was
you.”
His gaze darted to the gauzy Turkish trousers and sleeveless blouson, then shot back to her face. “What the devil is going on? Deverill said that you were drugged, but how on earth did that happen?”

“It’s a long story,” she replied. “I need to speak with Osborne. It’s imperative that he and Lord Lynsley hear about Lady Sommers.”

His face relaxed. “Don’t worry. Deverill is heading to her as we speak. He means to pass on a warning before going on to Lord Lynsley.”

“No!” The last of the cobwebs cleared from her head. “I have to stop him!”

Harkness touched her arm. “Come, Contessa, you had better lie down. Your wits are still a trifle confused.”

Sofia shook him off. “I promise you, it’s not the narcotic. Deverill is in grave danger. The lady is part of the cabal that tried to kill me earlier this evening.”

He still looked uncertain as to whether to believe her.

“Lord Harkness, I know I am asking you to make a leap of faith, but I am not delusional or dicked in the nob.”

“Have you any idea how crazy your story sounds?”

Her lips curled up in a rueful quirk. “Yes. Which ought to assure you I am not making it up.” Holding his gaze with unflinching resolve, she added, “Please, I need your help.”

Silence stretched for one long moment. Then two. “Perhaps
I
belong in Bedlam.” He pressed his palms to his brow. “What do you have in mind?”

“I’ll explain during the drive—I take it you have a carriage here.”

He nodded.

“Get it.” Her steps were now sure and steady as she marched to the door. “Rosie,” she called softly, only to find the two girls stumbling back from the keyhole.

“Er, yes, ma’am?” Beneath the face paint, there was hint of a faint blush. Her companion, however, showed no sign of shame.

“Oooooh,” exclaimed Fanny. “This is ever so much more exciting than that book Mistress Mavis is reading te us—ye know,
The Damsel and the Dark Lord.”
She tugged at her bodice, which was perilously close to exposing both her breasts. “Wot can we do te help?”

“Clothing.” Sofia eyed the clinging fit and trailing ribbons of their frilly gowns. “Something practical. I may need to climb a few walls.”

“We got plenty of gent’s clothing in the storage room,” offered Rosie. “They tend te forget a few items when they take their leave.”

“Excellent. The darker the better, and throw in a pair of black gloves if you can,” she replied. “Please hurry.”

They pelted off in a swirl of silk, nearly knocking the matron down in their rush.

“Nicky,” muttered Mistress Mavis as she drew Sofia back into the bedchamber and shut the door. “You do know that you and your friends are wreaking havoc with business this evening. My patrons come here expecting discretion and decorum.”

“Start a tab for Osborne,” replied Harkness. “He will be happy to make up for your losses.”

“Assuming he survives the night,” added Sofia.