The Surrender of Miss Fairbourne (32 page)

“Is it not obvious? Someone who needs to hide, and who dares not go to an inn or to an Englishwoman’s house. Perhaps it is the man who sends over the wine that was in that wagon. I only knew the stupid man was pulling me into trouble I did not need.” She shook her head. “Other stupid men watch me. As if I would do in broad day what they suspect! This stupid man did not think that if he had heard stories, others had too, so no one could hide here anyway.”

Emma laughed at Marielle’s exasperation. “At least he has a name now. Stupid Man.”

“But there are so many with that name. How do we tell them apart?”

“Fat stupid man? Tall stupid man?”

Marielle giggled. “There is one who follows me sometimes who has too much beauty to avoid notice. I do not know whether his name should be Handsome Stupid Man or Very Stupid Man.”

They laughed, enjoying their irreverence. Emma pulled the strings on her reticule and stood. “I had hoped you knew where to find him. Then I would have been done with that wagon and perhaps with more important matters, very soon. Instead, with your warning him to stay away, I have no way to try to contact him.”

Marielle pointed to the reticule. “You have money for him, no? You do not need to contact him. He will find you very soon. He is the kind of man who will risk a noose for a shilling.”

Emma had wanted to do it her own way, at her own time, however. Like Marielle, she did not want to be seen with this stupid man who might bring her trouble.

“I will go now. Perhaps one day you will visit me. We can sit in the garden and talk about better things.”

Marielle’s expression softened. She appeared neither shrewd nor cautious now. “You are very kind. Perhaps I will do that.” She petted the money she had received. “I will look for more art for you too.”

*     *     *

D
arius was still dressing when the card came up at two o’clock. Ambury had called.

He had him brought to the dressing room. He accepted the final ministrations of his valet while he waited. As his watch was attached and his cuffs tweaked just so, he turned his head and looked into the bedroom.

It had been serviced. All signs of last night were gone. The scents he had breathed while he slept and the impressions they had made in their passion—it had all been obliterated by the precise cleanliness that the best servants imposed on a household.

It was just as well Emma had left when she did, although her insistence had angered him. If she had stayed until six, he would have kept her until ten, however. Then until one and eventually until night came again. He would have tried to keep her until he had his fill of her, and that might have been many days or weeks.

Ambury strolled in just as the valet left. He tossed a newspaper onto the dressing table, then threw himself into the high-backed armchair that Emma had used at supper last night.

“I was summoned by the earl this morning,” he said. He pointed at the newspaper. “You owe me two hours of my life back.”

Darius had not yet seen the morning paper. He read the story that described the auction at Fairbourne’s. It mentioned that reports said Viscount Ambury had entertained at the grand preview with a violin performance.

“I apologize for pressing you into it. At least he cannot threaten your allowance, since he gives you almost none already.”

“I mentioned that to him every chance I got this morning. I enjoyed reminding him that he has already played all his aces,” Ambury said.

“All of which makes your purchase of those jewels peculiar.
You ignored my efforts to hold you back and now you have a large bill of sale due.”

Ambury pretended bravado. “They captivated me. I am a fool for sapphires.”

“Please tell me you were bidding for someone else.”

“Regrettably, no. A good night at the tables last week will save my reputation, however. I will merely be in dun to everyone else again, but that is not new.”

“If I had not pressed you to perform, you would not have seen those sapphires.”

“Do not apologize. I like to play for others every now and then. I noticed that you were absent, however.”

“I heard every note. I was right outside.” Darius did not have a strong affinity for music. He appreciated a maestro’s artistry enough, but he sat through most concerts with only an intellectual engagement. Ambury’s playing was different. He found it embarrassing, just how much it affected him.

“I did not come to talk about the newspaper story, or my enthusiasm for jewels,” Ambury said. “I thought you would want to know that your prisoner finally talked yesterday. I heard about it from Pitt last night.”

Darius had been waiting for news, but his contacts in the Home Office had been annoyingly silent. “What induced him to do that after a week in gaol?”

“Perhaps the week itself. Pitt only said he was persuaded to confide.”

“As gentlemen we would rather not know how that persuading was done, I think. Please tell me Kendale was not involved.”

“He was not. He was with me all afternoon and evening, although he fought me every minute. I introduced him to a lady who finds dark, rough, brooding men attractive. She simpered soulfully at him and he ignored her, increasing his appeal. The result is she has fallen in love but he can’t even remember her name.”

Darius pictured it and chuckled. “Do we know what our persuaded prisoner said?”

“He is insisting he is not a spy, but a common smuggler. He was to be met by a man who would take the brandy and give him lodging. Then together they were supposed to seek out Englishmen of the same profession, and forge an alliance.”

“I wish I had been there to hear this tale, so I might better know if I believe it.”

“I do not believe it.” Ambury stretched out his legs and crossed them. “There are problems with his story and it does not ring true.”

“How so?”

“What are the chances that any smuggler, even a French one, would not know how Tarrington reigns in that area of the coast? That suggests this man is not a smuggler at all, or that he left the farm a week ago with a grand plan and no knowledge of his new trade. Yet he said he had someone to meet once he landed, which implies he is an old hand at it, so—his story does not make sense.”

Darius was inclined to give Ambury’s views considerable weight. Ambury had more experience with such matters, what with those quiet investigations he undertook to supplement his very small income. As a result Ambury had also developed the disconcerting ability to put himself in a criminal’s shoes and see things through a criminal’s eyes, which broadened the realm of possible theories when they speculated like this.

“If you are correct, another will be sent when it is learned this one was caught,” Darius said.

“I would say that is likely. I fully expect it.”

“I wonder if he revealed whom he was supposed to meet.”

“Pitt did not say. If they accept his story, he will be left to languish in gaol. If they do not, I expect more persuasion will be brought to bear. I doubt it will matter. Most likely this prisoner did not bring information, but was to receive it. Whoever was to hand it over is probably aware things went awry. He will disappear if he can now, but he will be wanting to get his information to France.”

Ambury had lined up the possibilities with calm precision. Darius did not like how many of them revealed the holes in their attempts to prevent such things happening. If they could not prevent one man from entering and leaving England with impunity, they were wasting their time.

“I will write to Tarrington and the others, and tell them to be alert for unexpected boats going in either direction,” he said. “We will find out if our chain has too many weak links to be effective, at least.”

B
y five o’clock two days after the auction, Emma had seen enough numbers to make her loathe the sight of them. It was not that she disliked the notion of accounting for the consignments and sales. She merely tired of the rows and rows of calculations, and came to resent the expressions on the faces of the factors, solicitors, and stewards who filed in to make the payments.

Money showed up in every way imaginable. Piles of coin and bank drafts abounded. The rents on properties were pledged in two cases. A baroness came herself and removed a gold necklace right in the office. Emma was not too proud to weigh it on the spot and agree to take it in lieu of traditional payment.

The paintings left as the money flowed in. So did the rest of the drawings and the other objects, even, she noted with relief, the silks. As she crossed off the art removed and checked off the money received, she noted that only three people still had to settle. One was with her in the office when the penultimate tally was completed.

Cassandra sat waiting, a spark of avarice in her eyes. Emma carefully moved two stacks of coin and drafts toward her.

“This is the twenty-three hundred from your jewels. And this is the commission from the count’s collection.”

Emma watched Cassandra closely, looking for either confusion or surprise at the size of the latter amount. She was almost certain that there had been no misunderstanding
about this commission, but Southwaite’s raising the possibility had plagued her ever since.

“Ten percent of what came to Fairbourne’s, as agreed,” she added, so any confusion would be clarified now.

Cassandra hesitated a fraction of a moment. If surprise blinked over her expression, at least there was no obvious shock, and certainly no objection. She eyed the various forms of lucre. “All that coin will be very clumsy to take home. I had no idea this was done with other than bank drafts.”

“If you are willing to wait, we can arrange a bank draft for tomorrow or the next day. Many consignors are rather in a hurry to have the money.”

“No more than I am.” She picked through the pile and lifted a round object. “What is this?”

“Viscount Ambury requires a few days to pay. He leaves that as surety, and the jewels with you. He will deliver payment, and take delivery directly, if you are agreeable.”

Cassandra peered at the gold ring and red stone. She squinted to examine the inside for inscriptions. “It sounds like a lot of trouble,” she muttered.

“If you prefer, I will take the payment here, and hold the earrings until then,” Emma said. “Or if you cannot consider the delay, Southwaite has offered to advance the amount in full. Then Ambury will repay him.”

Cassandra looked up. “Now it is sounding like even more trouble. I will hold the ring as surety. I suspect it is worth more than the earbobs anyway.” She tucked it in her reticule. “I don’t suppose you provide sacks to transport the coin.”

“If you take it this way, we will also provide an escort. Allow me to talk to Obediah.”

Emma left Cassandra and entered the exhibition hall. As she did, another of her final patrons entered.

“I expected you earlier,” she said.

“The delay was unfortunate,” Southwaite said. He looked around to see who else might be in the hall. “Then again…” He pulled her into an embrace and a lazy, luring kiss.

She permitted it for a while because it made her heart
both sing and ache. It summoned the mood of their celebration and the familiarity built that night.

They would not be alone long, and Cassandra might come out of the office at any moment, however. Gently but firmly, Emma pushed away.

He accepted it, for now. He reached in his coat and withdrew a paper. “For the Raphael.” He paced to the wall to admire the painting, now the only one still hanging on the gray expanse.

She took the draft and examined it. “You did not deduct your share of the commission.”

“I thought to, but realized that might complicate things. Better to treat all the lots the same, so there is no confusion.”

She rather wished he had been one of the ones to bring coin. It would take time to deal with this draft. Unless—“Is it possible to sign this to Cassandra? Then she would not have to carry so many bags of hard coin home. It will be far easier for Fairbourne’s to handle such inconvenience.”

“I do not see why not. The bank knows my hand, and should accept the change.”

They went to the office and Southwaite made the change. Happy with her drafts and replenished fortune, and still in possession of the sapphire earbobs, Cassandra left.

Emma grabbed some papers from a drawer, and she and Southwaite returned to the hall, and the painting. “Do you want it delivered? Or boxed?” she asked.

“That is not necessary. I will carry it. It is small, and I have my carriage.”

He admired his new possession. She admired him. As she did, a movement at the north windows caught her eye. What she saw horrified her.

The last person to require payment stood outside the windows, gesturing to her. Stupid Man had indeed found her in order to get his money, but he had arrived at the most inopportune time.

Southwaite began to turn away from the wall. She saw him move as if time had slowed. Stupid Man was right in
the middle of the north windows. He kept pointing in one direction, then the other, and shrugging, asking where to go.

In mere seconds the earl was going to see a peculiar fellow of questionable purpose making a pantomime that implied familiarity with her.

Frantic, Emma grabbed Southwaite into an embrace and kissed him hard. He reacted with surprise, but did not mind at all. Arms circling his neck, she kissed him aggressively while she gestured behind his back, trying to tell Stupid Man to go to the garden.

The papers she held fell to the floor as she lost her grasp on them. Southwaite did not seem aware of anything except the increasingly heated kisses they shared.

He moved his mouth to her neck, and she had the chance to see the north windows. Her visitor had made himself scarce. Her lover took her deep sigh of relief as something else.

“Come with me,” he said, between kisses she found more tempting than she would have thought possible in this situation. “Do the rest of this another day.”

“I will not be able to give you due attention if I leave it unfinished now.”

“I will take that as a promise that you will give me due attention at another time.”