Chapter 11 #2
“You must understand that when your life is shrouded in lies and secrecy, it becomes difficult to trust your own thoughts.” Her pulse drummed in her throat as both men fixed her with unnerving intensity.
“There’s something else. Something I’ve been afraid to mention.
Two things, actually. One I’m fairly certain of. The other … less so.”
Gabriel’s weary sigh cut to the bone.
She braced herself, half expecting him to stand and walk out.
Instead, he surprised her. “I know how the mind plays tricks. How it recycles the same thoughts until you start doubting your own sanity.”
“Yes.” She smiled, hoping the warmth blooming in her chest reached her eyes. That he felt it. That he knew. “I prayed you’d understand.”
“Still, I’ll have your word this is the last time you’ll keep secrets or fail to confide in me.”
“I held my tongue to spare you the uncertainty, but I give you my word, there is nothing more.” She gathered her courage, knowing what she said next might change everything. “I may have seen Justin Lovelace before. Two years ago, while peering through the keyhole of my father’s study.”
“You refer to the man taken from the watch-house?” Gabriel refused to confirm or deny they were speaking about his friend.
“Yes. And because something in the countess’ expression when she’s anxious reminds me of him.” Anticipating their questions, she hurried on. “He’d come to collect a map. Whatever he planned to do with it, the risks were great, because he asked that those closest to him be protected.”
Part of her wished she had remained abed and not been so inquisitive. But she’d crept to the study, determined to learn why her father disappeared at night.
“And you’ve no notion what was marked on the map?” Mr Daventry asked. “No names were mentioned.”
“No. Only that he would receive the key from their contact at Shady Moor.”
“Shady Moor? You mean Shadwell?” Mr Daventry said.
“No. It could have been Shadymere. They spoke in hushed voices.”
“Shadowmere?”
“Yes, that may be it.” She frowned, the name stirring a faint unease. “The other man called it a place of ill repute, and said it would be the only time he was expected to participate.”
Mr Daventry’s dark gaze shifted to Gabriel. “It makes sense they’d use Hawke’s licentious gatherings to pass information, the noise and chaos would mask any exchange. But you know what this means.”
“Yes. The spies hold positions in society.” There was something in Gabriel’s tone, a quiet thrill, as if he would enjoy holding them to account. “Faces I may even remember from my parents’ wild parties.”
“We’ll visit Dominic Hawke once we’ve gathered more information.” Mr Daventry gave a mocking snort. “Before we march into Shadowmere, we’d better be certain of the facts.”
A knock on the door announced the cheerful housekeeper, Mrs Gunning, balancing a laden tea tray, the smell of freshly baked lemon cake filling the room.
“I thought you might fancy a little something to keep the hunger pangs at bay,” she said, smiling as she set down the tray. She poured the tea, bobbed a curtsy, and retreated as swiftly as she came.
Olivia’s gaze slid to Gabriel. The remark had been innocent, yet lemon cake would not satisfy the hunger that had taken root inside her.
Gabriel reached for a slice and took a bite, licking a few crumbs from the corner of his mouth. “You mentioned two things,” he said. “One you were more certain of.”
“Yes.” She paused, considering whether she could trust these men, and decided she must. “I was told to take a note to a carriage waiting a mile down the lane and give it to the coachman. At the time, it felt like an errand, but now I believe I’m implicated in an event that happened a month later.”
She remembered the fear in her father’s eyes. How he’d hesitated before handing her the lantern. How his voice caught as he told her to be quick, to keep to the edge of the road.
“You read the note?” Gabriel asked.
“It wasn’t sealed. I believe that was deliberate.”
“Do you recall what it said?”
“Almost word for word. I have a memory for these things.” She took a sip of tea and set down her cup, the clatter of china belying her nerves.
Gather in St Giles, dusk, 7th May.
Signal: three lanterns in window of The Mason’s Arms.
Target the polling booths at Westminster and Guildhall.
Wheels and barrels for barricade at Holborn.
Burn goods at Shadwell if pursuit begins.
Pay ringleaders five shillings apiece.
Gabriel’s expression darkened as she finished. A brief silence followed while he and Mr Daventry exchanged a guarded glance.
“That sounds like instructions for the planned riot during the Days of May,” Mr Daventry said.
“When the country teetered on the edge of revolution,” Gabriel murmured. “One spark, and London might have burned.”
Mr Daventry sighed. “Then perhaps we’re not dealing with spies at all, but revolutionaries.”
“And the coachman could testify that I was the one who delivered the rioters’ instructions.” She wore the weight of her actions like iron shackles. “I could be hanged for treason.”
A shadow crossed Gabriel’s face, as if he’d glimpsed a premonition. A vision of the tragic end that awaited them both. “They’ll have to kill me first.”
He spoke in earnest. He never said anything he didn’t mean. He could have bought her a gilded carriage, a team of muscled Arabians, or a palace grander than Versailles, and it still wouldn’t have touched her as deeply as that fierce declaration.
Sweet mercy. If he meant for her to fall slowly in love with him, he was going about it the right way.
“The few rioters caught were transported,” Mr Daventry said. “I’ll have an agent gather their names and see if there’s a connection between them. But the unrest didn’t begin with the Days of May. Men have been plotting to overthrow the government since before King William took the throne.”
“Yes, for more than a decade,” Gabriel added, before mentioning Justin Lovelace. “Did the coroner find anything in the dead man’s pockets?”
“Nothing but a few coins in his purse.”
A silence followed. Talk of riots and treason had Gabriel shifting in his seat, the drum of his fingers on the armrest betraying the urge to move, to act, to chase the truth wherever it led.
“There’s one question that demands an answer,” he said, turning to Olivia. “Sir Randall is a generous man, but how did Mrs Hodge come to own two cottages in World’s End?”
“Her sister left her a small inheritance.” Mrs Hodge had made a point of saying she’d bought the properties for a bargain price. “Few people want to live beside a graveyard.”
He frowned. “How did you come to hear of the property?”
“The poem mentioned World’s End and a graveyard, so I visited every burial ground along that road, believing the key would open a crypt.
When I found the cottage standing empty, Mrs Hodge appeared, and we got talking.
She offered to let it for a modest sum. Living there gave me more time to search the burial grounds. ”
She had gone seeking the poem’s meaning and found only her own folly. Mrs Hodge’s appearance could not have been chance. Had the woman warned her attacker?
A chill threaded through her thoughts. Time was against them. They were missing a vital piece of the puzzle, and someone was willing to kill them to find it.
Conduit Street
Mayfair
Olivia glanced at the elegant facade of Sir Randall Ferguson’s townhouse and dared to make the suggestion she knew Gabriel would dismiss before she’d uttered the last syllable.
“After what you learnt this afternoon, I think it best you introduce me as one of Mr Daventry’s enquiry agents.”
Gabriel arched a brow as he helped her down from the carriage. “You’re my wife. No foolish errand for your father will change that.”
“But I committed a criminal act,” she whispered, mindful of passers-by. “I could be transported if the truth came to light.”
Though her feet were planted firmly on the pavement, he didn’t release her hand but drew her close, impossibly close.
“We’re all one step away from breaking the law.
I’d hurt any man who threatened you. Besides, no one can prove you gave the coachman the letter without implicating themselves.
The act served one purpose. To buy your father’s silence. ”
It seemed he’d considered the matter carefully.
“You’re not disappointed you married a fool?”
He tutted softly. “A fool wouldn’t have read the letter and memorised its contents. A fool would be walking around blindly, not searching for answers.”
“Is there anything I could say to make you regret marrying me?” Every moment spent with him only reinforced that she had made the right decision.
His tepid smile said there was. “Don’t ever profess to love me and disappear the same night.”
A vision of the incomparable Miss Bourne entered her mind, and she dismissed it at once. How did one prove one’s loyalty?
“Give me your thumb.” While she relished his baffled expression, she took the pin from her bonnet, removed her glove, and stabbed the pad of her own thumb.
A scarlet drop formed. It might be the only part of herself she would ever give to him.
“Let us make another pact. On my oath, I will never leave Studland Park without discussing it with you first.”
Mildly amused, he took the pin and pricked his own thumb. “You broke the pact of friendship when you kissed me. What’s to say you won’t break this one?”
“We broke the pact of friendship to test the boundaries.” She pressed her thumb to his, their blood mingling, warm and binding.
His eyes darkened to inky pools as he stared at the crimson stain. “I believe that’s the most erotic thing a woman has ever done to me, and in the street, no less.”
“With a harem at home, I find that surprising. And it’s hard to comment when my list of erotic experiences is limited.”
“Permit me to rectify that.” He held her captive with his gaze as he drew her thumb into his mouth and sucked it clean.