Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Sol never thought he would ever find himself fussing over two young women as they left the house. But that was yesterday. Today—well, here he stood, fussing.
“Keep your eyes about you,” he said to Phoebe as she tied the ribbons of a fashionable bonnet beneath her chin.
“I shall be very careful, Uncle Sol,” she said with equanimity, and she did not even attempt to roll her eyes in exasperation at him.
“I noticed that you do not caution me to be watchful,” Miss Gardinier said as she adjusted her own bonnet carefully under her chin.
She had put a plaster over the cut from Norton’s knife on her cheek, and Aya had somehow managed to hide the injury with cosmetics almost completely.
A slight swelling was the only evidence that she had ever been in a fight.
“I would prefer that you use all of your energy to convince your sister and her husband to leave town forthwith,” Sol said. “Entrust your safety to Phoebe.”
After Miss Gardinier’s harrowing experience at the hands of Mr. Maghew, he would have liked to send Mr. Coulton-Jones, also, but the young man had his own task to convince his mother to quit herself of the entertainments she so enjoyed in London.
Sol glanced at the agent, standing nearby in the greatcoat of an unremarkable coachman.
“You mustn’t worry, sir.” Phoebe called him “sir” rather than “Uncle Sol,” which indicated that she regarded him with proper seriousness. “You may entrust us with this mission, and we shall complete it successfully.”
Yes, he reminded himself, he must trust his team. They had trained with great discipline and fervor for many weeks, and in the case of Phoebe and Mr. Coulton-Jones, their abilities exceeded those of an ordinary agent.
“Lissa’s social calendar is quite busy,” Keriah said. “I do not know that she would be willing to quit it.”
“Keriah, your task may be easier than you expect.” Laura walked up from behind him and handed her a folded note.
“Please deliver this letter to your sister. I have suggested a snug cottage for sale in Aston Tirrold in Oxfordshire that might be to her liking, which may be purchased for a song through my attorney, Mr. Cossman. If they do so, the transaction will be completely anonymous.”
Keriah looked at the note dubiously. “Would she truly purchase a new home so readily?”
“If you tell your sister as much of the truth as you are able, I suspect you shall have no difficulty in convincing her and her husband to leave.”
Sol glanced at Laura, striving to keep his expression neutral.
Did she somehow know about Lord Stoude’s involvement with the Ramparts?
His work for the department was not quite as shrouded in secrecy as le petit prince or Mr. Benjamin, but few knew about the clandestine tasks he had accomplished for them.
Laura returned his look with a placid one, but there was a slight arch to her eyebrows that made him think she could read his thoughts and that she already knew exactly what actions Lord Stoude took to protect England.
Phoebe’s eyes flickered to Laura with curiosity, but nothing more. Miss Gardinier and Mr. Coulton-Jones did not notice anything amiss in the exchange between himself and Laura.
Aya accompanied them as they exited the house of her father, the tanner Mr. Thompson, through the back of the property, with the two women wearing hooded cloaks to hide their fine garments.
The unmarked carriage—still being “borrowed” from the Ramparts—awaited them at a nearby tavern, and they would soon be off to Mayfair.
Mr. Coulton-Jones would drive them to Lady Stoude’s residence before heading to his own family townhouse.
Sol turned to discover Mr. Benjamin—no, Mr. Verling standing at the back of the entrance hall. He had not even known the young man was there.
Laura gave Mr. Verling a gentle smile. “Joshua, might I impose upon you and speak privately with Sol for a few minutes?”
When had she begun calling him Joshua, as if she had known him since he was a boy? And what did she desire to speak about with Sol?
Mr. Verling merely bowed stiffly to her, then left the house.
He was still dressed in the workman’s clothes he had been wearing when the Ramparts captured him and Miss Gardinier from Oliver Troy’s gentlemen’s club, and so he would not look out of place exiting the front door of the tanner’s house or walking around the neighborhood here in Rasken Hill.
Laura led Sol into the tanner’s poor, beleaguered drawing room.
The team had quite overtaken the tiny house, and the father of Laura’s lady’s maid had been uncomfortable with so many houseguests from the nobility.
He spent most of his time working in the tannery next door or hiding in the tiny kitchen of his home.
Anticipating her mistress’s needs, Aya had deposited a tray of tea upon the table there just before she left with Phoebe. Instead of delicate biscuits, she had included toasted slices of brown bread with butter, and Sol was once again reminded that he was imposing upon her father’s hospitality.
Laura closed the door to the drawing room. Even so, they could not be said to have complete privacy, and so Sol sat next to her on the narrow, threadbare sofa.
Laura calmly poured tea for him, adding more sugar than he liked. It surprised him, for she knew his tastes quite well. He held the teacup and raised his eyebrows at her.
“Drink your tea, Sol.” She reminded him of his nanny when he was a child. “You are as nervous as a rabbit. I think that you will feel more like yourself after you partake, even if it is sweeter than you like.” She also handed him a plate with two slices of buttered toast.
He obeyed, drinking from the heavy teacup made of thick pottery, and he found that she was correct—indeed, the tea did not seem overly sweet. With the first bite of bread, he also realized he was famished, and he finished the slice before he realized it.
Laura was still smiling at him like his nanny, which made him distinctly uncomfortable. “Do you feel better?” she asked.
“Yes,” he admitted grudgingly.
“Have another slice of bread.”
He obliged rather than arguing. The food in his stomach did not cause his problems to vanish, but he discovered his mind had slowed, as if it had been whirling too quickly, and he was able to think with more clarity.
“I suppose you wish to speak about Mr. Verling.” Sol took another sip of tea.
She nodded, her hands clasped loosely in her lap. “You are wondering if you are able to trust him, since he worked so closely with Mr. Norton.”
He nodded curtly. When Mr. Verling had first insisted upon his innocence, Sol had been inclined to believe the young man. But now, a few more hours after their daring escape from the Ramparts, he had begun to question his own judgment. After all, Norton’s betrayal had been utterly unexpected.
“Joshua would not work for the Citadel.” Laura’s eyes flickered away as she recalled her distant memories. “I have known him since he was a young boy. His father’s estate was a few miles from my sister’s home in the country.”
Sol tried not to flinch … but he flinched.
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “What is it, Sol?” she asked in a sharp voice with more bluntness than normal, even for her.
He quickly said, “I admit I was curious that you addressed him as Joshua.” It was the truth, although it was not the reason he had flinched.
She regarded him with suspicion for a moment, and he had the impression that she knew he had deflected her question.
Rather than accusing him about it, she continued, “When last I spoke to Joshua, he was eighteen years old. He was a strong, principled boy even then. He attended Lady Ravenhurst’s ball several years later.
It was Phoebe’s second Season, and his first. He danced with both Phoebe and Keriah, although I did not speak to him.
He was introduced by Lady Ravenhurst, and since I was dancing at the same time, he returned each girl to Mrs. Gardinier. ”
“Can you be certain of the boy’s principles after nearly ten years? A genial countenance from across the ballroom is hardly enough to convince me the man is not a traitor.”
Sol’s voice was harsh, but Laura did not take offense. She answered softly, “He protected Keriah when he could easily have allowed the Ramparts or Mr. Norton to kill her, which is surely what he intended for all of us.”
Norton’s betrayal felt like a dog gnawing on his heart—always there, paining him, but every so often, teeth would prick sharply. “Norton’s betrayal took me completely by surprise,” Sol said somberly. “I would like to trust Mr. Verling, but I find that I am having difficulty trusting myself.”
Laura alarmed him when her face crumpled into a mask of guilt. “I apologize, Sol. I might have saved everyone a great deal of suffering if I had listened to my instincts.”
“What do you mean?”
“I felt there was something odd about Mr. Norton. Nothing so strong as misgiving, but I sensed it to be true. However, he had proven so trustworthy that I dismissed the feeling. And then he caused all this chaos.”
Sol shook his head. “Laura, it is hardly your responsibility to test the veracity of Ramparts agents. It is the responsibility of myself and other senior agents.”
Except that the three most senior officers in the Ramparts were now dead, cut down by Norton.
Sol looked down at his lap and realized his hands had balled into fists.
“Of the two of us, I am the experienced agent. It has not happened often, but I have helped to apprehend traitors within the department. If anyone were to see Mr. Norton’s perfidy, it should have been me. ”
Her hand reached out again to gently cover his fists, and he felt his fingers loosen, tingling from the strength of his grip.
“There is blame enough for all,” she said.
“I desire to trust Mr. Verling, but I am afraid. My feelings have been wrong, with disastrous consequences. I am afraid to risk the safety of Phoebe and the others.”