Chapter 5 #3
She looked at the picture over the mantelpiece and smiled. It was the charcoal sketch done by the artist for the grand portrait of her brother that hung in the hall. He always said it had captured his worst features, and that the artist had flattered him in the final product.
Elf wouldn’t say that, but the sketch captured Rothgar at his coolest. Dark and lean featured, he seemed to be looking out at the world as if he were an all-seeing and all-knowing creature. The spare charcoal lines failed to capture his soul and thus made him seem cold, almost devilish.
But a damned handsome devil, as Cyn had remarked on first seeing it.
Rothgar did sometimes seem all-seeing and all-knowing, even to his family, but they all knew a passionate devotion lay behind his powers. If he had become vigilant and powerful, it had been to protect them.
In most noble families, the younger children had to make their own way in the world. Rothgar, however, on inheriting the marquessate at nineteen, had set about building power and wealth so as to provide magnificently for them all.
Doubtless because of the tragedy of his mother.
Elf turned to a side wall to study the portrait of a woman there, the only portrait of their father’s first wife.
Dark-haired and dark-eyed, she looked very like her son except for an expression of confused intensity.
It could be the first hint of the madness that had seized her after the birth of her second child.
New or old, that madness had caused her to murder the baby despite the attempts of her young son to prevent it.
Elf turned away. It had formed Rothgar, that moment.
Perhaps it had caused the wildness that had marked his early years.
It had certainly created his excessive protectiveness toward his half-siblings, especially Elf and Hilda.
None of them would come to harm if he could help it.
He had been driven almost beyond reason by Cyn’s determination to join the army.
So, what would happen if Elf came to harm through this business?
It would not be good, so she must be careful. But she couldn’t just let things lie until Rothgar returned. The king was in danger, and Walgrave’s involvement could not be ignored.
Someone knocked on the door, and she turned as seven people filed in—a powdered footman, two maids, and four men who were either gardeners or grooms. They all had the proper demeanor, and yet they were not at all nervous at being summoned to this room.
They also looked like people who could act on their own.
She’d never doubted it. Her brother chose all his servants with great care.
“Good morning,” she said. “I have some work for you. I wish a close watch kept on the Earl of Walgrave. I want to know where he goes, whom he meets, what he does. I don’t want him to know he’s being watched, however. Can you do this?”
They all nodded as if it were the most common request.
“I must warn you that some other people might be watching the earl as well, and I am particularly interested in them. One of them is a Scot called Murray. He’s in his mid-thirties, with mousy-blond hair and a stocky, average build.
The others may be Scots, too. If you detect anyone watching the earl, I want their names and places of residence, all without raising their suspicions. ”
She had no idea whether this was possible or not, but their lack of alarm was promising.
“My lady?” one of the men asked.
“Yes?”
“Should we be prepared for danger?”
Elf hadn’t thought of that. “From the earl, probably not. From the others, yes.” After a moment she added, “Kill them if you have to, but try not to bring it back to us. I’d rather no one be aware of Malloren involvement until the marquess or one of my other brothers returns. Any other questions?”
One of the maids said, “Who are we most interested in, my lady? The earl or the others?”
Again Elf had to think about it. Her concerns were focused on Walgrave, but in truth, the Scots posed the true danger. “The others,” she said. “I need to know how to find them. Other questions?”
After a silence, she added, “You are to report to me, and to no one else, at Lady Lessington’s house in Warwick Street.
Keep away from this house. If you are detected, I’d rather you were traced to Lady Lessington than to here.
Lord Lessington is away at the moment, and no one takes women seriously.
” She accompanied the latter with a smile and saw the maids’ lips twitch.
With a wink, one of them said, “Comes in useful at times, my lady.”
One of the grooms scowled and said, “Watch your tongue, Sally.”
But Elf shared a smile. “Indeed it does come in useful. Off you go, then. If you need funds, Mr. Grainger will provide them, but you are not to talk of the details of this matter, even to him.”
Alone again, Elf took a moment to worry about setting this machine in motion. She couldn’t be sure what it would do, what trouble it might cause. It had to be, though. Murray had said the time of treason was close. Walgrave had spoken of a week.
A mere week!
When Rothgar returned, time would be short. This way, she might have some useful information to pass on. And if the plot began to heat up, she might become aware of it and know she had to act on her own.
She rubbed her hands nervously, hoping it never came to that.
And still she fretted about Walgrave. She had to keep him clear of this!
Simply for Cyn and Chastity’s sake, of course.
Elf returned to Warwick Street to find Amanda sifting through invitations. “I’m trying to decide what to do tonight.”
“And no possibility appeals?”
Amanda grimaced. “I planned to attend Lady Tollmouth’s salon, but after Vauxhall, it seems rather tame.”
“I think after Vauxhall we want tame, don’t we?”
“But in this case, T stands for Tamest of the Tame. Middle-aged writers reading from works about morals and reform. To add spice to the evening, there will doubtless be some analysis of ancient documents.”
“Lord! Why had you ever planned to attend?”
“She’s Stephen’s aunt.”
“Oh.”
Amanda considered the invitation for a moment, then tore it in two. “So much for Lady T.” She pushed the pile of cards over to Elf. “You look.”
Elf riffled through, practiced at spotting the dull, the pretentious, and the outlandish. Then she paused and stared at Amanda in amazement. “Sappho?”
The woman who called herself Sappho was a poet and freethinker who moved on the fringes of society in the manner of one who does not care to be involved any further. And there were other things . . .
Amanda looked as if she would snatch the card back. She even blushed. “I met her recently. I don’t know why she sent me the card. I would hardly attend . . .”
Elf picked it up. “Why not? It’s a respectable address.”
“She’s beyond the pale!”
“Is she? I feel she’s more in a pale of her own. Where did you meet her?”
“At Mrs. Quentin’s. I thought we were to raise money for destitute women, but it turned out to be more about the rights of women.”
“Perhaps women have a right not to be destitute . . . How fascinating, though.” Elf read the card. “Poetry readings here, too. But I’ll go odds they’ll be more interesting than those at Lady Tollmouth’s. Let’s go.”
“Elf!” Amanda leaned closer, though there was no one else in the room to hear. “They say that she . . . that she prefers women to men.”
“So do I much of the time.”
“In bed!”
Elf looked at the card and then at her friend. “I don’t think so. My understanding is that she’s Rothgar’s mistress.”
Amanda collapsed back, staring. “What?”
“Not for gossip, Amanda.”
“As if I would!”
“I just wanted to make it clear. Let’s say that Rothgar spends rather more time with Sappho than he does with other women, and sometimes spends the night. I’ve always wanted to meet her.”
“It’s hardly proper.”
“Why not? I’ve hesitated before because I’ve had no invitation. And because I would hate to create embarrassment by turning up there to find my brother en déshabille.”
Amanda fanned herself with her hand. “The mere notion of Rothgar en déshabille is enough to make me swoon!”
“Restrain yourself,” said Elf with a chuckle. “But see how ideal this is. I have an invitation—or rather, she can hardly refuse to admit me while I’m with you—and Rothgar is safely out of town. It’s perfect.”
“It’s trouble,” said Amanda gloomily. “I can sense it.”
Late in the afternoon, at the Peahen Inn he used for such meetings, Murray—there known as the Reverend Archibald Campbell of the Church of Scotland—summoned Kenny and Mack. He kept rooms here, and always dressed in the black clothes and powdered bob wig typical of the Kirk.
Kenny, Mack, and Jamie knew his true identity, of course, but the other minor pawns in the game did not. If the plot fell awry, the authorities would still not connect it to Michael Murray, poor connection of the mighty Earl of Bute, with rooms in the earl’s mansion.
“The wench escaped sometime in the night,” he snapped.
Kenny stood straighter. Mack scowled. They both said the same thing, “She canna have!”
“She did. I have just been sipping a lambswool with my good friend Mr. Dingwall. For all his sanctimonious airs, he likes a gossip with someone he thinks as righteous as he. This morning, the earl had him dispose of a pair of stockings and two garters. Red-striped stockings just like the ones that vixen wore. He brought them to show me.”
Kenny and Mack exchanged a glance. “So?” Kenny ventured. “She took off her stockings and garters.”
“There were bloodstains on the garters and sheets.”
“That’s nae surprisin’, is it?” asked Mack.
“Fool! The earl claimed she was his mistress. If that were true, she would hardly be a virgin, would she? More to the point, she is not in the house, and Dingwall assumes the earl was holding her against her will and she escaped.” He glared at the two men. “How did she escape?”
“Nae by the front,” Kenny stated with a scowl. “I kept close watch all night.”
“Mack?”
“Are ye saying I didna keep watch? I did. And nothin’ stirred except a damn cat.” He stuck out a hand, showing swollen scratches. “Unless she turned into a cat, she didna get out the back.”
Murray clenched his fists. “I do not like this. I do not like it at all. It feels wrong. Nothing can be allowed to go wrong now. Go find Jamie and arrange a tight watch on the earl’s house.
Round the clock. I want to know everyone who goes in and comes out.
Everyone. And every little thing Walgrave does. ”
“It isna’ possible wi’ just the three of us,” Kenny protested. “Not wi’ all the other things in hand. The stone and the toy—”
“You can take turn and turn about. And I have recruited a bunch of street monkeys. They live like rats in the garden of an empty house in Abingdon Street, but they are sharp enough. They do not know anything of what is toward, of course, but they will take over the watch for a sixpence now and then, and report to me if anything particularly unusual happens. Perhaps things you will miss?”
Then, realizing his worry was making him harsh, Murray made himself relax. “Just a few more days, my friends, and our great enterprise will be under way. We cannot let a little detail spoil it now, can we?”