Chapter Thirty
The Lyon’s Den, two nights later
Will stood beside Laurent St. Giles on the footpath in front of the blue house on Cleveland Row and examined the dwelling carefully. Besides the somewhat unusual color, from the outside it looked much like the other dwellings lining the row.
Laurent, who had not been privy to Rufus’s briefing, asked, “Are you sure this is the place?” as two gentlemen passed them.
The older of the two stopped with one foot on the bottom step and turned back.
A broad smile lit his face. “You won’t find better wine and food anywhere in London, and the gaming tables are run clean.
Cheats aren’t tolerated. And if it’s unusual bets you’re looking for, well, you’re in the right place, young man. ”
“My thanks, sir. Then we are where we hoped to be,” Laurent replied smoothly before the man continued inside.
Will chuckled. “Rufus suggested we spend some time in here and keep our ears open. He said it would be interesting, and I think he may be right.”
“He sends us to a gambling den? Is it also perhaps a house of pleasure?”
Will shrugged. “I suspect it is more than it appears if Rufus wants us to breach the lion’s den.”
“Tell me, why is it called the Lyon’s Den? That sounds like a monster lurks inside.”
“Apparently, the building was known as Lyon’s Gate Manor and belonged to the family of Colonel Sandstrom Lyon.
After his death, his widow set up a gambling establishment and changed the name.
My guess is that the family coffers were low when she inherited it.
From what Rufus said, she’s turning a tidy profit these days thanks to a good head for business and the ability to read people. ”
“The name is clever, but what or who does Rufus believe we will discover inside?”
Lowering his voice and glancing around casually before he spoke, Will said, “He received a tip-off about a couple of French patrons with liberating aspirations.”
“Liberating—” For a moment, Laurent frowned before he understood Will’s message. “Liberating, ah, I understand. We will be able to make introductions in a relaxed setting. How’s your head for drink?”
“Sufficient, but if the drinks come more quickly than my ability to down them, there’re always thirsty potted plants.”
“As you say. Shall we explore, mon ami?” Laurent gestured for Will to lead the way up to the front door.
Once they had handed off their hats and coats to a maid, a tall and broad-shouldered servant with a soldierly bearing approached and offered a slight bow. “Good evening, gentlemen. My name is Titan, and I am the manager of the Lyon’s Den. I do not think we have seen you here before?”
Laurent stood a little apart, surveying the interior.
Will shook his head and folded his hands behind his back, smiling at Titan. “No, it’s our first time here. A friend recommended we treat ourselves to the best food and drink in London and try our luck at your tables. He said you run a clean operation and that cheating isn’t tolerated.”
As he spoke, Will noted a gentleman’s lounge on their left and beyond that, the distant clatter of plates suggested a dining room.
“That is correct, sir. We provide honest oversight so our patrons may enjoy themselves.”
“I wish there were more establishments like it in the city. Speaking of which, I noticed some ladies entering a side door of the building. Do they perhaps—”
“Indeed, sir, we have separate rooms for ladies who wish to gamble. Mrs. Dove-Lyon believes in equality of the sexes.”
“Does she now? I suspect she may be right about ladies being our equals.”
According to Rufus, after several meetings with Mrs. Dove-Lyon, he was of the opinion that the owner of the Lyon’s Den thought women were at least as intelligent as men, if not more so.
“She employs former soldiers as wolves, guarding the exits, but there are a lot of women quietly working in positions of responsibility, including another like her whose face is hidden for reasons as yet unknown to me. That woman works an abacus, which requires a certain talent with numbers.”
Among the intelligent women Will knew, several sprang immediately to mind: Mother Bernadette at La Belle Dame, who had taken over running the spy network in her region after her brother had been murdered on the same night Will had arrived in France.
And of course, there was Clem, bright and curious, who had worked out what Will was doing by collecting hints and snippets of information culled over time from Rufus, and Clem’s friend, Meredith Appleyard, who had taken over the operation of her husband’s shipping concerns upon his death. The list went on.
From personal experience, Will could vouchsafe there were a number of women eminently more intelligent and capable than a lot of men he had met. Most likely it was opportunity, not ability, that determined their roles in society.
Laurent joined him, looking into a room as the door on their left opened. A pair of young bloods exited and voices, all of them masculine, filtered out. “A pity there are not rooms where both sexes may mix. I would enjoy playing cards with some ladies.”
Titan inclined his head. “If that is your wish, I can enquire if a private party may be possible.”
“Excellent!” Laurent rubbed his hands together, playing up his role as the gambler of the two of them. People expected a Frenchman to be most interested in the ladies, and he was happy to play up to the stereotype.
But Will shook his head, not wishing to get sidetracked from their main objective. “Maybe later. We’ll have a drink first and wander around; I’d like to see what there is here before my friend settles into a game.”
Laurent snorted. “Sometimes I wonder why we are friends. D’accord, mon ami. Lead the way, Titan.”
Titan showed them the gentlemen’s lounge, smoking room, and dining room while a waiter hurried off to procure refreshments for them. With drinks in hand, they were shown the main gambling area and ended their tour in a well-appointed private gaming room.
Will glanced around, his interest landing on the occupants of one table in particular.
Two years of building his skills of observation revealed the table was hosted by a woman dressed in men’s clothing and a half mask, which might disguise her sex from most patrons but not from his eye for subtle details.
Under her skillful management, a game of vingt et un was in progress. She dealt the next round of cards and the players checked them. One pushed his hand from him with a loud “Zut, merde! Pas encore!”
Laurent nudged Will’s arm and exclaimed loudly, “My favorite game. Viens, mon ami, I will begin my evening trying my luck here.”
Upon hearing his accent, the vingt et un players turned, and the younger one beckoned, saying in French, “Another Frenchman among all these rosbifs is always welcome.”
Will hid his laugh at hearing the slur with a discreet cough. He’d also called his fellow Englishmen “roast beefs” when he was in France, and an odd flicker of nostalgia touched him as he remembered such moments with Colbert in La Truite Argentée.
Switching on the full force of his Gallic charm, Laurent took a seat at their table and fell easily into conversation.
Will called for another round of drinks before strolling over to join the players. He and Laurent had decided to hide the fact that he spoke perfect French for now, hoping to lull their quarry into feeling secure and perhaps letting something slip in French in his presence.
Laurent introduced the two men. The younger was Jean-Pierre, and his companion, an older man with graying temples, was Antoine.
As the hour grew late, Laurent morphed into a friendly drunk, and the conversation often slipped into French.
Will reminded himself not to react to anything said in his second language, but when Jean-Pierre referred to bringing home “le petit empereur”, he noticed the dealer’s eyes flick toward the young man.
Her mouth tightened for the briefest of moments, and Will was certain she understood what the man had said.
A strong impression formed that she did more than simply deal cards.
Rufus rarely showed much emotion, but there had been a restrained excitement about him as he sketched out their mission within the Lyon’s Den.
Now Will understood why.
This wasn’t simply a mission to connect with two French sources; it was about tapping into a whole new organism, one with many eyes and ears, that was patriotic to England.
With Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s offer of assistance, Rufus had acquired access to a Hydra-like network of informants within one of London’s most popular clubs.
Shortly after Jean-Pierre’s indiscreet comment, Laurent stumbled to his feet. “Where’s the privy?” he asked of the dealer, swaying and lightly slurring his words.
She pointed to an unobtrusive door, and Laurent wove his way towards it, noisily bumping into a chair as he went.
“He’s a lightweight,” Will said, grinning at his companions.
They nodded and raised their wine glasses.
“Not us. We can hold our drink.” Jean-Pierre’s words were also slurred, and Antoine’s gaze narrowed on the young man.
“Tais-toi, idiote.”
Their exchange continued in French, and Will allowed his gaze to slide away, watching the dealer who was opening a fresh pack of playing cards.
But he listened carefully. So did she, and Will realized the staff probably had no idea of his link to Rufus.
They simply gathered snippets of information, which they must be passing on to the owner, who in turn, might be passing on certain types of information to Rufus.
Could this be as much a test of her staff’s ability to sift relevant information as it was part of Rufus’s plan to learn more about the French connection?
He had explained that Mrs. Dove-Lyon ran an unusual matchmaking service from her establishment.
Indiscreet chatter must be gold to that side of her business, and it occurred to Will that this might have been how his friend had kept Clem safe from unwanted suitors.
And how he had first encountered the intriguing Black Widow.
“Do not call me an idiot.” Jean-Pierre’s sulky French interrupted Will’s thoughts.
“Do not mention him. Say nothing.” Antoine’s reprimand was low and weary, and Will suspected Jean-Pierre was more of a liability than an asset to him.
“What did I say? I said nothing. Bah, this one, he does not understand what we say.”
“I will not tell you again, Jean-Pierre. Shut up or you’ll ruin our chances to bring him back with your loose words.” Antoine switched to English and summoned a waiter who had been standing discreetly against the wall. “Coffee for my friend and I.”
“And two more here, please.” While Will had been able to unobtrusively pace his drinks, he wasn’t going to lose the opportunity to stop now.
By the time Laurent returned, Will decided they had gained as much information as they were going to get from the Frenchmen.
When the coffee arrived, he convinced Laurent to leave the gaming table and move into the gentlemen’s lounge to partake.
Antoine dragged Jean-Pierre away from the gaming table too, and they found a group of four armchairs.
The waiter set down a tray with their cups of coffee on a small round table.
Conversation became less enthusiastic between Will and Antoine as Jean-Pierre sulked and Laurent feigned fatigue. It was easy to end the evening with half promises of meeting again in a couple of days.
As Will and Laurent rose to take their leave, the young man remained seated, waving a lazy hand at them. Antoine stood and approached Laurent, offering a hand.
“It was good to meet you.” Laurent shook the proffered hand, but as Will did the same, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Laurent slip his hand into his pocket.
He waited until their carriage pulled away from the blue building before asking, “What did he give you?”
Laurent, perfectly sober despite his drunken performance, drew a calling card from his pocket and offered it to Will. “This. Looks like we’ve hooked him.”
On the reverse of the card was a date and time.
Laurent plucked the card from Will’s fingers, weaving it between his fingers like a prestidigitator. “We should call in and tell Rufus. He’ll want to know straight away.”
“It can wait until morning,” Will said, unable to hide a yawn.
Amused, Laurent said, “You’re getting too old for this spying business, my friend.”
Banging on the roof, Will directed the driver to take him home. “We’ll meet at Rufus’s place for breakfast. He’ll be expecting us then.”
“You could have told me that earlier. Did you pick up any more details while I was in the privy?”
“Mainly confirmation of what we’d already learned.
” Enumerating each item on his fingers, Will said, “There is definitely a loyalist group in play and they are planning another attempt to release Boney. They have a plan, although I got the impression it isn’t yet firm.
And when Jean-Pierre spoke of the little emperor, did you catch if he said ‘bateau’ or ‘chateau’? ”
“I missed that. Surely, though, with Bonaparte on St. Helena Island, they would need a boat?”
“It’s more likely he said ‘boat’, but we can’t assume. When you go to this appointment at Antoine’s, see if you can confirm any details of a rescue attempt.”
They drove for several minutes in silence until the carriage pulled up in front of Will’s home. “Pick me up at nine o’clock.”
“Sure.” Laurent leaned back with a sigh. “Some time, I’d like to explore the Lyon’s Den properly.”
“Depending on what you find out at that meeting, we might not have to go back.”
“You are, how do you say, a ‘spoilsport’. Do something for fun, mon ami. And now, I bid you a good night.”
Will climbed down, turning back when his foot hit the road and fixing Laurent with a stern look. “Don’t go back tonight. You know as well as I the vingt et un dealer’s a woman, but if you push your luck, you’ll blow our cover. You might blow up this new association with the Black Widow.”
Laurent held up his hands in mock protest. “I have no intention of returning tonight. Rest assured it is a role I play well, but a role nonetheless.”
Will held Laurent’s gaze for several seconds before nodding acceptance of the comment. “Until the morning then.”