Chapter Eight
Mel couldn’t understand this man at all. He was angry, yes, but not—or so it seemed—at her deception, but at the risk she had taken. She found herself explaining, which she never did. After all, her choices—and her risks—were her own. It was one of the many benefits of being a widow.
Even so, the words were on her tongue before her mind caught up.
“There was a Mr. Blackmore.” She put a slight emphasis on the second syllable in the name.
“He died seven years ago. I am a widow. Your father’s steward hit me, yes.
I heard the marquess tell him to beat me up, since I had told him nothing and insisted on the full fourteen nights written into the contract we both signed.
Farnham managed one blow before I punched him where men are most vulnerable. ”
She shrugged. “He should not have waited until we were away from his accomplices before attacking me. I can tell you that I did not let your father know about your many hiding places and your excellent cuisine, let alone about your tunnels. Nor do I intend to do so.”
“Then escape tonight, Mrs. Blackmore. I’m not allowing you to stay here to be killed by his lordship.”
Perhaps a compromise was in order. “I told the marquess I had discovered nothing so far. I pointed out to him that calling me to his presence all the time will make you suspicious, and that I have the remainder of the two weeks to uncover your secrets. The marquess has agreed to leave me alone at least until the maids come again, at which time I am meant to send a message to let him know the progress of the investigation.”
A thought occurred to her and she grinned up at Lord Kemble. “You could help me write the message.”
“What is going on here?” Lord Baldwin demanded. “Allan, for how long have you known that Black—Blackmore, I should say—is a woman? Why did you not tell us? And Blackmore, what is your real purpose?”
“Melody Blackmore!” The name burst from Lord Cornelius as if it was a discovery. “Thomasina’s cousin?”
The other brothers turned their attention to Lord Cornelius, and Lord Francis said, “Thomasina, as in your wife?”
“Yes,” said Mel. “In fact, that is one of the major reasons I accepted the position—to find out what happened to Thomasina, and who was responsible.”
Baldwin grabbed Kemble’s arm and repeated his question. “How long have you known that Black is a woman?”
“I only figured it out this morning,” Kemble told him. “It’s in the way she walks. Also, when she woke this morning, she had no beard, then she came out of her room with a shadow asking for water for a shave, and now she is smooth-cheeked again. A lot of little things.”
He narrowed his eyes at Mel, another piece falling into place. “Lady Mnema,” he said.
She hadn’t expected him to make the connection, but she wasn’t going to deny it. “Yes. A friend of mine—you know her as Lady Andromeda—arranged a guest pass for me. I thought going to the club would help me confirm some of my assumptions about you.”
“And did it?” Cornelius asked.
It did, and it also raised new questions. Cornelius, for example. The gossip at the club had him spending every night with the same woman—someone known as Lady Opora. Mel had hoped to meet the lady, but she left her assignation with Cornelius and went straight to her carriage.
In fact, except for Lord Kemble—or Lord Apollo, as he was known at the club—and the two youngest brothers, all the brothers had a “regular” romantic connection with a member of the club or an employee.
“What I have observed is that most of you have a reason to defeat your father once and for all, so you can be free to love and to live. And wouldn’t that be better than merely escaping him?”
“How can you trust her?” Baldwin demanded. “She has probably betrayed us. Any moment, the marquess’s men will burst in, or they will be waiting at the mouth of the tunnel, or at the club.”
“I have not betrayed you,” Mel told him. “I am on your side.”
“That is what you say,” said Ernest. “Why should we believe you?”
“There is a way to test it,” Cornelius said. “I haven’t told you, brothers, but Lady Opora, the lady I have been meeting at the club—she is my wife.”
There was silence for a moment, and then Baldwin said, “But you already have a wife.”
Cornelius rolled his eyes and Mel realized what he meant. “You mean, Lady Opora is actually Thomasina, my cousin.”
Cornelius nodded, and Mel sagged with relief. “Thank God. She is alive. I have been so afraid for her. I heard one of you tell another that you had helped her escape, but I never expected her to be in London.”
“That makes two of us,” said Cornelius, with a touch of humor. “Imagine my surprise when Hera insisted I meet with Lady Opora privately, and she removed her mask.”
Baldwin shook his head, in disgust, apparently, rather than denial, for he said, “You did not tell us. You did not even tell me.”
Cornelius put an apologetic hand on his brother’s shoulder. “It didn’t seem real. It still doesn’t. But it is time to let you all know, for when we leave, I am going with Thommie.”
Baldwin’s glare faded. In an abrupt move, he hugged his twin. “I am glad for you, brother,” he said. “If we safely can, I should like to see my sister Thommie before we all part.”
“Or,” Mel insisted, “we can defeat your father and you can all stay. Lord Cornelius, if you and I meet with your wife tonight, she will know me, and will be able to tell you I can be trusted. Is that what you meant by ‘test’?”
Cornelius nodded.
“And Lady Andromeda, too,” Frank said. “You know her, you said, Mrs. Blackmore.”
“She is a friend of mine,” Mel confirmed. “She will vouch for me, and so will Lady Thisbe.”
“Good,” said Lord Kemble. “Tonight, at the club, we shall confirm your identity and your character.”
“Don’t discuss my wife’s identity or presence in London,” Cornelius warned. “Even among yourselves.”
At that point, the bell rang. The growing amity in the room vanished as Ernest hurried upstairs to use the peephole.
“It is Farnham,” he reported. “On his own.”
Most of the brothers paused in their hurried tidying to glare at Mel. “Sent by the marquess or here of his own accord?” she wondered. “I didn’t think he would report his failure to beat me to the marquess, nor how—and where—I wounded him.”
“He probably didn’t,” Lord Kemble theorized. “If the marquess sent him, I’d expect him to have reinforcements. But he has come on his own. Rather daring of him.”
“He thinks you are cowed and without power,” Mel suggested. “My guess is that he’ll demand you turn me over.” Botheration. Leaving her pistol upstairs had been an act of good faith, but she regretted it now.
“Open the door,” Lord Kemble said to Baldwin.
The second brother shook his head and scowled, but followed the instruction.
Farnham stormed through the door, brushing Baldwin to one side, heading straight for Mel. Lord Kemble stepped in his way, and when the steward tried to dodge around him, moved to prevent him.
“Out of my way,” Farnham snarled.
“My lord,” Lord Francis suggested. “That should be, out of my way, my lord.”
Farnham aimed a punch at Lord Kemble, who dodged and punched him back, knocking Farnham off his feet.
Mel decided it was time to take a hand. She skirted Kemble, who was standing over a groggy Farnham, waiting for him to recover enough to get up. “Farnham, I take it you were not satisfied with the outcome of our last meeting,” she said.
“You bastard,” Farnham complained. “I’m going to beat you to a pulp. You, too, Kemble.”
With a flick of her wrist, Mel activated the catch on the sheath of the knife she wore strapped to her right forearm. The knife dropped into her hand. “Or,” she said, holding it up so he could see it, “I could skin you. You’d be more use as a lampshade.”
She shook the knife from her other arm down into her left hand.
“My lords, if any of you are sensitive around blood, you might wish to look the other way.”
“I’d be happy to hold him for you,” Kemble said.
“I’ll help,” said Baldwin. “Do you happen to have a spare knife, Mr. Black?”
Farnham was scooting backwards towards the door, with his rump on the floor and both legs working furiously. “I’ll tell the marquess,” he threatened.
“What? That you were fool enough to come here alone, unarmed and without his orders, after I had already beaten you once?” Mel chuckled. “From what I observed, the marquess is not one to tolerate stupidity, but try it, by all means. I shall watch with interest.”
Farnham kept going until he was in the anteroom. Baldwin shut the door and locked it.
“That,” he said, “was very satisfying.”
*
When Mrs. Blackmore came downstairs dressed in her red gown, her mask in her hand, Allan had to wonder how any of them had mistaken her for a man.
Tonight, she had foregone the wig she must have been wearing last night. Her short-cropped brown hair was fetchingly adorned with a confection of lace, ribbons, and flowers in colors that matched her gown.
The bodice of the gown was even lower than the one she wore last night, when he’d spent all the time in her company disciplining his eyes not to stay riveted on her breasts. She wore a locket on a chain that made things worse, dropping to nestle between the soft mounds.
Allan was grateful when she covered herself in a warm cloak. He offered his arm as if they were going for a walk, and insisted on going ahead of her on the steps down to the tunnel.
Baldwin had spent part of the afternoon reiterating the likely places for an ambush, if Mrs. Blackmore had betrayed them and the marquess’s men were waiting.
At the foot of the steps. Where each side tunnel met the main tunnel.
On the riverbank after they emerged. At the docks on the other side of the river. Outside the club.
They saw nothing but the usual traffic along the river and the streets beyond; heard nothing but the sounds of London, the Thames, and then Southwark at night.