Lady Wynwood's Spies, Volume 9 (Lady Wynwood's Spies)

Prologue

Zephyra had never been one of the Citadel. In fact, her older sister, Bianca, told those greedy men that she never told Zephyra about the Citadel at all.

In truth, Bianca had told her a great deal about them.

There were some things she kept from her younger sister—her gardening notes on how she created her more successful hybrids, and her experiments in trying to recreate Ward’s Blood Nectar potion.

She had told Zephyra that she only wished to protect her. But it was obvious that Bianca had feared her ambitions could be overshadowed by her younger sister, and so she had not given her any opportunity to interfere.

Zephyra had always suspected it was because Bianca knew that her younger sister was smarter and more talented than she. She ensured Zephyra would not be given an opportunity to usurp her position within the Citadel.

Zephyra didn’t blame Bianca. After all, the sisters had been forced to learn how to survive ever since their father died and they discovered that he had left his cottage and small plot of land to their male cousin rather than providing for his orphaned daughters.

Yes, Bianca had told her younger sister a great deal about the Citadel.

Which was why Zephyra knew of the attorney used by Maxham.

It was the same attorney who had been employed by her brother-in-law, Mr. Carl Jadis, and she suspected that Ward likewise availed himself of the man’s services.

Mr. Lander’s offices were not in a particularly prestigious section of Fleet Street. The majority of his clients valued discretion over display, and so the entrance to his chambers lay along the side of the building, halfway down a narrow alley.

Zephyra had brought one of the men she had hired earlier that day to pose as her footman.

She had paid attention to every detail, as she always did—the coat and breeches of his livery matched perfectly, even though she had bought them from two different secondhand clothing stores.

She had styled his wig herself, transforming an ancient one that she had found in the attic of her father’s townhouse by combing and smoothing it to look pristine.

She had taken his foot measurements ahead of time, on the day she first met and hired him, in order to find a pair of shoes that fit him exactly, and she had treated and polished the leather until it looked as good as new.

The buckles she had attached were also brightly polished, taken from a box in the butler’s room.

Only his white stockings were brand-new, for she found that clean stockings on the servants were a mark of pride among the wealthy, who could afford several pairs for their footmen to look well-groomed at all times.

The ancient, heavy outer door of the attorney’s building opened easily under her footman’s gloved hand with nary a squeak, revealing a flight of stairs to the first floor, well-lit by sconces along the wall. He stepped aside, and she entered, leading the way up the flight of stairs.

She walked slowly, for it would not do to stumble and crush the heavy black veil on her black bonnet. Even though the steps were wide and comfortable, she wore leather-soled, extra-thick cork pattens to give her several inches of height. An overly long skirt hid the pattens.

At the top of the stairs, she opened the ornately carved door herself and stepped through into the antechamber beyond.

She knew that Mr. Lander did not employ a clerk in order to safeguard his clients’ secrets, so she was unsurprised to find him waiting for her.

He was a slender man, the same age as her father, which confused her at first. She knew that he was too young to have assisted the Citadel in purchasing the property in France those many years ago.

But then she saw the portrait on the wall of a man two dozen years older with similar features, and she realized his father had likely served the Citadel, and he had taken over after the elder man died or withdrew from practice.

Mr. Lander smiled at her even though he likely could see little of her face through the heavy veil. “A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Chene. My deepest condolences upon your husband’s passing.”

He reached for her, perhaps to take her hand and kiss it, but she kept them clasped in front of her.

In order to pass as an aged widow, she not only walked with a slight stoop and with slow, gingerly steps—made necessary by her heeled shoes as well as her playacting—but she had also wrapped strips of cloth around each of her knuckles to mimic the rheumatism of old age.

She wore fine black kid leather gloves to cover them, but he would be able to feel the softness if he took her hand.

“I have little time for useless chatter,” she said in a voice that she made low and quavering, like an old woman’s. “I have much to do today.”

“Of course, of course.” Mr. Lander opened another door in the far wall for her, and she walked into his spacious office.

He closed the door behind them. As he hurried to his massive oak desk, Zephyra took a moment to walk backward a few steps and feel behind her for the key in the lock.

She quietly turned it, locking the door, before moving forward and easing herself down into the comfortable leather chair in front of the desk.

Mr. Lander sat and picked up a piece of paper, the letter she had written to him to arrange for their appointment.

“Now, you mentioned in your letter some unusual assets belonging to your husband, which you wished to dispose of discreetly. I assure you, madam, that I shall be able to do so, and the parties of the transactions shall be completely anonymous.”

Zephyra was finally able to lift the suffocating veil, revealing her face, and drape the fabric over the crown of her bonnet. The sight of her caused Mr. Lander to hesitate rather than continuing his speech.

She took a few breaths. It had been difficult to breathe under the heavy veil, and walking up the stairs had caused her to gasp as her heart raced. “I am here to inquire as to the properties owned by Mr. Seyward Maxham.”

There was a moment of shocked silence, then Mr. Lander jumped to his feet. But before he could make more than two running steps toward the door, Zephyra spoke, halting him.

“If you leave this office before I do, the footman has orders to beat you senseless.”

He stopped to look at her, both fear and defiance warring in his eyes. “You are foolish if you believe that mere bodily pain would convince me to betray my clients.”

“Won’t you sit?” She gestured toward his empty seat. “I have much to say that you will wish to hear.”

He paused in indecision, but after a long minute, he slowly made his way back behind his desk and sat down, eyeing her warily.

“I wish to know all of Maxham’s holdings,” Zephyra repeated.

She watched his eyes, and they darted ever so slightly toward his right.

Perhaps somewhere behind her left shoulder.

She had noticed several bookcases against the wall, and while their contents looked to be boring legal tomes, there was space for more than books on those shelves.

She did not turn around to follow his gaze, but continued to watch his face.

“I safeguard the secrets of my clients most loyally,” he said as valiantly as a knight.

Zephyra wanted to laugh in derision at that blatant lie, but now was not yet the time. He needed to see her as a foolish young woman attempting to interfere in the business of men with a great deal more power than she possessed.

“If you do not agree to my request, I shall find a way to hurt your family. In the next several weeks, you shall not know when I could find them and take them.” She stood up and leaned over the desk, holding him with her eyes.

“I shall cause them more pain and suffering than you could possibly imagine.”

Because he had never experienced pain and suffering himself. No, he had merely caused it for countless others.

He stiffened, but he held her gaze unflinchingly. She might have applauded his courage if she didn’t know his true nature.

“No matter your threats, I will not assist you,” he said.

“Are you certain of that?” She gracefully resumed her seat in the chair. Her head swayed slowly from side to side, like a viper about to strike at its helpless prey. “When I spoke of your family, I was not referring to your wife.”

He stiffened.

She continued, “I was speaking of your mistress, Mrs. Crowhurst, the mother of your two children. A boy and a girl, isn’t it?”

The color completely drained from his face, making his skin look as pale and dry as parchment.

“Such a shame your wife could not have children,” Zephyra said in a deceptively light voice. “But your boy has grown up to be quite fine and strong and intelligent. And you must have a successor, mustn’t you? Clients like Maxham require longevity and consistency.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. It looked painful, for the skin around his eyes tightened.

“If you did not have a worthy successor, they would take their business elsewhere,” she said. “And then they would kill you in order to safeguard their secrets. It would be terrible if something happened to your son.”

“You monster,” he raged at her, and included several other names that would have horrified her governess.

As if he had not spoken, she continued, “Although I must say, you would do well to cherish your daughter a bit more. You never know what kind of woman she might grow up to be.” She smiled at him, giving him a horrifying vision of precisely what type of woman his daughter could grow to become.

“You—”

She interrupted him, “Now, to show you my sincerity, I wanted to remove the ring from Mrs. Crowhurst’s finger.” She stifled a laugh. As if that woman had ever been properly married. “But I am afraid her finger had grown too fat, and so I took the entire thing.”