Chapter Thirteen
“I’m so delighted you’ve come to visit me.” Colette embraced Zeph the next afternoon as she welcomed Zeph into her parlor. The house her father and she had taken was small but on a fine, shaded street next to similar brick townhouses.
Zeph could not explain all of her enthusiasm to her friend. Though she enjoyed the younger girl’s company, Zeph hoped that Cosette had kept the book in her possession.
“My papa will join us in a few minutes. A friend of his will call upon us all soon, as well.”
“I cannot stay long.” Zeph was eager to be gone if others were to appear. “I have another engagement. But I am so glad to see you. I am so very thrilled you have escaped Paris.”
If Lenoir were to appear, Zeph needed to get to the topic of Vaillancourt quickly.
“I hated the crossing,” Cosette said. “We set out once from Calais, but storms drove us back. We took another packet in the dead of night to escape the French patrols.” She clutched her arms. “I never want to do that again.”
Zeph agreed. “I do not know if I hate the Channel weather more or the fear of being captured.”
“A nightmare.” Cosette rose. “Allow me to call for refreshment.”
“Please do not bother. As I say, I must soon leave. I was hoping you could give me the little book I pressed upon you when last we saw each other.”
“Oui, my friend.” She grinned, delight in her blue eyes. “I kept it for you. I brought it down this morning.”
Zeph glanced around. “Here?”
“Oui. Papa told me he had invited his friend who lives next door to join us so he could meet you. I knew we would have only a few minutes together.”
Zeph tipped her head. Mention of the friend again was odd. “Merci beaucoup. Is there a reason your father’s friend wants to meet me?”
“Oui. Odd that he requested it. I do not know why. But I want you to know that I do not care for this man. He is aggressive in an odd sort of way. My advice is to smile and say little to him.”
Curiosity gave way to anxiety. Zeph had long disliked meeting strangers since her days in the Conciergerie.
Her panic at such encounters had abated lately.
Rafe had helped her so often and so well, and often, she went out into Society more easily without a constant drumbeat of fear in her ears.
But this neighbor sounded oddly presumptuous, pressing Monsieur Lenoir to meet a young woman whom he did not know.
“Why would a stranger wish to meet me, Cosette?”
“I have no idea. Perhaps we can learn that as we talk.”
Or I can leave—and soon. “I wonder if you are free next week? Say, Monday? You could come visit me at Ashley House again. We will have luncheon and I will introduce you to my good friend, the Countess of Ashley.”
“I will ask Papa if I may go to you. But I am free. I have no other engagements.” Cosette bit her bottom lip. “No other friends.”
“May I please have my book?” Zeph’s fingers twitched. She was growing apprehensive. She had to have it in her possession before the men appeared.
“Allow me.” Cosette raised a finger, then rose to cross the room, opened a drawer in a long chest, and marched back, the small red leather book in hand. “I never told Papa about it.”
“Merci beaucoup, Cosette. I knew you would care for it and I hoped you would keep its existence to yourself.”
“As you asked, I did.” She frowned. “I am not like my father. I have principles.”
Zeph breathed in relief.
“I did look at it,” Cosette remarked as she handed it over.
“Did you?” Zeph fanned the pages. None seemed to be torn out.
She could read this book tonight after dinner and begin her transcription.
Oh, the joy of that! Pressing it to her chest, she closed her eyes.
Thrilled to hold this prize once more, she closed her eyes.
She anticipated the bittersweet delight of revenge.
“What can be so important to you in that?” Cosette asked with an odd little laugh. “It is no more than numbers. Endless numbers.”
“I know. It is a puzzle. It amuses me.” But once I translate the numbers, I might have a powerful document. Dare she hope it could destroy the man who wrote it?
“You were always so good with arithmetic. I envy you. I wish I had such a skill.”
“You could become as skilled. Apply yourself each day and you can tally your own expenses and even your father’s accounts.” Zeph paused and slipped the little book into her reticule.
Cosette leaned toward her and whispered, “He would never allow that. You know…you know, don’t you, what he did? He stole money from the accounts of the government?”
“I had heard a rumor, oui. I knew it was the reason for your flight here to England. I am so sorry.”
“I am not to blame!” Cosette fisted her hands, letting her outrage show. “Yet everyone condemns me, too. People stare at me in the shops. I hate it.”
Zeph took the girl’s hand and gently opened her fingers.
The door to the hall opened and Monsieur Lenoir stood aside to allow another man to enter.
“Good afternoon, Mademoiselle Butler.” Lenoir strode to Zeph, seeming to burst with some pleasure that escaped her understanding, unless…unless it was that he had pleased Tauzain.
But why?
“Allow me to introduce you to our neighbor, Monsieur Tauzain.”
The guest was tall, slim, his face handsome despite its sharpness of nose and cheek. Gracious, he was. Of tone and words, he was certainly affable. In his movements, he was a man who seemed to float across the floor.
He bowed over Zeph’s hand and spoke in excellent Parisian French—and as he touched her, she suppressed revulsion. His narrowed eyes captured her—and bound her to him.
She pulled away from him. She could not bear to be held against her will by anyone. She had survived that once and would no longer permit herself to endure it again.
She was polite—and brief.
She had to leave.
“Allow our majordom to hire you a fiacre.” Lenoir was loath to let her go.
But she insisted. “Merci beaucoup.”
Tauzain was more accommodating. “I could summon my own groom in the nearby stables.”
“Please do not trouble yourself, monsieur.” She smoothed on her gloves and collected her reticule. “A public carriage will be in order.” And I do not want your groom learning where I live. Although, come to think of that, she now did not trust him or Lenoir.
Her anxiety claimed her heartbeat. She had to get out of here.
*
No. 15 Queen Square
London
Rafe gazed at Kane with trepidation at his friend’s obvious alarm. “What’s wrong?”
Kane had arrived at Rafe’s house unexpectedly, explaining to the butler that he had to see Rafe immediately.
The tall, dark-haired Earl of Ashley, who ran much of Scarlett’s espionage ring, would not sit, but paced.
“Zephora told us last night that Monsieur Lenoir and his daughter Cosette came to see her yesterday.”
“I know. She came here and told me the same thing. Jean Lenoir went to her with news that he had saved money from her father’s investments.” Rafe reserved his judgment that this was not the worst of what Kane had to tell him. “Why is this a problem?”
“Maybe an hour ago by now, Zeph left our house unaccompanied and walked to hire a hack a few streets away.”
Rafe knew Zeph’s boldness. Often it was useful. This time…? “Alone?”
“We have a man following her ever since she came to live with Gus and me.”
In addition to one of Dáire O’Neill’s men I hired to follow Zeph, she is well protected. Rafe went to the sideboard and poured them both suitable whiskies. As he handed one to Kane, he said, “Zeph’s been rash to go out alone. Other than that, tell me the problem.”
“Scarlett and Carlton have had one of O’Neill’s men watching Lenoir’s house for many weeks.”
“You suspect Lenoir of what?”
“Nothing other than the fact that he goes to his bank often.” Kane snorted. “I think he goes just to check his money is still there.”
“So, what is it that disturbs you?”
“Pardon me, sir.” This was Rafe’s butler at the door, looking rather harried. “A caller?”
“Who is it, Simpson?”
“Mr. O’Neill, sir. Urgent, it is, he says.”
“Show him up.” Rafe waited until his man was gone before he stared at Kane. “What do you suppose O’Neill wants? I’ve had his man Duggan tracking Zeph for months.”
O’Neill appeared, his bronze complexion aglow with anxiety. “Sir, my lord. Duggan called one of my runners to rush to me with news. Miss Butler appeared about an hour or more ago to call upon Monsieur Lenoir and his daughter Cosette.”
Rafe stared at the young Irishman. “And?”
O’Neill, usually composed and unperturbed, narrowed his eyes in anguish. “Minutes after Miss Butler arrived, the man who lives next door to the Lenoirs called upon them.”
Kane turned to Rafe. “We’ve been investigating the man next door.”
Rafe chilled with fear for Zeph. “Who lives next door?”
The name had Rafe’s mind whirling.
Only as the three men rushed down the stairs could he organize his thoughts. “Viv and Giselle need to tell Zeph about their experiences with the man. I’ll send a footman with a note to Scarlett.”
“She can gather everyone,” Kane agreed.
“Come with us,” Rafe said to O’Neill.
“I’m behind you with my carriage.”
*
The minutes until Zeph strode through the front door of Ashley House in Grosvenor Square were too long.
“Your coat, Miss Butler?” Friendly asked as she swept past him.
“No, thank you. I am still cold. I will wear it up to my room.”
No sooner had she turned than the front door knocker banged three times—and she heard Friendly opening the door once more.
“Mr. O’Neill? Sir, it is good to see you.”
Zeph recognized the Irishman who was a friend of Rafe. She had met him when he called upon Rafe in Brighton. She smiled, greeted him, excused herself, and proceeded toward the stairs.
“We did not expect you, sir.” The butler was polite but firm.
“I know. My apologies, Friendly. I must see Lady Ashley at once.”
“This is not a good time to—”
“I know, Friendly. I know. But it is urgent. Very urgent.”
Zeph heard it all as she took the stairs. But she thought little of it, until minutes later as she sat in her chair by the fire, her prized little book open before her—and her first good look at the first set of numbers on the first page thrilling her. At last, she had Vaillancourt’s little book.
The fiend. And his secrets.
She remembered the first line and the second. These first two lines she had pondered for months. Now to gaze at them again, she was filled with triumph and a satisfaction that she knew would be surmounted only by her decoding of all the numbered lines in this tidy little book.
With the rules of Vaillancourt’s code that she had experimented with for more than a year, she took up a pencil and applied a few of the rules she hoped would give her Vaillancourt’s secrets, but also his ruin and her revenge.
She laughed.
The first line read—
A knock came at her own sitting room door.
She called to allow the servant to enter.
“Friendly?” She was surprised when it was the Ashley butler who appeared and not the maid she expected.
“Miss, Lady Ashley requests your presence in the main salon.” The aged, congenial fellow could hardly form the words, he looked so stricken.
“Are you well, sir?”
“I am. I am, Miss Butler. Do come. My lady is very worried.”
“She is?”
“Mr. O’Neill, too. And Sir Raphael has just arrived as well.”
What was the matter? She would rather stay here and continue with her marvelous discovery of Vaillancourt’s secrets.
“Please—please, m-miss.” The aging butler stepped aside and held out a hand to encourage her to go down.