Almost a Princess (4 page)

He paused, looked around him and said, “Do I smell something burning?”

Letty was on her feet in an instant. “My scones!” she cried, and hurried from the room.

Case said, “Now that wasn’t so bad, was it, Miss Mayberry?”

Jane got up. She said quietly, “There was no need to be devious. If you’d been honest with me, I would have taken you to my friend.”

Case shrugged. “I wasn’t devious. I told you as much as you needed to know.”

“You deceived me! I call that dishonest.”

“I don’t care what you call it.” His words were hard and clipped. “I’m investigating a murder.” He nodded when her eyes flared. “John Collier was murdered and we believe someone from his regiment was paying off an old score. So, if you know what’s good for you, Jane Mayberry, you’ll stay out of my way. My apologies to Mrs. Gray. Tell her I could not wait.”

“Well?” asked Harper after Case gave the hackney driver the order to move off.

“She doesn’t appear to know anything,” and Case went on to give Harper a summary of his interview with Letty Gray.

When he finished, Harper groaned. “That means starting over with Collier, and by now the trail is stone cold.”

“It may come to that, but first, let’s see if I’ve set the cat among the pigeons.”

“You think Mrs. Gray may try to warn her brother that we’re onto him?”

“No. I don’t think she knows anything, or that Piers is stupid enough to let her know where he is hiding. This is just a precaution. In a day or so, if we’re no farther ahead, we’ll give it up.”

Case signaled the driver to stop, then he pointed to a tavern on the corner of Hans Square. “You can make that your headquarters. I’ll send Lennox to relieve you.”

“Oh, no, you won’t.” Harper shook his head. “I has my orders. I’m to stay close to you. That’s what the chief told me before he left for Edinburgh.”

“Aberdeen, Harper. Colonel Maitland and my sister left for Aberdeen. Meantime, this is my case, and I’ll run it as I see fit.”

Harper understood only too well where this was leading. His lordship had never been comfortable with the idea that he, Harper, was to be his bodyguard. The earl knew the risks, was aware that he could be the next target, but he chafed at the restrictions of having to account for his movements as though, he said, he were an infant in leading strings, and he particularly chafed at the fact that his bodyguard was now billeted in his rooms at the Albany. These were the conditions the chief had laid down, otherwise, he said, he’d give the case to someone else.

Harper sympathized, but nothing could induce him to go against his chief’s orders. Moreover, Lord Castleton was the chief’s brother-in-law. The very thought of having to face his chief in the event that something had happened to the earl gave him the shudders.

Case studied Harper’s dogged expression and decided to take a different approach. “Look,” he said, treating Harper to a companionable smile, “I’ll be at the Horse Guards looking over old records. Then I’ll be dining with friends at the Bell. We may or may not go on to the opera. But I’ll be surrounded by people I trust. I don’t need a chaperon, thank you very much. And how would I explain your presence to my friends? They’d think I was a coward and they’d be right.”

“What if I have something to report?”

“You know where to find me, and if I change my plans, I’ll leave my direction at the Horse Guards. Otherwise, I’ll see you later at the Albany. Understood?”

“Understood,” replied Harper, gazing fixedly at a loose button on his coat.

“Fine. And Harper, don’t wait up for me.”

Chapter 4

Case’s office at the Horse Guards was no bigger than a closet, but he considered himself lucky to be assigned any space at all. He wasn’t a regular Special Branch agent, but one of the amateurs who were occasionally seconded to the service because they had particular skills or knowledge that would help unravel a difficult case. No one knew Gideon Piers better than he.

His colleagues were friendly, but not much interested in the investigation. They had their own cases to pursue, and murder of an obscure solicitor’s clerk by a man whose field of operations had always been confined to Spain did not strike them with the same urgency as it did Case. The general view seemed to be that an old score had been paid off and that was the end of it. In fact, there was speculation that the murderer wasn’t Gideon Piers at all, but someone who was impersonating him and had used his methods to confuse the authorities.

This view was shared by Case’s brother-in-law, which was why, Case thought wryly, Richard had not postponed his trip to Scotland. He didn’t expect Case to get anywhere.

The file on Piers was sparse. Next of kin: sister, Miss Letitia Piers of St. Bede’s Charity School, London; Occupation: shipping clerk; Distinguishing marks: rose tattoo on his left arm. He had been in the first wave of British troops to sail for Portugal. Two years later, he was missing in action, presumed dead or captured by the enemy. This was shortly before La Roca emerged. It was British Intelligence that made the connection, and British Intelligence that briefed him before he’d set out with his small unit of men on that months-long, grueling hunt for a man whose name had become synonymous with savagery.

In its wisdom, British Intelligence never divulged La Roca’s true identity, except to a favored few. So Piers’s war record was spotless. There was another file, this one on La Roca, which he’d had to beg from the War Office, but it wasn’t much help. In the main, it detailed all the British convoys that had been attacked by La Roca and robbed of their gold. Case and his men had torn that monastery apart looking for it, but they found nothing. To his knowledge, that gold had never been found.

Gideon Piers must be a very rich man.

They might not have found the gold, but they’d found Piers, or so they thought. His face was shot off, but he had a rose tattoo on his left arm. So they believed what they wanted to believe. But there had always been an element of doubt in his mind.

There was a third file on his desk with John Collier’s name on it. It, too, was spotless. Maybe British Intelligence knew something that wasn’t in the file. They were misers when it came to doling out information.

He tossed the files aside and sighed. There were two ways to go about this. He could begin investigating all Piers’s former acquaintances, associates, and employers, and hope to come up with a lead. But that was a monumental task, well beyond the scope of one man. The other way was to wait. Piers, if it was Piers, would not be able to resist baiting him. They’d played this game before in Spain. Sometimes it was hard to tell who was the hunter and who was the prey. The ending would be spectacular, a fitting revenge for the destruction he and his special unit had inflicted at the Monastery of St. Michel. No quarter asked or given.

If Piers could not resist baiting him, why the delay after he’d murdered John Collier? Piers wasn’t the sort of man to wait for Bow Street to pull itself together. He’d want him, Case, to know that the game wasn’t over yet.

He wasn’t any farther ahead than he was when he arrived. After locking up his files, he left.

Dark came early in November, and by the time he walked from Whitehall to his rooms on Piccadilly, lamps were lit and lights flickered from every window. He stayed long enough only to bathe and change his clothes, then he took a hackney to Bell’s Hotel, just off Covent Garden, to meet his friends. But even in these congenial surroundings, he could not settle, and before long, he made his excuses and left.

Case went to the opera alone, but he had no intention of leaving alone. A month had passed since he and his mistress had parted company, and in that time, he’d been celibate. He wasn’t a libertine; he hadn’t bedded half the women he was credited with, but he was a healthy male animal and he understood the reason for his restlessness. He needed a woman. It was as simple as that.

During the first intermission, he made his way to Mrs. Amelia Standhurst’s box. Amelia was a wealthy widow who had no desire to marry again. She was beautiful, sophisticated, and had made subtle overtures to him in the last month that he had ignored. Tonight, he was far more susceptible.

He entered her box, and within five minutes they had come to a perfect understanding. The opera was boring. Case would escort the lady home.

In the corridor, they stopped while Case draped Amelia’s fur-lined wrap around her shoulders. She said something he did not catch. His gaze was caught and held by a young woman who wore a gown of transparent gauze over ivory satin. The lights from the chandeliers imbued her skin and hair with a glaze of gold.

It was Jane Mayberry, but not the Jane Mayberry he’d met that morning. This woman could have stepped off the pages of
La Belle Assemblée,
except that Jane Mayberry was no mannequin. She was animated, vibrant, and obviously enjoying herself.

As though conscious that someone was watching her, she turned slightly, and her eyes traveled the crush of people, passed over him, then returned with the shock of recognition. He sensed the quick in-drawn breath, the tension that gripped her, and her smile gradually died.

Her gaze moved to Amelia, lingered, then returned to Case. The slight inclination of her head acknowledged his presence; the quavering half-smile revealed her complete comprehension of the situation between himself and Amelia.

One of her companions said something and she turned away. Only then did Case realize that her escort was Freddie Latham, whom he’d encountered that morning at the library. Freddie was one of his close friends. His sister was there and another young woman whom Case did not recognize.

Amelia’s hand touched his arm. “Are you sure you want to come home with me, Case?” Her eyes were vivid with curiosity. “She’s very beautiful. Who is she?”

It was a simple question requiring a simple answer, but for some inexplicable reason, Case did not want to have Jane Mayberry’s name come into the conversation. “I met her,” he said, “for the first time this morning at the Ladies’ Library. She’s a member there.”

Amelia absorbed his words in silence, then said, “Good for her!” Her eyes trailed Jane until she entered a box at the end of the corridor. “If that’s the sort of lady,” she said, “who supports the Ladies’ Library, perhaps it’s time I paid it a visit. I mean, I believe in what they do—what woman wouldn’t?—but the members I’ve met so far seem so earnest and single-minded. She looks . . . different.”

Case murmured something suitable, but his mind wasn’t on Amelia. Most patrons had returned to their boxes for the beginning of the second act, and those who remained in the corridor were liveried footmen and ushers. One of those ushers had his back to him and was gazing out one of the windows.

“Excuse me,” said Case to Amelia. “This will only take a moment.”

He strolled down the corridor until he came to the man who was staring fixedly out the window. “Harper!” he said in a savage undertone. “I take it your presence here means you have something to report?”

Harper turned with a sheepish grin. “Eh . . . no, sir. But don’t worry, Lennox is a good man. He’s watching the house, and you can bet that nothing will get by his eagle eye.”

“Then if there’s nothing to report, what are you doing here?”

“I’m doing my job,” replied Harper reproachfully.

This was not the time to argue the point with a stubborn, obstinate, exasperating subordinate who couldn’t seem to understand that a man was entitled to a private life. A bodyguard was one thing, but Case would not tolerate being spied upon.

“Fine,” he said. “Now that you’re here, you can do something for me. I presume you noticed that Miss Mayberry is here tonight, too?”

“Aye.” Harper’s eyes had narrowed fractionally.

“I want her watched, Harper. I want to know who she sees and whom she talks to. If she slips away, I want you to follow her.”

“Miss Mayberry?” Harper’s voice had risen a notch.

“Yes, Miss Mayberry. Don’t take your eyes off her, and that’s an order. Have you got that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And don’t wait up for me unless you have something major to report.”

Case was smiling when he returned to Amelia, a genuine smile. Not only had he managed to outwit Harper, but he’d also caught Jane Mayberry in his net. Not that she was under suspicion, or critical to his investigation. He was curious about her. Add to that the fact that he’d been remiss in not finding out where she lived, and he was congratulating himself on adroitly solving both problems. She would keep Harper busy, and Harper would discover her address.

When he came up to Amelia, she said, “What was that all about?”

“My man. I sent him home and told him not to wait up for me.” His head dipped and his lips brushed her ear. “Now to answer your question,” he said softly. “Yes, I’m very sure I want to go home with you tonight and only you.”

Amelia let out a low, throaty laugh. “Then what are we waiting for?” She slipped her arm through his. “Now, tell me everything. What were you, of all people, doing at the Ladies’ Library?”

Case smiled thinly and embarked on an explanation that bore little resemblance to the truth, but that kept Amelia’s inquisitive mind away from the one topic he had no wish to discuss.

When the members of the orchestra started to tune their instruments for the beginning of the second act, Miss Drake, the girl whom Case had seen conversing with Jane, said that she’d better return to her aunt. The viscount insisted on escorting her, leaving Jane and his sister, Sally, alone in the box.

“I think,” said Sally, “you made a conquest tonight, Jane.” Her eyes were bright with laughter.

“I can’t think who you mean.”

“Lord Castleton, of course.”

Jane turned her head to look at Sally. “Castleton? What on earth gave you that idea?”

“The way he was looking at you. If ever a man was stricken, it was he. What do the French call it,
un coup
de foudre
?”

A smile slowly curled Jane’s lips. “What about Mrs. Standhurst? They seemed very friendly.”

Sally made a face. “Women like Amelia don’t count. To put it delicately, a man may have many such women in his past.”

Jane said quietly, “Every woman counts. It’s not up to us to judge her. Isn’t that what the Ladies’ Library is all about?”

“Yes. That was thoughtless of me. I’m sorry.”

Chastened by Sally’s response—Sally, who was one of the kindest souls she knew—Jane said lightly, “Besides, Lord Castleton wasn’t
stricken
with me. He was looking
daggers
at me. We met for the first time today and we didn’t exactly part the best of friends. So you see, there’s no love lost between us.”

“Oh? What happened?”

“I refused to give him a friend’s address and he thought he could bully it out of me.”

Sally laughed. “I could have told him not to bother. You can be a Tartar when your dander is up.”

Jane was indignant. “And he can be a tyrant!”

The viscount entered the box just then, and Jane cleared her mind of all distractions as the orchestra struck up and the enchanting strains of Mozart’s music filled the theater. Her concentration lasted all of five minutes. Twice in one day, she’d been warned that Lord Castleton was taken with her. She didn’t believe it. She knew about men, and he didn’t look love-struck to her. What she didn’t understand was why her pulse started to race when their eyes met. It wasn’t fear on her part—she knew all about fear. It wasn’t attraction. It must be resentment, she assured herself. He was trying to intimidate her with the sheer force of his personality. Well, she couldn’t be intimidated, not now, not ever again.

She stewed for a little while, thinking about the earl, but the music filtered into her mind, and when the soprano began her famous aria, Jane’s thoughts followed a different path. The street scene on stage faded and became a parlor, and the orchestra was her mother playing the piano, and it was her mother’s voice that beguiled her. Though her eyes welled with tears, she was smiling. Everyone was clapping. She could see their faces through her tears. There were always students in her parents’ house, of course, but because they changed every other year, she couldn’t remember their names. But Mr. Morris was there, and his wife, Dorothy, who couldn’t sing in tune, but who could recite Shakespeare as well as any professional actress. They all had to do a party piece after dinner, except her. She was too young and had only been allowed to stay up so that she could hear Mama sing.

Mama gave her a little shake. “Jane, Jane, what’s come over you?”

She couldn’t clap anymore because someone was holding her hands. She looked up with a start to see Sally, smiling, but shaking her head.

“You always lose yourself in the music,” Sally said. “Nobody else is applauding now, or hadn’t you noticed?”

From Jane’s other side, the viscount whispered, “Why don’t they sing in English? Then a fellow might be able to follow the story.”

“Hush,” said his sister, “and follow your program.” From then on, Jane kept her thoughts focused on the present, and soon, the sadness faded and she was caught up in the music again. When the performance was over, the viscount clapped harder than anyone, but Jane knew it was because he was glad he didn’t have to listen to any more “caterwauling” as he would call it. Freddie and opera were not compatible, and she thought more of him for setting aside his own preferences to indulge his sister and his sister’s friend. He really was a nice man.

When he delivered her to the new library in the Strand, he told the hackney driver to wait, then walked her to the front door. The porter was on hand to let her in.

Freddie said, “You know Jane, you’re welcome to stay with Sal and me whenever you’re in town. I don’t like to think of you alone in this cavernous house.”