I still say its worth making some inquiries.
Which my men are doing in Oxford even as we speak. Well know more when they return with their reports, next week at the soonest.
Daniel was pacing, a tankard of ale in one hand, a wedge of cheese in the other. He cursed at the delay.
Trowbridge studied him over the rim of his own tankard. Of course you could still go to Oxford yourself. You could ask the right questions, look over the contents of that banks vaults.
And leave this mares nest behind? I could not abandon Coriethat is, my mother and Miss Abbottat this time. You must see that.
Of course. They need our support.
Which was tacit assurance of Trowbridges interest in Daniels mother. Good, but our escort is not enough. I want to ask Snelling a few questions myself, and he is right here in Town. I dont suppose you know where he stays in London?
Theres no town house I know of. Perhaps he took rooms at the Grand Hotel, and thats why he was dining there. But before you go charging off to confront the dirty dish, remember we need evidence to charge a peer of the realm, not just your . . . intuition, let us call it. Not telling the truth does not constitute a confession. This is not the army.
No, in the army lives depended on Daniel knowing truth from lies. French spies were shot on his say-so and nothing else, to save English soldiers. Daniel swore to get Trowbridge his proof, once he found Snelling.
Trowbridge was right: Daniels best chance of finding his quarry was back at the Grand Hotel. First he bribed Matthews, the maîître d, for a table in the still-crowded restaurant; then he ordered three desserts for himself and handed Matthews another gold coin. For his largesse, he got the best the chef had to offer, and answers to his questions.
No, the unruly gentlemen were not staying here, nor their bits of muslin, either. The Grand Hotel did not accept such lewd and licentious guests. No, Matthews had no idea which direction they took upon leaving. Yes, they had paid in paper currency, not coin. No, Daniel could not look at the receipts drawer! Not for any price.
Not even if I suspect his party gave you counterfeit bills?
Merciful heavens, the management might take the money out of Matthewss own salary, if not out of his hide.
Daniel pulled out two false pound notes. He had no way of proving they belonged to Snelling and his friends, not mixed in with the rest of the weeks earnings. But he knew.
He showed Matthews what to look for on the bills, rather than explain how his fingers acted as counterfeit dowsers. Then he switched the unsanctioned flimsies for good ones from his own pocket. He added another pound note to safeguard his secrecy. Kings business, dont you know.
The man was thrilled with his gratuities, delighted to assist in aiding his country, and not half surprised the mad king was issuing false certificates.
Daniel was glad he got to taste the chefs specialties.
Daniel stopped at the Clarendon and the Pulteney next, the two premier hotels in London for wealthy nobs. Snelling was not staying at either, but one of the biggest gossips in town was having a solitary late supper at the Clarendon. No one ever wanted to dine with the overdressed tattlemonger, who was said to sell his gleanings to the scandal sheets. Lord Hebert was just what Daniel needed, so he accepted the dandys invitation to share his meal.
Daniel ate, and fed Hebert the story of the Grand Hotel and Snelling accosting them.
Grief for his father and brother has made the man go mad, Daniel explained. Or drove him to drink. Of course the brother was no gentleman, either. An embarrassment to the army and all. Still, Snelling had no right to go slandering a lady with an old tale no one believes, not after my mother told the right of it. Id like to explain to Snelling, when hes not in his cups. Do you know where I can find him?
Hebert did not know. But now he knew the correct version, and he also knew Daniel Stamfield and his cousins were not men to offend without expecting retribution, usually in the form of ones own blood staining ones elegantly embroidered waistcoat. If the earls nephew said the exquisite Miss Corisande Abbott was a nun, then Hebert would pray with her.
After checking a few more hotels where gentlemen stayed, Daniel paid a call at Lydia Burtons house of convenience. Lydias girls didnt fly as high as Sophie and her yellow-haired friend, but they might know of them. The frail sisterhood was a close-knit group and the better-paid courtesans could find themselves at a bordello between protectors.
He had greetings and offers aplenty when he walked into the elegantly appointed brothel. No shabby sofas or unwashed bodies at Lyddies establishment. The girls were healthy, well fed, and well treated, or else. The else was Little George at the door, who was larger than Daniel. Daniel himself had stepped forward to protect a few of the girls when Little George was busy, or to give a lesson on how to treat a woman, no matter her circumstances. That was why he was a favorite with the ladies here, at least. He was gallant and generous, and he knew how to please them.
Of course he does, Lydia told one male guest who complained of all the attention the newcomer was receiving. I taught him myself. As a favor to his cousin, my friend Harry.
Lydia did not know who had Sophie in keeping currently, or where she was living. Females like that, out on their own, lived the life of luxury, but only for brief periods unless they were the few lucky ones.
While she went to ask if any of her employees had better information, she left Daniel with two pretty girls, a drink, and a sandwich. Lydias kitchen did not make the puny, crustless affairs his mother had for tea, but great slabs of bread filled with cheese and ham and beef.
Lydia knew how to please a man, just not where to find that one in particular. When she returned to her front parlor and sent the girls off to entertain other gentlemen, she said, I cant say Id like having him come here. Last time he tried to get rough with one of the girls. The brother was no better.
Now Daniel had another reason to find Snelling.
He wiped his chin and said, Send for me if he does come, and dont take any paper money from him if he pays before going upstairs.
Paper money? Pound notes? Daniel, my girls are good, but not that good.
He left her a real banknote so she could compare any that came her way; then he kissed her hand. Your sandwiches and your smile are worth more than gold.
Which was why he was a favorite with the abbess, too.
He was almost too full for Cooks pastries at McCanns Club, but he ate them, anyway, so as not to hurt her feelings. Miss White must have smelled the hound dog on him, because she kept her distance. Daniel shrugged. Females.
Seated across from him at the kitchen table, Harrison agreed to send men to find where Snelling stayed, who his friends were, what bank he used in London. If you are sure this is intelligence department business?
Who elses? The man is a counterfeiter. Id put money on it. I already did, a small fortune in bribes. Tell your men to see what kind of investments he has, too. That might be the key, if he has shares in a newspaper or a book publisher or an art gallery, any place with access to a printing press. Oh, and have your men look for a ladybird named Sophie, or another with yellow hair. They might know where he is.
Harrison had heard about the contretemps at the Grand Hotel. Seems to me the scum will come looking for you.
All the better.
Harrison worried that he ought to send a bodyguard after Daniel, who was too valuable to the country to lose. So was his own life, if Daniel found out. He settled on warning him to watch his back. It makes too big a target.
I always do.
No, my friend, you never do. You just wade right in to whatever melee you see. Or create. Are you sure this is not personal?
National security, Daniel mumbled around a cream-filled pastry. Ask Trowbridge.
Daniel intended to ask Snelling himself. When he found him.
By the time he got home, Daniel stank of Lydias girls perfumes, smoke and wine from McCanns, the sewers from his walk back. He was a lot poorer from all the bribes, and bilious. It had been a good evening, except for his upset stomach, with a good chance of having resultsSnellings whereaboutsby morning.
Corie watched him amble into the parlor, humming some tavern ditty. He poured himself a glass of brandy, then belched. She stayed tucked back in the window seat where shed been contemplating her choices.
Daniel Stamfield was not one of them.
Chapter Twenty-six
A
ll the kings men and all the underworld informants could not find Snelling. Of course not. It was a race week at Epsom and every sporting gentleman, every betting gentleman, every gentleman who could beg, borrow, or steal off from his wife, was there. Daniel wished he could be, too, and not just for the thrill of the race and the glory of the highbred horses.
What better place to pass counterfeit notes than at the racecourse? Vast sums were wagered and lost on each heat, sometimes through a bookmaker, often on private bets between men, either strangers at the rails or boon companions. Snelling was there, Daniel believed, and spreading the counterfeits around like the plague.
Daniel was certain; Harrison considered it probable; Trowbridge thought it possible. They all sent men to Epsom, but no one had proof Snelling was involved, so they had no cause to arrest him, if they found the gallows bait amid the huge crowds at the track.
A message had come from near Oxford, saying Trowbridges agents found a large number of the forgeries at Chimkins Bank, right where Daniel told them to go. Chimkin himself, the owner of the bank, denied knowing anything about how the counterfeits arrived at his establishment, who had deposited which bills, or which one of his tellers had not looked carefully enough to detect the frauds. He was willing to show them his books, but not until they showed him a warrant to invade the privacy of his customers.
Chimkin was so outraged that anyone might be using his bank as a clearinghouse for criminal profit, he was coming to London himself to speak to the home secretary, the finance minister, the prime minister himself, to prove his own innocence of any misconduct. The reputation of his bank depended on it.
They hadnt known about Snelling before the investigators left London, so no one thought to ask if he held an account there. Chimkin would know. Daniel would know if the banker spoke the truth. Next week, at the soonest.
Daniel hated the wait, the not knowing, the damned letting other people ask the questions. He hated being the only oneone of a handful, anywaywho could judge the answers. So why couldnt he go? Why couldnt he be the one to settle this quickly, faster than any clerk from the ministry could? Because, by all that was holy, he had to take the ladies to Almacks again.
Corie was still a toast, although with several fewer suitors than the last time they attended the assembly on King Street. No one could tell if the lessening of admirers was due to the gossip or the horse meet. She never lacked for dance partners, not with Trowbridge, Haversmith, and Daniel himself standing nearby to make sure. Daniel also scoured the clubs and Trowbridges office for likely candidates for Cories hand. To what ungodly, unmasculine, traitorous-to-his-gender depths had he sunk?
His mother gave him odd, worried glances, but she entertained whomever he brought home for dinner.
Corie tried. She really did. She wanted to find a gentleman to like, to love, to trust, to share her concerns. Susanna made fun of every one of the bachelors so obviously on exhibit, but Corie tried to find good qualities in each of them.
This one had a strong chin and lovely blue eyes. But ordinary blue eyes faded next to Daniels black-rimmed, sky-bright ones, with their long, dark eyelashes.
That one was well-spoken, but his words were too polished, too practiced. He must use the same phrases on every heiress. Somehow, Daniels sputters were more charming, because he hadnt planned what to say.
Some of the gentlemen he brought home were well built, but most were shorter than Daniel. She did not feel as comfortable dancing with them, even if they were better dancers. Next to Daniel, she felt graceful and almost petite. Who wouldnt, aside the great lummox? The ones who were as fit as Daniel had likely been dragged out of the boxing parlors, the last place she would look for a match.
She would not look for one at the tailors, either. Some of the gentlemen who stayed in London were too foppish, too concerned with their clothes and hair to take a chance of mussing their looks, or traveling without their wardrobes or servants. Daniel brought only one or two of the dandy set to meet her, most likely because he knew so few of them, or respected so few. Corie disliked the idea of a husband who cared more for his appearance than for her. She loved her new apparel, and felt like a princess in the silks and satins, but she could not go gardening in them, or help in the stillroom. She thought Daniels casual attitude to clothes made far more sense.
