Read Nowhere Near Respectable Online
Authors: Mary Jo Putney
Nowhere Near Respectable (21 page)
Chapter 25
As they headed upstairs, Kiri said to Cassie, “We’re going to a place called Madame Blanche’s tonight, and Mac said I should ask you for help with a disguise. Should I be a doxy or a lady?”
Cassie pursed her lips. “More of a lady. Blanche’s house is something like Damian’s in that she attracts the well born who want their pleasures with refinement. So you might find your Alejandro man there, but it’s also more likely that you could be recognized by someone who has seen you at
ton
events.”
ton
events.”
“I’ve been in England only since spring and am not well known,” Kiri protested.
“But your appearance is distinctive. You must look more ordinary. I’ll collect some things for your disguise and meet you in your room.” As she turned toward her room, Cassie added, “Wear the gold gown. It’s more respectable than the green one.”
“Not by much!”
The other woman grinned. “Respectable enough for Madame Blanche. Now to make sure that no one recognizes you as a duke’s daughter.”
The gold evening gown had a higher neckline than the green silk, but it was definitely not the sort of dress worn by young maidens. That was fine with Kiri, since white muslin was boring.
Cassie appeared in time to help Kiri into the garment. “This makes you look older and more worldly, which is good,” she said as she fastened a tie. “You also need a wig to change your coloring. I brought a couple with me.”
She held both up. One that was medium brown with a sprinkling of gray hairs. The other was lighter brown and cut in a short, curly style.
“This one.” Kiri took the curly wig. “I’ve always wondered how I’d look with short hair.”
“No one with hair like yours should cut it, but you’ll need to pin it tightly to wear a wig.” Cassie produced a handful of hairpins.
After the hair was pinned and the wig settled in place, Cassie said, “I’m going to powder your face heavily. That will lighten your skin to match the wig. It will also make you look like mutton trying to disguise yourself as lamb.”
“When instead I’m lamb disguising myself as mutton.” Kiri patted her curly head. “I’ve even got lamb’s curls.”
Cassie opened her cosmetics box and went to work. When she was satisfied, she said, “Look at yourself in the mirror.”
Kiri obeyed, and gave a gasp of astonishment. She literally did not recognize the pale Englishwoman in the mirror. Cassie had drawn dark lines around her mouth and in the corners of her eyes, then powdered over them to give the effect of poorly disguised wrinkles. Something had also been done to make her eyes less vividly green. “I look at least ten years older and English. My own mother would have trouble recognizing me.”
Cassie gave a nod of satisfaction. “That’s the point.”
Kiri opened her perfume case and took out a bottle. “This is my own modest contribution to changing my appearance. The fragrance is light and flowery, quite different from what I usually wear. Scent is part of how we recognize people, though not everyone is aware of that.” She applied some of the scent, then offered it to Cassie.
The other woman sniffed. “Very pleasant and it goes with those curls, but I see what you mean. You don’t smell like you.” She trailed her fingers hesitantly over other bottles in the case. “I didn’t realize how little I knew about scents.”
Recognizing yearning, Kiri pulled out one of her finished perfumes. “Try this. It might suit you.”
The scent was complex, with frangipani laid over darker notes of cedar and frankincense that hinted at unknown depths of character. Cassie’s face lit up when she smelled it. “This is marvelous! May I wear some tonight?”
“You may have the bottle. I call it Wood Song.”
“It’s lovely.” Cassie dabbed some on the base of her throat. “It reminds me of . . .” Her face shuttered. “Thank you. I shall cherish it.”
“I’d like to make a custom perfume just for you,” Kiri said.
“Perhaps someday. But first we must save England.” Cassie’s voice had a hint of self-mockery.
It was sobering to think that the fate of the nation might rest in Kiri’s inexperienced hands. Or rather, her highly trained nose. “I’m only useful here because I happened to witness the attempted kidnapping. You and the other agents I’ve met are true heroes even though your work is done behind the scenes.”
“You make agents sound more romantic than we are.” Cassie’s mouth twisted. “It’s dreary, often sordid work. The kind that grinds away youth and optimism.”
“Working as a scullery maid will do the same, and to less purpose.” Kiri draped her cloak over her arm. “Time to go. Good hunting.”
“The same to you.”
Kiri descended to the ground floor and headed for the front parlor, where she was to meet Mackenzie. She opened the door to see a tired old gentleman sitting by the fire reading a newspaper.
Knowing better than to accept anyone in the house at face value, she asked brightly, “Are you my escort for the evening, sir? I was told that a handsome, virile young man would take me to Madame Blanche’s house this evening. It appears I’ve been deceived.”
Mackenzie glanced over his newspaper, letting his own grin show. “And I was told I’d be taking a choice young wench,” he said in a raspy voice. “Did you see her upstairs? Rather tall and dark-haired and elegant?”
“No such wench here,” she said as she admired Mackenzie’s disguise. He set aside the newspaper and got to his feet. His hair was mostly gray and his back was hunched with age. No eye patch tonight, but spectacles obscured his eyes so that his mismatched eyes weren’t noticeable. And he leaned on a cane. Dropping into her own voice, she said, “People will think I’m your daughter.”
“As long as they don’t recognize either of us.” He took her cloak and set it on her shoulders. “Will you give an old man an evening of pleasure?”
“Only if you promise not to die of a heart seizure at the end.” She took his arm and they left the parlor. Respectable life had never been so enjoyable as this.
Kiri was surprised to find that Madame Blanche’s exclusive salon was on the edge of fashionable Mayfair. As they climbed the steps, Mackenzie said under his breath, “Blanche is a widow who had to fend for herself and her children after her husband’s death. She’s done a better job of supporting her family than the late lamented ever did. Patrons of Damian’s often come here as well, which is why I took special pains with my appearance. You might meet people here from your family’s social circle.”
“If so, they won’t recognize me,” she said in a flat Midlands accent. “But it sounds like you know the lady fairly well. Will she recognize you?”
“Possibly. If she does, she won’t say anything. Very discreet is Madame Blanche.” He wielded the heavy door knocker.
They were admitted by a footman, who accepted a swiftly passed entrance payment and took Kiri’s cloak and Mackenzie’s greatcoat. As they moved into a large gaming room full of laughing, talking people, Madame Blanche greeted them.
The gaming house proprietress was of indeterminate age, and she had the shrewd eyes that Kiri was learning were the mark of the breed. Her casual glance as she introduced herself was stilled when she looked at Mackenzie. A spark showed in her eyes, but her expression gave nothing away. She treated them like new customers, gave them an idea of the delights within, and sent them on to enjoy themselves.
They moved off, Mackenzie using his cane with one hand while Kiri held his other arm. She whispered, “Good that Madame is discreet.”
“Indeed.” Raising his voice, he said, “Shall we look around before settling down to a game, my dear?”
“I’d like that. This is such a lovely house.”
He slanted an amused glance from behind his spectacles and they set off to explore. There were almost as many women as men present and the crowd was lively, making enough noise that Kiri and Mackenzie could talk if they kept their voices down.
Kiri was able to get close enough to other guests to identify their colognes and perfumes. She attracted some glances, but only a few, and they were more casual than when she was her usual self. She had become safely unmemorable.
When they entered the first card room, she caught a whiff of Alejandro. Her senses went on full alert. The smell didn’t seem quite right for the man she sought, but she still moved toward the table where the scent originated. Using her best brainless voice, she said, “What is this game, darling?”
“Baccarat. It’s a French game. Do you wish to try it?” He used the indulgent tone of a man who knew his woman was not very intelligent, and who preferred it that way.
“Oh, no. I was just curious.” She started walking again.
As they moved away, he asked, “What did you sense?”
“Alejandro, though not on the right person.” She shrugged. “That woman with the gray hair wore it. There is no law saying a woman can’t wear a man’s scent.”
She batted her lashes at him. “Can we watch the dancing for a while?”
“Very well.” He sighed. “Sorry I’m too decrepit to dance, lass.”
“That doesn’t matter.” But it did matter, Kiri realized wistfully as they entered the ballroom. She found herself marking time to the music with her free hand. A pity she and Mackenzie couldn’t join the quadrille, for they might never have another chance. But given Mackenzie’s apparent infirmity, they must remain on the sidelines.
They promenaded around the ballroom, staying close to the walls to keep out of the way of the dancers. Most were fairly young and energetic, but a few older couples had joined in. As she looked at a white-haired couple, she wondered what it would be like to be that old and still dancing together.
That wouldn’t happen for her and Mackenzie. He belonged to another world, and he wasn’t the marrying kind. But he was hers for now. That was enough.
They were halfway around the ballroom when she caught a scent that turned her rigid. Feeling the change in her touch, he asked, “What?”
“That group of men we just passed,” she said softly. “Let’s move back a few steps and pause. She sniffed carefully, watching the men out of the corner of her eye. When she was sure, she took Mackenzie’s arm and began walking again.
When they were a safe distance away, he asked, “Could you determine more?”
She frowned. “One of those men wore Alejandro, and the scent was almost exactly right. But . . . not quite. I don’t think he’s the right man. Also, he isn’t tall enough. The one in the dark blue coat with his back turned to the dancing.”
“I know him,” Mackenzie murmured. “Lord Fendall. He’s on our suspect list. He’s a regular at Damian’s and a friend of my manager, Baptiste, but I don’t know much about him except that he’s a gambling man who wins and loses large sums of money. Kirkland is the one who put him on our suspect list. I’m not sure why.”
“If he’s a friend of your manager, he might know the back passages of Damian’s,” Kiri speculated. “But he’s still not tall enough. He’s also too broad.”
“Like Rupert Swinnerton, he needs to be watched closely. Too many coincidences.” Mackenzie frowned. “Do individual scents change enough day to day that at another time, he might smell as you remember?”
Kiri hesitated. “Perhaps. But he’s still not tall enough, and he just doesn’t feel right. I don’t think he was one of the kidnappers. But perhaps he associates with them.”
“The trouble with being dead is that I can’t talk to Baptiste about Fendall,” Mac muttered. “Kirkland will have to do it.”
“We seem to be making progress, so you won’t be dead much longer.” That would be good for Mackenzie, but not so good for Kiri, who would have to return to her normal routine. Life in the country would be very tame after this.
Enough people were coming and going at Madame Blanche’s that they stayed till after midnight so Kiri could check out all the guests. She found no other possibilities.
They were leaving the house at the same time as several other groups when she caught one of the scents she’d been looking for. Garlic, Frenchness, a perfume she couldn’t name but clearly remembered.
Her nails bit into Mackenzie’s arm as they descended the steps to street level and her eyes darted about as she tried to identify the source of the scent. Mackenzie said quietly, “Who?”
Her gaze fastened on a pair of broad shoulders belonging to a man heading down the street on his own. “Him,” she whispered. “He smells exactly like the Frenchman who was at Damian’s.”
“I think it’s Paul Clement, from our suspect list. Convenient that he’s heading toward our carriage.” Though he still used his cane, Mackenzie’s pace quickened.
They passed their hackney at a fast walk, and Kiri saw their driver come alert as they followed their man around the corner into an empty side street. “I’ll talk to him,” she said under her breath. Raising her voice, she said, “Sir? Sir? I do believe we’ve met, haven’t we? At Almack’s, perhaps?”
The man ahead hesitated, then turned. Warily he said in fluent but French-accented English, “I do not believe I’ve had that pleasure, madame.” He bowed gracefully. “I would never have forgotten so lovely a lady. Now if you’ll excuse me . . .”
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