Rapturous Rakes Bundle (36 page)

‘It was Edgar Benedict whom we overlooked all

along,’ Justin said heavily the following evening, as

they all sat around the fire in the study. ‘We were told

that he was a bedridden invalid and we accepted it

without challenge.’ He shook his head bitterly. ‘I

could kick myself for falling for that trick. It might

have been Lily Benedict who was the French spy re-

ported first in Dorset last year, but it was Edgar who

had the freedom to come and go as he pleased whilst

we were all assuming him helpless and of no account.’

‘So now it all falls into place,’ Cory Newlyn said

thoughtfully. ‘Edgar Benedict killed Jeffrey Maske-

lyne right at the start, and then Lily took a pot shot at

me later, when they realised that I was trying to dis-

cover any information Maskelyne might have left be-

hind.’

‘She was not the only one,’ Rachel Newlyn said

drily. ‘I almost killed you myself, Cory, when I found

you wandering around the stables in the middle of the

night in that suspicious manner!’

Cory laughed. ‘A good job you did not, my love! I

feel sure you would have been deeply upset to have

been the unwitting cause of my demise!’

‘Desolated,’ Rachel agreed, a small smile playing

about her lips. ‘And then Papa almost shot both of us

with his blunderbuss! It is a miracle we are all here to

tell the tale at all.’

‘I imagine that it was Lily Benedict who acciden-

tally picked up the wrong book at the reading group,’

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Justin continued, ‘leaving Deb with the book that con-

tained the code—’

‘And leaving her also to fall foul of Richard’s sus-

picions,’ Lucas said. He drew Rebecca closer to his

side. ‘I am not certain where we should all be had it

not been for this business.’

‘Wifeless,’ Cory said drily. ‘A situation not to be

tolerated.’

Lucas smiled at Rebecca. ‘I never thought to find

myself saying this,’ he said softly, ‘but I completely

agree, Cory.’

‘If you could keep your mind on business a little

longer,’ Justin complained. ‘There are a number of

matters that still require clarification.’

‘Such as?’ Lucas was finding it difficult to drag his

attention from Rebecca.

‘Such as why one set of engraved glasses turned up

at the Woodbridge auction house when they should

have been in Norton’s possession.’

‘I think I can help you there,’ Rebecca said, a little

shyly, remembering what Daniel had told her. She

caught Lucas’s look of surprise and gave him a smile.

‘I believe there were two sets of engraved glasses, one

held by the Benedicts and John Norton, and the other

by their French spymasters. When they needed to

change the code, they both required a new set of en-

graved glass. My uncle’s records bear this out.’

Lucas nodded. ‘And they lost one set?’

‘I understand,’ Rebecca said, careful not to mention

Daniel’s name, ‘that Sir John had passed one set to

his French accomplice, but that the French ship was

stopped by HMS
Plockton,
who took the contraband

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cargo, including the glasses. The cargo was sold off

at the Customs House and Sir John was put to the

trouble of buying back his own set of glasses.’

‘Or trying to,’ Lucas said. He laughed. ‘Then Ross

Marney accidentally outbid him and the spies were put

to even greater trouble to try to steal the glasses back!’

‘It is some consolation to know that we caused them

some difficulties,’ Cory said, ‘for it seemed that they

ran rings around us for months.’

‘I suppose that it was Edgar Benedict who tied

Richard and Deb to the easel at the unveiling of Lady

Sally’s watercolour calendar,’ Lucas said, chuckling.

He squeezed Rebecca’s hand. ‘You missed a rare sight

there, my love. I doubt there has ever been such a

sensation in Midwinter!’

Justin was looking speculatively at Rebecca. ‘Your

brother is an excellent gatherer of intelligence,’ he re-

marked. ‘Do you think he might be interested in work-

ing for the government?’

Rebecca laughed. ‘I believe he already does, your

Grace, but only on his own terms.’

Justin nodded thoughtfully. ‘And so we come to the

final mystery that puzzled me, which was why the

spies chose George Provost to be their unwitting ac-

complice.’

Rebecca shivered and Lucas drew her protectively

closer.

‘In the end it was quite simple,’ Justin continued.

‘Edgar Benedict was a member of the Archangel Club

and a friend of Alexander Fremantle. Fremantle had

already commissioned some work from George Pro-

vost and when Edgar Benedict saw it...’ he shrugged

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‘...he thought Provost ideal to provide the spies with

their pictorial code.’

‘So simple,’ Rebecca agreed. She looked at Lucas.

‘And so dangerous in making you suspect me.’

Lucas smiled and leaned closer, oblivious of their

audience. ‘Do you forgive me?’ he asked softly.

‘Well...’ Rebecca said. She raised a hand to his

cheek. ‘I suppose so...’

Their lips touched and in the same moment the door

to the study burst open.

‘Good evening, everyone! We are back!’ Lord Rich-

ard Kestrel steered his wife Deborah into the room

with a proprietorial arm about her waist. ‘Have we

missed anything of note?’

His gaze fell upon Lucas, who was by now kissing

Rebecca with considerable fervour. He stopped dead.

‘Good God, Lucas,’ he said, ‘we were only away for

six weeks!’

Chapter
Thirteen

The engraving studio looked very much as Rebecca

had left it. Whoever Lucas had set to keep an eye on

the place had done the job well. The glass on the dis-

play shelves was a little dusty and the floor needed to

be swept, but the place felt the same. It smelled the

same, of cold mustiness and quiet. Rebecca shivered

as it seeped into her bones.

She had told Lucas the truth about having to give

up her engraving because she had not wanted there to

be any more secrets between them. She had been

afraid that he would think she had agreed to marry

him as a second choice, and he had received the news

without comment, which had made her a little nervous.

It was going to take time to learn how to read Lucas,

but then she had all the time in the world. For now,

though, she had a personal farewell to take.

Discarding her cloak, Rebecca sat down at once at

her engraving table, then hesitated. In the drawer were

the tools of her trade—the drills, the scribes, the cut-

ters... She was afraid to touch them, knowing that this

was goodbye. Very slowly, she picked up the wine

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glass with the half-finished engraving of the kestrel,

reached for her diamond scribe, and began.

When there was a knock on the workshop door, she

was not sure how much time had passed, engrossed as

she had been in her work. She imagined that Lucas

had come to collect her, for he had said that he would

give her some time and now that time was up. She

was ready for him.

She flung open the door and was taken aback to see

a complete stranger on the step. Rebecca blinked and

looked again.

‘Miss Raleigh?’ The stranger was muscular and had

piercing blue eyes and salt-and-pepper hair with

matching Viking beard. ‘How do you do? My name

is Marcus Woolf.’

Rebecca closed her mouth, which she realised had

been hanging open for at least ten seconds.

‘My goodness! That is...Mr Woolf! It is such a

privilege to meet so famous an engraver.’

Marcus Woolf smiled. He was immaculately

dressed in beige buckskins and a dark green jacket and

he did not seem at all surprised by her stupefaction.

‘I am very pleased to meet you too, Miss Raleigh,

and to see your studio.’ He swung round towards the

display stands. ‘May I?’

‘Please...I should be honoured...’ Rebecca fol-

lowed him over to the engraved panes that she had

hung from the ceiling and watched in a daze as he

examined them, nodding his head slowly.

‘Great artistry, Miss Raleigh, and an excellent tech-

nique. I am impressed.’ The piercing blue eyes came

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back to rest on Rebecca’s face. ‘As soon as I saw the

vase with the ship on it, I felt I had to come to meet

you. Lord Lucas Kestrel mentioned that you were an

exceedingly talented engraver.’

Rebecca felt somewhat at sea. She had not even

noticed that the vase had disappeared from the studio

window, but now that she looked she could see the

pale space where it had stood until recently, and the

dusty shape of the base on the sill. Someone had re-

moved the vase, and recently. But why? And why had

Lucas spoken of her to Marcus Woolf? They had only

been back in town a matter of days. He must have

acted as soon as they had returned. She frowned

slightly.

‘Forgive me, Mr Woolf, but I do not perfectly com-

prehend how you came to see my work, nor why Lord

Lucas should have mentioned me to you. Perhaps he

also told you—’ she felt a lump wedge itself in her

throat ‘—that I am no longer intending to work as an

engraver? I cannot.’ Rebecca felt a hopeless urge to

cry.

Marcus Woolf did not move. ‘That is a great shame,

Miss Raleigh.’ His voice sounded clipped, impersonal.

‘But you said that you
cannot
do any more engraving.

Why is that?’

Rebecca knew now that she was definitely going to

cry. Her throat was made of sandpaper. Even she could

hear how her voice was shaking, and despised herself

for the weakness. ‘I have damaged my wrist, Mr

Woolf, so I cannot use the drills any more. It is only

a matter of time before I have to stop completely.’

She realised that she
was
crying. Great fat tears

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Mistress

were bouncing off her cheeks on to the stone floor

where they shone like miniature puddles in the can-

dles’ glare. She felt a complete fool, but she could not

stop. She did not really want to stop. It was just in-

convenient that Marcus Woolf happened to be there.

His presence made the end of her own career seem all

the more poignant.

‘Excuse me.’ She groped for her handkerchief. Un-

fortunately it was not up her sleeve. She gave a huge,

self-pitying sniff.

‘Allow me.’ Marcus Woolf’s handkerchief was

made of silk and smelled of expensive cologne. Re-

becca rubbed her eyes vigorously and blew her nose

for good measure, appalled when her eyes filled with

tears again, as though to make up the loss.

‘Oh!’ It was a mixture of exasperation and self-pity.

She saw Marcus Woolf smile. ‘Pray continue, Miss

Raleigh. Do not feel ashamed. If I lost my ability to

engrave, I would cry for a week without stopping.’

His jacket smelled of the same cologne as the hand-

kerchief and it was a crime to cry all over it. On the

other hand, his shoulder was surprisingly broad and

comforting and after a moment Rebecca could have

sworn that he was patting her on the head. She was

just remembering his somewhat dubious reputation

with women, when he said, over her shoulder,

‘Lord Lucas, I think we should get Miss Raleigh

something restorative to drink. She is suffering from

shock.’

Rebecca raised her head from Marcus Woolf’s

shoulder and met Lucas’s gaze. He was standing in

the doorway, watching the scene with considerable in-

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279

terest. She felt puzzled and ruffled. She smoothed

down her dress and made hopeless attempts to tidy her

hair.

‘Come along, Miss Raleigh.’ Marcus Woolf had an

arm about her now and was drawing her towards the

chaise-longue.
Lucas had disappeared into the scullery

and she could hear the clink of the kettle on the hob.