Tainted Angel (20 page)

Swanson,” said Jenny Dokes, her plain face lighting up with a smile that reflected equal parts pleasure and surprise. “Did I miss your note?”

Lina was seated in the other woman’s sitting room where she had been patiently waiting for nearly an hour after having slipped in the servant’s door. After stoking up the fire, she had spread out Maisie’s cloak before it to dry. Her hair, on the other hand, was hopeless; there was nothing to be done between the rain and Carstairs’s hat. After combing it out with her fingers as best she could, she settled in to wait, her cold feet thawing out on the hearth as steam rose from her half boots. Naturally she had first taken a quick search of the place and just as naturally, Dokes had left nothing of interest where a searcher could find it. The rooms were sparse and almost shabby, and Lina reflected on the general unfairness that deprived a talented woman like Jenny from having the opportunity to work for a bank or a counting house as would a man.

“No note, Dokes—I’m afraid I am out of coverage.”

“I see.” The other woman was unfazed by this revelation as she removed her pelisse and hat to hang them on the rack next to the door. “May I offer tea or are you in flight?”

Smiling, Lina replied with a gleam, “I would very much enjoy a cup of tea and I am more properly dead.”

Dokes arched her brows as she fetched the kettle to the hearth. “Heavens; who killed you?”

Lina folded her hands and shot her a look. “No such thing—I killed myself. I drowned trying to escape.”

“How shocking,” the other replied, taking the tea things from the cupboard.

Lina wasn’t fooled; Dokes was unshockable. In a light tone Lina asked, “You hadn’t heard? I thought perhaps your ciphered note was an attempt to warn me. There was an elaborate trap and seizure in play, with my humble self as the target.”

The other shook her head as she set the tray down on the table between them. “No—I know nothing of it—and the church hasn’t had a meeting in more than a week. The silence is rather strange; I had the impression events were pressing.” She gave Lina a dry smile as she dipped the tea strainer into the hot water. “You, on the other hand, have apparently been busy.”

“You don’t know the half,” Lina admitted. “I won’t cause you any trouble, then, Dokes. I wanted to ask you in private about your note, but I understand if you simply wish me gone.”

But the other woman shook her head and smiled. “Of course I do not—you are the only sensible female of my acquaintance.” As she poured out the tea she added, “Pray tell me how I may help.”

Lina released her breath in relief. “Perhaps you would be so kind as to not mention you have seen me resurrected, so to speak. Arrangements must be made and I’d rather not be seized again.”

“Willingly. And I suppose that this turn of events renders my own news moot.”

Lina leaned forward as though curious, even though she had a very good idea of the nature of the disclosure. “What was your news?”

Dokes placed her cup carefully on its saucer, which was chipped at the edge, and gathered her thoughts for a moment. “First, I ask that you understand that men along the lines of a Carstairs are not slated for such as I—I must make do with lesser beings.”

This was unexpected; carefully hiding her incredulity, Lina managed a delighted smile. “Are you to be wed, Dokes? My best wishes.”

Her companion made a wry mouth. “Heavens, no. Recall that I was under orders to meet with Henry Grant at the bank; we reviewed the loan records after the bank was closed, when there was no one about.”

Lina nodded in what she hoped was an encouraging manner, all the while thinking that she could not like where this was leading.

“I have been meeting him at his residence ever since.” Although she said it calmly, Lina noted the other’s cheeks were tinged with pink.

Suppressing her distaste, Lina instead rendered a sympathetic smile and leaned forward to touch the other’s hand. “We take our pleasures where we may—I completely understand.”

The other woman gave her a measuring glance. “No, I don’t think you could. You have high standards and no weaknesses—I wish I could say the same. But it wasn’t merely for pleasure, I assure you.”

Ah—now they were coming to it and Lina feigned puzzlement. “What do you mean, Dokes?”

Dokes met her eyes with her own steady gaze. “I had a feeling—he made me uneasy.”

Lina nodded. She knew those feelings well—they were the reason women who held this type of job survived. “So you inveigled him.”

“Think of it—for once I could take the role of an angel.” Dokes drew the corner of her mouth down at the absurdity. “It was a simple thing—he is not well-versed in deception.” A tinge of contempt crept into her tone; those such as they had little patience for others less devious. She added, “He likes to boast.”

“Men,” Lina pronounced dryly, and both women paused to contemplate the foolishness of the sterner sex.

“He spoke very freely of you, and said it was a shame you would be hung, although he seemed to take great pleasure in thinking on it.”

“They think me tainted,” Lina conceded modestly. “Hence the trap and seizure.”

Dokes shot her a look. “I think it is he who is tainted.”

Lina stared, feigning incredulity. “Truly? Grant at the Bank of England?

The other woman nodded. “I think he is working hand in glove with Rochon.” The woman observed Lina thoughtfully, as though the subject matter was quite ordinary. “I have the impression he is afraid of you—afraid you will grass on him to the others.”

Lifting her delicate brows in surprise, Lina asked, “As I am acquainted with Rochon myself?”

“Or so he believes.” Dokes watched Lina’s reaction from beneath her lashes as she sipped her tea.

Lina laughed lightly but was not fooled—she had noted that Dokes had not inquired as to her allegiance and was giving every indication she would stand Lina’s friend regardless of that presumed allegiance. In turn, Lina gave every indication that she accepted the other woman’s loyalty without question even though such was not the case and indeed, both were well aware that the other knew it was all a false front. One could not hold it against Dokes, of course—she had her orders and she probably had orders to seduce Henry Grant, too, poor thing.

Lina sat back, her brow knit. “Well, this information about Grant is a wrinkle—have you reported?”

“Yes. They were unsurprised.”

Lina thought it over, a tapered finger tracing the rim of the teacup. “I see; so if the church hierarchy already knows of Grant’s misdeeds, perhaps he was chosen purposefully, to lay a false trail for Rochon.”

“One would think,” the other agreed. “It would explain why he has such responsibility.” In a tone of mild contempt she pronounced, “He is no financier.”

“What is your assignment?”

Dokes gave a dry smile. “I am to continue laying my own false trail.”

Lina chuckled in acknowledgment at the
double
entendre
. “And why did you send me my warning note?” She watched with interest to see what the other would say—she could not very well admit she was applying additional pressure so that Lina would attempt to escape with Gaston.

Her gaze sincere, Dokes replied, “I felt I should let you know what Grant was saying about you—and presumably saying to the hierarchy; although it appears the issue is now moot.”

Lina agreed in an easy manner. “Yes, you are too late—I have already been seized but unfortunately I drowned in the process.”

“I see.” Thinking it over, the other woman continued, “And instead of disappearing into France, you are here taking tea with me.”

Lina smiled. “As you see.” She then sipped her tea in the small silence that ensued.

As they had arrived at a wary impasse, Dokes apparently decided to fire a round. “The Treasury has no clue about the latest shipment of gold that went missing.”

“Yes; I am aware,” Lina acknowledged the apparent change of topic in a neutral tone. We are well-matched, she thought. We are each probing but neither one of us can gain an advantage.

“Napoleon has sustained a similar loss.” Dokes’s shrewd gaze examined her over her teacup. “An extraordinary coincidence.”

Lina felt a jolt of dismay and revised her last assessment. She is rather like Brodie, Lina thought—always one step ahead.

Her companion continued, “Grant seems to think Rochon is planning to have Brodie call in his bonds while England’s gold is missing—it would cause an economic panic.” She paused and delicately sipped her tea. “It seems far-fetched, to assume that Rochon could control Brodie.”

“Yes,” Lina agreed in a steady voice. “It is unimaginable that Brodie would allow such a thing.”

Absently, Dokes stared into the fire. “Of course, no matter how bad it looks for England, it is much worse for France—with its current financial situation, France cannot afford to lose any of its gold.” She paused, thinking about it. “Napoleon must be livid; no one will lend him enough money to mount another war—not without gold to back it up.”

Lina deemed it prudent to make no reply and stirred her tea with a desultory movement. The two women sat together in silence for a few moments.

“Where do you go now?” asked Dokes. “Would you like to stay here?”

Lina demurred smoothly, “I must try to resolve my predicament, but I will not impose upon your kindness, my friend. If it is possible, I will keep you posted.”

“You will stay in town?” Her gaze was guileless.

“Of course,” Lina agreed, knowing Dokes would immediately conclude no such thing was planned.

“You will be careful?”

Lina was touched; as far as she could tell, these words, at least, were sincere. “I will.” She rose and set down her cup. “Thank you, Dokes—I must be off.”

“My pleasure, Swanson.” Dokes did not rise as Lina gathered up her cloak and made an unhurried exit, holding out hope that the other woman would not pull a pistol on her but closing her hand around her own, just in case.

Weary and not at all certain who had succeeded in laying a false trail, Lina left Dokes’s rooms and made her way to the agreed-upon destination; a modest Kensington row of houses where a lantern left out on one front stoop identified it as the safe house—a residence used when any of her compatriots needed a temporary place to go to ground. She signaled for the hackney to stop and drew Maisie’s cloak hood tight under her chin. I must look like a cast-off from the Seven Dials district, she thought. Just as well—that way no one will attempt to peer under the brim of this oversized hat.

Alighting from the cab, she tossed a coin without raising her face, her thanks delivered in a gruff voice. She had been careful to take a circuitous route so as not to be followed by Dokes, although Dokes would certainly anticipate such a subterfuge and may not have bothered as a result. They both knew how to conserve their actions in the face of futility.

Slipping into the shrubbery beside the front stoop, Lina stood in the shadows for a few minutes, waiting for possible observers to pass by before she approached the door—no point in drawing attention at this late stage. One such passerby was a gas lighter; a tall, lean man as was suitable for his profession, carrying his torch and ambling along the pavement with a rolling gait, pausing to light the lamps in the falling dusk. A former sailor, she thought—one could always tell by the walk.

The man paused directly before her and lit a clay pipe, tamping down the tobacco and sparking a flint. In the sudden flare she caught a glimpse of grey eyes directed her way and stifled a gasp.

“Good evening,” he said.

With a monumental effort, she concealed her acute dismay. “Good evening, sir.”

He turned to face her, puffing a cloud of smoke from the pipe as they assessed one another for a few moments, Lina’s heart pounding in her throat. He finally said, “So—you live.”

She smiled serenely and wished she didn’t appear so bedraggled; her beauty made a better shield. “You did not think I would make your task so easy, did you?”

He continued to puff on the pipe, regarding her. “On the contrary—I am well-pleased to behold you before me. It would be a rare tragedy were you dead.”

She bowed. “I thank you.”

“What the devil are you about?” He asked in the same tone he would have used to discuss the weather.

Matching his bluntness, she decided to answer honestly. “I’m afraid I cannot say. I would, but it is a matter of divided loyalties. Be assured that I am not your enemy.”

He took a step toward her, thoughtful, and turned to gaze up the dark street for a moment, surveying the other people in the vicinity out of long habit. “No—you are not my enemy. Quite the contrary.” He then looked down into her eyes, his own containing a message in their grey depths that she had interpreted many a time and from many a man.

She gazed up at him, unprepared to believe the implication.

Witnessing her reaction, he made a self-deprecatory gesture with his hands. “It is true—despite my best efforts, apparently I am only flesh and blood.” A small smile played around his lips. “That night, when you sat in your nightdress on your cellar steps, I had half a mind to put it to the touch.”

Controlling her bemusement only with an effort, she returned a mild response. “You honor me. Unfortunately for such a plan I was already pregnant at the time—and by your own contrivance, I might add.”

He shook his head with regret. “You were careless, to allow such a thing to come to pass.”

“No one was more surprised than I, I assure you.”

He placed a boot on the railing’s crossbar and contemplated it for a moment while she watched him, wary and off-balance. “And you will bear this child and stay with Carstairs?” He glanced at her, sidelong. “If you are not hanged, that is.”

Nodding in acknowledgment, she agreed, “That is my plan—if I am not hanged.”

He glanced up the street again, gathering himself to speak. Lina very much hoped her spymaster was not going to declare his undying devotion—it would be beyond surreal.

But instead he said only, “If it does not work out—for any reason—I will have your promise that you will give me the right of first refusal.”

Frowning at him, she seriously thought about it. She then decided if she couldn’t have Carstairs, she may as well have this one. “Agreed—but I have a condition.”

“Name it.” The grey eyes were intent upon hers.

In a level tone, she continued, “If anything untoward happens to Carstairs—even if he is hit by a dray while crossing the street—I shall never speak to you again.”

He leaned back his head and chuckled, contemplating the starry sky. “You overestimate your attraction.”

“I believe,” she countered, “that you and I are well-suited because we understand one another very well.”

He sobered and contemplated her. “My promise on it, then.” He offered his hand and she took it, his clasp warm, firm, and brief.

They stood together in silence while he plied his pipe and leaned against the railing. Lina breathed in the night air and thought, I have managed another in a long string of lucky escapes, thanks to my formidable wiles. Although to be accurate I have never practiced said wiles upon this particular man—unless you count the duet at the piano, I suppose.

She also noted with interest that they were now comfortable together—as though they were old companions, neither willing to break off the interlude. In the past, there had been a tension that she had attributed to his unswerving suspicion. Now that she was aware of the true source of the tension, she was almost disappointed—he had been the one man who had seemed impervious to her beauty. Studying his averted face, she decided it was just as well they would not be together—she would never have any idea of his thoughts. “What will you do now?”

He did not hesitate in his answer. “I will be on a knifepoint of agony wondering if I should have killed you outright.”

She chuckled. “No need, certainly—I am true.”

“But to whom?” He shot her a look, no longer warm.

Teasing, she asked, “Is there anything you do not know?”

“No.” He leaned to tap out his pipe on the railing.

“Did you know of Grant?”

Amused, he chided her. “Please—how could I not? He is an amateur.”

“He is loathsome,” she retorted with revulsion.

Her companion straightened up and spoke seriously. “You of all people should know not to allow your emotions to color your judgment.”

Her mouth curved in amusement. “As you would never do such a thing.”

Bowing his head in acknowledgment at the irony, he replied, “Then don’t make the same mistake as I—I will no doubt live to regret it.”

“You will not. And perhaps someday we will repose somewhere together, you and I, and laughingly remember your doubts.”

He bowed. “My fondest wish.”

Reminded, she sighed. “You and your wretched Bible—I spent many an unhappy hour searching for your reference.”

Making a sound of annoyance, he tilted his head in contrition. “It was petty of me, and self-serving; I beg your pardon and shall say no more.”

She nodded, and he lifted his lighting torch and turned as if to continue on his way. Placing a hand on his arm, she stayed him. “If I wanted the truth from you, and I asked you to swear, what would you swear by?”

“My country,” he answered without hesitation, the grey eyes upon hers.

“Well then; on the honor of your country, tell me whether Carstairs told you I was yet alive and that you would find me here.”

He met her gaze without wavering. “He did not. Which is disquieting in its own right.”

With a fond smile, she tilted her head. “He thinks to resolve all problems neatly, and to clear me of my taint.”

“Good luck to him,” he riposted in a sour tone, and she chuckled in response.

His sharp gaze was upon hers once again. “I should perhaps mention that I nonetheless believe he will not put his regard for you above the interests of England.”

She met his eyes calmly. “Nor should he—he will not be put to such a test.”

“You reassure me.”

She chuckled again at his dry tone. “Do you have an assignment for me?”

He blew out a breath. “I have no idea. I will await events.”

She hesitated, then offered with all sincerity, “Shall we be friends? If I am not hanged, that is.”

He cocked his head to the side and studied her. “Allow me to think on it—it may be too much of a distraction.”

“Well, then.” She bowed, and he bowed in return. She turned to mount the steps into the safe house and did not look back.