The Counterfeit Lady (12 page)

“We’re not mentioning his name to anyone. You’ll have to trust us to do our jobs.”

“Can you catch him?”

“We will. And we’ll retrieve the plans.” I gave him a hard stare. “Now, what is your role—” I began, but Sir Jonah cut me off.

“Good work, Miss Fenchurch. Thank you.” With a smile, Sir Jonah stepped quickly the length of the shop and out into the street.

When the duke arrived to escort me to Newgate, I told him about my latest visit from Denby.

“We’re meeting with some people from Whitehall tonight. Hopefully, he’ll be there. If not, we’ll get to the bottom of this. Don’t worry.” Blackford’s lack of concern relieved me. I forgot Sir Jonah as I climbed into the carriage.

The prison was as bleak as I remembered it, but the heat wave had lasted long enough to have penetrated the corridors. Putrid smells rose up from the stones. Sweat rolled down my shift. The hair at the duke’s neckline began to curl, the only sign that he perspired.

Gattenger had shrunk, his hair limp on his head, his skin graying as if he’d already died. I sat across the table from him again and stared at him. He didn’t look in my direction.

“Why did you call the doctor so many times for cousin Clara?” I began.

“Guard, take me back to my cell,” Gattenger said.

“No,” Blackford said in that ducal tone that froze people in place.

“Was she ill, Kenny?”

“No. I don’t think so. The doctor didn’t think so. I don’t know.”

“Did you beat her?”

He looked at me then, a ferocious gleam lighting his eyes. “No. I’d never hurt Clara. I’d rather chop off my arm. I loved her.”

“Why was she bruised? Where did the blood come from?”

“I asked her when we were first dating if her father beat her. She wouldn’t speak to me for a week. It turned out she bruised easily. She had since childhood. And the blood—oh, God.” He burst into tears and buried his face in his arms on the table.

“The blood, Gattenger,” Blackford said.

When I realized, I couldn’t believe it had taken me so long. “She was with child, wasn’t she, Kenny? The blood came from a miscarriage. That’s what the doctor will tell us, won’t he?”

He straightened, wiping at his eyes with his fingers. “Two. In the year we’d been married, Clara had suffered two miscarriages. She wanted a baby so badly. She felt she’d failed me, while I couldn’t care less. I loved Clara. She was all I needed.”

“And when the maid heard her tell you she couldn’t stand a third time, she was sending you from her room so she couldn’t get with child again.” The poor woman was probably distraught.

“Yes.”

“And those stories about the two of you fighting in public, that was her reaction to something that reminded her about the miscarriages.”

“Only the first one. We’d not had a chance to go out in the evening after the second one before she—” He pinched the bridge of his nose and then took a breath. “She lost a lot of blood and was very weak.”

“Being the daughter of a lord, she’d consider giving you an heir of more importance than you put on it,” Blackford said, more to himself than to Gattenger.

Lady Bennett might see me as a rival in a contest to become the duke’s paramour, but he’d soon need to marry and produce an heir to the dukedom. And neither of us would be considered for the position of duchess.

“Poor Clara. Fearing she’d failed me, when in the end, I failed her.” Gattenger shook his head.

I broke in then. “I have another question. Why did you take the drawings of the new warship out of the Admiralty that night?”

“Why did I? It was such a mistake. It cost Clara her life.”

Before Gattenger could go off on another round of self-pity, I said, “You said there was a question about a calculation. Why take the drawings out that night? Why not work on them in the Admiralty or take them out another night?”

“Sir Henry said he was certain I’d made a mistake, and if I didn’t correct it immediately, he was going to the Admiralty Board the next morning. He’d tell them my design was flawed and not worth bidding on. I couldn’t let him. Not after I’d failed to give Clara the baby she wanted. I couldn’t ruin her economic standing, her home, her position in society.”

“Had the Admiralty paid you for the design?”

“In part.”

“And you needed money. You were desperate for money.”

He hung his head. “Yes.”

I pushed harder. “Desperate enough to take German money in exchange for a copy of the plans.”

He looked into my eyes then and slowly shook his head. “No. I thought I would, but then I backed out. When I didn’t have to worry about the baby anymore.”

“So they offered you money, and you accepted. But then you changed your mind. Did you tell them no?”

His posture straightened. “Of course I did. And I never agreed. Not really. I said I’d think about it.”

“What did they do when you turned them down?”

He sank down again. “They threatened me. They said they’d destroy me.”

I glanced at the duke. “Who did?”

“I don’t know who he was. A large man with a German accent. Lethal looking. He stayed in the shadows.”

My excitement must have shown in my voice. “When did this happen?”

“Two nights before—that night. While I was walking home.”

“And then Sir Henry Stanford forced you into taking the drawings out two days later?” Blackford shook his head. “Sir Henry’s not smart enough to figure out any flaws on his own.”

I ignored the duke and leaned my face close to the prisoner’s. “You were afraid Sir Henry was right, weren’t you?”

Gattenger nodded.

“Why? Did you have doubts about your design?”

I had Blackford’s attention now. He leaned forward over the table, no doubt so he could hear every whisper Gattenger might make.

Gattenger murmured his words with his eyes shut. “Yes. The people at the Admiralty took my drawings before I’d conducted tests on scale models. Before the ink was dry on the blueprints. Before I’d checked and rechecked all my calculations over and over. I was so excited about my new design I told them about it immediately, and they paid me and took possession of all my drawings then and there.

“The balance of the big guns may be off, or I may have overloaded the ship with heavy weapons. I’m just not sure.” He slammed his fist on the table.

“You’re afraid the ship will sink.” Blackford leaped to his feet and made a quick circle of the room.

Gattenger looked up at him and said, “I’m not sure. I took a set of the drawings home to get all the figures I’d need to run the miniaturized tests.”

This didn’t make sense to me. “Why did they take the drawings before you were ready to hand them over?”

“The Admiralty got wind of a German plan to beat us to the punch with a new warship. They took the designs, copied the blueprints, and began bidding for building the first ship. They want to conduct sea trials as soon as possible. The Admiralty wants Britain to be first.”

“So you don’t know if the plans as you designed them will work.”

“I’m not even certain the ship will float. Not anymore. Not since Sir Henry voiced his doubts. Sir Henry Stanford knows ships.”

Beside me, Blackford snorted. I dipped my head and shook it. This nightmare just got worse. Not only were we chasing after a set of plans the Admiralty hoped had been destroyed and the Germans would pay a ransom for, but the designer didn’t know whether the ship would even sail.

“How long will it take you to decide if Sir Henry was right or not?” Blackford asked.

Gattenger shrugged. “Two days at the most. Probably only a few hours.”

“Can you decide with only a full set of the plans to work from? No scale model tests?”

“The tests would just prove my suspicions. Yes, I should be able to check to make certain the ship will perform as designed.”

“I’ll try to have someone from the Admiralty bring you a set of plans and wait while you work on them. I’m not promising anything, but I’ll try.” The duke rose. “I need an answer to this question of the seaworthiness of your warship as badly as I suspect you do.”

“Thank you. I’ll do the best I can.” The two men shook hands.

“God bless you, Mr. Gattenger,” I said as I stood. As far as I was concerned, if the ship would sink, we ought to let the Germans steal the design.

I walked with the duke on the long trek down confining hallways, pleased when the last clank of a gate locking sounded behind me. The sun beat down on us mercilessly, but I was glad to be out in untainted air.

The duke helped me into the carriage and, once he was settled across from me, said, “Sir Henry doesn’t have the knowledge to tell if that ship will sink or not. Did the Germans or someone else put him up to it? Or did he use his doubts as a ruse to get Gattenger to take a set out of the Admiralty so he could steal them?”

“Either way, we need Gattenger to check his blueprints before five this afternoon. I have to tell Sir Henry something.”

“I need to talk to my contacts in the Admiralty and arrange for someone to take him a set of the blueprints and then wait. You’re going to have to lie to Sir Henry.”

“I don’t know anything about warships. How do I lie convincingly?”

“You’ll manage. I’m amazed at how competent you are, Georgia. Are you sure you don’t want me to show up a little after five?” He leaned forward in his seat and took my gloved hand in his.

Even through the fabric and leather, I felt his warmth and his strength. We exchanged smiles before I said, “No. I’ll be fine.”

“Then I’ll drop you off at the bookshop and stop by the town house at seven.”

“No chance of an early bedtime tonight?”

He shook his head. “You must learn to sleep through the morning. We have a dinner party to attend and then I’ll take you to my home. A few hours later, I’ll return you to your town house.”

“But people will think—” My drooping eyes flew open.

“Precisely.”

A
FTER
I gave final instructions on how to run the bookshop in my absence for the fifth time, I asked Frances, “Does your family have any problem with you leaving for the entire day every day?”

“Don’t worry, Georgia. My son is too busy to notice and his wife is happy I’m not there to interfere with running the hotel. She’s stopped mentioning how nice it would be if I moved to her family’s farm.” Frances patted my arm. “We’ll be fine.”

“Grace, any sign of Lord Barnwood returning soon?”

“My employer refuses to set foot in London until this heat wave ends. So hurry back. We’ll miss you, and we’re more than willing to share this weather. You know how misery loves company.” She laughed as she fanned herself with her hand and left to wait on a customer.

“Georgia, go. Sir Broderick is phoning us daily to make sure we have everything we need, and Archivist Society members are stopping by at odd moments to run errands and lift boxes. The shop will be fine.”

I gave her a brave smile, but inside, I didn’t want to leave. “Thank you. All of you.”

I tried to linger, but Emma dragged me out of the shop. She led me back yet another route to the town house for a cold lunch in the large, gloomy dining room. The furniture was dark wood and the walls were papered in a washed-out rose on a charcoal background. The lace curtains blocked any sunlight that might have cut through the dimness. The room matched my mood.

“More calls today?” I asked Phyllida.

“No one would be home. Along with the rest of what’s left of polite society in London, we’re going shopping on Regent Street and Piccadilly. And we’ll need to take Emma with us to carry packages.”

“And the money will come from where?” I couldn’t afford a shopping spree on Regent Street. Those shops were well out of the size of my purse. And I needed to question people, not look through store windows, so I could return to my own shop.

“The duke has set up an account in my name at various businesses. There will be no trouble about it.”

“Phyllida, he’s coming by tonight to take me to Blackford House. Alone. I suspect there’ll be trouble tomorrow.” I was tired, hot, and upset. I was not in the mood to pretend to have an affair. I would either leap into bed with him or scratch his eyes out. Possibly both.

“Georg—ina,” Phyllida said, stopping herself at the last moment from calling me by my real name, “the duke is a gentleman. Relax.”

I’d dealt with the duke before. I was not about to relax.

“We have lots of stops to make. Milliners, glovers, parasol makers, shoemakers, hosiers, jewelers, perfumers. All places where we will be seen, and where we can watch anyone we want to keep an eye on. All for the price of a pair of hose.”

She smiled, and I realized I had a lot to learn to play my role convincingly. For me, shopping was something I had to fit in quickly between other errands.

But not today. After lunch, Phyllida, Emma, and I climbed into a hired carriage and rode to Regent Street. We started at the top end where Regent Street crossed Oxford Street in a mad confusion of wagons, omnibuses, carriages, hansom cabs, and all their horses. Pedestrians had to look sharp to keep from being run over. We dismissed the carriage and walked downhill toward Piccadilly in the general direction of the Thames.

The small, tasteful displays in the windows and the number of maids and footmen trailing well-dressed women let me know this neighborhood was out of Georgia Fenchurch’s league. It was nice, for a day, to be Georgina Monthalf.

We walked two blocks on those crowded sidewalks before Phyllida met someone she recognized. “Lady Ormond,” she said as she curtsied to the sharp-faced woman who today was leading a girl still in the schoolroom and a footman in livery.

“Lady Monthalf,” the other replied. “I heard you were in the prime minister’s box at the Royal Albert Hall last night.”

“Actually, he was in ours. Or rather, the Duke of Blackford’s.”

“He’s a friend of your cousin, isn’t he?”

They reminded me of two dogs circling each other, sniffing.

“Yes, he is.” I gave her a decent curtsy.

Outranking me by title and age, she gave me a small nod. “How are you finding our unseasonable heat?”

Phyllida’s tone was aristocratic as she said, “Actually, we’re leaving for the country tomorrow. Lord Harwin’s invited us.”

Surprise and speculation shone in Lady Ormond’s eyes as she glanced at me. Her features kept their polite, distant expression. “Oh, we shall be neighbors, then. We’re going to Gloucestershire also, to the Marquis of Tewes’s estate. This is my granddaughter, Alicia, up from the country for a short visit. We’ve been doing a round of the shops.”

Alicia gave us a nice curtsy and almost managed to hide her twelve-year-old boredom.

Once we passed by, I murmured to Emma, “This is going to complicate things for our burglar if he comes down from London to pass on the drawings. I imagine every inn near Lord Harwin’s will be booked up with people escaping the London heat to take the waters at the spa.”

“It might also make him stand out more when we question the landlords of the inns.”

“And the pubs,” I added. The burglar would have to be somewhere when he wasn’t trying to contact Baron von Steubfeld. Or whoever he planned to contact with the ship plans.

When we saw Lady Bennett in Fortier’s Jewelers, we walked in. Emma waited by the door while Phyllida and I stood on either side of her. “Lady Bennett,” I said.

We curtsied and the shop assistant behind the counter bowed. “What brings you in here, Mrs. Monthalf? Shopping for jewelry?” Lark Bennett asked.

“Wouldn’t that be fun,” I said, trying to hide my alarm at spending money on anything in so expensive a shop. “What are you getting?”

“The clasp on this necklace repaired.” It was a pearl choker with diamonds strung through in an intricate pattern. “I want to take it with me tomorrow. Thank you, Henry. The work is perfect.” She pronounced his name in the French fashion.

“Thank you, madame.” The clerk had a slight French accent.

“Is Fortier’s a French company?” I asked.

“It was, but we’ve been here since the Revolution.” He gave me a small smile. “Everyone who could afford our workmanship came to England.”

Lark Bennett picked up the small pile of bags and the hatbox she was carrying. The gold writing spelling out
Gautier’s
flashed in a sunbeam from the window.

The bell over the door chimed, and from years of habit, I turned to see who’d come in. Lady Peters strode three steps into the shop, blinking in the change from brilliant sunshine to shadow. As soon as she saw us she froze. An instant later her face took on a welcoming smile. I wondered if I was the only one who saw the look of fear or dismay cross her features before she set her expression in place and stepped forward to greet us. She’d worn a similar expression when Lady Bennett had called on her the day we’d been there.

We went through a round of curtsies before I said, “Lady Peters, have you ever seen anything as exquisite as Lady Bennett’s necklace?”

“I’ve seen her wear it before. Truly lovely.” Rosamond Peters’s tone was smooth but less than enthusiastic.

“Have you been lucky in your purchases today?” Phyllida asked.

“So fortunate my maid has had to load them into a carriage, since she couldn’t carry any more. So many last-minute details before going to the country. And you?” Lady Peters, too, carried a hatbox from Gautier’s.

Phyllida drew a cloak of highborn aristocratic reserve about her. “We’ve barely started. Mrs. Monthalf hasn’t been shopping in London before, so we are making a circuit to familiarize her with all the city has to offer.”

Well done, Phyllida
. She was growing into her role. “Are you shopping here today, Lady Peters?” I asked.

“I’m dropping off a chain to have the clasp repaired.” Lady Peters brought out a gold chain with a gold heart-shaped pendant. On the pendant was etched a finely detailed rose.

Phyllida oohed and aahed over the jewelry. The shop owner took the chain and logged it into the large book on the counter before he handed the pendant back to Lady Peters.

“You should hold on to this, milady,” he said with a small bow.

“Yes, of course.” Lady Peters glanced around. “Oh, Lady Bennett, I see we shop at the same milliner.”

Their hatboxes were identical. “Is there anyone in London designing prettier hats?” Lady Bennett asked.

“And a lady can never have too many hats.” Lady Peters dropped her pendant into her purse. “I’ll see you ladies tomorrow at Paddington Station.”

After a round of curtsies, we followed Lady Peters out into the wilting sunshine. She walked away before Lady Bennett said, “I’m off home. Enjoy your shopping, although I imagine this doesn’t rival the markets in Singapore. My sister says the Chinese market there has better silks and spices than we get in London.”

“I haven’t seen any silks or spices here to make a comparison,” I replied. “Good day.” I didn’t want to fake knowledge of the Far East that I lacked. Lady Bennett would no doubt check every statement I made when her sister arrived.

Free of the two ladies, we continued down Regent Street to Piccadilly. When we passed Hatchard’s bookshop, I looked in the windows with the eye of a rival proprietor, but I didn’t dare go in. The staff at Hatchard’s knew me as Georgia Fenchurch of Fenchurch’s Books.

We followed Piccadilly to Old Bond Street, looking in the windows of more shoemakers, hosiers, and glovers. I noticed two more hatboxes from Gautier’s carried past us, drawing Phyllida’s attention. She led us into shop after shop as we climbed the grade up to New Bond Street. I bought a pair of short white kid gloves and some sheer hose. Emma nudged me as a signal to buy her some thin white stockings.

When we reached the milliner’s window, Phyllida enthusiastically rushed us into Gautier’s and found a straw hat with a wide, floppy brim that made her look rakish. Gautier packed her purchase in the same eight-sided brown carton, flat on the top and bottom, that we’d seen several times that day. The only flourish to the container was the name of the store printed on the sides in shiny gold.

We walked up the sidewalk slowly, while I looked for a hire carriage to take us back to the town house. Behind me, I heard a yelp. I turned to see Emma fall to the ground, her packages flying. A young man scooped up Phyllida’s hatbox by the string handle and ran down an alley.

“Stop him!” Phyllida screamed. “Help! Police! Somebody stop him!”

There were few pedestrians out in the heat and Phyllida loved that hat. Abandoning my role as a well-bred lady, I held up my skirt and took off down the alley.

The young man was fast, but he wasn’t clever. I saw him look over his shoulder at me and dart off to his left. Thanks to Emma’s childhood training in the East End, in the cool of the mornings she’d dragged me down every shortcut between the town house and my bookshop. I knew he’d gone down a dead end.

I hurried to the turnoff and then slowed down, catching my breath. Our robber was trying to pull off the grilles over doors and windows, searching in vain for an escape.

Emma ran up to my side, her plain black uniform dirty and her hem torn.

“You okay?” I asked, stalking toward the foolish young man.

She nodded and moved farther to my left. Her knife was in her hand.

The young man saw the knife, dropped the hatbox, and tried to run past us. Emma made a feint with her knife while I slammed my fist into his face. He went down in a sobbing heap.

Emma put her knife away and retrieved the hatbox while I kept a hand on his collar. “What do you want with a hat?”

“The gent said to steal a case jest like that ’un from the lady and bring it to him. ’E didn’t say nothin’ about being chased by ladies with knives.”

“What gent?”

“Dunno. Kept his face hidden behind a white cloth.” The robber wiped at his bloody nose with a dirty kerchief.

“So he was dressed as a gentleman?”

“More like a shop assistant, but real clean.”

Looking at the young man, I wondered what his standards were for clean. “Did he pay you?”

“Half.”

“Well, that’s all you’ll be getting,” Emma said cheerfully as she helped me pull him to his feet and march him between us back to New Bond Street.

The bobby on the beat turned away from Phyllida and came down the alley to meet us. He put handcuffs on the prisoner and marched him toward the nearest station, saying, “You ladies shouldn’t chase after criminals on your own. You might get hurt.”

“’Ere. They’re the ones with the knives. I’m unarmed,” our young robber said.

“Tell it to the magistrate,” the bobby said.

“Do you need us to come with you as witnesses?” I asked.

“If you don’t mind sending your maid with me to speak to the magistrate, we’ll get her home after,” the bobby said.

“Of course. Emma?” I held out my hand, and she gave me the hatbox.

“What’s in there?” the bobby asked.

“A very stylish new hat belonging to Lady Phyllida Monthalf,” Emma replied, while I felt the weight of Emma’s wicked blade slide across the bottom of the box.

“’Ey, not ’er. She’s got a nasty-lookin’ knife.”