The Scarlet Spy (32 page)

Mistress Mavis brushed one of the drooping ostrich feathers from her cheek. “You are saying that he, too, is in danger?”

Sofia quickly gave the woman a terse explanation of the situation, omitting only the most sensitive information about Lynsley and the existence of the Merlins.

The matron’s expression did not change a whit during the tale of drugs, debauchery, and government corruption. Given her profession, she had probably heard far wilder stories, thought Sofia.

“She’s not mad,” murmured Harkness.

Mistress Mavis maintained a measured silence as she looked back and forth between the two of them. No doubt trying to decide whether Harkness was also a stark, raving lunatic.

“Nor am I imagining the threat to Lord Osborne. As you have seen, these people will not hesitate to kill,” said Sofia. “Have you any weapon in this establishment?”

To her credit, the matron did not bat an eye at the request. “Do you know how to load and handle one of the new Land-Pattern pistols?”

“I’m a crack shot with any firearm, be it a pocket pistol, a Baker rifle, or a Bundukh Torador,” replied Sofia calmly.

“I had a feeling you might be. No pampered young lady has muscles like yours.” The matron smoothed at her skirts. “Would you care for a poniard as well?”

“All the better.”

“I will be back in a moment.” As she turned for the door, Mistress Mavis nudged Harkness into action. “Come, Nicky, what are you waiting for? Have your carriage out front in five minutes.”

“I will be there in four.”

Sofia had already tied back her hair in a simple plait. Flexing her shoulders, she spun in perfect balance and cut an imaginary sword stroke through the air.

“Make that three.”

Osborne reined the lathered horses to halt outside the red brick town house. Not a flicker of light shone at any of the windows.
Was he too late?
De Winton and his henchmen would have had plenty of time to make their murderous way from Southwark to Mayfair.

His hands fisted as he slipped down from the driver’s box and edged through the open entrance gate. He had not thought to ask for a weapon at the Rake’s Retreat. He would have to rely on stealth and speed rather than steel.

So far, there was no sign of the Scarlet Knights.

Making his way around to the back of the house, Osborne found the gap in the boxwood bushes and crept across the garden terrace to the stretch of mullioned doors. They were all locked, but after wrapping his hand in his handkerchief, he punched out one of the windowpanes and drew back the bolt.

Still no sign of life.
The crackle of broken glass did not appear to have roused any of the household. After waiting a fraction longer, Osborne stepped over the shards and crossed through the Garden Room into the corridor. He turned into the entrance hall and was about to start up the staircase when a metallic click sounded right behind him.

“Stop where you are.”

He froze in his tracks. Given the darkness and the upturned collar of the caped driving coat, it was no wonder the lady did not recognize him.

“Now turn slowly. And be warned—one false move and I’ll blow a hole through your heart.”

He did as she ordered. “Please hold your fire, Lady Serena.”

“Osborne?”

Relief flooded through him on seeing her unharmed. “In the flesh,” he quipped, a crooked smile coming to his lips.

Her pistol was still aimed at his chest. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to warn you. I don’t mean to alarm you, but you are in grave danger.”

“Danger?” she repeated.

“Yes, I …” Osborne hesitated, unsure of how to explain the web of intrigue that had caught both of them in its design. “The story is a long one, and we haven’t much time. Please trust me when I tell you that De Winton and his friends are spawns of Satan. They tried to murder the contessa earlier this evening, and as we speak, they may be on the way here.”

Lady Serena’s face looked ghostly pale in the light of her lone candle. “Lady Sofia—”

“Is safe for the moment,” he said quickly. “I have her hidden in an exclusive bordello near De Winton’s Puff of Paradise.”

“Forgive me, but what you are saying defies the imagination.”

“I know, I know.” Aware that his disheveled appearance was not helping to inspire much confidence, he tucked his hands into his pockets. Despite the handkerchief, he had cut himself on the jagged glass. The sight of blood might frighten her into pulling the trigger. “However, I assure you that it’s all true.”

“Those are very serious allegations, Osborne.” She bit at her lower lip. “I’m sorry. But before I can believe you, I’ll have to hear more of what proof you have.”

“I can’t say I blame you.” He darted a look out the rosette window. The street still looked to be deserted. But for how long? By now, De Winton and Sforza must have discovered that Sofia was not lying dead in one of the opium den’s boudoirs. “However, might I suggest that we find a more secure spot?”

“Let us go up to my private study.” Lady Serena gestured for him to continue up the stairs. “The door is quite thick, and the lock is sturdy.”

He waited until she had lit the colza lamp on her desk before speaking again. “Lady Serena, I am not drunk or deranged. Adam De Winton has reason to be seeking my demise—and yours.”

“Why?” She was maintaining a remarkably cool composure considering the circumstances.

“Because we both know too much about his activities here in Town.” The pistol was still pointed at him, but he couldn’t fault her for being cautious.

“He is not the only gentleman to dabble in drugs,” she replied. “I can’t see him trying to kill any of us over a bit of opium.”

“Be assured, it’s far more than a bit. But even so, that’s the least of his wrongdoings. His real operations involve a complex web of corruption and collusion that stretches from London to Bombay. You see, by substituting inferior goods or faking phantom shipments to our armies abroad, he and his friends make an obscene profit on a number of large military contracts. That our soldiers go into battle with gunpowder that won’t fire or boots that fall apart in the dead of winter doesn’t bother him in the least.”

“H-how did you discover all this?”

“I didn’t,” he admitted. “It was Lady Sofia who opened my eyes to what was going on.”

Lady Serena frowned slightly. “How and why did she come to have an interest in De Winton’s affairs?” she mused.

He shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I am not at liberty to reveal Lady Sofia’s secrets. Suffice it to say, there is more to her than meets the eye.” He allowed a fleeting smile. “Indeed, her courage and cleverness are even more striking than her beauty.”

A spark of emotion seemed to flare in Lady Serena’s eyes.
Jealousy?
He recalled with some guilt how his flirtations with her had become rather heated of late. Perhaps she had mistaken his attentions for a deeper, more serious sentiment on his part.

Or perhaps he had merely mistaken the flicker of lamplight on her golden lashes. For when she replied, her voice held no hint of hurt feelings. “So it seems. I take it she has proof of all this? Otherwise it will be only her word against De Winton’s. And as you point out, he has a number of influential friends.”

“So does Sofia,” he answered. “But, yes, she has enough incriminating evidence to send certain men to the gallows. And once the evidence is turned over to the authorities, I’m sure the miscreants will quickly finger the leader of the group.”

“She has not yet handed over the proof?” Lady Serena moved to the window and peeked out through the draperies.

“I was just on my way to alert her … contact in the government. However, I thought it vital to stop here first and warn you.”

“How fortunate I am that you are a true gentleman.” But rather than reassure her, his words seemed to put her more on edge. He saw her grip tighten on the pistol. “Who else have the two of you discovered to be working with De Winton?”

“I’m afraid a number of your friends are part of the sordid scheme. Andover, Roxbury, and Concord for sure. Others will undoubtedly be implicated by the documents.” He flashed an encouraging smile. “Don’t worry—they all will get the punishment they deserve.”

A noise from downstairs caused her to start.

“Damn.” Osborne went very still. It sounded as if someone was rattling the front door. “Can you see anything outside?”

Lady Serena took another look. “Yes,” she replied flatly. “A carriage. It looks to be De Winton’s.”

He spun around for the door. “I’ll go down and tell him that the game is over. He has no reason to do you harm. Let me have your pistol. Then lock the door—”

“Sit down, Osborne.”

He turned to find that Lady Serena was once again drawing a bead on his chest. “I know how confusing this all must be,” he exclaimed. “But you are making a terrible mistake. I swear, De Winton is the dangerous dastard, not me.”

Light glinted off the gun barrel as she took a step toward him. But the look of anger in her eyes was even more lethal as she suddenly swung the butt at his head.

Stunned by the blow, Osborne fell to the carpet.

“Adam,” she called. “Up here.”

He was dimly aware of more than one set of footsteps on the stairs.

Sure enough, De Winton was not alone.

“What’s this sodding little prick doing here?” demanded Sforza. “The della Silveri bitch would be dead now if he hadn’t interfered with our plans. He’s ruined everything!”

“Calm down, Lorenzo,” commanded Lady Serena. “All is not lost quite yet.”

De Winton said nothing, but as Osborne raised his head, a vicious kick caught him flush on the jaw.

“Control yourself too, Adam. There is still a chance that we can emerge from this unscathed, but we will have to work quickly.” She set down her pistol and opened the top drawer of her curio cabinet. “Get him up and into that chair.” A wave of her hand indicated the slat-backed desk chair rather than one of the leather armchairs.

“Why not just kill him on the spot?” asked De Winton.

She tossed him a length of cording. “Because he knows where the contessa is right now. We find her, and we find the papers she’s stolen from Concord’s study. Apparently she’s not yet turned any evidence over to the authorities.” Lady Serena untied the fastenings around a slim roll of black velvet. “So, we may still be in business, gentlemen.”

Though his face was still half numb from the force of De Winton’s kick, Osborne managed a curl of his lip. “Hell will freeze over before I tell you anything about Sofia’s whereabouts.”

“Oh, you will talk far before that time comes, Osborne.” She unrolled the cloth to reveal a set of exotic scalpels, each tucked into its own thin pocket. “And then you shall scream. And then you will beg for a bullet to the brain to put you out of your misery.”

At Sofia’s signal, Harkness drew his team to a halt in the shadows. “Trouble?” he asked when she returned from a quick look down the street.

“It appears that Osborne is not the only visitor to the lady’s town house,” she whispered. “I’m going in. You must go straight on to Lord Lynsley’s residence—not the family mansion on Grosvenor Square but his private abode.” She gave the directions. “Tell him about this place and the Puff of Paradise. He will know what to do.”

Harkness shook his head. “I can’t allow a lady to take all the risks while I trot off to get help,” he murmured. “Code of honor and all that.”

“I’m trained for this sort of thing, Lord Harkness.”

He looked doubtful. “With all due respect, Lady Sofia, I can’t imagine what sort of training would give you an edge over any man in a fight.”

There was no time to argue the fine points of noblesse oblige. “See the sign on the door across the street?”

“Yes, but—”

She whipped out the knife that Mistress Mavis had given her and sent it flying through the air. “How about
that
sort of training, Lord Harkness?” she said as its point hit smack in the center of the lettering. “Unless you can do better, be on your way.”

He hesitated, but only for an instant. “Godspeed, Lady Sofia.”

“And you,” she murmured before moving quickly across the cobblestones to retrieve her weapon. A last look around showed the phaeton disappearing into the mists.

She was on her own.

Keeping close to the low wall lining the street, she made her way to Lady Serena’s residence. De Winton’s carriage had drawn to a halt by the iron gates, and the coachman sat slouched on his perch, his collar turned up to ward off the rising breeze. It took only a moment to render him unconscious. After trussing his hands with the lash of his whip, Sofia turned her attention to the entrance.

The front door was slightly ajar. No light shone through the crack. Like the rest of the town house, the entrance hall was as dark as a tomb. Quelling the urge to draw her steel and plunge ahead, she forced herself to make a more measured approach. The Academy fencing master had often counseled that probing for a weakness was often a far more effective way to gain victory than trying to overpower an enemy with a slashing assault.

Ducking through the boxwood plantings, Sofia flattened herself to the brick and inched to the edge of the casement windows. From there, she angled a look inside.
Nothing.
She gave it another minute, watching for any shift of darkness within the darkness. Her patience was rewarded—a wink of movement caught her eye just as she was about to turn away.

The man’s black beard and dusky skin made his face nearly invisible in the dappling of moonlight. His tunic and pantaloons were a deep indigo as well, which blended into the midnight shadows. It was the flicker of metal in his pointed turban that gave his presence away. Squinting, Sofia could just make out his shape. He was well over six feet tall and broad as a Brahmin bull. How Lady Serena had come to have a Sikh from Punjab in her employ was no doubt a question that would greatly interest Lord Lynsley.

But right now her only concern was putting him out of action. No small feat, seeing that his sect was one of the most feared group of warriors in all of Asia.

Think.
Sofia didn’t need the quickening thud of her heart to remind her that Osborne’s life depended on her strategy. She wouldn’t get a second chance.