Chapter 2
Henry was to avoid society for the next few weeks, but it was not done purposely. He would have liked to dance with the pretty Milly, who tormented his thoughts when he allowed anything other than the business he had to do enter his mind.
He had not appreciated just how much information Edmund had discovered by visiting the less salubrious venues in society, so now with Edmund on his wedding trip and refusing to work as a spy on his return, it was down to Henry to fill the gap until someone else could be recruited.
The one advantage to spending the evening in venues where he now found himself, was that he did not need to be quite as pleasing as the hosts in civilised entertainments demanded. Convenient in his present mood.
He was currently engaged in a card party in a venue that could only be described as a bawdyhouse. It was less respectable than Mrs Langtree’s, which Edmund and Charles had regularly frequented, if such places could be classed by levels of respectability, but it guaranteed a different kind of gentleman, in which Henry was very interested.
The house was relatively clean, and the beer flowed freely, stronger alcohol available for a price. Most of the visitors preferred the cheaper beer, but Henry had opted for a wine of dubious claret. He sat with three other men, playing five-card Loo. He had been sent a note directing him to this specific establishment by another operative, suggesting that he might be able to find out some information about the elusive Joshua Shambles.
The man had gone to ground since that night on the beach at Charles’ estate. Five men had been killed in the fracas, thankfully none of them Henry’s. Four other men had hanged once a very short trial had taken place, and four others had been transported as a result of a second trial, saving their own lives by giving information on their counterparts and the other landings that had occurred on the same night.
The operation had been held up as a huge success; one of the largest co-ordinated secret attacks on England had been foiled, and Henry was a hero in the eyes of the Home Office. Unfortunately, the role of spy was looked down on by most people, so his work and accolades went unnoticed by the population in general, and he continued to be seen purely as a rake about town.
One of the criminals, but not the main ringleader, was Joshua Shambles, a man whom Henry had a particular reason to find, but Shambles had gone to ground, and no one seemed to know where he was. He had been injured in the fracas, but the extent of his injuries was unknown. Henry was desperate to find out what had happened to Joshua, hence his attendance at a seedy bawdyhouse.
The game was going reasonably well, but they were interrupted by one of the girls of the house, sitting uninvited on Henry’s knee.
“Are you not tired of this game, mister?” she asked, wriggling on his knee provocatively.
Henry smiled at the young woman. She looked older than her years, but she was not unattractive. He snaked his free hand around her waist and pulled her closer to him. “What would you suggest I do instead?” he asked with one of his dazzling smiles. He was used to being a draw for ladies of all characters, most were attracted to his dark hair and laughing hazel eyes. If they had known what coldness lay beneath the surface, they would have run in the opposite direction.
“Come, spend some time with me,” she offered, leaning in to kiss him.
Henry welcomed the kiss while his co-players looked on amused. The young woman pulled away from him; too many kisses without payment were bad for business. As she moved she noticed a frown on her chosen one’s face. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “You can have more if you want. You can have anything you want, mister.”
Henry focused on her words. He had enjoyed the kiss; any man in his prime would appreciate a young, attractive woman on his knee, but something had happened during the kiss. A pair of clear grey eyes had flitted into his mind’s eye and, as a result, the moment had been spoiled. They had looked at him with fire before pooling with tears and as suddenly as the image had appeared his ardour was gone.
He was annoyed with himself; he was mooning over an old maid when there was a young, willing and very able girl in his lap. He moved in for another kiss, but his mouth went uncomfortably dry before his lips touched the girl’s, and he groaned, pushing her gently off his knee.
He reached inside his waistcoat pocket and took out a few coins. “Here, take these. Maybe another night but not tonight,” he said roughly, his smile gone.
The girl pouted in disappointment, although she was happy with the amount of coins she had been given. It was uncommon to have such an attractive specimen within their walls; she had wanted to enjoy her evening rather than being forced to pretend enjoyment with some of the other men who frequented the establishment. Realising that the moment had passed, she moved off to find another, more willing, partner. Time was money after all.
Henry was tiring of being affected by one kiss and from a woman who had less life experience than he had in a month! The whole situation was ridiculous in the extreme. He ordered another bottle of wine; the memories would be deadened one way or another.
*
The man walked through the streets, his collar up, his shoulders hunkered down against the night air. That is what anyone passing him would have presumed; the reality was that Joshua Shambles did not like looking anyone in the eye these days.
He had managed to escape from the beach in Dorset through sheer determination. Charles had lashed out, his knife in his hand and had sliced a gash across Joshua’s cheek. It had been unexpected, Joshua never presuming once that the young fop would ever fight back; he would have a constant reminder of that lapse of judgement for the remainder of his days.
The scream he had uttered had been caused by the pain ripping through his cheek, and he had stumbled backwards. Everything had happened fast: the light extinguished and a gunshot went off. He had stumbled to the opening of the cave a few steps behind Claude close enough to see Claude sending one of the nobs sprawling across the sand with one of his punches.
Joshua had used the diversion to head towards the cliff path. There was enough moonlight to see the excise man at the bottom of the path, and he had climbed up to the pathway from the beach, avoiding the officer. It had cost him greatly to remain quiet and move carefully when all he wanted to do was roll on the ground and writhe in agony, but he realised his life was in the balance. If he was caught there was no doubt he would hang.
Keeping to the shadows he had headed down the drive of the house, heading inland. It was clear from the lights appearing in the house that the commotion was waking its residents. The explosion on the beach even made Joshua pause; things were not going as planned, and the sooner he left the coast behind the better.
He had almost collapsed as daylight approached. He saw a farm cart trundling down the lane he was walking. He had to keep away from the main turnpike lest he be spotted by one of the excise men. It would be common knowledge by now that he was injured. The blood on his clothing would cause suspicion in the most gullible of minds.
He waved the cart to a halt and held onto the side of it for support. “I’ve been robbed, sir. I need help,” he uttered before falling to the ground in a faint.
When he awoke, he was in a bed. The straw mattress was not the most comfortable he had slept on, but it was better than any prison cell would have supplied. He was able to spin a convincing story to the farmer and his wife, who listened with horror at his tale. Seven miles inland, they had not heard anything about what had happened on the Dorset beach the previous evening, and it was likely it would be weeks before they did.
They tried to persuade him to have a doctor called for, but he refused. Looking in the mirror, he could see the horror that was his face and knew that without help the scar would look horrific for the rest of his days. It was a sacrifice he would have to make. A doctor moved around the area far more than two peasant farmers did, and he would be at risk of discovery.
He stayed with the farmer and his wife for two weeks; when he could move around without too much pain, it was time to move on. He paid them for their kindness to him and left them, promising to let them know how he fared while knowing full well he would never be in touch with them again.
Travelling slowly and mainly at night, it took days before he arrived in London. There he had to arrange for someone to visit his lodgings in the dead of night and retrieve his worldly goods. Setting up a room in an even more undesirable area of London had been necessary. All pretence of being a gentleman who had fallen on hard times was gone. He now looked like the rogue he was.
Time had passed before he made contact with those who had been in on the organisation of the operation for landing French assassins on English soil. Everyone was laying low whilst the furore and searches were going on as a result of some of the men talking.
He had found out that Claude had killed himself by causing the explosion on the beach. Joshua had some sympathy with that; the man probably could see how things were unfolding and did not wish to hang. Most of Joshua’s acquaintances were now either swinging from the gallows or had been transported. It was a dark time for Joshua.
The whole situation was made worse by the fact that he had heard about the wedding of Clara and Edmund and was fully aware of when Charles was to marry his sweetheart. Joshua was totally committed to helping the French to gain the upper hand, but he was determined as part of that he was going to wreak revenge on those who had foiled his plans.
There was no likelihood that Joshua’s determination would mellow as time passed. Every time he saw someone new, and they recoiled at his scar, he would grit his teeth and reaffirm his promise of vengeance. Someone was going to pay for what had happened to him.
*
As Henry walked through the dark streets, making his way back to Belgrave Square, he silently fumed. There seemed to be no trace of Joshua. The man could not have disappeared, and he certainly needed to go out in some form of society or other. He was convinced he was somewhere in London.
Henry had to work out a way of expanding the search. He could not do it all himself; he would not be welcome at some of the places Joshua could be frequenting; even Edmund with his previous dissolute behaviour would fail to gain entry in some establishments in London that could hold needed information.
He needed all operatives to be able to recognise who they were looking for. National security was at risk. He needed to come up with some sort of description for the wanted man. It was the only way to track him down, showing those who sought Shambles clearly who Joshua was; only then could he be found.
And Henry was determined that Shambles
would
be found.
Chapter 3
Henry approached Charles at the Wilson’s ball. He had finally thought of a brilliant idea that would give him the opportunity to find Joshua. Unfortunately, it would require putting himself in the company of Milly. Even more unfortunately, he found himself much too eager to see the termagant again. He was disturbed at the force of the need he felt when he thought of her.
He consoled himself that he was doing this for King and country, but on both counts, it was more for himself. No one knew the real reason he had started on his quest. To admit it to anyone else was unthinkable; he would open himself up to ridicule in regards to both situations, so he continued on his erroneous mission.
“Baker! How the devil are you?” Henry greeted the young man.
“Very well, My Lord!” Charles smiled in response. “More so now I have only a week to wait until I am married.”
“Most would dread the union ̶ no more freedom,” Henry said somewhat mockingly.
“I’ve had enough freedom to last me for the rest of my life!” Charles said with feeling. “I’m much happier at the thought of spending my days making my sweet girl happy!”
Henry masked his true expression, keeping the false smile firmly in place. Another one becomes a smitten fool, he thought before continuing. “I was hoping for a dance with your cousin, but don’t seem to be able to find her. Is she unwell?”
“Milly? No! She has a strong constitution that one! Nothing fazes her. She’s keeping house for me before the wedding, but has expressed a desire to stay at home. I think she is missing Clara’s company.”
“Oh, I see.” Henry knew exactly what had upset Milly’s equilibrium; she was clearly not quite as controlled as her cousin thought, but for some strange reason the action had also upset his own, so he wisely kept his thoughts to himself. “I have a favour to ask of her; perhaps I should call on you both tomorrow?”
Charles’ face dropped. “I’m expected at the Beresford’s house at a damned early hour, My Lord,” Charles said, his voice lowered. “I’m meeting with Mr Beresford to go through a few queries he has about the wedding. It all seems a lot of bother over nothing to me.”
Henry smiled in genuine amusement. So much for indulging his bride to be; Charles was already bored with wedding preparations. “I’ll still call on Miss Holland; it would be a pleasure to see her again.”
Charles did not think to ask what favour an Earl would want from his spinster cousin and was soon further distracted by the beautiful Miss Beresford and her golden curls, blue eyes and tinkling laugh. Henry moved away as soon as was polite; he really had no idea why men were attracted to such slips of girls. He would be bored with such a chit in five minutes, and a tinkling laugh made him seriously think of strangulation.
*
The impeccably dressed Henry was led into the drawing room in number six Half Moon Street at the end of morning calls. Milly’s colour heightened at his entrance, and Henry’s smile widened as he saw her discomfort. “I take it your cousin did not advise you of my intention to pay a call this morning?” he asked drily.
“No! He didn’t, but please be seated, My Lord.” Milly sat down after curtseying and busied herself with making a cup of tea for her guest.
“I was saddened not to have the opportunity to dance with you last night; I know dancing is a pleasure you enjoy.”
Milly flushed. “I do, but I find it preferable to miss the evening altogether rather than watch from the chaperones area.”
“But you are no longer a chaperone.”
“I’m no longer a debutante either. The chaperone area, or the wallflower benches, they are both effectively the same. I watch, not partake.” There was no resentment in Milly’s tone, just an acceptance of her great age; at eight and twenty it was very unlikely her company would be sought out by anyone wishing to dance. In any entertainment the hosts always ensured that the younger, more lively in society were in attendance to ensure a successful evening. Milly had not been considered part of that set for some time.
“Matches are made even at the end of a season, Miss Holland,” Henry could not resist verbally prodding her just a little.
Milly laughed; it was not a tinkle like Miss Beresford’s but a real laugh of amusement, which made Henry smile. “Have you noticed the unmarried ladies at the end of a season, My Lord?”
“Obviously not in the respect that you have. Tell me more.”
“There is a look of desperation in their eyes while they assess the poor souls they’d have rejected at the start of the season. One can almost see the thought processes as they try to decide whether to accept an undesirable proposal or risk another season. Their dilemma is almost palpable.”
“Oh, Miss Holland! You are a delight! This is exactly why we get on so well; we have similar levels of cynicism.”
Milly stopped smiling. “I would hope not, My Lord. And as I recall, we don’t get on well. I, for one, am thankful our views are completely at odds with each another.”
Henry was stung by her cool tone; he had really been enjoying her company. “I see; well, in that case I shall stick to what I came here for in the first place.”
“I would appreciate that.”
Henry could not but admire her matter-of-fact tone. “I recall your drawing ability from the sketches you showed me during our time in Dorset, and I wondered if you would do a sketch for me?”
Milly recalled with a blush the one time she had thought Henry was a decent man and not the unfeeling beast she now considered him. He had warned her to keep one of her drawings a secret because she had inadvertently drawn two of the men who were intent on using the beach for illegal activity. He had seemed so concerned for her safety, but now it seemed the reality was that he had not wished his planned ambush to suffer any set-back.
“What would you wish me to do?”
“Mr Shambles has gone to ground since that night,” Henry started. “We’ve done everything we can to try to find him but to no avail.”
“Would it not be best to leave things as they are then?” Milly asked. “Surely if he is hiding, he won’t try to do anything again?”
“If only that where the case,” Henry responded. “No, he will be up to his old tricks soon enough. I need to find him before he can arrange something on the scale of last time. If they’d have succeeded, it could have caused death on our streets, and we don’t want the nation in a state of panic with Napoleon already running riot all over Europe.”
“What can I do?” Milly read the papers; the chance of an invasion was a very real fear for most of the population. Each success Napoleon achieved seemed to overshadow his defeats. Everyone was being urged to help in the fight against the tyrant, and Joshua Shambles was heavily involved.
“Can you produce a drawing of Joshua? I know your ability; I’ve seen it and, if you can reproduce his likeness, I can have it printed and circulated far and wide. I believe it’s our best chance of tracking him down.”
Milly thought for a moment. She did have a good memory and could produce a picture of Joshua; his scowling face was imprinted on her memory, but it would mean more contact with Henry, and that would certainly upset her equanimity.
She sighed; there was no choice really; she owed it to her country if nothing else. “I will do as you ask. Could I see the printing process though? I admit to being curious as to how it would be done.”
“I can’t see why not,” Henry said with a small smile. He had been convinced for a moment she was going to turn him down, so he was ready to agree to almost anything to gain her co-operation.
“If you give me a few days, My Lord, I should have some sketches for you to choose from.”
“Thank you, Miss Holland. I appreciate your help. I’ve no need to remind you that this needs to be carried out in the utmost secrecy?”
“I will not utter a word of our conversation or my task,” Milly assured him. Even
for one who never trusted anybody, Henry was completely sure of Milly’s word. She was probably the only person in the world he trusted; an honour she would never be made aware of.
*
It was four long days before Milly saw Henry once more. She could not have refused him anything when it was to do with the country’s security, but she was a bundle of nerves at the thought of seeing him again. She was disgusted with herself; he half irritated her, half made her want to swoon at his feet like a silly debutante. He was so handsome with the ruggedness of his square jaw and long nose, the high cheekbones and shrewd hazel eyes. His features were finished to perfection by the dazzling smile he could bestow when the mood took him. She could honestly say she had never seen features made to so perfectly complement each other. It was very distracting.
She could also remember the feel of his lips when he had taken her kisses. Oh yes, she had given them willingly, but he had taken what he wanted and then pushed her away. In some respects it had been worse than the first time she had been pushed away, but she suspected her perspective might change when she had to face up to that rejection when she returned home. A long absence had probably lessened that pain.
Henry was shown into the drawing room, noticing with pleasure Milly’s figure, visible in her light cotton day gown. The dress she wore was emerald green, not as dark as a woman of her age could wear but deeper than that of a girl in her first seasons. It suited her colouring, which was enhanced because of her blush. She was quite tall, which was attractive to a man who usually stood a head above most of his acquaintances. She was slim; there was no widening of her girth even though she had passed the first bloom of youth. She had a pretty face rather than a beautiful one, but it was her eyes that seemed to look all the way to his soul that perturbed him and haunted his dreams. He had never been drawn to anyone in his life before, and he was fighting the feelings with all his might; whether he was being successful or not depended on what excuse he used to try and justify his seeking her out.
“I’ve made a few sketches,” Milly started. “I thought it would be best to give you a choice.”
“I’m already convinced of your ability to capture a likeness; I’m sure they will all be well executed,” Henry replied, honestly.
They were unexpectedly interrupted by Charles. Neither wanted to explain about the drawing, so Charles was served tea by Milly, and the conversation turned to inane topics.
“I was saying to Milly that she should stay on after I’ve been married. There’s no point leaving town when Clara will be passing through sometime afterwards,” Charles said, his open manner disclosing issues that Milly would rather have kept private.
“Ah, so the newlyweds return soon, do they?” Henry asked with interest.
“Perhaps, although they haven’t sent firm plans yet. I believe their visit, when it is made, will only be of a short duration,” Milly said. “They are removing themselves to the Hampshire countryside. Lord Chertsey is still determined to keep Clara out of harm’s way.”
There was meaning in the words that Henry understood perfectly. “Chertsey was clear that he would not be contacting me again; don’t worry your pretty little head, Miss Holland. I’m not able to embroil him in anything he doesn’t wish to get involved with.”
Milly had bristled at the patronising words but remained calm. “I’m sure you would try, though, so I’m thankful they shan’t be staying for long.”
“Will you be following them to Hampshire?”
“No. I said I will visit but not yet. I am to return home in four days, the day of Charles’ wedding.”
“Where do your family live?”
“In Farnham,” Milly responded, not wishing this conversation to continue. For some reason the thought of not seeing Henry again perturbed her. If they continued talking about her departure she might betray some of her inner turmoil.
Charles, for once, seemed to sense Milly’s discomfort and stood up, hoping to break up the grouping. “Milly, could you give me the reticule you’ve made for Miss Beresford, please? If Lord Grinstead will excuse me, I’d like to deliver it to her today.”
“Of course, I will excuse you,” Henry said as Milly stood to leave the room. “If I don’t see you before, I wish you every happiness on your marriage.”
“Thank you!” Charles said with a bow.
The cousins left Henry alone, but not before Milly had looked astonished at hearing Henry’s words. Her reaction left him chuckling as the door was closed behind the departing cousins.
He reached for the drawing book that had been placed at Milly’s side ready to show him the pictures. He began to study each picture as he turned the pages. She was good. She had captured Joshua perfectly: the permanent scowl, the too small eyes. Every feature had been reproduced on the paper.
There were five drawings, each of which was as good as the last. Henry reached blank pages and was going to put the book down when absentmindedly he flicked a few of the pages. Seeing a picture towards the end of the book, he went back to look at it.
He was speechless. It was as if he was staring into a looking glass, the likeness of himself was so great. There was no colour on the picture, but it looked as lifelike as any portrait. Then Henry realised something, it was not him really. The expression was softer than any he ever wore; there was a smile on his lips, when he was fully aware he usually pinched his lips together. It was the same with the eyes, they seemed to be amused, and he was rarely amused. No. She had softened him. She obviously was not as good as he had thought.