Palace of Spies (25 page)

“I’ve already told you, I will appeal—”

“Oh, you are not leaving through the front door, my dear,” he said. “You are going to take advantage of the jewels and money and leave by the back, very, very quietly.”

What was he doing, suggesting such a thing? But a moment later, I understood him. If I stole away, quite literally the thief in the night, I could never tell where I’d been and what I had done, not if I wanted to keep my neck out of a noose.

Mr. Peele smiled, a small smile indeed, but all the more chilling for the amount of triumph distilled into that tiny, precise curve.

“You have already contacted your cousin. Well and good.” He folded his hands behind himself, and for a moment he looked enough like my uncle that it raised goose bumps all down my arms. He might have been guessing about who it was that I had entered into communication with, but it was not a difficult guess to make. “Let her help you to a swift retreat with as much as you can contrive to carry.”

“Why?” I asked him. It was the only question I had left in me.

“Because with Abbott’s departure and what I have seen now in this room, it is clearly time for this nonsense to end,” he replied calmly. “And because if you do not, I will take it upon myself to expose you for the fraud that you are.” He paused, as if some new and unexpected thought had just occurred to him. “I would take the garnets, if I were you. I believe they are valued at five hundred pounds.”

He walked out of the room and shut the door. I sat down in the chair nearest the fire and stayed there for a very long time. I waited for fear to set me trembling, as it had so many times during my rash adventure. But no tremors came. Instead, bits and pieces of understanding dropped into place, slowly, like coins falling at the card table.

Of them all, Mr. Peele really was in this scheme for the money. Mr. Peele was threatening me, yet again. He wanted me frightened, and yet he did not want me to stay and be obedient. He commanded me to be gone. He might well be having me watched to make sure I complied. A blackmailer would know whom to bribe, and when and how to receive news of me. He could be watching for the moment when I fled the palace, presumably under cover of darkness, with Francesca’s jewels and money, especially those garnets valued at five hundred pounds. He might even take it into his head to follow me as I made my way down deserted roads to some secure country retreat. He was a “tolerable shot,” and “passable with a sword,” but preferred to leave bloodshed to others. But even I knew that men who had no such qualms could be hired in the less reputable quarters of London town.

Would even Mr. Tinderflint stop one moment to wonder at the robbery and death of a girl who had turned thief? Of course he would not. No more than he would question the death of his nervous and exhausted ward when she fell low with a fever.

This whole time, my eyes had been lowered, taking in the details of my hems, the toes of my slippers, and my workbasket. Slowly, I remembered kicking that basket underneath the chair when last I pulled out Lady Francesca’s sketch. Now, however, it rested tidily beside the hearth.

I lifted the basket up. I removed the cloth and colored threads. And the padded bottom I had added, and the layers of tissue.

I removed nothing else. Because there was nothing left to remove.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

“There you are, Francesca! Oh, you poor dear!”

Those were the words Molly Lepell greeted me with as she walked, wholly uninvited, through my chamber door two hours later.

At that time, I was kneeling in the midst of a mess of embroidery thread and unmended lace, staring at the dying fire. I had madly searched through Mrs. Abbott’s empty chamber and my writing desk, even turned over my pillows and bedsheets, in case in some fever dream of a moment I had moved the sketches to another location. But there was nothing. All Francesca’s sketches, save for the one I still had tucked into my sleeve, were gone. They had been there this morning. They were not there now. Mr. Peele had taken them away.

Molly sank to her knees beside me, her bright blue skirts billowing around her, and grasped my hands. “I know everything. And it’s abominable!”

Molly’s words speared through the cloud of despair, and they drew a swift, and loud, response.

“You
KNOW!
”

“Of course I do! Sophy is practically parading her through the palace. Fran, you mustn’t let this dishearten you!”

I stared at Molly Lepell. She stared at me. “What are you talking about?”

“What do you think I’m talking about? Sophy Howe has stolen your maid.”

I opened my mouth. I closed it again. I realized I had better do something else, if only to disguise the fact that I currently bore a striking resemblance to a madwoman.

“Oh, Molly!” I flung myself into her arms. “She just did it to be spiteful. I’m sure she did!”

“Why else does the Howe do anything? Fran, you ninny, you should be thanking her!” Molly grabbed both my elbows and raised me to my feet. Apparently so it would be easier to give me a solid shake. “The woman was plaguing your heart out.”

I blotted at my eyes with the back of my hand. The fact of Mr. Peele finding and stealing Francesca’s sketches had driven out of my head all consideration that Mrs. Abbott might have turned her coat. Now, as my thoughts struggled to right themselves, I saw it made perfect sense. Sophy had threatened to steal her, and Mrs. Abbott had declared shortly after that that she did not need me so much as might be thought. One of them, or both, had been planning this for some time. The question was not why did the Abbott leave the firm of Tinderflint and Peele at this moment, but why did she leave at all? What did she hope to gain in Sophy Howe’s employ? Did she think she could use Sophy to get to Robert? Why would she need to? Mrs. Abbott and Robert were servants together. Involving our silken set in spying or quarreling between them would only cause complications.

“Here, sit down.” Molly guided us both over to the sofa and, being Molly, returned at once to essentials. “You look a mess, Fran. Have you had anything to eat this morning?” I shook my head, and she got up at once in a great flouncing of muslin and lace and left the room. She returned a moment later. “I’ve sent my woman down for a breakfast. In the meantime, I will play lady’s maid for you. The weather’s cleared, and Her Royal Highness will be walking this morning, so we have to be ready.”

“I don’t think I can, Molly,” I made myself whisper. “I shall have to have a headache.” A headache is among the most versatile tools available to a delicate lady, nearly as useful on a moment’s notice as “feeling faint.”

“You can’t have a headache,” she told me. “You would be leaving Sophy alone with the other ladies. Within five minutes, everyone will believe you’re looking for a way out of your wager, or that you’ve worked out a way to cheat.”

“Everyone?” I looked at her pleadingly.

“Sophy Howe talks enough to qualify as everyone, and you know it. Come, now.” Molly threaded her arm through mine. “I can have you decent in a trice.” She towed me toward the dressing room with that strength of purpose and arm she was capable of displaying. “Let’s just see what you have.”

I sat in front of my mirrored table with hands clasped while Molly sorted dresses with an efficiency that would have done credit to Mrs. Abbott. “Here. You shall wear the light green damask.” She held up the mantua for my approval. “It will do nicely with the petticoat you already have on. Then we’ll sort out that hair of yours.”

Molly tutted and exclaimed but asked no awkward questions as she unlaced my simple dress, pulled my stays tighter, and generally forced me into a gown much more suited to being seen in the train of Her Royal Highness. I admit I was scarce listening to Molly’s words. The questions drumming in my thoughts quite drowned out her chatter. Where was Mr. Peele, and what was he doing with the sketches? Would they mean anything to him? If he did understand them, what then? What would he do when he found out Mrs. Abbott was with Sophy Howe? She had to know he would do so. Whatever she had planned, he surely wouldn’t leave her much time to finish it. But what was she planning, and why, and why did she need Sophy Howe?

And what was I going to do about it? Or indeed, about anything at all, now that I had Mr. Peele waiting for me to take my abrupt and felonious leave?

“. . . and honestly, I don’t know what’s gotten into you since you’ve been back, Fran,” Molly was saying overhead. “Sneaking about, staying up until all hours, deliberately pulling Sophy’s nose. You never behaved so before. Keep still,” she ordered as she took up my hair brush.

“I barely remember what I was like before,” I said to our reflections as Molly brushed my hair back and dipped her rosy fingers into the pomade jar so she could form and arrange the curls.

“Well, you laughed much more, for one thing. You and Mary were quite impossible once you started into a fit of giggles. You weren’t at all interested in the princess’s philosophical gentlemen, either.” Molly paused, as if on the brink of some great revelation. “Mother always did warn me that overmuch reading was bad for a girl, and I think you’re the proof.” She looked at the two of us there in the glass. “What are you doing to yourself, Fran?” she asked with sudden, soft solemnity.

I couldn’t possibly answer that. So I asked an entirely different question, and one to which Molly might just know the answer.

“Why does Sophy hate me so? What have I done to her? It can’t be because of Robert. It simply
can’t
.”

“No, I rather expect it’s because of the money.”

Money?
My jaw dropped open until I was executing a fine imitation of a codfish. Molly rolled her bright eyes again.

“Honestly, did you think no one would find out? Especially as this is Sophy we’re talking about.” She sighed deeply. “Oh, Fran. You’re so good, and so kind. That’s why I tried to warn you against Sophy. She’s no one’s friend. She’s only out for what she can get.”

“Aren’t we all?” I murmured, forgetting my role for a bitter moment.

“Yes, of course, dear. But the problem with the Howe is she enjoys it too much. The rest of us . . . well, we just do as we must.” Molly busied herself with the brush for another few moments. “Sophy is one of those contrary sorts who is convinced people only do her favors so they can humiliate her later. She expects you to make some demand on her and is going to try to ruin you before you can. I can’t think what you were about.”

Neither could I, of course, so I settled for the obvious response. “I thought she’d just pay me back.”

“Well, that was your mistake, wasn’t it? Sophy hasn’t got a bean, and for some reason, she can’t seem to find herself a protector, which surely has nothing to do with her amiable and forthright temperament.”

We both paused long enough to provide a silent acknowledgment of this twist of irony. But inside, I thought how this might be what drew Mrs. Abbott to take service with Sophy Howe. If the Abbott had found out Francesca had lent Sophy money, she might easily believe Sophy Howe had some hand in her daughter’s death. She might even have discovered Sophy had some hold over Francesca, perhaps through Robert, or beyond Robert, all the way to those friends in the North.

A shiver ran through me, and I realized I had let the silence linger far too long.

“I can’t believe Sophy told anyone about the loans,” I said. “She’s so proud.”

“What makes you think she told me?” exclaimed Molly. “I can put two and two together, Fran, and so can plenty of others. In fact, a number of us were surprised that it was you who left court, and not Sophy.”

Indeed, it was lucky for Francesca that there was this business of the money and Sophy Howe, I thought wearily. It was so obviously the cause of her troubles that no one would look far for another reason behind her flight from court, such as dealings with the Jacobites who were then on the march. It really couldn’t have worked out better if the sweet creature had arranged it.

“There. Much better.” Molly gave the thick curls lying against my shoulder a final twist. “But really, your eyes are like burned holes in your head. At least your maid’s left you your cosmetics. Now, where . . .” She rooted among the forest of jars and bottles that Mrs. Abbott kept on the table. “Oh, don’t tell me . . .” she muttered. “Never mind it, I’ll get mine.”

Molly bustled away, and I stayed where I was. I found myself rather jealous of Molly Lepell. She knew her place, and if she played a game, it was for herself alone.

When Molly came back, she carried with her a small brown bottle.

“Tip your head back,” she commanded.

The bottle had a glass dropper, and as I put my head back, she dripped something cold into my eyes that stung abominably. Tears formed instantly. Molly dabbed at my face with a kerchief and told me I could sit up. I did, but I could no longer see clearly. The whole room was very much blurred, and a glowing halo surrounded each candle.

“What is this stuff?” I blinked hard, trying to clear my sight.

“Belladonna, of course.”

Of course. It was a favorite tincture for brightening eyes. It also stung like the devil.

“If you’re going to continue staying up to all hours and following that up with crying fits, you’ll want your new maid to lay in a supply.”

But I wasn’t listening. I was on my feet without entirely realizing I had moved. “My maid . . . I must go . . . I . . .”

I ran from the room, almost upsetting the table the maids and footmen were laying out for breakfast. I scurried through the gallery, blinking in the dim light, trying to count doors. Finally, praying I had found the right one, I yanked it open and threw myself inside.

There was Sophy Howe standing in the middle of a stuffy, overfurnished chamber, letting Mrs. Abbott fix a pair of sparkling jewels to her ears.

“Why, Fran!” said Sophy in a tone that clearly meant
What took you so long?
“What an unexpected surprise!”

I didn’t bother to answer. I seized Mrs. Abbott’s hand and dragged her from the room. I strongly suspect it was only the fact I had caught her completely unawares that enabled me to do so.