The Fashionable Spy (29 page)

“You needn’t read me a scold. It scarcely matters when he treated me like a sister.” Elizabeth placed her fork on her plate and stared at the table with trembling lips.

“You ought to have turned your attention elsewhere, if that is the case,” Julia reproved her.

At which Elizabeth pushed aside her plate and flounced from the room, saying over her shoulder, “I believe I shall make an extended visit to Aunt Bel when all this wedding fuss is over. I wish to get away from London, that is certain.”

“Oh, dear,” Julia said with a sigh, “I believe I have hurt her feelings. Only, you know how she is about things.”

“She is young and pretty, and unlikely to go into a decline. If I know Elizabeth, she will find something at Aunt Bel’s to occupy her time quite well.”

“Maybe a nice young man?” Julia said with hope.

Victoria smiled, then turned her thoughts to the meeting at the war office. It would be an enormous relief to have this responsibility off her shoulders.

Once she finished eating, she swiftly went to the library, after informing Evenson to summon Sam to the front door. From the small safe she extracted the papers to be handed over, then paused, staring at them with a frown. She supposed she was being silly, but they were still in her hands, and she had heard nothing about Mr. Padbury. What if he were still in London, say, having doubled back or something? Could he interfere with the delivery of these papers?

Someone knew too much about what went on in this house. How, she didn’t know, but she could not take chances.

She undid the pins that held her gown at each shoulder, then folded the papers into a more manageable size and carefully stuffed them inside her stays, between her shift and that crisp white corset all young ladies wore. Her hand brushed against her locket, and her fingers stroked the blue lapis stones a moment. This small victory would avenge her parents, perhaps just a little. Satisfied that nothing could be detected, even if she was scrutinized, she redid her gown, taking care with the pins.

Before another hour had passed, she had stepped into the carriage and begun the momentous trip. When she ordered Sam to head for the war office, it was like taking the final lap of a long journey. Victoria leaned back against the squabs, pleased with her efforts, not to mention her appearance.

Directly across the street a tall thin man eased himself from the building where he waited most days, watching the Dancy household go about their business, and hailed a hackney, ordering the jarvey to follow Victoria. The man was one of those nondescript sorts, not the kind of person you would give a second look at, and dressed in sober gray that blended in with shadows.

The cobbled streets seemed more bumpy today than usual, Victoria decided. Or was it that Sam was traveling faster than normal? The carriage appeared to rock and jounce about, and she began to fear for the pretty bonnet she wore, when all of a sudden the carriage rounded a corner, then drew to a halt most abruptly.

Victoria nearly slid to the floor, and caught herself just in time, grabbing the strap by the door. She brushed down the folds of her pretty new gown and then let down the window to lean out and inquire of Sam what had happened.

“Good afternoon. Miss Dancy,” said a tall thin man with an exceedingly dark complexion. “If you’d be so good?” He gestured to a waiting hackney. He used his hand, but Victoria quickly observed he held a small, lethal-looking gun.

She reluctantly opened the door, while trying to see if she might evade this man and his odious gun. What did he seek? Could he somehow suspect she carried the papers on her? She schooled her face to reveal nothing of her fears.

Sam stood by the horse, looking as though he would like to wring the stranger’s neck. But she knew that if he made a move, he would be shot as quick as a wink. She shook her head as he met her gaze. “Stay where you are, Sam.”

They had turned into an alley somewhere in the area off Charing Cross. It was a dark, quiet place, and she doubted if anyone would appear if a shot rang out. People tended to mind their own business here, as in most places in London. With thievery being what it was, few cared to interfere.

She took her reticule, into which she had dropped a number of guineas and five-pound notes, thinking to do a bit of shopping later. Now she offered it to the stranger.

“Aha, fancy to bribe me? Not but what I may take it anyways. No, Miss Dancy. Take note I know your name, by the bye. Now, get.” He gestured slightly, but the very terseness of his move frightened Victoria.

She complied. Quickly walking to the hackney, she climbed up into the dusty interior, holding her skirts away from the straw-littered floor. Glancing about her with distaste, she again resolved to contain her fears. Somehow he must guess she carried the papers or something of value. Above all, she must guard those papers.

“How do you come to know my name?” she demanded of the man who had now joined her.

“You’re famous, makin’ all them heads that you take to a foundry. I’ve watched you. You go down to a place where ladies don’t usually go.” He narrowed his eyes, surveying her with dreadful intent.

“What do you seek?” She tried to compose her nerves, to be prepared for whatever the man planned. The very idea that she had been watched by this man appalled her. She shifted, then froze. Did the papers nestled between her shift and stays crackle a tiny bit? She hoped than none but herself could hear it, if that were the case.

“Ah, that’d be telling. You just wait, you’ll find out soon enough.” He sat back against the soiled cushions and made a very nasty grimace that must pass for a smile.

Victoria barely contained a shudder. “I had not expected a simple shopping trip to be so hazardous.”

“Then why’d you tell your coachman to take you to the war office? I dunno of no shops there.” The man smirked, obviously pleased with his telling point.

He still held the gun in his hand, and Victoria kept it in sight at all times, no matter where she appeared to look. He aimed it at her. Never did he seem to relax.

“I merely intended to pick up a friend in the area, then go on to Piccadilly and Bond Street.” She ached with the effort to remain unmoving. “Where do we go?”

“Shut your dubber. Think you’re a regular duchess, you do, eh? I ain’t answering no more questions.”

Victoria compressed her mouth, then licked her lips with the tip of a very nervous tongue. She glanced out the grimy windows of the hack, unable to figure out where they might be. After ordering her heart to be stout, she studied her foe. Mean-tempered, hasty, and as nasty as they come, she decided. Not the sort to argue with, nor persuade. He’d take her money, and what else?

She trembled, fighting it, and hoping that her tremors didn’t show beneath the shawl draped over her shoulders.

The hackney drew to a halt.

“Get out, and don’t forget my little friend,” he said, gesturing with the gun in his hand. He let out a mirthless laugh that sent chills down Victoria’s spine.

Gathering her skirts about her, she carefully made her way from the vehicle, making an assessment of the area without appearing to do so. They were in a warehouse section, dingy multistoried brick and wood buildings rising all about them. The alley was narrow and stinking, and she doubted if much daylight ever found its way to the ground. From the distance, the cacophony of hawkers and the clatter of traffic reached her ears. No one would hear her cries, should she call for help.

A door, badly nicked, brown paint peeling from it, stood in the middle of the wall on her right. She was not surprised when told to open it. Obediently she moved down the alley, then tugged at the door, which seemed to be stuck. “I cannot.” She sounded helpless and frustrated even to her own ears.

Breath suspended, she hoped she appeared composed while she tied her shawl tightly about her. She felt to make certain her reticule was snugly about her wrist, then turned to face her captor, edging back as he drew closer to reach for the doorknob.

“Little weakling, eh? I s’pose most females of your ilk are.’’ Again that mirthless, chilling laugh.

Victoria was thinking furiously. There were no handy weapons, but she espied a pile of bricks nearby. She sidled another step away from the man and the door.

“Well, don’t seem no problem ta me in the leastways.” He flung open the door, which creaked ominously. If it was used so little, it meant that few came in and out, and that meant there was little hope Victoria might get away, once on the other side of that door.

In a flash, she bent, grabbed a brick, and, thanking her adequate height, used both hands to knock the man over the head. She struck a second time as she edged past the door.

He staggered but did not go down. She hit the surprised man again. Her effort was enough so that she could push him inside the building, using all her strength, then push the door shut. She devoutly hoped that the thump she heard was the sound of his falling body.

But now what? Where could she flee?

Running madly down the alley, she chose to go left, seeming to recall that was the direction they had come. She darted in and out, eventually holding an arm to her aching side as she ran.

“Here, wot’s this? A lady running? That’s a laugh.”

Ignoring the gibe, Victoria again turned a corner, then darted in and out of various lanes, hoping to lose the man she felt sure would be on her trail.

Then she walked, as swiftly as she could, feeling she attracted less attention that way. If only she were not dressed in such conspicuous clothing. She was as out-of-place here as a chimney sweep at a Carlton House dinner.

How could she continue? She paused for a moment, leaning against a building to catch her breath.

“Trouble, miss?” An older woman wrapped in layers of shawls over a colorless dress approached her. Victoria paled as she considered who the woman might be. She appeared enormous and threatening, not the least comforting, as her words intended.

“None,” whispered Victoria, then fled, barely escaping from the grasping hand that had shot out from beneath that cascade of dirty shawls.

Stumbling on the uneven cobbles, wet here and there with puddles of nameless dark liquid that smelled rank and horrid, she injured her ankle. It ached something fierce, throbbing with pain. She rounded another corner, wondering if she might be going in circles, even as her bonnet flew off to bounce up and down on her back.

And then she saw a hackney. Dashing up to the jarvey, and most thankful it appeared to be a different man, she made a grab at the door. “Whitehall, please.”

“ ‘Ere now, ‘ow do I know you ‘ave the price? You don’t look like you’d ‘ave twopence to rub together.”

Victoria glanced down, horrified to see her gown was splattered, her shawl askew, and knew her hair must be a sight, what with her bonnet hanging down her back. Wasting precious moments, she opened her reticule and pulled a guinea from it.
“Get me there in a trice, and this is yours.”

Seeing the color of gold, he nodded and motioned her inside. He flicked a rarely used whip and they dashed off as he made his best effort to get that piece of gold. Such never came his way. His poor horse had never been so urged to speed, and it fortunately did not take umbrage at its treatment, in the surprise.

While they careened across London, Victoria attempted to rectify her appearance. First she combed her hair, a difficult task without a looking glass. Then, carefully replacing her bonnet, she tied the ribands in what she hoped was a fetching way. Her shawl might be straightened, but there was nothing she might do about the splattered gown. It was ruined. They would owe her for this, she thought grimly.

When she stepped from the carriage, she realized that she was close to safety, and took a calming breath. Dropping the guinea into the outstretched hand covered in a grimy glove, she then hurried up the steps and through the door.

It was fortunate that the young man on duty recognized her face, for she was certain her garb shocked him. She hobbled up another flight of stairs and down a hall, ignoring the people she saw along the way. Truth be told, she was so intent, it’s doubtful she even noticed them.

The clerk in the outer office gasped as Victoria entered, then limped near his desk.

“Miss Dancy?” He half-rose, staring at her with amazed eyes.

“As you see. I have some important papers for the secretary. I do hope he is in?”

“He’s in a conference with a gentleman. If you will wait here, I shall inform him you have something for him.”

Victoria turned her back on the door, wondering how in the world she could retrieve those papers from where they nestled! That was something she’d not figured on.

“Follow me, Miss Dancy,” came a reverent voice from behind her.

She whirled about, bowed her head graciously, and tried to behave as though she did not appear to have been dragged through a hedge backward.

“Miss Dancy, Percy said you appeared to have some trouble. Nothing serious?” her superior queried.

“No,” she replied thoughtfully, approaching the desk with her decided limp. “Not unless you consider being abducted at gunpoint and then dashing for my life across the alleys and byways of London a problem. Otherwise, it was an uneventful trip.” She took a step toward the desk,’ then, her knees a trifle weak and her ankle giving her the very devil of an ache, she sank down on the nearest chair with a faint sigh. Like the other chair drawn up to the desk, it had a high back, and she found it extremely comfortable.

“Good grief!” the secretary declared. He glanced at the person in the other chair, then returned his attention to Victoria.

She was far too exhausted to take notice of who else was in the room. Indeed, perhaps it might be better were she to ignore the man. Yet she knew he would not be there now were he not considered safe by the secretary.

“I have solved that matter that has eluded us for so long,” she said. “If I might have a bit of privacy, I shall regain the papers from their place of safety.’’ At his mystified nod, she left her chair, turned her back, and removed the pins from one side of her gown. It was easier to pull the papers from their hiding place than it had been to stow them.