The Houseparty (9 page)

Wat
Simpkin's
begrimed face creased in an expression of exasperation, and he spat. "Don't come all innocent with me, yer worship. You know as well as I that spying, conniving
LeBoeuf
met his untimely end down there.
Helped along by a mutual acquaintance of ours.
Fredericks don't want anyone getting wind of that spot of helpfulness, so he says for me to tell you to send 'is nibs down there, and we'll see what we can do. Any luck finding the paper?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Listen,
Contessa."
Mr.
Simpkin
edged closer to Elizabeth, who uneasily stood her ground. "You're here at Winfields to find the list of English agents
LeBoeuf
hid before anyone else does. Not to have a good time. Didn't our friend explain it to you?"

"Well, he didn't really have much time," Elizabeth said vaguely.

"Was there ever such an ill-managed piece of work?"
Wat
demanded of the cloudless sky, which
forebore
to answer him. He turned back to the false
contessa.
"Haven't ye wondered why ye should be coming down at this unlikely time, in the beginning of the London season and all?"

"Well, yes, I did."

"And he didn't tell you we need that paper before anyone else finds it?" he demanded
patiendy
.
"The list of English agents active in France right now.
You can imagine how they'd like to get hold of that. They'd pay a pretty penny for that sort of information."

"I suppose they would. Where is it?"

"That's the problem, missus. No one knew but
LeBoeuf
, and I'm afraid he died before he had the chance to tell. And maybe the man that
LeBoeuf
came here to meet, whoever he is. No one tells me anything, but Mr. Fredericks says the government has a good idea who he is, and they're planning on catching him in the act when he finds the papers. Of course, we have to find where the papers are first. Those papers are worth their weight in gold, and who's to know if we sell them to the highest bidder?
Certainly not Fredericks."

Elizabeth hesitated. "It sounds attractive."

"I knew ye were a downy one the moment I laid eyes on
ye
," said
Wat
, spitting for emphasis.

"Does the man know they suspect him?" she inquired, wondering who "he" was and hoping oddly that it wasn't Michael
Fraser.

"Don't think so.
Sir Henry here yet?"

"He's due by teatime," Elizabeth replied vaguely, her mind turning cartwheels.

"Keep an eye out for him. And tell
himself
to be very careful. The man's got eyes in his head."

"You mean—"

"No names," he interrupted, peering about him. "You never know who might overhear. We can both guess who it is they're suspecting."

No, we can't, Elizabeth wailed inwardly. "But what should I do?"

"Keep looking for that paper. We need to find it before the traitor does. Failing that, keep your eyes peeled and do nothing. Just tell our friend what I've told you. Sir Henry is determined to catch the traitor with the information in hand this time. Tell him that I'll be down at
Starfield
Cove as we arranged, and Fredericks will be with
me. If he still wants to talk with us, we'll be waiting. Otherwise, it's in his hands, and I wish him all the luck."

"But who . . ."

The gentleman in the moleskin trousers disappeared back into the underbrush. Elizabeth beat about ineffectually, but the
gnomelike
creature had vanished.

"Damn," she said, enjoying the sound of the word out where no one could hear her. If she ever gained her freedom from Sumner, she'd make it a practice to swear out loud every chance she got.

Wat
Simpkin
was nowhere in sight, and Elizabeth cursed again in frustration. All this talk of "our friend" and "himself" and "he" and "traitors" and "agents," and she had no way of sorting through
Wat
Simpkin's
garbled message and knowing who played which role. Of only one thing could she be certain. There was a highly dangerous list of English agents hidden somewhere in this moldering old place, a list that might very well contain her
brother
Jeremy's name. If the traitor found it before the combined forces representing the British government did, his life might very well be forfeit.

Sir Henry was coming to catch the traitor red-handed. The
contessa's
role in all this was highly suspect, and heaven only knew who the traitor might be.
Fraser
was the logical choice, but something inside Elizabeth rebelled at the thought. There was only one thing she could do: make her way down to
Starfield
Cove this afternoon and see what she could see. Presuming that the mysterious Mr. Fredericks worked for the British government and not the French, presuming that the message intended for the
contessa
somehow reached "
himself
," presuming that she could somehow make some sense of this tangled mess.

But whether she liked it or not, things didn't look good for the grim and silent Captain
Fraser,
who was already far too curious about the dead sailor.
Chances were
,
it was those well-shaped hands that had precipitated poor
LeBoeuf's
departure, though with what purpose Elizabeth couldn't guess. She shuddered at the memory, less endowed with pluck than Mrs. Kingpin supposed.

Her pace back to the house was a great deal slower, even with the wind at her back. What she should do, of course, would be to confront Sir Henry when he arrived and tell him everything she knew. And she might very well do just that. But not right away, she thought. She could at least give Michael
Fraser
time to prove himself. Couldn't she?

In the meantime she would use her time to good advantage and do her best to find that incriminating list of spies
herself
. After all, she was fully as bright as the devious
contessa
and, because of her almost-cousinship with Adolphus, far more familiar with Winfields and its environs. No one would think she had any knowledge that such an incriminating list existed, much less that she would be after it for herself.

It came as no surprise to her to see the
contessa's
black- clad figure on the terrace, watching her approach out of hooded eyes. "What a strange time for a walk, Miss Traherne," she said in silken tones. "I wouldn't have thought you would be out of bed so early, much less tramping around in the fields."

"Oh, I'm an early riser. I always enjoy going for a walk before anyone but the servants are up. You look as if you enjoy doing the same," she added, with a pointed look at the light pelisse and heavy veiling ready to be placed around the
contessa's
distinctive features.

Much to Elizabeth's respectful surprise, the
contessa
laughed lightly and unaffectedly, the warm chuckle in her throat a delightful sound on the morning air. "As a matter of fact, I confess I was about to do exactly that. I don't need much sleep. I retire late and rise early. Would you care to accompany me, Miss Traherne?"

Elizabeth mentally bowed before the more experienced schemer. "I've had enough for the time being, thank you. But I'm certain you'll enjoy yourself. Not a soul in sight, not even the gardeners. It's delightfully peaceful." With a nod and a smile, she passed the
contessa
and went back into the house. Had she looked back, she would have seen a speculative expression on the
contessa's
pale but beautiful face, and she would have felt less smug.

"There you
are,
my little pigeon!" Sir Adolphus greeted Elizabeth cheerfully from behind a mountain of food. "I thought you were still abed.
How delightful that we should have such a beautiful companion to our bachelor breakfast, eh what, gentlemen?"

Sumner, equally engrossed in a positively gluttonous breakfast, responded with a muffled "
mmphhnn
." Michael
Fraser
looked at her steadily out of dark blue eyes, and Elizabeth stared right back, trying to see behind that politely distant face to the possible villainy beneath it.

"Miss Traherne is an addition to any situation, no matter how unusual," he said at last. His eyes were speaking of last night, and only by sheer force of will did Elizabeth keep from blushing.

"Hear, hear,
Fraser,
I would hardly call breakfast at Winfields an unusual situation," Adolphus said indulgently. "Why, I have it all the time. Pay no attention to young
Fraser,
Elizabeth. He's trying to turn your head with his odd sort of flattery. Does that work on the
Conti
nent
, my boy? Our English girls aren't quite used to it, don't you know."

A brief, cold smile lit Fraser's dark face. "Oh, I have other ways of flirtation, Sir Adolphus. I'll be glad to give Miss Traherne a demonstration some time when we're alone."

Sumner choked on his cinnamon bun and glared up at
Fraser.
Before he could erupt, Adolphus broke in genially. "Oh, I wouldn't bother if I were you. Elizabeth is up to all rigs and fancies. She'll put a flea in your ear soon enough." He turned to Elizabeth with a great creaking of stays. "Wouldn't you, my dumpling?"

Elizabeth,
thus adjured and not liking the term of endearment one bit, smiled sweetly. "Oh, I have a heart of flint. Nothing could turn my head short of brute force."

"That is a possibility," murmured the captain. Fortunately, Elizabeth was directly behind him at the heavily laden sideboard, and only she could hear the provocative statement.

"What was that you said, Captain?" Sumner demanded suspiciously.

"Whatever it was, it set her to blushing," Adolphus observed maddeningly. "It isn't often someone can make Elizabeth blush. You'll have to tell me how you do it, Captain.
In private, of course."

Elizabeth resisted the temptation of taking the silver bowl of fluffy scrambled eggs and turning it upside down on someone's head for the simple reason that she couldn't decide who deserved it the most: Sumner with his handsome face like a thundercloud, Adolphus with his self-satisfied smirk in the midst of his great moon face, or the totally infuriating Captain
Fraser.

Sumner and Adolphus obviously had tried to outdo
themselves in piggery when they helped themselves to the breakfast buffet. Elizabeth, who by this time had completely digested the
preprandial
cinnamon buns and after her brisk walk was completely ravenous, was about to load her plate in a similar fashion when she espied Fraser's ascetic meal. A piece of dried toast, partially eaten, and a cup of black coffee seemed enough for the noble captain. Sighing, Elizabeth helped herself to a solitary piece of toast, poured herself a cup of coffee without her usual lashings of cream and sugar, and took her place at the table.

"Is that all you're going to eat?" demanded Sumner with the usual tact of brothers.

"I had something earlier," she said between her teeth. "This will be quite sufficient."

"It never was before, no matter what you'd eaten previously," Sumner replied, taking leave to doubt her. "You must be slimming again. I would have thought you'd wait till we got home to try and take off a bit of weight. You must have a maggot in your brain."

Elizabeth, goaded past endurance, kicked her brother sharply under the table. Unfortunately, she hit Captain
Fraser
instead, who jerked with a muttered curse and turned to stare at her out of amazed eyes.

"I beg your pardon," she said breathlessly, turning even rosier. "I thought that was my brother's leg."

"Tried to kick me, did you?" Sumner sniffed. "I've warned you about that, my girl.
Serves you right that you got Captain
Fraser
instead."

"I hardly think so,"
Fraser
said in his slow, deep voice.

"Well, you wouldn't," Sumner observed amiably. "I tell you,
Fraser,
you're lucky you don't have a sister. They're mean as snakes and the very devil to live with."

"As a matter of fact, I have three sisters," Michael said evenly.
"All as charming as your lovely sister."

"You think her charming, eh?" Sumner demanded through grilled kidneys. "Try living with her."