Chapter 12
Darius spent the evening talking and smiling for all he was worth. At least at this season he was mainly avoiding politicians and toadies, instead of the rabid matchmaking mamas of the spring season. At one point he reflected a woman with a pretty girl in tow would be more to his taste. At least he might have a chance of some bland, predictable conversation.
Bearing what his father and Andrew said, Darius used all the skills he could muster to make it appear he was merely out for entertainment. Bearing the mood of a bored, spoiled aristocrat, he flitted from one ball to the other one taking place that night. At least the pleasure gardens were closed for the season. Barreling along Vauxhall’s deliberately ill-lit lanes and grottoes did not appeal to him in the least.
At the second ball, he got the sniff of a suspicion. A colleague, a man who didn’t care what sex he took to bed as long as they were enthusiastic participants, nodded affably to him. “Have you heard they’re resurrecting Mother Fleming’s?”
“No, I hadn’t. At the same place?”
“God, no.” Lord Morgan spread a chicken skin fan and waved it in a desultory way. Even under the heat of a hundred candles, the evening was far from hot, so the gesture was merely for effect. He did it well, though. His ambiguousness had caused a great deal of scandal, covering his activities as a clever politician when he needed it to. He had made a fortune from his stint at the Admiralty. “That place has reverted to type. It’s a common tavern once more. But you can’t keep a good whore down. The lady—” He coughed behind his fan delicately. “The person has set up another establishment near the Cocoa-Tree.”
“An interesting development. Do you plan to go?”
“Only when the fuss has died down. Mother Fleming claimed benefit of clergy.” He rolled his eyes.
“Again?” Mother Fleming had pleaded benefit of clergy several times before. However, if he’d done it in front of John Fielding at Bow Street, he would not do it there again. And his new establishment was well within the magistrate’s purview. “I would like to see benefit of clergy done away with. It was intended to promote literacy, but using the same passage is crassly stupid.”
Benefit of clergy gave a person accused of most crimes a not guilty verdict. All the accused had to do was read a selected part of the Bible. That it was the same passage meant most of the criminal fraternity knew at least one paragraph of the book by heart.
“I would tear the whole passage up or open any book and select a paragraph at random,” Morgan said. “But no. Were you aware that there is a secret passage from the Cocoa-Tree to Piccadilly?”
“No,” Darius said, fascinated.
“So the damned Jacobites can escape if the Watch arrives. Mother Fleming should really have one of those.”
“There are plenty of underground passages in the city. Most created by rivers and the like.” Darius wrinkled his nose. “I’d have to be desperate to escape that way, though.” He touched the velvet of his sleeve. “And I would never do it in this coat. It’s by far my favorite. I thought the government was ignoring the Jacobites and their worthless plans?” He had reason to know that, having been involved in hunting a few down in his time.
His lordship shrugged. “It is, for the most part. Merely keeping a watch on them.”
It occurred to Darius that he knew someone who had recently become involved in tracking Jacobites. “Is General Court still involved?”
His friend sniggered. “In a way. We like to keep him busy. Looking in the other direction, for the most part. The man is a liability. He wouldn’t know subtlety if it walked up and introduced itself to him.”
The comment made Darius laugh aloud. A few people stared at him and tutted. He ignored them. “In what ways are you keeping him busy?”
“Pointing his nose in the wrong direction.” Morgan heaved a sigh. “Unfortunately, he insists on occasion. Even more occasionally, he is of signal use. He gave good service in the field, you know. Sadly, a man who can lead troops into battle is not always the right person to choose for diplomatic work.”
“Ah, yes.” Darius worked hard at not appearing too eager.
“He has been hard at work compiling lists that in my opinion should not be gathered in the same place. Recently, however, he has become a touch more discreet. Before, I swear, he would have them on his desk for anyone to read. Someone reprimanded him, I believe.” He brushed a speck of dust from his heavily embroidered sleeve. “I do believe that bee is staring at me.”
Darius had not noticed the bee, zipping from flower to flower, stilled forever on the sleeve of the cerulean blue coat. “It does appear a somewhat malevolent beast. You could have it removed. Or maybe altered a little.”
“The fabric is too delicate to rip out a bee.” His lordship sniffed. “But I will have its eyes put out.”
The casual comment made Darius wince. Despite his effete appearance, Lord Morgan was capable of the deepest ruthlessness. At one time, a younger Lord Darius Shaw idolized him. Subsequent discoveries had made him more wary, such as the way his lordship kept his wife immured in the country, permanently pregnant, it seemed. Nobody had seen her for years.
“General Court had some dealings with my brother-in-law.”
Lord Morgan paused. “Ah, yes. Lord St. Just.”
Impressed, Darius nodded. He was one of six children, but after barely stopping to think, his lordship had recalled which of Darius’s three sisters was married and who was her husband. “The very same.”
“I recall something about him.” He glanced into Darius’s eyes, his own twinkling.
He knew very well, or at least he thought he did. But Dominic’s deepest secret was buried deep. It had better be, for the sake of everyone in this country. Dominic in particular.
“He spends all his time dragging Claudia out of another predicament.” Thinking of his wayward sister, Darius smiled. “He wouldn’t have it any differently.”
His lordship placed his hand over his heart and fluttered his eyelashes. “Ah, love! Spare me from that. It seems to disrupt a comfortable, ordered life.” He glanced up. “Speaking of love, that young man I saw you with. The one who acted as your brother’s counsel. The rumor is that you are being seen with him rather frequently.”
Perhaps Darius should not have rapped out “What rumor?” quite so sharply, but the words were out before he had thought them through. “Who is talking?”
“Most people.” Morgan raised a brow. “So it’s true. Love?”
Darius regained his composure and clicked his brain into working properly. The huge family portrait facing them seemed sinister, everyone staring at him, waiting for his answer. That painting was a miracle, people said, one of the wonders of London. At the moment Darius would have happily set fire to it. “Not at all.” He tried to keep his mood as cool as he needed. “Business. It is true, I’m meeting the man, but for more lucrative purposes.”
“I wondered.” Morgan glanced at the offending bee on his sleeve. “You are always so discreet, my lord, that to see something as blatant as that print came as a surprise, to say the least. Business, you say?”
Darius thought rapidly. “Yes, but I am not yet prepared to say what. I found the man astute and talented. He could prove very useful to the little venture I am running along with my brother and cousin. Rarely does one discover a truly underused talent.” That sounded damned plausible. He tucked the thought away, to be considered another time. He leaned closer. “Since my family discovered him, I needed to move fast. He has considerable talent and some truly innovative ideas.”
“He’s that good?”
“I believe so.”
“Tell me more.”
Putting the lie to his preferred appearance of extravagant wastrel, Morgan was astute and perceptive. Since the man could bring Andrew much business if he had a mind to it, Darius was only too glad to discuss his merits as a lawyer. If Andrew lost business from the narrow-minded people who currently employed him, Darius was determined he would find better prospects elsewhere.
Moving smoothly on, Darius wasted time discussing topics he had little interest in but made a point of talking about, like that damned soprano they were discussing at dinner. After a completely fruitless discussion about who she would take as her new lover, in which he could drop so many names Morgan would probably forget they’d even mentioned General Court, he passed on to the next person at the ball. He dropped his thoughts into their ears, discovering a few snippets that disturbed him in the process.
He went home shortly after midnight, enlightened, but committed to pursue what he had discovered.
* * * *
“Of course I cannot discuss any particulars about a client the bank may or may not have,” Miss Childers said.
The Miss Childers, bank owner, presented an entirely different picture to the one in full dress, the society hostess. Darius preferred this one. She wore a simple gown of dark green cloth, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders against the chill of the late October day. Her golden hair was drawn neatly back and fastened into a knot at the back of her head, and she wore no paint or powder. A linen protector covered the lace ruffles at her elbow, holding them clear of the ink and paper on her desk. The desk itself bore the signs of hard use, ink stains, scratches, and grooves marring the surface of the old, well-loved piece.
“I understand that,” he said softly, “but a mutual acquaintance of ours could be in danger.”
She leaned back, putting her pen in the stand and giving him her full attention. “Let us have a hypothetical case.”
“I suspect one of your clients may be a traitor to this country.”
“Do you have proof?”
Reluctantly, Darius shook his head. The woman had a very straight, almost uncomfortable stare. “Suspicions. Strong suspicions.”
She sucked in a breath and let it out in a sigh, making her linen-covered bosom heave in a way most men would find intriguing. Darius was not one of them. “Then I cannot tell you of any specific clients. However, I can tell you a young man with a strict allowance and no other means of support can sail close to the wind. A London life is expensive, especially if someone wishes to belong to the best clubs and appear creditably in society. They may run on tick with their tailors, but I understand debts of honor can prove more pressing.”
Darius sharpened his attention. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? He needed to know one more thing before he left. “The matter we discussed on Saturday. Has that been resolved?”
“Sadly, yes,” she said. “The account was closed yesterday. The person came to collect it.”
Bartolini had taken his money, or rather, his master’s money. French money that he was to use to bribe officials and buy information. He was not planning to return to town. From his destination, Dover, Darius had assumed so. So that was their last chance to intercept him and discover his connection. Who had given him the precious list.
Darius had more than a suspicion now. He would visit the clubs. Starting with the largest and most prestigious: White’s.
* * * *
Darius belonged to a small, cozy club establishment in Pall Mall set above a coffeehouse. Tonight he walked past it and around the corner to the more imposing doorway of White’s.
White’s Club had recently moved into a new property in St. James, opposite the royal palace. The red-brick exterior of St. James’s Palace reared over the nearby neat modern edifices, seeming to frown with disapproval on the center of fashionable dissipation.
Every man of fashion had membership. Darius paused to sign the book and hand his sword, hat, and gloves to the porter behind the counter. Lingering, he noted the recent signatures, and discovered his quarry had signed in last night. He handed a guinea to the porter when he returned and tapped the tip of the pen on the name in question. “Have you seen Mr. Court today? I would like a word with him on a business matter.”
“No, sir, nor likely to, from what I heard.” While the porter didn’t actually bite the guinea, he took his time putting the coin away.
Darius took the hint and handed him another, adding a confiding smile. “Do tell. I have a positive hunger for gossip.”
“Well, my lord, I daresay you can hear it from anybody who was here last night, so it’s not like I’m giving away confidences.” The twang of London echoed around the small outer hall, the arched doorway leading to a far more impressive area beyond. But guests did not generally linger here. Unless they wanted to hear gossip.
The porter tucked his finger under his snowy white wig and scratched his scalp. “Mr. Court was here last night, but if you look back in the book, you’ll see he came here most nights recently. He was a bit, shall we say, merry.”
“Drunk,” said Darius, who had no mind for euphemisms.
“I dare say, my lord. And loud. I wasn’t on duty, mind you, but everybody’s talking about it this morning. Made a scene, he did. Lost a game of piquet with Lord Morningside and then rolled dice with the gentlemen and lost there, too. When they refused to take his notes of hand, he was asked to leave. He preferred not to, so we were forced to put him out. Shouting and yelling, he was.”
“What did he say?”
“Oh, general threats, nothing we’ve not heard before. Like he’d make us pay, and wait until his father got to hear of this. That kind of thing. And he threatened to come back. Friday, he said he was coming, and he’d win it all back and more besides.”
But Court had already sold the list to Bartolini. Did he have more information he’d stolen from his careless father? Probably not, since the general’s staff had started tidying up after him, ensuring nothing sensitive was left in the open. He could only sell the list once.
Darius halted, struck by a sudden thought. Unless he planned to take it back and resell it. Surely he would not be so foolish. He would know Bartolini had a sum of money, and from what Darius had learned, he was desperate enough to try it. But Bartolini would only release the money if Court had more information.
Or if he was dead.
Andrew expected to take the list and the spy and return to London. He wouldn’t know a desperate man was on his way, an unstable character who would do anything to save his reputation. Court’s gambling was out of hand. That was clear. Probably his drinking, too.
Andrew was in danger, and Darius had sent him there.