Page 23 of A Courtship of Conspiracies
The following day passed in a blur of social obligations and strained smiles, but as the sun fell below the horizon and the house grew quiet in the late evening, she paced in front of Hugh’s bedchamber. She was convinced she had deciphered the code with the location of the meeting that would take place tonight.
The Crown & Oak.
Tess had discovered it was a tavern on the east side of London.
Her brother, however, had not yet stirred from his laudanum-induced stupor. Westmarch was still unavailable.
For a fleeting, dangerous moment, she considered telling James everything. The thought lingered longer than it should have. Confiding in him would open a door she needed to keep closed.
She was on her own.
If she waited, the trail might vanish entirely, and the consequences could be devastating. Courage did not arrive all at once. She had to gather it piece by piece.
The decision, once made, left no room for lingering. She hurried to her chambers, shadows and candlelight following her down the corridor in turn. She might very well be courting ruin, but the serpent coiled around the oak leaf haunted her thoughts, a warning for all those she loved.
She entered her chambers and shut the door firmly behind her. Every possibility carried risk, but that did not mean she could afford inaction. It was precarious and undoubtedly foolish, yet a secret thrill stirred within.
With firelight dancing behind her, she studied her reflection in her looking glass and drew herself straighter. Her dark hair was pinned high, though a few wayward tendrils had escaped to frame her face. A faint scatter of freckles dusted her nose. And the determination in her reflection would have horrified her mother.
She rang for Tess. She trusted her lady’s maid with her life, and she would need every ounce of that loyalty tonight.
Because Lady Katherine Sutherland was about to break every rule of propriety she had ever been taught.
She was about to do something truly scandalous.
Chapter 9
James
James crushed the sheet of paper and tossed it into the hearth. A small puff of ash rose and vanished. Tonight’s meeting “under the branches of the big oak” was imminent, and he still had not uncovered the location. He had reached out to every associate he had in London, including Jimmy and others who knew the city’s darker corners, but no one had any insight.
This was his best chance to find Henry’s killer, and it was going to slip through his fingers. He was going to fail Henry. Again. Anger flared hot within him.
How could he have been so foolish? The trap had cost Henry his life and James his friend and confidant. He pictured himself at last standing over the man responsible. He forced himself to cling to that vision. Whoever the man was, he would pay for what he had done. James would make sure of it.
He rose from his leather chair, stretching his muscles as he strode from behind his study desk toward the bay window. The bustling street below stood at odds with the stillness in his study.The rumbling of carriages over the cobblestones punctuated the quiet afternoon.
He braced his shoulder against the window frame and stared out at the street without truly seeing it. His mind was fixed on reflections of the past. Two months earlier, he and Henry had an assignment to meet with a new informant, someone who claimed to have information about a smuggling ring. But the night had ended in disaster, and James was left with a hollow ache that would not go away.
His fingers strayed toward the token in his pocket. Since Henry’s death, James had recklessly chased every improbable trail across England, barely escaping death more than once. In hindsight, he could not blame Westmarch for sidelining him. If he hadn’t, James might be in a grave himself by now. Yet for all his efforts, he had learned almost nothing about the man responsible for taking Henry’s life.
Until now. He had one name at least: The Sentinel. He had a list of possible associates. And he had tonight’s meeting, which might bring him to all of them, but only if he could crack this blasted cipher. This was the unexpected break he thought would never come.
James turned from the window and the leaden skies outside and dropped onto his sofa, tapping his fingers rhythmically on his leg. He drew a crumpled sheet of paper from his pocket and stared at his hastily scrawled notes of French words and half phrases. He had written down everything he remembered of the library conversation, but it was not enough.
Normally, he would have sent the message through Westmarch to Raven, the code specialist in his circle. He was likely some reclusive scholar tucked away in a cluttered chamber at Whitehall or a withered man buried beneath a mountain of parchment, but he could draw meaning from fragments no one else could decipher. This anonymous ghost had saved his lifewith vital intelligence a dozen times over, but James had never met him and had no way of contacting him directly.
A light knock on the door interrupted his thoughts and his valet, Stephens, entered, carrying the tea tray. James had spent the day locked away with no company but his own morose thoughts.
“Thank you, Stephens. You may place it on the side table.”
“Yes, my lord. May I assist you with anything else? Do you have plans I can prepare for?”
“No, I will be staying at home this evening. You may have the night off.”
A flicker of surprise crossed his valet’s face. “Very good, my lord. In that case, I shall pay my mother a visit.” His valet bowed and exited, the door closing softly behind him. James poured himself a cup of tea and carried it to his desk, setting it down on a stack of ledgers before taking a seat.
The encounter reminded James how badly he had neglected his mother and his sister, Alice, in recent weeks. He had not even written to them since informing them about his failed proposal. Alice’s debut would not occur for a few years, but perhaps she and their mother would enjoy spending part of the Season in town. Alice had always admired Kate and would no doubt delight in spending time with her.
