The Wicked Sister Page 15

  Michael returned to his bench. He was angry because he could not convince himself that his first care was for Judith. After all, she was the one without power or wealth or family behind her. But for whatever reason, it was hard to hurt Judith. It was very easy to hurt Maria.

  *

  Maria would rather have burned off her misery in a brisk walk, but, mindful of the promise she had made her sisters, she ordered the carriage to take her first to the Winslows to see Genevra, and then on to Blackhaven, to at least leave her card with Miss Warren.

  She hadn’t been inside the King’s Head since its reopening. Apparently, it had been bought and revived by Major Doverton’s new bride who had placed an invalid soldier in charge. It was popular with visitors unable or unwilling to pay the extortionate costs at the hotel, maintaining respectability and cleanliness, despite running a cooperative there that looked after working people’s children.

  By no means sure of her welcome, she hurried inside to get it over with. The young innkeeper, who had indeed lost a hand, poor man, presented her card and then conducted her to the private parlor.

  Miss Warren and Mrs. Derby had both risen to meet her.

  “Good afternoon,” Maria said brightly. “I hope you don’t mind my calling unannounced, but I was passing and wanted to make sure you were quite comfortable here.”

  “Oh, yes, thank you, my lady,” Mrs. Derby twittered. “So kind of you.”

  “Why wouldn’t we be?” Judith interrupted. “It’s a decent house,”

  “So I have heard,” Maria agreed. “Will you stay long in Blackhaven?”

  “Will you?” Judith shot back.

  “A few days, I believe,” Mrs. Derby said hastily. “Won’t you sit down, my lady? I’ll just ask Trent for tea…”

  By this time, Maria had seen clearly she was not welcome. Whether from prejudice, jealousy, or instinctive dislike, Judith did want to be friends, or even civil acquaintances. And Maria, battered by guilt over yesterday’s kiss, could not blame her. Perhaps Michael had told her about it…

  She took the proffered chair but said, “No, no, I shall not disturb you more than a few minutes.” She clasped her gloved hands in her lap, “How do you find our little town?”

  “Dull,” Judith replied. “Your poor accept poverty and charity as if they want nothing more.”

  “I suppose charity has a different meaning if one’s starving or can’t feed one’s children,” Maria said. “Our vicar, Mr. Grant, has led the way there, making us all more aware of our duties.”

  “They need jobs, self-respect, and votes,” Judith stated, glaring at her.

  “Ah, you are something of a Jacobin,” Maria said without heat.

  For the first time, Judith smiled. “So is Michael.”

  That surprised her. Not that he was a radical in political matters—he had already told her so. But that Judith, believing this to be news, should tell his employer’s sister so, was startling. If either Maria or Braithwaite were the people Judith believed them to be, Michael could lose his position over such accusations.

  Maria gazed into Judith’s eyes for a moment, and Judith, perhaps reading Maria’s surprise, smiled.

  She wants Michael to leave his position! Jealousy again? Or mere disapproval of noblemen?

  Deliberately, Maria smoothed her brow. “Things change in small ways, generally. You must be aware of the creche, here at the inn, for example.”

  Both Judith and her sister looked baffled.

  Maria explained. “The innkeeper’s wife and other local women run it as a cooperative for their children to be left in a safe place while they work. That is why you hear so many children.”

  It was, clearly, news to them. “What has that to say to anything?” Judith snapped.

  “I thought you might find it interesting,” Maria said mildly. It struck her that unlike Michael, Judith did not look at what was going on around her. She just waited to be outraged, to pronounce, and surely, she did so with very little true understanding. An odd wife indeed for Michael. But then, Maria was hardly seeing the best of her. Michael must indeed have told her about yesterday’s events.

  “And how long,” Judith asked, “would these women have to work to earn even the cost of the lace on your gown?”

  “A little longer than for the ribbon on yours,” Maria replied. “But I thought we were agreed that work and self-respect were the important elements to progress? Not the charity of our ribbons and lace?”

  Her eyes narrowed. Clearly, she had not expected Maria to think at all, let alone use her own words against her. “Don’t lump us together, my lady,” she retorted with scorn. “We have nothing in common.”

  Maria raised her eyebrows. “On the contrary, we are both women of education—with varying degrees of privilege, I’ll grant you, but privilege nonetheless. And I know we all count ourselves friends of Mr. Hanson.”

  She wasn’t quite sure why she brought up his name—her growing unease with Judith, perhaps, a need to see some sign of affection, or even protection toward Michael. And certainly, his name seemed to give Judith pause. A hint of confusion troubled her eyes.

  “When will you be married?” Maria asked, ignoring the stab in her own heart.

  “Soon,” Judith muttered, then glared. “Why do you want to know?”

  “To wish you well,” Maria said at once. “As a friend would.”

  “My lady,” Judith said with contempt. “You are not his friend. You are his employer.”

  Maria had heard enough. She rose to her feet. “You have not met my brother, have you? It is possible to be both. Good afternoon, Miss Warren, Mrs. Derby.”

  She did not wish Michael’s betrothed happy as she departed, for the truth was, she no longer did. Instinctive dislike for the woman and jealousy of his love for her had jangled into something else altogether. She could not understand how he had ever come to even like Judith Warren, and she hated the idea of him being tied to such a loveless, mean-spirited, envious person.

  She had stepped over the threshold when Judith spoke behind her. “My lady.”

  Maria turned, and Judith thrust a pamphlet into her hand. “Read that and tell me if you still believe we are alike. Even in education!”

  Maria took it with a nod of thanks, but the woman was already closing the door in her face. With a twisted smile, Maria crammed the pamphlet into her reticule.

  There were voices in the large entrance hall that served as the inn’s coffee room, the innkeeper and a gentleman’s. As Maria walked behind them, she realized the gentleman’s voice was familiar.

  Mr. Gayle.

  And he was strolling toward the parlor Maria had just left. The innkeeper didn’t show him. He knew where to go because he had been there before. She kept walking, thinking furiously, but as soon as she heard the parlor door close, she turned back. The coffee room was empty. Even the innkeeper had left, no doubt into the recesses of his kitchen.

  She could sit at the table nearest the parlor and hope to overhear something. No one would question Lady Maria Conway. On the other hand, it would look rather odd to be drinking tea out here alone after calling on Judith and her sister. But there was nowhere close enough to hide and listen at the same time. Except, perhaps the staircase.

  Maria walked back the way she had come, then swerved, darting under the stairs. She bumped heavily into something hard and warm. Someone, whose hands immediately steadied her. In wildly embarrassed alarm, she stared up into the spectacles of Michael Hanson.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “What on earth are you doing here?” she hissed.

  “Watching Gayle. What on earth are you doing here?”

  “Watching Gayle, of course.”

  “Why?” he demanded, frowning direly.

  “Alice found a button—from his waistcoat—in the arbor, the day after the ball.”

  He understood at once. His frown smoothed, and his hands fell away, leaving her cold. “Did she, by God?”

  “Did you suspect him of t
he same thing?” she asked doubtfully, for he could, in fact, be a jealous lover watching his betrothed receive another man. She had never imagined him so paltry, but then, neither could she imagine him falling for a woman like Judith.

  He nodded, which was something of a relief. In silence, they listened intently, though Maria could make out no more than the hum of voices without distinguishing any words. After a moment, she was more aware of Michael huddled so close to her and she had to fight to concentrate on the parlor.

  At least it did not last long. Gayle emerged after only a few minutes, now wearing the greatcoat he had carried over his arm on the way in. Maria and Michael exchanged glances.

  Gayle strode across the room and left the inn.

  Maria murmured. “He’s too fat. He must be concealing something under the greatcoat.

  Michael nodded, then, with a quick glance at the parlor door, stepped out from under the stairs. Maria hurried after him. Mrs. Trent, bustling in from the passage to the back of the house, blinked in some surprise, though she wished them a polite farewell.

  “Oh, tell my coachman not to wait, if you please,” Maria bade her, “I shall go home with a friend instead.”

  Michael opened the inn door for her to pass in front of him. “That is not a good idea. You should go home now.”

  “But we have to see what Gayle has in his coat. And where he’s taking it.”

  “I’ll find out and tell you,” Michael let the door close behind him and walked past her.

  “Together, we have more chance of success,” she pointed out, all but trotting beside him.

  Michael strode faster. From the entrance to the inn yard, Gayle could be seen walking smartly to the end of the road. As one, Michael and Maria started after him.

  He muttered, “After the trouble we went to yesterday to preserve your reputation, do you really think it’s sensible to be seen with me, walking through town?”

  “The two cases are quite different. Yesterday, we were two disheveled people on the same horse riding in from the country. Here, we are merely two of the earl’s household walking in the same direction. But if you prefer, I shall cross the street and walk alone.”

  “No, you won’t,” he said grimly.

  Gayle turned the corner, heading toward High Street.

  “The coffee house?” Michael guessed. “Betts is likely to catch him there.”

  But as they emerged on to High Street, Gayle was not approaching the coffee house. He was on the other side of the road, climbing into one of the hackneys that waited at the hotel.

  Michael swore under his breath.

  “We can take the next one,” she said encouragingly, “and follow him. Although I suspect he is only returning to the castle. Which is fine, because we can search his chamber at our leisure.”

  A breath of laughter hissed between Michael’s lips. “That is very true. Quite unconscionable, but true.”

  “I don’t see that it’s unconscionable if he’s betraying the country. And if he isn’t, he’ll never know.”

  “That is also true,” he allowed. He considered as they walked together along the road. “I’ll do it after dinner, and you can make sure you keep him in the drawing room.”

  She frowned. “But it will look odd if you don’t come to the drawing room with the others and then arrive later on. That is when you normally slip away. I have a better idea. I shall search his chamber when we leave you gentlemen to your port. The ladies will assume I’ve gone to the cloakroom or my own chamber. Then, when you join us in the drawing room, I can tell you what I’ve found.”

  He glanced at her, holding his lower lip between his teeth. Obviously, he did not care for that idea, and yet he acknowledged its merits, however silently.

  “What if his valet is there?” he asked at last.

  “Then I won’t go in. I’ll wait until he’s gone. Or claim to be checking on the flowers, or the maids’ work or something.”

  “Please don’t do that,” Michael begged. “We’ll find a way tomorrow if tonight is difficult.”

  “But we’re agreed I shall look immediately after dinner. After all, I know the castle better, and I know where his chamber is. And if he does try to leave the table early, perhaps you can distract him.”

  He cast her a quizzical glance. “You are surprisingly relentless.”

  She smiled beatifically and led the way toward the harbor and the beach.

  She could not help being glad to walk home this way, and if Michael’s presence was an extra, secret happiness, well, it did no one any harm. The beach was more or less deserted at this hour, and it was soothing to stride and shuffle through the sand with just the rush of the waves in the background.

  “What led you to suspect Gayle?” she asked.

  “I didn’t until I saw him come into the inn and go straight to Judith’s parlor.” He hesitated, then added, “I found Judith in possession of a document she didn’t write, but which someone had clearly asked her to print. She tends to get carried away with enthusiasm and had not realized the danger, either to herself or those it was aimed at.”

  Maria’s eyes widened. “The soldiers?”

  He nodded unhappily. “She won’t print it now she understands. My hope is, it is one of the things she gave back to Gayle, but I’d rather she burned the wretched thing. I don’t like this association of respectable radicals with treason. And yes, I know, some people would equate the two, but that would not be true.”

  Maria nodded. “It is the reopening of the war that has made everyone so nervous. And led, others, I suppose, to take their chance. But what on earth is it Gayle is hoping for with this?”

  Michael sighed. “I don’t know. The fall of the government, perhaps, and our party in power. He probably hopes for a cabinet position, or at least a place of influence.”

  “But to work for Bonaparte’s victory? How would that help anyone in this country?”

  “It wouldn’t. But there are those who don’t believe—or don’t want to believe—that it would make any difference to Britain. They don’t imagine he would invade, particularly not with a French-friendly government in power.”

  “Do you think he would?”

  Michael paused to pick up a pebble and walked on, gazing out to sea. “I don’t know. I do know that if it all starts up again, thousands more will die all over Europe, far, far more than will die at one last battle, if only we win it—tragic as that must be for some, for many even. And I don’t speak impersonally here. My brother is with Wellington. But the dangerous fustian I saw in that document is designed to hit at men’s spirits, to make the soldiers discontented and desert, leaving too few to face too many, with little chance of survival. Perhaps they hope Wellington will simply be forced to bring his troops home without giving battle.”

  “That is what Gideon wants,” she blurted. “That is his connection to Gayle.”

  “I think so. And I think we have to nip it in the bud.”

  “How?” She glanced at him. “Braithwaite would know who to inform.”

  Michael nodded. “Yes, he would. I think, if we discover anything incriminating about Gayle, we have to tell his lordship everything.”

  “I know,” she said ruefully. “I wanted to sort everything out myself—Gideon at least—but his connection with this kind of thing makes that rather beyond me, even with your alliance.”

  Michael paused and threw his pebble, so that it skimmed and bounced through the sea. Maria found another and did the same.

  Michael regarded her with a smile of admiration. “Did Lord Braithwaite teach you that?”

  “Tamar, actually. We used to play tag with him, too.” She touched his arm and dashed ahead, calling back over her shoulder, “You’re it!”

  He caught up with her quickly enough, but she had learned how to swerve and circle to escape longer legs, and tagging her back was not as simple as he had clearly imagined. It made for a highly amusing game, and she only gave in eventually for lack of breath.

  They
walked on more decorously, quite at ease with each other, so it seemed quite natural to ask, “What made you fall in love with Judith?”

  Perhaps it was not a guaranteed way to keep the peace between them, and he certainly looked away from her for several seconds before he answered. Picking up another couple of pebbles half-buried in the sand, he said, “She was different. She wasn’t afraid of anyone, and she had such passion for her cause. Working with her was a revelation to me, made me realize with my heart rather than just my head, how stupid we are to disregard half the population, simply because of their gender.”

  His warm praise brought a lump to her throat. Who’s envious now, Maria? She watched him throw his pebble, saw it fall and vanish under a rolling wave.

  He rubbed the other pebble between his fingers and glanced at her. “What did she give you?”

  Without a word, Maria opened her reticule and handed him the crushed pamphlet.

  He scanned it briefly and smiled. It looked like relief. “That is Judith at her best. Sensible, passionate, and persuasive.”

  “Then I should read it?”

  “Undoubtedly.” He paused to throw his second pebble, and Maria stopped, too, steadying herself on the uneven sand by reaching out to a rock. It turned out to contain a puddle of seawater that quickly soaked through her glove. She plucked it off as he threw, and watched it bounce five times through the water.

  “Oh, well done,” she approved, wringing out her glove and moving forward once more.

  He returned the pamphlet to her, and without thought, she took it. Unexpectedly, he caught her wrist and turned her palm upward. The wound was not bleeding, but it still looked new and ugly.

  She snatched it back, hastily stuffing the pamphlet into her reticule.

  “What made you do it again?” he asked quietly.

  “I told you. It’s an old, nervous habit. I’m trying to stop.”

  “I thought you were succeeding. Was it yesterday’s abduction?” Or my behavior after? The second question hung in the air, unasked, but she chose to answer them both.