Authors: Shirl Henke
Taking a page from the disguise Jamison had given her cousin, she had selected an old black silk day dress and purchased a new hat her budget could ill afford. But the expense was essential, since the hat had a heavy veil that would conceal her face. Otherwise, Zarenko might catch sight of her. He would remember her none too fondly from last night. Just thinking of his wrath made her stomach clench. Then again, if she was fortunate, he would still be abed nursing a terrible headache.
* * * *
If Josh or Michael Jamison were anywhere about, she could not spot them as she sat in the lounge of the Metropole, watching the grand staircase for La Samsonov's appearance while pretending to sip from a cold cup of tea. She hoped that to anyone observing she was a guest in mourning, waiting for a male family member to escort her outdoors.
By noon, the waiters in the lounge were beginning to give her suspicious glances, wondering why she remained alone at the table for so long. Of course, being well conditioned to think that a respectably dressed woman in mourning should not be disturbed, they said nothing to her. But what if one of the Russians overheard them speculating about “the widow”?
She debated leaving the sanctuary of the hotel and waiting out on the street as she'd seen Josh do, but that left a woman alone in a highly visible and vulnerable position. Just as she was beginning to think she was drawing too much attention, Natasha Samsonov came sweeping down the curving stairs with her maid trailing behind her.
Sabrina tossed some coins on the table and made her way to the front door just as an expensive carriage pulled up and the ballerina climbed inside. Quickly hailing one of the many public conveyances waiting outside the hotel, Sabrina instructed the driver to follow at a discreet distance. He gave her a fish-eyed look, but when she offered him extra money for his trouble, he spit a noisome wad of tobacco into the gutter and nodded sharply, whipping his horses into a smart trot.
Drat Eddy, he was costing her a fortune in hansom fees. And this on top of the huge amount he already owed her! To add to her woes, the ride was long and circuitous, as if Natasha were trying to avoid being followed. Several times Sabrina had the driver stop and put down the step as if she were going to get out. Then while she pulled in the step he quickly leaped back onto the box and caught up with the Russian's carriage.
Twice she was certain they'd lost it, but by the time they reached Mayfair, the carriage was in sight again and pulling into an alley. Sabrina paid the driver, then slipped down and made her way on foot. Surely it could not be...
But it was.
The carriage had stopped at the mews behind Lord Hambleton's home. Her heart pounded. Josh had suspected from the first that someone employed by the earl was guilty of selling stolen information. Now she was about to learn who it was!
She watched as the ballerina, now as discreetly veiled as Sabrina herself, slipped from the carriage, leaving her maid behind. She glanced about, satisfied that no stablemen were in the mews, then walked through the open gate to the garden at the side of the house. How well Sabrina remembered that garden and her encounters there with Josh. She forced aside such thoughts and concentrated on following her quarry undetected.
Whom could she be meeting in broad daylight in the middle of the earl's topiary? Sabrina was pleased with the prospect of being able to eavesdrop through the shrubbery and hear whatever they said. But that was not to be. By the time she reached the edge of the wall and slipped inside, the Samsonov woman had vanished. Carefully, Sabrina prowled around the fountain, taking every pathway through hedges and around the willow trees. No sign of the woman.
Where on earth has she vanished?
I'm beginning to feel like Lewis Carroll's little Alice.
Not a sound could be heard beyond the gentle trill of water and birdsong. Surely even if they were whispering, Sabrina would have caught some slight noise, but there was nothing. Discouraged, she took a seat on the bench where she'd had her first disastrous encounter with the Texas viscount. Pulling back her veil, she rubbed her temples in frustration, considering the possibility that Natasha had slipped out the front gate and had another coach pick her up, but no. She would have heard the horses' hooves. The quiet residential street had remained silent.
Surely the haughty Russian would not have set off on foot down the street. A well-dressed female walking without escort would have been noticed by someone. She had to be in the house, but how had she gotten inside from the walled garden? It simply did not make sense, unless the Russian was capable of black magic. Well, she was a witch, of that there was no doubt, Sabrina thought grimly.
Just then she heard the soft rustle of taffeta. Natasha was approaching. Sabrina leaped up and darted behind a hedge, holding her breath as she peered through the greenery, grateful for her dark clothing, which would not be readily visible. La Samsonov's brilliant scarlet cloak floated out like a bird of paradise as she whisked out the gate and past the mews. In a moment the sound of her carriage taking off echoed down the alley.
Sabrina feared that La Samsonov had met someone inside Hambleton House who would know that the Japanese minister was not going to meet the Prime Minister tonight. Eddy was in the soup for sure unless she could find out who it was—and how these secret assignations took place. There had to be some kind of secret passage from the garden to the house. It was the only possible explanation this side of the supernatural. Where to begin looking? She started toward the side of the garden wall from which Natasha had returned but the sound of voices interrupted her.
Two stablemen returning from their midday meal strolled from the kitchen to the mews, discussing how fast the viscount's big bay stallion could run if he were entered against the Caruthers's line at Epsom. Then a gardener greeted them, saying he was going to sharpen his shears and prune the boxwoods in the garden. She could hardly risk being caught by servants returning to their afternoon chores as she crawled about in the shrubbery!
Although the spy must be a house servant, the outside help too were part of the gossip chain that included those higher in the hierarchy. Also to be considered was the ease with which anyone on the second or third floors could see out into the garden through the east windows. She would have to continue her search after everyone had retired tonight, under cover of darkness.
* * * *
“Do I look Japanese?” the slightly built agent in a ceremonial kimono asked nervously as he adjusted the elaborate wig on his head.
“Do I look like Genghis Khan?” Michael joked as he surveyed with misgivings the theatrical makeup he'd applied to make Calvin Firth's eyes appear Oriental. Any close scrutiny would reveal his Caucasian ancestry.
The poor devil wasn't even really a Foreign Office agent, but merely a clerk who worked on secret documents for Prime Minister Salisbury. He'd been asked to volunteer for this dangerous assignment because he approximated the size and build of Count Hayashi. Calvin Firth had no field experience whatever.
“It'll be as dark as the inside of a dog in that carriage,” Josh said, sensing how spooked the fellow was. He couldn't blame him. “As soon as we spot the Russians, a dozen agents will bulldog and hogtie ‘em before they know what’s happening.”
Jamison reviewed the route for the agents sitting calmly around the large table in Lansdowne's office. They would send the unmarked government carriage from Buckingham Palace along Pall Mall at precisely ten that evening. It would pass around the east end of St. James' Park to the dark, narrow confines of Downing Street, heading toward Whitehall.
“The best case would be for them Russians to attack the carriage from the park, which will be deserted by that time. With two of us concealed inside and others following closely, we'd capture them without exposing Mr. Firth to gunfire as he alights from the carriage on Downing. However, the street is, as the viscount has said, narrow and poorly lit. Since it provides two means of escape for the conspirators after their attempted assassination, it might be the most likely place for them to strike. Remember, they know the route, the time and the destination. Doubtless they've sent men to examine all possibilities by this time. We must be prepared for any eventuality. Are we all clear, gentlemen?” Jamison asked.
Josh watched him, cool and professional, as he fielded questions from his men and then informed each agent of his precise placement along the route. This was quite a different kettle of fish from the colonel's charge up San Juan Hill. Cantrell was glad the Englishman was on his side. Jamison had taken sole responsibility for the failure of their first subterfuge and the subsequent death of the prisoner. He had no intention of allowing Zarenko and his companions to escape a second time.
Josh, as a member of the peerage untrained in espionage, was not officially supposed to participate in the exercise. But without him they would never have learned about Zarenko's and his sister's roles in the plot. He insisted on going along, and there was no way even Michael could prevent him from being there. Josh had a vested interest in catching the assassins. It would prove that Sabrina's beloved cousin was a befuddled innocent, not a guilty traitor.
It would also prove that Uncle Ab had nothing to do with Russian spies.
* * * *
The night could not have been better suited to Sabrina's purpose if she had arranged it with the Deity. Thick clouds scudded across a waning moon and a light drizzle had begun to fall when she slipped undetected from her room. The household was asleep, except for Josh, who was out trying to capture Zarenko and his henchmen with Mr. Jamison and the other agents. The earl had gone to his club and was not expected back until very late.
She tried not to think of the danger her love might be in if they did foil an attempted assassination. The last trap had ended with a bullet slashing through his arm. What might happen this time? But if she was right about Natasha Samsonov's role in the conspiracy this afternoon, then Josh and his companions would be in no danger at all.
Poor Eddy would be the one in trouble, and he was still under guard upstairs. She thanked heavens that the footmen paid no attention to her when she said she was going downstairs for some warm milk and intended to sit in the library and read because she could not sleep. They'd exchanged knowing smirks, certain she was worried about the viscount, who'd vanished on some errand unknown to them.
After Josh had been injured and the earl had insisted that she spend nights here, giving her a room adjoining his heir’s, she'd known the servants would gossip even if nothing happened between them. But of course, something most certainly had happened between them. She only hoped that the rumors would not spread outside Hambleton House. If they did, she would lose the position Lady Chiffington had offered instructing Drucilla, which was her only hope of regaining her formerly impeccable reputation as a teacher. Even with the money the earl had promised for her school, she could not hope to establish it if respectable people believed she was a woman of loose moral character.
But I am a woman of loose moral character.
As she let herself out the kitchen door, Sabrina tried not to think of a future without Josh Cantrell...her Texan. But he wasn't
her
Texan; he was a viscount who would marry as his station dictated and leave her behind. The thought was so wrenching that she nearly dropped the small kerosene lamp she was carrying. Once beneath the shelter of the trees, she could light it if necessary.
Focusing her mind on the task at hand, she made her way carefully down the wet steps to the backyard and headed toward the garden gate. After stumbling on several uneven bricks, she almost decided to light the lantern. Surely the stablemen were all asleep above the mews. No, they were too close. She dared not risk it. After a moment more, her eyes adjusted to the darkness. Feeling assured, she slowly opened the heavy iron gate, whose hinges were always oiled so that it made nary a sound. Lord Hambleton's staff was extraordinarily attentive to every detail inside and outside his city house.
Why would a man so punctilious about his affairs hire a boy as unreliable as Eddy? The question had been niggling in the back of her mind for some time. And why had he chosen her to tutor his nephew? He suspected, as did his servants, that she and Josh were lovers. He'd hinted at it rather openly just before Mr. Jamison had interrupted them, carrying in a wounded Josh. She was beginning to sense a very disquieting connection between this conspiracy and the earl's mysterious motives for employing her and Eddy.