Page 41 of Mistress of Sins

Margaret’s expression turned astonished. “Why, we will go to Scotland on an extended holiday, and find a nice cottage. Perhaps on one of the islands, for they are said to be lovely. I have always wished to visit the Isle of Skye. You will wear my wedding ring, and choose a suitable surname for a married lady who has just lost her husband in the war—not Gerard, of course. Then we will go on long walks, and eat sensibly, and wait for the child. The baby will be born in the summer, when the weather is so very fine. I daresay we should invite Lady Greystone to join us there, too, once the baby has come.”

“You have it all sorted.” She pressed her lips together for a moment to stop them from trembling. “And if I am not with child?”

“Then we shall still go, and tour the country, and buy many fine plaids to bring back to Reed Park.” Her mother kissed her cheek. “Leave it all in my hands, my darling. Whatever comes, we will be happy.”

Chapter 22

From Renwick Greystone rode directly to London, stopping only once to water and rest the horses. Dawn came before he reached the city, so he covered Catherine Tindall with the coat Jennet had given him. Tucking it around her concealed her form as well as her bonds, but she made furious sounds and struggled under the heavy wool.

“Be silent and still, and you may live to hate the English another day,” Greystone told her. “Keep fighting, and I will finish what Jennet started at the hall.”

He rode to a livery in Cheapside that did much more than hire out carriages and horses, and gave the burly stable hand who came to meet him his passcode. The station to which he reported was not his usual stop when he came to London, but as soon as he explained himself to the chief officer he was provided with fresh clothing and a carriage with an armed driver. The last he saw of Catherine was when she was marched back to one of the cells hidden behind the stalls to await transport to prison. They had kept her hands tied behind her back, but removed her gag.

She glanced back over her shoulder at him, her pretty face smeared with dirt and her eyes dull with defeat. Then she spat in his direction.

Greystone felt a curious sense of seeing his own fate, had it not been thwarted. If not for Jennet, that would be me.

From the station, the carriage took Greystone to Whitehall, and the Horse Guards building across from St. James’s Palace. Soldiers and certain members of government were permitted into the old red brick building, which most of London regarded as a barracks and stable for the most senior Army regiments. The Secretary at War and his staff encouraged this illusion.

Guards stopped Greystone at five different checkpoints before he was permitted access to the war room, where his superiors worked tirelessly to gather and analyze the latest reports to advise Wellington and Parliament on the war effort. Today he found three older statesmen with one of the general’s most trusted spymasters, a quartet wryly known among their agents as the Four Horsemen.

He wasted no time after greeting them as he placed the cipher onto the map table. “Gentlemen, Arthur Pickering died last night to protect this from French agents on English soil. I was obliged to deliver it myself. I hope it was worth his life.”

The spymaster, a reedy man with little hair and flat eyes, picked up the book and skimmed through it.

“We shall see to it that it is.” He glanced at the other three men, who abruptly left the room, and then regarded Greystone. “My station chief advises that you captured and brought in Ruban as well. Quite unsettling for me to learn that he is actually an Irish woman.”

Reporting on what he had learned from Catherine Tully, Greystone also recommended they collect her parents and the other three agents from the magistrate in Renwick before any of them managed to get word out of their capture.

“Yes, that will keep the French using the same cipher for some weeks yet, until one of their more intelligent generals works out that we have it.” The spymaster smiled a little. “This, along with the elimination of Ruban, could very well turn the tide of the war to our favor. You are to be commended, Raven, even if I can never do so officially.”

“Thank you, sir.” He suppressed the sudden urge to lunge at his superior. “I should like to return to France as soon as may be arranged.”

“I am afraid that Arthur Pickering did not share your opinion.” The older man pocketed the cipher. “I received a report from him last week concerning your fitness for duty. For many reasons, including your inheritance of the barony, he felt this operation should be your last. I am inclined to agree.”

Greystone shrugged. “I liked Pickering, but he was just a courier. I am more than willing to continue serving.”

“We do not always inform our agents as to who they work with, or what their real responsibilities are,” the spymaster chided. “Arthur was my most trusted analyst, and evaluated for me the performance of all our overseas operatives.”

So Arthur had had other motives for bringing him to Renwick. Greystone didn’t know what to say in his defense. All he could think was what the vicar had said to him just before they had routed Catherine’s men.

The spymaster took out his pocket watch to check the time. “I am due to brief the Prime Minister and the Secretary at War within the hour, so I must keep this brief. In a few days we will let it slip that Arthur Pickering was the Raven, so the French will believe they have achieved some small victory over us. We will arrange to have the merchant, Guillame Girard, die in a tragic carriage accident while traveling in Provence. Ruban will go to the gallows, and her family persuaded to talk, unless they wish to suffer the same. I expect they will hang rather than cooperate.”

It took William a moment for him to gather enough breath to speak. “What am I to do, then?”

“Why, you will now retire from our service, William, and return to the life you should have had these seven years—with our gratitude, sir.” The spymaster touched his shoulder. “I suggest you take some time for yourself. The transition will be made easier that way. Perhaps a long holiday in the country will help.”

Could it be this simple? “Sir, what am I permitted to tell my family?”

“You may tell everything to those you trust to keep it to themselves. Your mother, certainly. No harm can come from it now.” The older man grinned. “After all, the Raven is dead. Long live Baron Greystone.”

* * *

The ancient butler who opened the door to the London house looked down his nose at Greystone. Since he was a head shorter, that required a remarkable arrangement of his neck and head. But John Morris had a lifetime of service to the Gerards, as well as the baron’s chilly example, which had helped perfect his disdainful posturing.

“Her ladyship is not receiving,” the old man told him in a tight, disapproving tone. He didn’t have to add ‘you, ever’ to the end of that statement.

“Get out of my way, Morris, or I will move you.” Greystone looked down at the cane the butler had butted against his belly. He felt a flicker of admiration for the old man, who he could probably snap in half. “Permit me inside, and it will be the last time I darken these premises. I swear it.”