Page 33 of Earls Most Wicked

They arrived at Falmouth under the cover of dawn. The dusky light gave the town a romantic air though Nate knew the relatively large municipality could be a den for all sorts of goings on. The tightly winding streets where the old Tudor buildings nearly touched were a haven for the drunk, disorderly, and criminal. Nate came to Falmouth frequently enough, what with it being their nearest town and he had a sort of affection for it. It lacked the peaceful slowness that came along with living in a seaside village but he rather liked the anonymity of it. It certainly could not compare to London but it was a fine place to seek out his next adventure...or companion. Many attractive ladies attended the few social events and he had created many memories here.

The carriage slowed while it navigated the tight roads. Lamps were lit in a few windows and there were signs of people rising for the day, though only those who had a need to be up so early. A knocker-upper went by, a large stick in hand, useful for tapping on windows and rousing those who had no servants to ensure they were up for the day.

Of course, he would be creating new memories now. Ones that would involve Patience. His lips quirked when he eyed her mutinous pout and the way she kept her attention forcibly on what was happening outside. She had to have a crick in her neck by now, she had been staring out of the window for so long.

It didn’t help that she made herself so easy to rile. Despite the unusual garments, there was something uptight about her, as though she was wearing the snuggest corset available. He wanted to dig under that loose shirt and jacket and pull at the strings to see what would happen. She was quite the riddle, this woman.

The carriage rounded a corner and the street widened. The houses grew taller and farther apart. Each cream house mirrored the next, with tall windows and a large black door central to every building, reached by four steps and a black railing. Boot scrapers sat patiently outside each one.

The mail coach came to a stop not far from the end of the road, next to a grocery store. There was a bustle of movement while packages and letters were unloaded so Nate rose and opened the door to step out. The fragrance of wood fires filled the air. He turned to offer a hand to Patience but she ignored it and stepped down. She gave a little stumble and he had to bite back a laugh while she glared at him.

“The house is just along here, I believe.” She motioned down the road where the length of cream houses ended and branched out into two other roads. A few houses were scattered high upon the hills surrounding the town and Patience had pointed to one that sat at the top of a rather steep set of steps. At least they would not have any unexpected visitors, he supposed.

They made their way to the house, Patience hugging her large travel bag to her chest for fear of him doing something gentlemanly and offering to take it, he assumed. Well, he had little intention of offering right now. It would only lead to an argument and the journey and lack of sleep had left him too tired to fight.

“Here we are,” Patience declared. “The Smiths’ house.”

Jacob had informed him that the cousins had been called away from town. He was not sure what British intelligence had done but they had somehow ensured they would not return until the French woman had been found. It was here that he and Patience would pose as this cousin and her husband, and hopefully make contact with Pauline. Then they would be able to persuade her to give over the information in return for protection from her husband and potentially Napoleon. The emperor would not be best pleased to find out his old mistress was giving away his secrets.

Of course, Nate would never treat a lover so poorly. All his conquests went away very happy women indeed.

The door to the house opened before they had even knocked. A short, slightly rounded woman answered and peered at them both. She was short, even compared to Patience, and that was saying something.

“Come on in,” the woman said, glancing around. “Leave your luggage in the hall.”

Nate did as he was told, placing his bags onto the black and white tiled floor. A white painted staircase, laid with a red patterned carpet rose upwards while a hallway reached past it, leading to a door at the end and one to the side of them. It was hardly comparable to his brother’s house but the occupants would be wealthy enough and likely held at least another home elsewhere. A chandelier hung from the high ceiling but was unlit. Only two lamps provided the light in the room.

The woman hustled them into the room to the side which turned out to be the drawing room. Again, only two lamps were lit, just enough to cast a dim haze about the place. Several paintings of what Nate presumed to be local scenery hung on the walls, mingling with small, rounded portraits of elegant men and women. A fire burned in the stone fireplace, casting flickering fingers of light about the place.

“Forgive the poor welcome, my dears,” the woman said. “I am under orders to keep your arrival quiet for the time being.”

“We?” Nate asked.

“British intelligence.” She smiled. “Mrs. Joyce Rowley at your service. I am to look after you for your stay as well as be of any help that I can. Mostly I shall be keeping you fed.”

Nate peered at the short, wiry haired woman. Her thin lips and tightly pulled back black hair gave her a look of no nonsense but she had a friendly look in her eye and an open manner.

“A pleasure to meet you,” Nate said.

“You are Lord Nathaniel Kingsley, and you are Miss Patience Grey?”

He nodded. “Indeed. At least for now.”

“Have you heard any word of Pauline?” Patience demanded.

Joyce gave an appreciative smile. Apparently, she was keen to set to work too. “Nothing yet. Mr. and Mrs. Smith left two days ago. We are blessed with them being out of the town. As long as we keep you hidden from sight, no one shall notice that the Smiths returned as different people. Our hope is that Mrs. Fourès shall try to make contact before long and visit the house.”

“And hopefully bring us that information,” Patience finished.

“What exactly is the information?” Nate asked the woman.

Joyce gave a smile. “I am afraid I do not know. I am merely a lowly housekeeper.”

“For British intelligence,” Nate muttered.

“I have cooked and cleaned for many important men and women,” Joyce said with pride. “However, I am rarely privy to the important information. There are several files awaiting you in the study that were sent down prior to your arrival.”

“And you wouldn’t know what was in them?”

Joyce’s smile turned mischievous. “Not at all.”

Nate tried not to grin. The housekeeper might claim ignorance but he knew if he were in her position, he would have snuck through the files himself.

Patience nodded. “We had better look through those now.”

“Already? Would you not like some refreshment first?” Joyce asked.

Nate was about to agree that he would not mind a coffee at all but Patience shook her head. “No thank you. Let us look at those files and then we shall have a drink and something to eat, if you please.”

“All business,” Nate murmured.

Patience shot him a glare. “Is the study through here?” she asked, motioning to the door at the end of the hallway.

“Through there and to your left. I shall ready some drinks for you and bring them in. I think Lord Nathaniel could do with something.”

Nate gave the housekeeper a grateful smile.

Nate dutifully followed Patience through the house to the study. The fire in the room was unlit. A stack of papers awaited them on a mahogany desk. Two book cases covered one wall, the spines old and dusty. Most looked as though they had never been touched.

Nate waited while Patience leafed through the information. He would read it himself shortly, once he had consumed a coffee. He strolled about the room and picked up a book. A cloud of dust consumed him and he let out a sneeze that would not be held back.

Patience glared at him.

“I hardly sneezed on purpose,” he declared.

She waved a bit of paper at him. “Mrs. Fourès played Napoleon well it seems. She ensured he wanted her desperately before giving in to being his mistress. It seems, though, there may have been some affection there, particularly as she was not happy in her marriage. When he lost interest, it likely hurt her.”

“And she lost her husband too,” Nate added.

“Some might say that was a blessing, including Pauline by the looks of it. If she was right, he might have been a danger to her. But our Madame Pauline was not happy with simply escaping. From the letters they’ve copied here it’s clear she wants revenge and to secure her safety. What better way than to hold important information in enemy territory?”

“Why does she not simply give it over?” Nate asked.

Patience shook her head. “She probably still loves him. She is probably using the information to ensure she is left alone. We are dealing with an intelligent woman by all accounts. It says here, in her letter, if anyone threatens her, she shall reveal the names of several French spies as well as information on Napoleon’s next movements.”

He rubbed a hand across his jaw. “All of which could be a huge help to the war effort.”

“We need to ensure she comes out of hiding and we need to be the ones who gain her trust.”

“Sounds simple enough.” Nate strode over to the fireplace and eyed the miniatures in gilded frames of various family members. “We wait, you pretend to be her trusted cousin, and if needs be, we reveal our hand and ensure she gives over the information.”

“When you get to my age, Lord Nathaniel,” Joyce said as she entered the room with a tray of coffee and biscuits, “you realize nothing is ever simple.”

Nate glanced at Patience and found he had to agree with the housekeeper. There would be nothing simple about being in Patience’s company. Nothing at all.