Page 30 of The Swan Detective (The Swan Syndicate #2)

“Tell me more.” Hensley pushed his plate aside, leaned back, and placed his hands over his robust stomach, ready for an interesting story, if nothing else.

While Beckworth had opened the door regarding Stella’s activities, he wasn’t sure why the spymaster was suddenly so interested in the theft of jewelry he’d shown little interest in before.

“The first theft was at Eloise Stanton’s party, where a brooch was taken.

The second, as you know, was a necklace from the duke’s ball.

What ties them together is that both items were one-of-a-kind pieces designed by a jeweler in France by the name of Louis Pierre Deschanel.

He’s only made a small number of pieces, which are all commissioned and require months to create. ”

“And Stella uncovered this?” Hensley asked.

“You shouldn’t be surprised,” Jamie said. He wiped his hands on a napkin and took a sip of ale. “Even I know how upset Dame Ellingsworth was about the loss. I can’t imagine Stella not getting involved.”

Beckworth should have known that as well.

With this business with the smugglers and his guilt in keeping it from Stella, he’d lost focus.

She’d become more independent during this time jump, and with her array of friends, he’d assumed they would stay busy enough with the number of parties they had to juggle.

He’d been a fool.

Stella, no matter how richly she was dressed or how many parties she went to, was the same woman underneath. Curious and loyal to a fault. She’d mentioned what she’d discovered, but he’d given it no more thought. What else was she up to?

“Is she going to stir up trouble?” Hensley asked. The question was barely out of his mouth before Lando and Jamie laughed.

Beckworth had to smile. “She doesn’t consider searching for the truth to be trouble, but I’ll keep an eye on her.”

Jamie gave him a look that said good luck with that, and Beckworth had no doubt there would be a new betting pool on the Daphne , because there wasn’t a chance in hell that Fitz wouldn’t hear about this conversation.

Fitz was always up for a good bet, though as Beckworth thought it through, he doubted it would have much of a return.

There wasn’t a sailor on the Daphne who’d met Stella who wouldn’t bet on her.

“Why don’t we return to the matter at hand?” Hensley took a bite of a pastry and shuffled papers around until he found his journal. “You say Fitz is at this pub now?”

“And he’ll be there for a while.” Lando updated Hensley and Jamie on their morning at the warehouse and the handful of men who’d entered the club. “They must be hearing about the meetings from somewhere.”

“The pub is convenient enough.” Beckworth set his plate on a side table and leaned toward the group.

This next part was going to require some convincing.

“Being close to the docks, even Frenchmen can blend with a crowd, especially if it’s filled with other Frenchmen and sympathizers. But it’s also an opportunity.”

Lando nodded. “But as you said earlier, we need a Frenchman.”

“And I know of one who might be willing to help us out.” Beckworth waited until the others quieted, wanting their full attention when he dropped the name. Stella wasn’t the only one who could stir things up.

“Alright. Enough with the suspense.” Jamie sat close enough to prod his knee.

“André Belato.”

Lando and Jamie required a moment to recognize the name, but Hensley was already shaking his head. Beckworth wasn’t worried, but he would let Hensley have his say first.

“I see no reason to help anyone in league to steal the Mórdha Stones and the chronicles.” Hensley huffed. “I’d be a laughingstock for even asking for a temporary release.”

“Not a temporary release.” Beckworth stood and poured four glasses of Jameson. He handed the first one to Hensley. “A permanent release and a transfer back to France.”

He handed out the other glasses while he waited for Hensley to bluster.

“There’s only one way out of Portchester Castle. The end of the war or a peaceful transfer of prisoners.” Hensley drank half the whiskey.

“There is another way,” Jamie offered.

“In a box,” Lando answered.

“He’s actually in Norman Cross.” Beckworth ignored Lando’s remark and refilled the glasses.

Hensley sucked down more of the whiskey. “I see you’ve put some thought into this, but my answer is the same.”

“Come now.” Beckworth leaned against his chair rather than sit and stared down at the amber liquid, trying to remember a name that wouldn’t come.

It didn’t really matter. Hensley would remember the details.

“Let’s not be naive. It wasn’t long ago that the Crown gave a Frenchman a pardon and sent him on his way for providing critical information. ”

Hensley huffed, still working through the reason why Beckworth had made the suggestion. He was getting close.

It took months of working with Hensley and many games of chess before he learned to read the spymaster’s expressions, particularly his blank ones.

And while his face didn’t change much between the first mention of André’s name and now, there was a slight lift to his left brow.

The opportunity was showing itself, and Hensley took another moment before he looked up at Beckworth. He was on board.

“What would I tell Lord Langdon?”

Lord Langdon was one of the war ministers and father to Elizabeth Ratliff, the first Keeper of the Heart Stone. He’d been privy to the troubles with the Mórdha Stones and the chronicles and generally helped when he could. Beckworth was certain he’d also see the opportunity.

“Nothing more than the truth,” Beckworth answered.

“The only reason André came to England was his uncle’s death and the fact that he was destitute.

He chased the lies he’d been told since childhood and hoped to cash in on Gemini’s plans.

” He took a long sip of whiskey and turned his gaze to Hensley.

“I’ve met the man, spoken with him. He simply wants to go home.

He’s no more a spy for France than you or I.

” Beckworth sat and looked at the other two men, hoping to gain their support.

“He can be our spy. Or at least, get inside the club and find out what Leclair is planning.”

“You think he’ll agree to be a spy?” Jamie asked. “The offer to return home is a powerful one, but it comes at great risk.”

Beckworth couldn’t argue the point. He’d only met the man once in a tiny, dank cell in Newgate. At that time, the man would have given his left arm to be released. He’d been nothing more than a dupe for his beloved sister.

Something about André had given Beckworth pause in that cell.

He was a man who’d hit bottom. He’d finally realized that his life to that point had been a waste.

What he would be asked to do might go against his loyalty to France, but it was still an offer for freedom.

Beckworth was a betting man, a risk taker, and he’d seen the look of a man who needed a rope.

The only real problem that Beckworth could see was his increased participation in the mission.

His one task had been over. He could spend the rest of his time in London handling business affairs and catering to Stella’s every whim.

He grinned. There would still be time for him to gladly cater to her requests.

Beckworth pushed away his wandering thoughts and his lingering guilt to answer Jamie’s question. “I think André wants to prove himself to be better than his past actions have demonstrated. We only need Langdon’s signature.”