Shall We Dance? (20 page)

“It had better be, Nate, or you and I are going to experience the shortest friendship in history.”

“Hooboy,” Nate said, sighing. “Is it true you kill people?”

Perry smiled, but the smile didn't quite reach his
eyes. He was too busy deciding how much of Nate was silly youth and how much of him was possible ally. “No matter why I came to be on the scene, Nate, and no matter how I managed to get myself here, my intentions lie completely in seeing to Miss Fredericks's welfare and, because of her, the queen's welfare.”

“Georgie will be in alt to hear that, seeing as how she thinks it's my fault you got to kiss her.”

Perry blinked. It wasn't often he allowed himself to show any sort of reaction, no matter what the news, but this young buck had a definite talent to say the damnedest things. “I assure you, my man, I have only made Miss Penrose's acquaintance the once.”

“Oh, no, not her. Not my Georgie. Miss Fredericks. You kiss her, don't you? Oh! No, no, I never said that. Really. Never said that.”

“Yes, that seems best. Let us return, if you're willing, to the queen's dilemma, shall we? Her Majesty must be protected at all costs, I do believe we agree on that?”

Nate nodded furiously.

“Ah, wonderful, we've cried allies, then? It becomes more likely that someone is out to dispose of the queen before the Bill of Pains and Penalties is initiated. And that, my new friend, while a formidable problem and a definite disaster if it were to happen, is only the half of it. Have you ever heard of Jarrett Rolin?”

Sir Nathaniel blew out his cheeks. “Rolin? There's a nasty piece of work. Wouldn't want him within a continent of m'sisters.”

“Ah, good, we agree. And here is the problem, Nate.
Jarrett Rolin, for reasons of his own, is out to destroy me. This is, of course, my problem. But if you know anything about Rolin, you know he is a cowardly bastard who would much rather attack me without confronting me directly.”

“He ruins women,” Nate said, nodding his head. “My friend Freddie told me about his cousin. Damn shame. Had to marry her off to the assistant vicar before she popped.”

“Yes, thank you. So you understand. Now, Nate, let's carry this further, shall we? If you were Jarrett Rolin and you wanted me destroyed, how would you do it?”

“From a distance, that's sure as check, if half of what I've heard about you is true. But that's not what you mean, is it?” Nate seemed to think about this for a few moments, then whirled about to look at Amelia. “Do you really think…?”

“With very good reason, yes, I do think exactly that. There is more to the story, complications and coincidences that muddy the water even while making it more dangerous, and I would ask that you and I meet at White's late this evening where I will tell you all about Sir Willard, Jarrett Rolin and why you're going to convince Miss Penrose that she is entirely wrong in her conclusions and Miss Fredericks is entirely right in placing all of her trust in me. Can you do that?”

The younger man screwed up his face. “She's sharp as a tack, you know. She'll want to know my reasons.”

“Which you may not give her. She's bound to run straight to Miss Fredericks to warn her about Rolin. I don't want Amelia to worry more than necessary.”

“Uh-oh. You may not have to worry about that, Perry,” Nate said, pointing toward the ladies.

Perry looked in that direction just in time to see Amelia, her skirts lifted above her ankles, racing pell-mell toward the queen's residence, while Miss Penrose looked at him, chin raised in defiance, glaring at him as if to challenge him to dare, just dare, to chase after her friend.

“Damn it all to hell,” Perry said, watching Amelia go, one hand pressed to her mouth, probably to stifle her sobs. “Bloody damn it all to hell!”

“Aren't you going to run after her? I think females expect you to run after them.”

Perry shook his head. “No. It's probably better this way. Safer. Nate, it would please me if you'd remember our appointment tonight. As long as you're going to be here, mucking things up, you might as well at least know what's going on. You do seem to have a nose for adventure.”

“Is that what this is? Right now, Perry, my new friend, I'd say it sounds much more dangerous than a simple adventure. Going to take me some time to get over that, you know…that Aunt Rowena could be right.”

A
MELIA LIFTED HER SKIRTS
and raced up the stairs to the queen's chambers, following the hysterical shrieks, her heart pounding with fear.

She raced down the hallway, scrambling in the pocket of her gown for the key to the queen's chambers. “Clive, thank God you're here. What happened?”

Clive Rambert, Bow Street Runner, lovestruck spy and so many other things he had begun to lose count, shrugged his shoulders, attempting to look as innocent as possible. “I dunno, Miss Fredericks. I was walkin' past on my nightly rounds, just like I've been doin' every night, and she started screechin' like that. Sorry, her majesties don't screech, do they? Exceptin' this one is, sure as check. Screechin'.”

Amelia attempted to insert the key in the lock, but her hand trembled so badly that she at last stepped back and handed the key to Clive. The queen had insisted upon remaining in her chambers ever since Lucy's death two weeks ago, and only Amelia and Rosetta, who had not been returned to Italy, possessed keys. Queen Caroline barely slept, she barely ate, and she drank almost constantly.

“Here we go,” Clive said, turning the key in the lock, then depressing the latch and pushing open the door…all the better to hear Queen Caroline's screams.

Bless Clive! No matter that he had come to be here because of that perfidious Earl of Brentwood; he was here, and in a household of women (for who would count Nestor?), a man like Clive Rambert could only be seen as a godsend. What would she have done without him these past dozen or more long, fairly horrible days?

“Your Majesty?” Amelia called out, taking up a small branch of candles from a hallway table and holding them above her head as she entered the vast chamber. “It's me, Amelia.”

“Amelia! It's gone! My chest! My treasures! Gone, all gone! I sent Rosetta to fetch it—and it's gone!”

Amelia nearly sagged to her knees in relief. “Oh, ma'am, don't you remember? You entrusted the chest to me.”

Amelia located her queen lying on her bed, still fully clothed, her heavily made-up face a ruin thanks to her near-constant tears. The smell of spirits more than hung in the air; a person could almost chew it. Her Majesty was of the opinion that strong spirits destroyed poisons in the stomach, and seemed to have a glass at her side day and night.

The queen pushed herself up straight in the bed. “You? Why would I give it to you? You're nothing but another damned one of
them.
Lying, cheating, selfish, killing monsters!” She grabbed at her barely covered bosom. “And who is that? No men! I'll allow no men.
Men destroy! They're good for nothing save putting babies in our bellies. I've no more need of that, gel, let me tell you. No more need. Get him out!”

Amelia looked beseechingly at Clive, who was already tugging at his nonexistent forelock and bowing himself out of the chamber. She dropped into a curtsy, equally prepared to leave, as it was clear Her Majesty was beyond coherence at the moment. “I will fetch the chest, ma'am.”

“No! No, sweet girl, don't go. Don't leave me. I'm moldering here, dying here. I am so, so sore afraid.” Her wine-sour breath caught on a sob. “So alone and unloved.”

Amelia could no more ignore such a statement than she could ever entertain the thought of leaving her queen. “You are loved, ma'am. Greatly loved. If you were only to leave your bed, allow the draperies opened so that you could step onto your balcony, see your subjects as, daily, they take to their boats, praying for just a glimpse of their queen. You must be strong, ma'am, summon up all of your courage. Soon you'll be traveling to Westminster, ma'am. We must prepare. Mr. Brougham told me so himself today, when he visited. He's quite concerned.”

The queen reached for her ever-present wineglass and lifted it in a mock salute. “Hah, so I've got Henry wetting himself, do I? Good. It's listening to him that landed me in this terrible prison. Don't take the allowance, Majesty. Exile? You don't want exile, Majesty. You must come back, claim your throne. And for what? I was happy, Amelia. We were all so happy. Now I'm here, and alone, and dogs are dying…”

“We can't be sure Lucy was poisoned, ma'am. We've already discussed this, remember? She was rather old, and the voyage from Italy could have proved too arduous for her.”

“You tell your fairy tales to yourself, gel. I know what I know. Did Henry tell you? Liverpool has another witness lined up to tell lies about me.” She waved the empty wineglass in front of her, signaling for Rosetta, who had slipped back into the chamber and been sitting in a corner, knitting, to refill it. “Carson. Callow. No, Carstairs. That's it, Carstairs.”

“But…but Carstairs only served as butler since we arrived in England. He knows nothing,” Amelia said, then amended as the wily Rosetta coughed in warning, “not that there is anything to know. All the charges are without merit, ma'am.”

“Don't mollycoddle me, Amelia, I know what's truth and what's not. Rosetta will be next, and that brother of hers.”

“Gerado,” Amelia supplied, knowing that both servants should have been sent back to Italy, even over Her Majesty's protests after Lucy died that she could not bear another new servant in her presence. “I'm sure neither would say a word against you. Tell Her Majesty, Rosetta.”

Rosetta shrugged.
“Cu'e orbu, bordu e taci campa cent'anni ‘n paci.”

“English!” the queen shouted. “Nothing but English here.”

“She said, ma'am, that he who is deaf, dumb and blind will live a hundred years in peace,” Amelia explained.

The queen's red-rimmed eyes filled with fresh tears. “My Pergami often said that.”

Rosetta crossed to the bed and looked down at the queen, her expression one of mingled affection and exasperation. “I say nothing, Majesty.” Then, as she walked past Amelia on her way out of the room, she paused and made a rather rude gesture with one hand and added, “Makes for me to take bites of all her food? You English, worse than the Medici.”

“Yes, thank you, Rosetta,” Amelia said, stifling what would only be a long-suffering sigh. “I will sit with Her Majesty. Perhaps you have something you wish to do?”

“Chi non fa, non falla,”
Rosetta said cheekily, and walked, loose-hipped, toward the dressing room.

He who does nothing, makes no mistakes.

Amelia sighed, wondering if that was true. She had done nothing for the nearly two weeks since Lucy had died. Nothing but sulk, and weep into her pillow, and call herself every kind of gullible fool, and wait for the man who never dared to come back to Hammersmith. Or had never wished to return. No! She didn't have time for that now, time to think of Perry, who had betrayed her, used her. She approached the queen.

“Are you quite sure, ma'am, that you don't want me to bring you your chest? It would only take a moment.”

“A moment to live, a moment to die. Amelia, you're right. I must put a stop to this. I cannot live in fear. Henry wants me out and about, being seen. If I am to die, let me die standing on my feet, as a true daughter of my father.” She held out her hands to Amelia, who
quickly assisted the queen to her feet. “We were going to have a party. A dinner party. With that handsome earl of yours and your friends. We must do that. We must show the world that we are alive and innocent.”

She winked at Amelia. “Well, you can be innocent. I'm afraid I'm well past that. Saturday night, Amelia. Violins, Gunther ices. I so long for one of Gunther's ices. See to it.”

Amelia fought back the urge to grab at the wineglass the queen had abandoned and drink it all down. “I'm afraid that the Earl of Brentwood no longer visits, ma'am, although Miss Penrose and Sir Nathaniel are here often, to bear me company.”

The queen turned on Amelia, her eyes glittering. “What did you do, gel, chase him away? I want him here, I command him to be here. He's much too pretty not to be here. See to it.”

“But, ma'am…”

“I said, see to it. Am I to be disobeyed, like some powerless old woman? I give you everything, Amelia. I protect you. I have all but given my life for you. If I want that pretty fellow here to fawn over me, he will be here. Do you understand?”

 

“S
O NOW YOU'RE SURE
he's here? I don't understand why. You're certain? Seems like we've been chasing him forever, and never in the right places.”

Perry put a finger to his lips, warning Nate to silence, then nodded.

Jarrett Rolin was here, staying at this tumbledown
inn near London Dock. Not at this moment, no, as Perry had come up here alone at first, to knock, before returning to gather up Nate, who had been showing off for the bribed landlord, dazzling him with some trick with a pair of dice.

It had taken nearly a fortnight of looking, many a greased palm and misdirection, but Perry was certain that this time he had at last found the man's lodgings. He might have been successful earlier with Clive's help, but Clive had remained in Hammersmith, keeping a careful eye on Amelia and the queen. Not that Rolin would go after Amelia now, now that Perry was no longer seen courting her.

That was the only benefit to be derived by her steadfast refusal to meet with him, to even read the many notes he'd had Clive deliver to her.

Did she really think he would give up, go away? But this estrangement was for the best; Amelia would remain safe and Perry would eliminate Rolin. That was how he'd survived in Spain and France all those years; knowing which problem posed the most danger and solving that one first, then moving on to the next. It seemed cold, even to him, to place Amelia second on the list, knowing the hurt he'd caused her, but better she should hate him than to have Rolin free to do his mischief.

After that, his dearest Amelia was in for the shock of her life.

Perry took hold of Nate's arm and urged the younger man to step behind him as he led the way down the narrow, greasy hallway to the door marked Number Twelve.

“Locked, I'm sure. Well, that's it, then,” Nate said, clearly anxious to be away. “Unless you want me to break it down. I'm not against the idea, you know.”

Perry rolled his eyes. “Would you mind keeping that mouth of yours shut, just for the moment?”

“Sorry,” Nate said. “It's just that I've never done anything like this before. It's rather fun, even if this place stinks to heaven of blue ruin and vomit. An adventure, you understand.”

“I cannot tell you how delighted I am for you, and your nose,” Perry drawled, then looked up and down the hall before dropping to one knee to examine the lock. He reached into a small pocket sewn into the inside of his waistcoat, extracted a slim bit of metal, inserted it in the lock…and a moment later, opened the door to Rolin's small suite of rooms.

“Oh, I say, that was neat and tidy,” Nate said, following Perry inside. “Is that what you did in the war?”

“Close the door, Nate,” Perry said, crossing to the draperies and pulling them back, admitting weak rays of dusty sunlight that did nothing to enhance the shabby furnishings. “How low you have fallen, Mr. Rolin, and how gratified I am to see it.”

“Bit of a mess, clothing everywhere. Doesn't even have a man to serve him, just as you said. Forced to drape one's own neck cloth, shave one's own face, strip off one's own boots. Neat trick that, if you can do it. Blister me, is that a boot jack nailed to the floor? It is. Would you look at those boots over there? Ruined the leather, just ruined it, and those are Hobbs's finest, you
can tell. A gentleman can't fall much farther than a boot jack.”

Perry, who had been carefully sorting through the few papers he'd located in a locked drawer, turned to look at his companion. “If you're quite done having your sensibilities shocked, perhaps you could have a look around the other room? Don't disturb anything. We don't want Rolin to know we were here.”

“That's understandable. I wouldn't want to know anyone was here if I lived here. Mortifying, you know. What am I looking for, if you don't mind.”

“Weapons, for the start of it. Vials of poison, although I highly doubt Rolin is behind that. He has no reason to want the queen dead.”

“No,” Nate said, rather cheerily, Perry noticed. “Just you. He wants you dead. I suppose I might, too, if you'd ruined my life.”

“Rolin destroyed his own life. I merely nudged him over the precipice he'd been teetering on for years. Now go.”

Perry had always worked alone. He'd rather work alone. The addition of Clive was much in the vein of the occasional assistant he'd incorporated into his more complex assignments, and he'd much rather the clever Runner was with him now. And yet, Sir Nathaniel had proven himself to be willing and most definitely eager.

Perry used the tip of his cane to poke at rumpled piles of clothing Rolin had not bothered to place in the small clothes press, and avoided looking too long at the insects
crawling over scraps of stale and almost petrified foodstuffs that cluttered a small table.

Had Rolin moved on, leaving all of this behind in his haste to be gone? Had he gotten wind of Perry's pursuit, sensed that his enemy was getting closer?

“Nate?” Perry called out, realizing that stealth and silence meant nothing now, since in this section of London, nobody listened, nobody cared. “Do you see any baggage in there?”

The younger man poked his head out of the room. “I thought you said I should be quiet. No, I didn't see any. Just a bed in here, with sheets probably crawling with bugs. You think he's taken a flit?”

“It's possible, yes, even probable. And he left in a hurry. I've had to be less than discreet a time or two in my inquiries. It's not as if I can buy silence with a few coins. And as twisting the necks of those I spoke with is frowned upon, it can't be helped if I speak to someone and that someone drinks up the coins, then brags to his friends about the gentry cove who plied him with silver while he asked questions about some other gentry cove.”