The Viscount's Counterfeit Wife (26 page)

“And you have no idea
what caused your memories to disappear?” Mason sounded intrigued.

He wouldn’t find it
so interesting if he were the one without the memory! Reed muttered
under his breath, irked by the casual reaction to his enormous loss.
He rubbed the tender spot on his head gingerly. “I do have a large
bump on my head, which seems to be the reason for the loss, but how I
got that, no one knows for sure.”

“May I?” Mason came
further in and sat down in the rocking chair.

“Please do. I’ve
been spending too much time alone, so it’s nice to have someone to
talk to.”
Even if I don’t
trust you around my wife!

“Have you seen a
doctor about this?” Mason asked.

“Yes, that first
night when I woke up and realized I had no idea who I was.”

“That must have been
unsettling.”

“Unsettling!” He
laughed humorlessly. “That’s one way to describe it.” This Scot
had to be the least expressive person Reed had ever met! Unsettled?
He’d been damn unsettled! “Shocked is closer to how I felt... and
still feel some of the time.”

“And the doctor
said...” Mason prompted.

“Blasted quack! He
told me to rest... a lot... and it would come back eventually.”
Hell, he was up here sleeping his life away and getting precious few
memories back. Resting didn’t seem to be working. He tried not to
think about it. The thought of never getting his memory back was
enough to make him break out in a cold sweat.

“How long ago was
that?”

This conversation was
starting to sound like an interrogation with all these questions. Why
was Mason up here, anyway?

“Damned if I know!
I’ve been heavily dosed with laudanum and, though I’ve stopped
taking it now, it’s still floating about in my brain muddling my
thoughts.” He watched for Mason’s reaction, but could have saved
himself the trouble. He got about as much reaction as if he’d said
he thought it was going to rain today. The man had evinced no
surprise on hearing that Reed had dispensed with the drugs he was
being given. Reed had hoped to find out if Mason was part of the
scheme to keep him drugged and unable to function properly.

One thing, though, now
if she suddenly stopped bringing that damned glass of hot milk... or
the hot chocolate she’d recently changed it to, each night, he’d
know that Mason had told Talia. It would be a good test of the man’s
ability to keep things to himself!

Mason pulled out his
pocket watch, stood up and straightened his cuffs. “I have to go
now, but I’ll come back again, if you’d like me to.”

Reed nodded. “We
could play cards if you tire of talking.” As little as the man did
of it!

“Sounds good.” He
started toward the door then stopped. “Just had a thought. Have you
ever seen this man?” He handed Reed a detailed sketch of a man’s
head.

“Yes, I have.” Reed
smiled to himself. It felt like success of some sort to see Mason’s
head tilt up, like that. It was about the biggest reaction he’d
ever gotten from the man. “That’s one of those damned spies
across the street. He does the day shift.”

“You also believe
they’re watching this house?”

“I know they are.”
Reed passed the sketch back to Mason and went to stand by the window.
“I haven’t much to do all day, so I frequently stand here gazing
out the window. He’s in that house over there.” He pointed. “My
wife told you about them?”

“Yes. She gave me
this. She’s quite talented, isn’t she?” Mason’s admiration
was obvious.

“That’s her
sketch?” Damn, he could have bitten his tongue off. He hated to
admit he hadn’t known it was Talia’s drawing!

Unperturbed, Mason
nodded.

Reed felt foolish. “She
is a woman of many talents.” What else could he say? Just because
he had no memory, didn’t mean he wasn’t bothered that he couldn’t
recognize his own wife’s sketch!

“Why do you have it?”
He felt a twinge of anger that she’d shown the sketch to Mason and
not come to him with it. He should be the one she confided in!

Not that he’d
remember if she had done so before he hit his head! His shoulders
slumped. He had to face it. He was no good to anybody without his
memory and still feeling as weak as a newborn pup.

“She asked me to see
if any one I know recognizes him.” He made it sound as if he were
humoring her.

That annoyed Reed.
There was something serious, maybe deadly, going on in and around
this house. “I’d take her seriously, if I were you. She’s not
the type to jump to conclusions. That man,” he nodded across the
street, “and his pal, who does the night watch, are not playing
games.” He hated like hell being so useless! He knew he’d be able
to deal with it if he could only remember! “You should probably
watch your step around here. There are things going on that could put
you in danger.”

He had Mason’s
attention now. The man’s body tensed, his eyes sharpened. “What
kind of danger?”

“I’m not sure
what... yet... but I can sense it and,” he said with complete
conviction, “as soon as my memory returns, I will know.”

Mason stared at him for
long, silent moments, before moving to the door. He lifted his hand
in a small salute and said, “I’ll be seeing you.”

There was more to that
man than he’d first noticed, Reed reflected. His mother had always
said that still waters ran deep.

He’d remembered! Not
his mother’s face, sadly, but something that had been said to him!
This was the first time he’d done that! Feeling a bit lighter, he
strode across to pick up his bag. He shut the door to keep out
curious eyes and hurried to set the bag on the table in his dressing
room.

He was going to take
advantage of Talia’s visitors, to get dressed in his own clothes
and go out! A woman’s laugh from the drawing room reassured him. It
was the perfect opportunity for him to go for a little walk in the
park. No one needed to know.

He wanted to wear
something inconspicuous, so that man across the street wouldn’t
recognize him.

He should have thought
of asking for his things sooner. Why hadn’t he? That damned drug
had pickled his brain, that’s why. Now he was hoping the contents
in it would provide some clues as to what kind of person he was, and
why he was the target of a murderer.

Instead, from what he
was pulling out, it was only adding more disturbing questions to the
puzzle. The bag was of good quality, so he mustn’t be poor. He
pulled out a finely tailored, silk jacket in black and held it up
against himself. Excellent workmanship. A gentleman’s clothes.
Obviously tailored for him. Nothing wrong with this outfit. He put it
down and spotted a canary yellow and purple uniform.

What was this? A
servant’s livery! His servant’s? Why was it in his bag?

Puzzled, he rifled
through to the next item. A shirt and baggy trousers. Not his size,
though. They looked to fit a shorter, dumpier, older man. His
consternation grew.

From the bottom, he
lifted up a long white gown. He recognized it from his disquieting
dream. All that was missing was... ah, here it was, the turban.

He picked up a small
pouch and shoved his hand into it to pull out a handful of... Hair!
Damnation! These were moustaches, beards and wigs! Dropping them onto
the table, he went back in for more and this time surfaced with a set
of fake, crooked teeth! What was he doing with all these... costumes!
Was he an actor? It didn’t feel right and, if he was, you would
think he could at least remember a passage or two from
‘As
You Like It’ or
‘Hamlet’
,
other than ‘to be or not to be’!

Who
the hell was he? What was he?
An imposter? One who preyed
upon others by deceiving them into thinking he was someone he was
not? Why? To swindle them out of their blunt?

He shrugged off these
unanswerable questions for now. He had to get out of here! Even if
just for a little while. Glancing over the contents of his bag, he
pondered which persona he should adopt to go out. Would the man who
shot him recognize any of these disguises?

Not the well-to-do
gentleman’s garb. He’d be more easily noticed in that one. The
small park at the end of the street didn’t appear to be busy, but
it might be best not to risk being seen. And if he wore the servant’s
livery, everyone would wonder why he had the free time. It also
looked to be foreign and, if it was recognizable, that could cause
him problems.

Wait! It might provide
a clue to his identity! He’d have to find a way to look into the
livery’s origins. But that could wait. Right now, though he didn’t
remember who he was or recognize his face in the mirror, it was time
to go out and see if anybody else did.

The rank smell of
sea-coal — though potent enough to make Tally want to use her
vinaigrette or, at the very least, pinch her nose — was masked
somewhat by the spicy scent of exotic cargoes of ginger, sandalwood
and tea. The docks were every bit as dirty as she’d been told, but
no one had prepared her for the excitement of it all!

The hustle and bustle
of men rushing about like bees building a hive, loading and
unloading, scurrying from one end of the wharf to the other, carting
huge boxes and barrels… it all thrilled her. She sat in the hackney
with Mr. Mason, while Foster went to find Cousin Minerva. She knew
enough to avoid being seen and was quite happy to remain in the
carriage, doing rapid sketches of subject after subject. It was
almost too inspiring.

She was glad of the
investigator’s presence. Alone, she knew she’d have been too wary
of danger lurking to be able to draw freely. It felt strange to be
openly sketching in front of someone other than Foster or Monsieur.
But Mr. Mason didn’t seem to mind her ignoring him while she
worked. He leaned back, looking quite comfortable despite the cramped
space for his long legs, which were stretched out in front of him.
Apart from casting quick glances at her depictions from time to time,
he remained alert to what was going on outside. He’d promised his
discretion with respect to her art and she was taking him at his
word.

She was coming to rely
on this often silent, steady man who, on occasion, lapsed into a soft
Scottish burr, and who went about his business quietly and
confidently. She felt she could depend on him and, lord knew, she
needed someone to help her through this dramatic sequence in her
life.

“Here he comes.”
She was so engrossed in what she was doing that Mr. Mason’s quiet
comment startled her.

“Cousin Minerva!”
She put down her pad and turned to the window, looking for her
relative. But Foster was alone. A sick feeling immediately curbed her
nervous excitement.

“Where is Minerva?”
she asked him. “Her ship has arrived. I see it, over there.” She
pointed to a huge schooner. “
The
Factor
.”

Foster was disgruntled.
“Yes, the ship has arrived, but unfortunately yer cousin wasn’t
on it.”

“But how can that be?
She sent her letter as she was boarding the ship in Quebec, Canada.”

“It appears, once on
board, she and several others fell ill and had to be left on an
Island in the Caribbean,” Foster explained. “It’ll be months
before she’s able to board another ship for England.”

When Mason wasn’t
looking, Foster gave her his ‘isn’t-that-fortunate-for-us’
look!

“But... that sounds
like a plot in one of those Gothic novels!” Her hands gestured
expressively. “She’s been left behind on an Island?” As she
said the words, she realized this was actually the best possible
outcome. For her!

Then her better self
came to the fore. “Who is going to take care of her?”

“The Captain assured
me she was being well cared for by the missionaries there,” he
said.

Salvation! This was the
first positive thing to happen to her in three long weeks! She’d
been worrying about bringing her father’s cousin into a house where
she might be in danger now that it had become a target of some fiend
called The Vanisher! And it hasn’t escaped her that she knew very
little about Cousin Minerva, who might very well be a horrible
gossip. Tally could ill afford having someone with a loose tongue
living in her house right now.

On the other hand, she
had been counting on Minerva to save her from herself. With her in
the house, there could be no more spending time alone with her
pseudo-husband.

But she couldn’t let
their investigator see her relief at her chaperone not showing up. He
would have no idea why they were so relieved. Of the three of them,
he was probably the one who was most disappointed because he hadn’t
hidden his disapproval of her not having a companion. They had to at
least put on a show of being disappointed.

“Poor Cousin Minerva.
Poor me. I was depending on her to be my companion.” When Foster
opened his mouth to speak, she cut him off. “And don’t tell me
bad luck comes in threes. For if my almost being run over in the
street twice, followed by someone cli...”

His eyes opened wide in
warning.

She smoothly changed to
“...throwing a rock into our hackney, all do not equate to enough
bad luck already visited upon me, I don’t know what you’d call
it?”

Mr. Mason snorted.
Clearly he found some amusement in this litany of ills that had
befallen her. She glared at him and his face reddened. Good. She may
have to depend on him for her safety but she didn’t have to take
any nonsense from him or any man, even if she was putting on this
display purely for his sake.

“I wasn’t laughing
at your problems, Mrs. Leighton,” he assured her. “It just sounds
unbelievable that someone should encounter so many difficulties in
just three weeks, on her first trip to London.”