Winter's Heat: A Nemesis Unlimited Holiday Novella (4 page)

Chapter Four

“Hey—where are you off to?”

Michael turned to face the head footman. “Going to clean and refill the lamps in the Larkfields’ room,” he answered.

The chamber itself was just at his back, the door open. The Larkfields were down in one of the drawing rooms, amusing themselves with the other guests in the hours before dinner. A perfect opportunity to search their room.

The other footman only shook his head. “William took care of that this morning.”

“Can’t hurt to make sure everything’s tidy,” Michael noted. “Mr. Keene said the master wants Covington Hall to appear at its best for his cousin.”

“Get on with you to the pantry and help clean the plates for tonight.”

There wasn’t anything for Michael to do but obey, not without looking shifty, but he cast one longing glance over his shoulder. He’d been so close to getting inside the Larkfields’ room. Servants might be invisible to their masters, but they weren’t invisible to each other.

Back below stairs, he passed Ada, who carried a basket full of linen and a sewing kit. As the head footman disappeared around a corner, Michael drew up close to Ada.

“Tried to get into the Larkfields’ room,” he said, low and quick. “Got chased off.”

“Me, too,” she whispered back, frustrated. “I said I’d tidy up the room, but another maid’s been assigned to it.”

“I’d say we should light a small fire to get everyone cleared out,” he offered, “but turning the place to ash isn’t part of the agenda.”

“Hard to search for evidence when surrounded by an inferno. Besides,” she added, “the Cowans seem like decent enough folk. I’d hate to burn down their ancestral home just to incriminate their rotten cousins.”

“Seems like bad form.”

They offered each other small smiles—which caught them both by surprise. Bit by bit, maybe her faith in him was returning.

When he’d touched her earlier, it’d been an unthinking gesture, one formed from trust and the need to simply feel her. During their very first assignment together, after they’d grown comfortable with each other, he’d sometimes stroke the underside of her chin—a quick touch given in passing. Just a little something to reassure in the middle of danger, and also for his own selfish desire to know the feel of her skin. And she’d welcomed it, smiling every time, leaning into him.

So he’d done the same again today, forgetting—or pretending to forget—the tension still thick between them.

Too late he’d realized that one small touch couldn’t erase her mistrust.

With her smile now, he gripped a tenuous hope. Was he finally reaching her?

They’d always gotten along well, him and Ada. Very well. She’d laughed at his sometimes curious sense of humor, and even matched him for eccentricity. They’d been wary of each other when they’d first met, but it hadn’t taken long for them to recognize something within one another, something that drew them together. A spark, a pull, that made it feel as though they’d know each other for far longer than they truly had.

It seemed as if, with him, Ada hadn’t been afraid to show herself as she truly was. Sharp and confident in all aspects. She’d been the one to contact Nemesis, all those months ago. Rather than meekly let an innocent be hurt, she’d taken a stand. Not too many women—or men—had the same courage.

Her smile now faded as she stared up at him. An ache seemed to shine in her eyes, an unspoken question and need. And caution.

He’d answer any question she asked. Though the corridor in the servants’ quarters wasn’t on the list of ideal places for telling her the full story.

She shook her head, breaking the brief spell that had fallen around them. “No need for arson,” she said. “There might be a way for me to get into that room. I’ll have to wait for the hour before dinner, though.” Before he could ask what that plan might be, she glanced toward the servants’ hall. “When I find something out, I’ll tell you straight away.”

More unspoken words hung between them, but she hurried off. He wanted to watch her go—she had a swift but graceful walk—but a scullery maid and the hall boy appeared in the corridor, and so he had to move on toward the pantry. And trust that whatever Ada planned for getting into the Larkfields’ room would be successful. This was her first true job for Nemesis, and he couldn’t stop the throb of protectiveness he felt when thinking of her in danger. Pride pulsed through him. Despite her wariness where he was concerned, she stepped into the role of Nemesis agent with a lioness’s courage.

*   *   *

The hour before the family’s dinner was always a busy one, with preparations busy below stairs, and the masters above stairs attending to the complicated business of dressing. Below stairs, things were exceptionally chaotic, since tonight would be the first large, formal dinner.

Ada made the most of the pandemonium and crept up to the hallway outside the Larkfields’ room. The door was ajar, and she could hear Lady Larkfield snapping at the maid assigned to her toilette.

“That’s not what I wanted at all!”

“I’m ever so sorry, ma’am,” the maid stammered. “Maybe if I just—”

Ada lightly scratched on the door. The harried-looking maid jerked it open, but blocked a view of the room. “What do you want?”

“I was on my way to deliver a blanket to Colonel Braithwaite’s mother”—she held up the blanket in question—“and I couldn’t help hear you and Lady Larkfield in a bit of a spot.”

The maid rolled her eyes, and whispered, “Nothing’s good enough for her. I’ve done and redone her hair three times.”

“Perhaps … I could give it a go.”

Rather than looking upset, the maid breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank God.”

“What’s going on out there?” Lady Larkfield demanded.

Ada gently moved past the maid, until she was standing inside the Larkfields’ bedchamber.

“What?” Lady Larkfield said icily, sitting in front of the vanity, and wearing a gold satin gown.

“Begging your pardon, ma’am.” Ada made herself look as respectful as possible, “but I’ve maided for London ladies before, and I know something about dressing hair. I read the fashion journals to stay abreast of the latest styles. Perhaps I could assist you, just for tonight.”

Lady Larkfield regarded Ada in the mirror. Ada tried to keep her own expression a mix between humility and confidence—not an easy mix.

After an agonizing pause, the lady said, “Very well. You can’t do any worse than this drudge they’ve assigned me.”

Murmuring apologies, the maid backed from the room, but not without sending Ada a look of pure gratitude.

“Thank you, ma’am.” Setting down the blanket, she stepped up behind Lady Larkfield. “If I may…”

The lady waved her white, unlined hand. A hand that had never done a moment’s work in the whole of its existence, and didn’t care about scores of tiny children’s hands performing endless drudgery.

Ada unpinned Lady Larkfield’s hair and brushed it out. She used long, soothing strokes, and soon, the lady’s eyes closed.

With the woman distracted, Ada glanced around the elegant chamber. Ada had never slept in a room half as luxurious, but she’d never cared about that. As far as she was concerned a bedroom was a place to catch some quick rest before starting the next day’s work.

Though with Michael … she’d once begun to think of bedrooms in an entirely different way. Now … she didn’t know what to make of her feelings. Only that she wouldn’t take him to bed. Not when everything was so jumbled and uncertain.

She pushed these thoughts from her mind. She had a job to do, and she wouldn’t distract herself with thoughts of her and Michael tangled in that enormous canopied bed.

The luggage had been pushed into a corner of the room. Usually, once guests’ bags had been unpacked, they were kept in a storage room until it was time for the visitors to leave. But the Larkfields had decided to hold on to their bags. They had two steamer trunks, three large suitcases, and two smaller valises. Ada had counted them all as they’d been unloaded from the carriage.

Except … one of the valises was missing.

It could be under the bed. She dropped a hairpin, and murmuring something about her clumsiness, bent down to pick it up. As she did, she glanced under the bed. Nothing was there. Standing, she looked at the other areas of the room to see if the valise might be there. Not a sign of it. The case wasn’t in the chamber.

That couldn’t be a mistake. Given the way the Larkfields carefully guarded their bags, one didn’t up and vanish without them knowing.

“You’d better not be looking at my jewelry,” the lady snapped. “I know how you servants have light fingers.”

“I’d never, my lady,” Ada answered.

“Good. Or else it would be a small matter for me to call up some associates in London and have those nimble fingers of yours broken.”

Ada barely resisted staring at Lady Larkfield in shock. The gently bred woman seemed perfectly comfortable—and capable—of carrying out her threats.

She needed to finish dressing this odious hag’s hair before she could tell Michael—about the valise, and how Lady Larkfield was ready and willing to use physical violence. Much as she wanted to comb the lady’s hair into an unmanageable snarl—or perhaps find some tar and pour it onto Lady Larkfield’s tresses—she’d no choice but to elegantly style her coiffure.

Ada hadn’t been lying when she said she studied the fashion journals. Working at the mercer’s shop meant she needed to stay informed of all the changes in style. Though she didn’t have any actual experience dressing hair, she possessed nimble hands and a clever enough mind to figure something out.

It was an interminable thirty minutes, but at last Ada stepped back, her hands folded at her waist, and waited for the verdict.

Lady Larkfield examined herself, turning her head back and forth as if studying a painting. She lightly touched her fingers to the intricate curls Ada had fashioned.

In truth, Ada didn’t give a pig’s trotter what Lady Larkfield thought of the coiffure. If the lady screamed and threw a vase at her, it wouldn’t matter. Ada had gotten the information she needed. Though she did have to wonder, if Lady Larkfield was displeased, would she telegraph her “associates,” so that Ada would wind up with her arm in a sling? Yet Ada couldn’t simply leave, so she waited.

Finally, Lady Larkfield nodded. “This shall do very well. Be sure to instruct that simpleton who waits on me.”

“Yes, ma’am. If you’ll be needing anything else…?”

The lady waved her hand again, a habitual gesture of dismissal.

Ada bobbed a curtsy, then hurried from the room, grabbing the blanket as she left. She took it to the colonel’s mother’s room, then made her way back below stairs, where dinner preparations were at their height. The kitchen was a scene of madness shrouded in steam as the kitchen staff readied the meal.

She spotted Michael standing with the other footmen, receiving their orders from the cook. Though she said nothing and gave no sign that she was there, he seemed to sense her, since he glanced up and their gazes caught. A gleam like a welder’s torch flared through her, quick and bright, followed by a shard of confused pain.

She gave him a tiny nod, and he returned the gesture, then glanced toward the corridor. Retreating from the kitchen, she waited in the hallway, pretending to look busy. At last, Michael emerged, and they stepped into the shadows behind several crates.

“You look like an iced cake,” she murmured.

He raised his hand to his head, then let it drop. “Footmen at Covington Hall wear powder for formal dinners. It’s a bloody nuisance.”

“But so dignified.”

He grimaced. “If resembling a sick sheep is dignified.”

In truth, she almost liked him with powdered hair. It did give him a certain elegance, like in those paintings of young, sporting men—men who were confident, assured, gracefully sensual. Men who, the moment they finished posing for their portraits, went off and raised hell among the darker pleasures the world had to offer.

This wasn’t the time or place to say such things, and she wouldn’t let him know the sway he still held over her.

“I got into the Larkfields’ room,” she said.

His expression sharpened. “You found something.”

“More like I
didn’t
find something.” She glanced around to make sure no one was nearby and listening. “They kept all their luggage in their chamber. Everything but one. A valise is gone.”

He narrowed his eyes. “A lot can be kept in a valise. Incriminating papers. Photographs.”

“Evidence,” she said.

Michael nodded. “Could be exactly what we’re looking for. Somewhere in this house, they’ve stowed that valise. We have to find it.”

“And she threatened me,” Ada added. “Said if I stole her jewelry, she’d get ‘associates’ up from London to do me a violence.”

Michael’s face darkened. “Fine lady. She tries anything, I’ll punch her and her London friends’ faces in.”

Oddly, his anger reassured her. “There’s more danger here than us being sacked. If we get caught by the Larkfields doing anything…” She remembered the lord and his ivory-tipped cane raised in threat.

“Then we stay even more alert,” Michael answered. “But we search for that valise.”

“I’ve cleaned all day, and I still haven’t been in every room in Covington Hall. If Lord Larkfield used to come here as a child, he knows this place the way a butler knows a wine cellar. It could take days or even weeks to find what we’re looking for. And time’s not our friend.”

“All true.” Yet Michael didn’t appear discouraged. Despite the shadows, his eyes gleamed. “Working with Nemesis taught me the value of patience. A gun can’t be built in a matter of minutes. And it can’t fire if even the smallest piece is missing. We’ve just found our hammer. Up next, we locate our firing pin. Bit by bit, we’ll assemble our weapon.”

“Optimistic, aren’t you?”

His expression turned steely. “Not optimistic. Determined. The Larkfields
will
pay for what they’ve done. You and I will make sure of that.”

Ada straightened her shoulders. “The law’s blind. And its hands are bound, too. We’re just servants, but no one sees more or handles the dirty secrets of the masters the way we do.”