Captain and Mrs. C. Fox-Willoughby.
“I’m forever looking out of the window and seeing things I oughtn’t.”
His eyes became blank, indecipherable. Good, she thought. He’s rattled.
“Will that be all, Madam?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
Next envelope.
She smiled. “I have a proposition for you.”
He said nothing. She approved of that, too. It was best to remain composed in the face of disagreeable things. “I may soon find myself,” she said, “in need of a new household. You take my meaning?”
William’s eyes narrowed, just a fraction. “I did hear that Lord Ashley is coming tonight, Madam.”
“Too clever of you. Yes, he is. And it has come to my attention that Lord Ashley does not keep a butler on Brook Street. Rather a deficiency, to my mind. One I’d take care to correct.”
He didn’t say the obvious thing. He didn’t ask, What about Shepherd? He had clearly guessed the answer. Shepherd belonged to her father, and the world was ticking on. It needed new people. New energy.
“I suppose I’d better think about it, Madam,” he said.
She shook her head. “No, you’d better tell me this instant.”
His face darkened. She saw it: his pride, wounded. It pleased her immensely. Men were like that: so easy to prick.
“What’s the matter?” she said softly. “Have you made other plans?”
Footsteps. The door opened. One of the under-footmen peered in. “Madam,” he said. “Lady Montagu has just arrived.”
Miss de Vries felt a jolt. “So early?”
“Yes’m.”
“Very well.” She rose. “That’ll be all, William.”
He gave her another long look, pressed his lips together, as if making up his mind about something. “Very good, Madam,” he said, and backed out of the room.
She laughed to herself. He’d come crawling back the following morning. She swiped the heaviest envelope from the pile before she went. She wanted to be alone, unobserved, when she opened it. She touched the wax seal with trembling hands. Tore open the paper.
…to advise you with pleasure that Her Royal Highness is minded to answer your request in the AFFIRMATIVE, and that you may expect the Equerry and her principal Lady of the Bedchamber to attend you at…
The light was falling gently through the window. I am touched by grace, she thought, heart leaping. I am on my way to victory…
Shepherd made a beeline for her in the front hall. “Her Grace simply turned up, Madam. We had no idea…”
Miss de Vries waved him back. “Never mind that now. Can we get her some early supper?”
“I’ll bring up the consommé.”
There was something entirely right about the air. Everything was scented with orchids. “Is Lord Ashley coming soon?”
“We haven’t had word yet.”
She wrinkled her nose, not liking the dry smell of Mr. Shepherd’s breath. “Very well. Take me to Her Grace.”
23
6:00 p.m.
Six hours to go
Hephzibah studied her costume in the looking glass. She’d encrusted herself in paste jewels, adorned herself with feathers. She wore gigantic hoop skirts, and a wig teased and curled several feet into the air. She looked as if she’d been painted pink, the punch-colored satin clinging to her skin. I am a bird of paradise, she told herself, hands shaking. I am the sensation of my age.
She heard that voice, hard and cold. “Your Grace. I hope something isn’t the matter?”
Hephzibah took a breath, right from the gut, and whirled around. “I always arrive as early as possible for a ball,” she said, her words ringing out across the dining room. “I love every minute of a party.”
The ball wasn’t due to begin until nine o’clock. The full robbery itself wouldn’t commence until midnight, per the plan. By any measure, Hephzibah had arrived impossibly early. But she needed to be in position, ready to steer her first guests into the house. It meant holding character, without pause, for hours. Hephzibah’s hands began to shake even more, and she fanned herself violently to hide it.
Miss de Vries glanced at the clock, raised an eyebrow. But Mrs. King was right. This girl had been trained well. She was a consummate professional. “I am glad you are here, Your Grace,” she said. “I owe you a great debt of gratitude for your attendance.”
Hephzibah started. “Oh.” And then, recovering, said, “Then you may kiss my hand, if you wish.”
Miss de Vries smiled, a flat-eyed, reptilian expression. “And your costume is simply marvelous.”
“I am the French queen,” Hephzibah said. “A wayward, wanton she-devil, one who brings revolution and fire. I am death! I am destruction! I hope I keep my head on!” Hephzibah felt her wig bobbing. “I will station myself here, to ensure we can properly receive Her Royal Highness. I have received every indication that she will be with us this evening. Her detectives will be arriving at any moment.”
Hope, a little flash of it, dawned upon Miss de Vries’s face.
“Yes,” she said, voice low. “I already received the message.”
Hephzibah didn’t know what to make of this. She supposed Alice Parker had gone to Miss de Vries first and told her mistress that the princess was coming.
“Excellent,” she said. “Then follow me, my sweet hostess, and we shall meet them!”
A group of men, fresh shaven and quick eyed, stood in a louche group at the edge of the hall. This was Mrs. Bone’s second tranche of foot soldiers. Hephzibah glimpsed Mrs. Bone concealing herself behind a pillar.
“Your Grace,” said the first man. “We’re here to have a quick look around.”
“Splendid,” said Hephzibah.
Miss de Vries scanned them, her expression unreadable. “You are members of the constabulary?” she said.
“Sure, we are,” said the first with a lilt.
Miss de Vries’s eyes narrowed. And then she looked at Hephzibah.
Hephzibah beamed, a rictus grin that made her cheeks ache. Sweat beaded its way down the back of her neck.
“By all means, gentlemen,” said Miss de Vries.
They didn’t waste a moment. They flowed out and around her, up the stairs and through the house. The place was flooded with Mrs. Bone’s troops in minutes.
Mrs. Bone sighed with relief as her men slipped past. She’d sneaked away to make sure they arrived safely: she always liked to oversee a big delivery. And they didn’t seem spooked. They were all working to plan. Everything was simply fine. Finally, she thought, we’re off. All day she’d felt like a horse pawing the ground behind the gate. She needed to get on now, be in motion. She was clutching a pair of vases, her fingers twitching.
“What are you up to?”
Mrs. Bone jumped. Cook had appeared behind her.
Of course you’re here, Mrs. Bone thought, creeping and crawling around, scratching your arse and getting in my business when you should be looking after the young ones, protecting them, keeping them safe…
“Hadn’t you better stay below stairs, Cook?” muttered Mrs. Bone. “Isn’t there something for you to be doing?”
“If you’re allowed to sneak a peek upstairs, then I’m quite sure I am,” said Cook in a comfortable whisper, leaning on the pillar, not hidden at all. “Would you look at that one—she’s trussed up like a turkey, ain’t she?”