To Tempt the Devil (A Novel of Lord Hawkesbury's Players) Page 12

  “That’s because you’d make a terrible crone.”

  He threw his head back and laughed, dislodging another pustule. She grinned. Perhaps she should stay in disguise. Samuel’s wife was quite the feisty old crow. Lizzy liked her.

  “I may be a poor crone, but I’m a great fishmonger’s wife,” he said.

  “I’ve never seen a fishmonger’s wife as big as you.”

  “You should go to the Low Countries. They breed them large there. The fish too.”

  She giggled, her anxiety eased by his ridiculous banter.

  He stood and nodded at her hair, still uncovered. “You’d best keep it that way for today, to be safe. The rest of the costume too. I don’t trust Treece.”

  “Nor I. Will you remain in your disguise?”

  “No, I have a better one in mind for when I leave.”

  “Leave! You can’t leave, they’ll see you!”

  “Hence the disguise. Don’t fret, wife, I’ll be quite safe.”

  “But why do you need to leave?”

  “To find out what I can and get more supplies. Now, I’m starving.” He shed a layer of his extra clothing. “Shall we see what delights the servants prepared for breakfast?”

  She gave him a withering look but followed him down the stairs. Once in the kitchen, Lizzy removed the wads from the insides of her cheeks and the padding from beneath her clothes.

  Rafe worked side by side with her to cook the bacon and warm the leftover pie. He chatted amiably and didn’t mention her nightmare or their conversations about fear. Indeed, Lizzy didn’t feel afraid of him at all as they ate together at the kitchen table. He was friendly, fun, and she was dressed as someone else, someone with a tongue in her head and the wits to use it.

  Why couldn’t she be like that all the time?

  Seeing as she had a voice, she might as well say something. “How will we prove our innocence?”

  He set down the piece of bread he was about to bite. “I’ll take care of it, Lizzy, don’t worry.”

  “Don’t brush me aside, Rafe. I want to know what you think. And I want to know what you know.”

  His gaze met hers. “What makes you think I know anything?”

  She hadn’t but she did now. His lack of denial proved it. “I’m not a fool, Rafe. I might not talk much but I can think for myself.”

  “I know that.”

  “Then don’t treat me like a child.”

  He pushed his empty trencher aside and leaned forward. “I’m sorry, Lizzy, I wasn’t aware that I did.”

  She sighed. “You don’t. Not usually. But over this matter…well, I know you’re not telling me everything.”

  He sighed too and folded his arms over his chest. He no longer wore all the padding of his disguise and he’d removed the pustules so his face was once again handsome if somewhat troubled. “There is someone who wants me…punished. I think he’s the one who claims to have witnessed us committing the murder.”

  “Who—”

  “A former colleague.”

  “The madman you warned me about?”

  He nodded.

  “Why does he want you implicated?”

  “A…business matter didn’t work out in his favor.”

  “It seems an extreme measure of retaliation over a failed business agreement. Did he try to hire your services as a mercenary?”

  “It’s more complicated than that.” He stood and picked up the trenchers and just like that she was dismissed. He’d told her nothing. Worse, he’d told her just enough to make her worry even more.

  How far was the disgruntled man prepared to go for his revenge?

  She snatched the trenchers off him and plunged them into the cauldron of water warming over the fire. “Is that where you’re going? To confront this man?”

  “I’m sorry, Lizzy, but it’s for the best if I don’t tell you. Trust me.”

  “Trust you? Ha!”

  He sighed. “At least you’re speaking freely to me now.”

  Yes, she was, she realized with a start. And it felt good too.

  He came up behind her, very close. Every piece of her tensed deliciously, waiting for the warmth of his breath on her hair. None came. She glanced over her shoulder and caught him staring at the back of her bare neck, his fingers hovering as if he contemplated touching her there.

  “I was just, er…” His face reddened and he strode out the back door.

  She smiled and her irritation faded. She’d made him blush for once. It was quite a heady experience.

  He came back in with an armful of wood. His face was no longer red, nor did he look at her directly. “Stay in your disguise for the rest of the day,” he said.

  “All day? Even if Treece doesn’t return?”

  “Aye. You talk to me easily dressed like that. I like it.”

  “Oh? You didn’t seem to like it a moment ago.”

  He chuckled. “If we agreed on everything life would be dull. Now, about that fishwife disguise. Could you help me?”

  She wiped her hands on her apron. “You’ll need more than my help, you’ll need a miracle.” She grinned and he grinned back and the last of the tension vanished altogether.

  Rafe stepped into the enormous skirt and Lizzy pinned it to size at the back. She helped him with the bodice and cloak and arranged a cap to cover all his hair then she stood back to survey her work.

  “How do I look?” he asked.

  “Like a man dressed as a woman.”

  “Not even an ugly woman?”

  “Not yet. You need something down the front of your bodice.” She went into the storeroom and considered all the items they possessed. The cheese and pigeon would be too smelly and lumpy but the grain would make a shapely chest. She tore off pieces from the sack and returned to the kitchen.

  Rafe handed her the sewing kit and watched as she sewed the cloth into pouches.

  “You’re very good,” he said. “Very fast.”

  “My sister, Alice, was better. Her stitching was the best in London and she had a flair for designing costumes and gowns.”

  “I remember Alice.”

  “Everyone remembers Alice,” she said with a rueful smile. “Everyone noticed her. She used to think no one did but she was wrong. Being so tall and pretty and fair, how could she be missed?”

  “Particularly by Lord Warhurst?” Mischief danced in his eyes. If he’d ever noticed Alice in that way, it certainly didn’t matter to him now.

  She smiled. “Especially him.”

  He fingered the first pouch while she sewed the second. “You’re connected to nobility now. You could demand a better marriage for yourself.”

  “Better than James?”

  He shrugged one shoulder without looking up. “If you wanted to. I’m sure Lord Warhurst could find you an eligible knight or baron in need of a pretty young wife.”

  She laughed. “They would be disappointed when all they got was a plain old seamstress.”

  “There is nothing plain or old about you. As to being a seamstress, Lord Warhurst wanted your sister enough to marry her and she was a tiring house assistant too.”

  “Alice is beautiful and fun and lovely.”

  He stared at her, his eyes very wide, not blinking. “And?”

  She sighed. “I sound like I’m fishing for compliments and I’m not. Truly. But Alice is special. She worked hard to make herself a worthy companion for someone like Lord Warhurst. She practiced talking and walking like a gentlewoman every day from a young age. She learned to read and write much better than I, better than Mama and Papa. She’s teaching our sister the art of being a lady up at Warhurst Hall. Jane will be the one to attract a noble husband with her high spirits and beauty. Everyone says so.”

  He spun the pouch on the end of his finger, round and round. He seemed entirely focused on it, concentrating to not let it fall. “You could too,” he said quietly. “If you wanted to.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t. Going up there and being so far away from home, in
a world I don’t really belong to…It isn’t me. I’m happier here in London with Lord Hawkesbury’s Players. Besides, I’m much too shy and awkward to turn into an accomplished lady. Jane is a far better choice.”

  “You’re not shy and awkward now.” The pouch flew off his finger and landed on the table. He left it there and regarded her through heavy lids.

  “That’s because I’m not being myself here.” She waved a hand to encompass the house, her disguise, and his. “I’m dressed as an old crone, I’m being sought for murder, and I’ve spent the night alone with a…a man.” A very handsome, virile man, she’d almost said. “Nothing about this situation is normal.” She set down the finished second pouch. “You make it sound like you don’t want me to wed your brother.”

  He snatched up the pouches and stalked off into the storeroom, lifting his skirts so as not to step on the hem. “Of course I want you two to wed,” he tossed over his shoulder. “James needs you.”

  She sighed and instantly regretted it. It made it sound like she was having second thoughts about marrying him when she wasn’t. She should be proud to be James’s wife. She was proud. He was a good soul, kind and gentle.

  Rafe emerged carrying the full pouches, one in each hand. He held them up. “Do you think they’re big enough?”

  Men! Always concerned with size. She took one from him, sewed up the opening, and swapped it for the other. She sewed that one closed too, then watched as he stuffed them down the front of his shirt. The bodice was tight enough to hold them in place.

  He squeezed them and gave a nod of satisfaction. “Now do you think I’m ready?”

  “Two more things. First you should wear the hat I found in the trunk. It has a veil attached to the back but it’ll look just as good if you wear it back to front with the veil covering your face. That’ll solve the problem of your very…” handsome “…masculine face and this morning’s growth.”

  He rubbed his chin. “What’s the second thing I need?”

  “Me.”

  He stopped rubbing at the same moment his jaw dropped. “You are not coming with me, Lizzy.”

  “I am.” She’d never felt so thrilled, so alive. It was like a pressure had built up inside her, so slowly she’d hardly noticed it, but now she was finally releasing it and she felt wonderful. Free. “I am in as much trouble as you and I want to do everything I can to clear our names. I think we should pay Sir Robert Blakewell a visit. He might know more about the situation.”

  “You know him?”

  “We’re distantly related and I trust him completely.”

  “No,” he said emphatically. “It’s too dangerous for you. I’ll go alone.”

  “I’m in disguise, a better one than yours might I add.” She brushed past him and fetched the hat from the dresser cupboard. “Don’t worry, I won’t hinder you and I promise I’ll do what you say.” She held the hat out to him.

  He ignored it. “I’m not concerned about that. I am concerned about everything that could go wrong.”

  She waggled the hat and he took it. “Do you worry this much before every mission?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “This is different.”

  “Just treat me like one of your colleagues.”

  “You are nothing like Orlando or Cole. They’re not nearly as pretty.”

  She should have blushed but her face didn’t heat. She curtsied instead. “That’s because they haven’t got the benefit of this disguise. Now, put the hat on and let’s go.”

  He did and lowered the veil. It seemed she’d won that argument.

  She put her own cap back on to cover her ash-gray hair and together they went out the back door into the yard.

  CHAPTER 9

  “You are not to move from my side,” Rafe said, hooking his arm through Lizzy’s. She seemed even smaller and more fragile dressed as an old hag, but somehow less vulnerable. Perhaps because he knew the authorities weren’t looking for a craggy-faced crone, but more likely because of the change in her manner. He’d often suspected there was a sharp tongue in her mouth, now he had the proof. She hadn’t shrunk from him since donning the disguise, and she hadn’t held back her opinions either. It had been a good thing, until she’d insisted on coming with him.

  “Don’t look around,” he told her. “And don’t forget to hunch your back and squint hard for those wrinkles.”

  “Anything else, master?” She closed both of her hands around his arm, clinging on. Part of her disguise or because she wanted to?

  Why did he care?

  “Or should that be mistress?” she went on. “Or Lady Beardly perhaps?”

  He blew out a breath and the veil puffed up like a cloud. “I’ll have you know I used to be a beauty in my youth. Skin like butter and hair of silk.”

  “On your head or chin?”

  He laughed and squeezed her arm. How did James ever match wits with this woman? Or was she shy around him too? He hadn’t seen them together long enough to know.

  James. Rafe needed to see him. He’d planned on going to the Marshalsea today in his disguise but he couldn’t with Lizzy in tow. He had to go soon, however, or his brother would starve or be beaten or both.

  A dray pulled up in front of them and the driver offered the “poor old ladies” a ride into the city. Rafe helped Lizzy onto the back and they settled against the bales of straw. Behind them, caged hens protested the jerky start with a series of clucks.

  “Any sign of Treece and his men?” Lizzy asked. She still held on to his arm. There was no reason to ask her to remove it.

  Rafe scanned both sides of Borough High Street before he shook his head. “He’ll be near, though. We haven’t shaken him yet.”

  “I do not doubt it. A tenacious man, that one.”

  “Let’s hope he’s not too tenacious.”

  The dray rattled up to the bridge and they crossed the river into London proper. They’d agreed to keep away from their homes as it was likely Treece had a man watching them. Instead they would speak to Blake, a kinsman of her sister’s husband. He would know for certain if Barker was the false witness, and if he didn’t know, he could find out.

  They hopped off the back at the corner of Thames Street and walked up to Dowgate, deliberately keeping their pace slow to avoid attention. So far they’d been left alone. No one seemed to notice two women, even though one of them was unnaturally tall and well built. It was a good disguise.

  “You’re swaggering again,” Lizzy told him.

  “I am not swaggering.”

  “You are. It’s not feminine.”

  “No one could think me feminine, even when dressed like a woman.”

  “That’s for certain,” she muttered. “Just keep the veil low. One glimpse of that jaw and the illusion will be completely shattered.”

  “I have done this before,” he ground out. “Successfully and without your help too.”

  Her step faltered. She looked up at him, squinting to screw up her face and add wrinkles to her otherwise perfect skin. “Why?”

  “What?”

  “Why have you needed to dress up?”

  Bollocks. He’d said too much. “I can’t tell you that.”

  “There is an awful amount of your past which you refuse to talk about.”

  “For your own benefit.”

  “Why not let me judge that?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “Lizzy, do you think you could pretend to be demure and fearful again? Life was so much easier before you became this character.”

  She stiffened and let go of him. “I…I’m sorry, I…”

  He stopped and she stopped too. He touched her chin to force her to look up at him but even though her head lifted, her eyes didn’t meet his. “It was a jest. Do not stop being who you really are. Understand?”

  She nodded, but he could see she wasn’t convinced. For one thing, she said nothing. For another, she walked off. No more linked arms. He cursed himself. One day he would be able to say what he liked to h
er and she wouldn’t be afraid of him.

  They made it to Blakewell House but the steward told them to use the back entrance and speak to the cook. The cook let them wait in the kitchen while she sent a maid to fetch the master. Moments later Sir Robert Blakewell entered with a little girl attached to his leg.

  Lizzy beamed at the child. The girl clung tighter to her father and turned her head away.

  “Annie, it’s me! Aunt Lizzy.”

  Blake stepped closer, eyes narrowed. “Good lord, so it is!” Apparently the child was satisfied too because she stretched her small arms out and Lizzy took her. The girl wrapped her entire body around Lizzy and hugged so tightly Rafe thought he might need to separate them.

  “Lizzy, thank God,” Blake said on a breath. “Are you all right?”

  “Perfectly well, thank you. Do you know James’s brother, Rafe Fletcher?”

  Blake nodded a greeting. Rafe nodded back then realized his veil was still lowered, so he lifted it. Blake smothered a laugh. “You are an ugly woman.”

  Rafe batted his eyelashes. “You should have seen me in my youth.”

  Blake cracked a smile. “I’m sure men were throwing themselves at your feet.”

  “Why wouldn’t they?” Rafe said, playing along. “A big, strong wench like me would be a godsend to any shopkeeper. How many women do they know who could lift a barrel with one arm and a basket of fish in the other?”

  Blake laughed. “I’m glad Lizzy is with you. It eases my mind somewhat.”

  Lizzy glanced back and forth between them, frowning. Rafe wondered if he was the only one who noticed the uncertainty in her eyes.

  “Is Min home?” Lizzy asked, jiggling the child on her hip. “Or the boys?”

  Blake shook his head. “The boys are out riding with their instructor and Min’s meeting Style about her next play.”

  Lizzy’s face lit up at the mention of Style. “How are the players faring? I miss them so.”