A Lady of Integrity Page 9

  “Are you enjoying your time in the Duchy, sir?” Andrew inquired, clearly hoping to deflect the conversation. “Have you been to the Exhibition?”

  “I’ve no time for frippery. I’m here on business, and for Gloria, for her sainted mother’s sake. We have not seen one another in some months.”

  “I understand you take quite an interest in engineering,” Andrew went on, “and in fact have achieved great recognition in those circles. Are you working on something presently?”

  Meriwether-Astor glanced at him distractedly while he attempted to follow Gloria and her partner around the room. Did he think Ian would abandon her and he would need to tackle the baronet before he got clear away?

  “I’m interested in underwater transport,” he finally vouchsafed. “Seems like a good place to sell it, don’t you agree? Excuse me, I’ve just seen someone I must say hello to. I’ve been waiting days to get in to see the Minister of Justice, and there he is in the flesh. Nice to have met you all.”

  And he hurried off.

  As a laurel leaf detached itself from his crown and wafted to the polished floor in the wake of his going, Alice realized he had not been watching his daughter dance, after all. He had been watching for an opportunity to do business.

  And now, as they saw him approach a tall, dark-complected man wearing a sword and angel’s wings, thanks to him they now knew who the Minister of Justice was.

  11

  Lizzie rolled her shoulders in irritation, and the wire hoops of her fairy wings bobbed up and down. “This seemed like such a good idea in the costume shop,” she said to Tigg, “but so far all I’ve done is knock against people and irritate everyone within four feet.”

  “You don’t irritate me.” His teeth flashed in the slow, lazy grin she loved. If anyone had been designed to wear the costume of an ancient Egyptian pharaoh, it was Tigg. The pleated linen pants and wide jeweled collar—to say nothing of the dress scimitar and the cobra headdress—could have been designed for him. And if she caught any female sneaking glances at his bare chest, she would whip the gaseous capsaicin out of her pocket so fast …

  “I’d say take them off and stash them in a potted palm, but I think they’re the point of your costume.” He took her hand. “Leave off fretting and come dance with me.”

  “But the Lady said—”

  “I know, and we will. But I must have one dance to remember after all this is over and I’m back aboard ship again.”

  He swept her onto the floor, and Lizzie really did feel as if she were flying on her gauzy wings, her gossamer skirts floating out behind in a most satisfying way. Equally satisfying were the envious glances of the little cluster of Wilis, who had come without partners and had nearly reached the point of dancing with each other.

  “Captain’s dancing a second with Miss Meriwether-Astor,” Tigg murmured. “Perhaps we ought to take up the watch on Alice?”

  “Maggie is with her.” Lizzie’s sharp eyes picked them out of the crowd. “Come, dance me over behind that man with the angel wings. Meriwether-Astor is heading in that direction, and he’s never met me. Remember what the Lady said.”

  “If we must, though I’d rather dance properly with you.”

  She smiled up at him. “We have the rest of our lives to dance, and only a short time to find out all we can for Jake.”

  She felt his hand tighten on her waist as he adjusted their course, and his steps slowed a fraction when they came in sight of Meriwether-Astor and the angel. “It makes me happy to hear you say things like that, Liz,” he murmured against her hair, which had been caught up in ribbons and sprinkled with glitter.

  “I’m glad,” she whispered. “I’m not just saying them to be a flirt, you know. I mean them.”

  “I’ve never heard you say a thing you didn’t mean.” With another smile, he dropped his voice further. “Quiet, now, and we’ll listen as the Lady bade us.”

  Fortunately, the orchestra was playing a slow, dreamy waltz with a pretty melody. If it had been playing a polka, they would never have been able to pull this off. Instead, they took the tiniest steps imaginable and described a lazy circle around the two men, weaving in and out of the other dancers and looking anywhere but at them.

  “Minister,” they heard Gerald Meriwether-Astor say with a bow. “You are a very difficult man to get an appointment with. Have you been avoiding me?”

  The other man gazed down upon him with what Lizzie could only imagine was dislike. “That would be rude. I am a busy man, as my secretaries have told you repeatedly, Signore Meriwether-Astor. Am I to assume you wish to importune me now, in my own home?”

  “I need ten minutes, no more. It will be worth your time—if the Duchy is interested in keeping its clockwork going, that is.”

  “The Duchy is the safest kingdom in the Levant. I hardly think—”

  “I understand this particular kingdom has … needs that are not currently being met by its supply.”

  “I have no time for euphemisms and coy allusions. Speak plainly. My wife, there by the large arrangement of flowers, is beckoning me to dance.”

  Tigg executed a turn around a couple costumed as lions (how hot they must be!) and came out on the other side of the Minister. Lizzie had never been so glad that good hearing was another of her gifts. It had saved their skins on more than one occasion, and this might prove to be another.

  “As you wish,” Meriwether-Astor said. “You need more convicts to keep the city moving. I have access to practically unlimited numbers of them, and the means by which to transport them here.”

  The Minister left off gazing at his wife and focused on the man shifting impatiently from foot to foot in front of him. “Are you referring to … slaves?”

  Tigg tripped. Lizzie clutched him until his steps steadied.

  Meriwether-Astor stared. “Good heavens. Of course not. That is illegal.”

  “Then…?”

  “I believe this is best discussed in private, Minister. Do you have an office?”

  The minister gazed in despair at his wife, who was very young and had just turned and flounced off into the crowd. “Very well. Come with me.”

  The two of them left the ballroom, followed by a pair of men in sober monk costumes who did not look as though they were enjoying themselves in the least.

  “Come on, Liz,” Tigg said. “We can’t miss this.”

  Hand in hand, they slipped through the crowd and out into a corridor, where they could just see four figures passing through a door on the far end. The house was built in a quadrangle, with three floors to a side and rooms opening off a main gallery whose richly draped windows looked out on the central courtyard.

  Lizzie slipped off her wings and stashed them under a huge stone urn with an enormous flower arrangement. If she had to run, they would only slow her down. Then she and Tigg entered the other side of the house, where her quick ears soon picked up the sound of footsteps on stone.

  “This way,” she whispered.

  A staircase led up into the family’s regions of the house, and another led down to the rooms where business was conducted. Since the ballroom was on the second floor, and it was unlikely the minister would take a guest up to the bedrooms, they had to have descended.

  And so it proved to be. A door closed and the two men not in costume took up their stations outside. Tigg pulled Lizzie through another door and into the courtyard they had crossed earlier in the evening. Now servants were hurrying back and forth, and on the far side, a cluster of gondoliers leaned on the walls of an archway leading out to the canal, smoking and gossiping. Beyond them, gondolas bobbed in the current.

  “Here,” Lizzie whispered. “It’s this one.”

  Quietly, she turned the handle of a French door and, to her gratification, it opened. She only needed a crack.

  She leaned against the wall and tugged on Tigg’s collar. “Pretend you are taking a liberty,” she breathed.

  “My pleasure.” He leaned into her, and together they listened intent
ly.

  “Bene, you have ten minutes,” the minister said on the other side of the drapes. “Less, since you have already deprived me of three.”

  “My proposal is one of mutual benefit,” Meriwether-Astor said. “I wish to trade in the Levant, from Africa to Byzantium to Rome. You are in need of manpower to keep the city’s gears in motion. If you give me a warrant of trade with a guarantee that my ships will be exempt from transfer tax, I will supply you with convicts.”

  After a moment, the minister said, “And where will you obtain them?”

  “From the transport ships going to the Antipodes. With my underwater dirigibles, I can strike, disable, and remove all cargo, human and otherwise, from the ships. For reasons peculiar to the English, they do not send their convicts to the colonies in airships. They send them by sea. This turns out to be to our advantage, for no one will be looking for them once they leave the London side, and on the way to the other side of the world, a thousand things could happen to cause a ship to founder. We will allow enough to pass, of course, to avoid suspicion.”

  The minister was again silent, while Lizzie fought down the urge to burst through the window, snatch up the first weapon that came to hand, and give Gloria’s father what for. How dared he! These were human beings he was discussing as calmly as though they were a hold full of salted cod!

  The minister might have been thinking along the same lines, for he said, “And what of these convicts themselves? I cannot imagine they would stand to be re-routed east and put to work underwater.”

  “They are convicts,” Meriwether-Astor said bluntly. “They must serve a sentence for their crimes. I don’t imagine it matters much exactly where.”

  Lizzie’s arms went around Tigg, less because she was playing a part than because she needed the comfort. In the old days, she’d known more than one boy transported for thieving a loaf of bread to feed his brothers and sisters. How many alley mice and desert flowers would be aboard those ships, condemned to the underground prison and not allowed even the hope of freedom while they worked off their sentences?

  “You are quick to condemn others,” the minister observed. “Have you actually seen our prisons, and the way we administer justice?”

  “Not up close,” the other man admitted. “But I’ve heard plenty.”

  “Then perhaps before we come to any agreement, you ought to see the reality of what you speak of so cavalierly. Allow me to arrange a tour of the prison. Would tomorrow suit?”

  “The sooner we come to an agreement, the better. But perhaps we ought to disguise our intentions a little. I would be happy to be part of a tour, if my daughter may come along.”

  “The prisons of the Duchy are no place for a woman.”

  “My daughter needs to experience the hard-headed reality of my business if she is to run it after I am gone. I say it is exactly the place for her. Will you send a conveyance—say, at two o’clock?”

  “Very well. A gondola bearing no colors will wait at the Hotel Exelsior’s moorage. The gondolier will wear a red ribbon tied around his arm. I do not wish this excursion associated with me in any way. I will leave word with the Master of Prisons that you and your party are to be admitted.”

  “Understood. I will be in touch afterward.” Meriwether-Astor paused. “And after today, I do not expect to be kept waiting by your lackeys.”

  The minister murmured a reply—but Lizzie did not hear him, for Tigg was whispering, “We have to tell the Lady.”

  “Of course. What a horrible, horrible plan!” Lizzie whispered directly into his ear. “How can one man be so evil? As soon as one of his plans is scotched, he immediately concocts another, each more deplorable than the last!”

  “Liz, we have to be on that gondola.”

  She choked back a startled sound. “I’m not going to the wretched prison.”

  “Oh, yes you are, and I am going with you. Don’t you see? Once we get in there, we can scout all the ways to get out. Perhaps we might even see Jake—or at the very least, find a way to get a message to him. It’s of utmost importance, Lizzie. He must know he is not forgotten.”

  Lizzie had overcome many of her deepest fears, but she had no idea what might happen if she deliberately went into a place that was dark, enclosed, and full of water. One thing at a time she could manage, but all three?

  “Who’s there?” The drapes were wrenched back. The Minister of Justice pulled open the French door and glared at them.

  Instead of playacting the part of lovers, in her surprise Lizzie lost her head. She grabbed Tigg’s hand and ran, across the courtyard to the open door through which a small crowd of waiters had just gone.

  “You there! What were you doing? Stop! Guards!”

  12

  “This way!” Lizzie skidded around the corner and yanked on Tigg’s hand.

  “Back to the ballroom!” he said.

  “No time—quick—through here.”

  They couldn’t go up, because the running footsteps of the two monks were nearly upon them. Thank heavens the door under the staircase was unlocked. They tumbled through it and nearly fell down the stone steps. Tigg hauled back on Lizzie’s arm and she found her footing, then both ran down as lightly as they could.

  Above them, the door opened, and they heard a shout.

  “Stop or they’ll hear us!” Tigg held her, both of them breathing hard and hoping against hope that no one would investigate further. The stone felt cold under Lizzie’s thin dancing slippers.

  A brief consultation occurred in the Venetian language, and then the door slammed with a hollow echo.

  A lock grated into place.

  Oh, dear. She must not give way to hysterics. She must be calm.

  “Liz? Are you all right? You’re shaking.”

  “It’s c-cold.”

  “Right. Well, we can’t go up, so we’ve no choice but to go down.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  He wrapped his arms around her and spoke into her hair. “It’s all right, Lizzie-love. We’re together, and we aren’t out of options yet. Come on, now. Breathe.”

  She did her best. The air smelled of cold stone and dust and … “I wonder if this goes down to the water line. I smell weed.”

  “Seaweed?”

  “Yes. Damp and green and salty and … weedy.”

  “Let’s hope so, then. I’ve still got my invitation. We can come in the front again and lose ourselves in the crowd.”

  A plan. A hope. Lizzie took a firm grip on her courage.

  They ventured farther down the staircase, which, instead of being lit by the usual ribbon of electricks along the ceiling, was illuminated by old-fashioned oil lamps set at intervals in niches in the wall. At the bottom they passed through a wooden door so old and heavy they could barely push it open. As they emerged onto a stone landing, Lizzie heard the water lapping against it and wasn’t sure whether to sigh with relief or take an apprehensive breath. Here again were all three things she didn’t like. “I can’t see.”

  “One shake.” Tigg left her, and in a moment returned with one of the lamps. He held it up and it took a moment for both of them to realize what they were looking at.

  “Great Caesar’s ghost,” Tigg said on a long breath.

  The area might once have been a cellar extending under the house, but it was filled with seawater now. They stood on a stone pier similar to the one in the cave below her grandparents’ house, but there the resemblance ended. Thick columns jutted up out of the black water, holding up the house, but the floor was submerged to such a depth they couldn’t see the bottom. The expanse of restless water, flashing in the lamp’s light, had been divided up into smaller areas by iron grates.

  Cages.

  “Is it a menagerie?” Lizzie asked. “Like the one we stole into at the Tower of London when we were children?”

  Over the top of one iron divider, a long tentacle curled up and out of the water, as though it had sensed the light and was feeling its way toward it. Lizzie sucked in a br
eath of alarm—the tentacle was as big around as she was. How big could the creature be to which it belonged?

  But it did not seem threatening. It seemed to be … appealing to them.

  It couldn’t be. She was being fanciful.

  There was a splash to one side and Tigg lifted the lantern to reveal a smooth, smiling snout and a black, intelligent eye bobbing in the cage closest to them. “It’s a dolphin!” she exclaimed.

  “Down here in the dark? That’s criminal, is what it is. Look, there are more. Half a dozen, at least.”

  The light seemed to have excited them, and the first one began to bump its nose against the iron grate that held it. One, two three …

  “The poor thing. It will injure itself,” she said softly.

  “What else is he keeping down here?” Tigg’s tone was moving from wonder into indignation. “Isn’t being in charge of putting people in prison enough for this man—does he have to put creatures in, too?”

  Something spouted on the other side, but the light wasn’t strong enough to reach. The tentacley creature had more of its legs—arms?—wrapped around the grate that held it in. The iron shook but did not give. And now a second one, with smaller, more spidery arms, began to thrash about in its cage, as though the light were agitating it. In a cage beyond the dolphins, a smooth, gleaming loop of scales rose and slipped beneath the surface, then rose again to reveal a wedge-shaped head. A forked tongue tested the air in their direction.

  “This is awful,” Lizzie said, shivering now from more than cold. “These poor creatures. Tigg, we must find a way out. I can’t bear it.”

  “I imagine they feel the same. But it doesn’t look as though there is a way out. He comes down here to play with his toys and goes back up by the same stair.”

  “He had to get them in here, didn’t he?”

  Tigg held the lantern so the golden glow fell on her face. “Are you planning to swim out? That might attract some notice when we go in to dance—unless you’re planning to tell people you’re Undine?”