It took me fifteen minutes, a scrub down with a damp cloth, a clean dress, and a whole tray of tea and buttered toast to properly calm down. My everything hurt, and I recognised it as the type of hurt that had settled into my bones, dormant in my very mind until the moment my control of it slipped, when it would rise up and consume me.
My knee was a throbbing, swollen, aching mess. The scar tissue running across it was a deep, pulsing purple and the skin was hot to the touch. It wasn't broken, thank God, but it was bad.
There were pale pink bruises flowering across my stomach and ribs and chest. In a day they would be purple, then black. They inhibited my movement, making me slow and sluggish.
My face looked wrecked. Beresford and Paulette and Willoughby were good; they hadn't broken my jaw or nose or browbone, but the marks of their fists were everywhere. A bruise the colour of liver spread across my jawline and up to my ear, reaching long, smudged, fingers down the side of my neck. My nose bled sporadically, and any movement of my face would open the cut on my browbone. Every blink felt like knives scratching across my eyes.
One more day, I begged my body. Just one more day, you can do that.
When I was finally brought back down from my hastily prepared room to Grenville's study, clean and warm and almost dry, Humphrey had left an afternoon tea spread on the table by the window. Grenville was stood, looking out over the busy streets of Belgravia, and Princess Augusta was sipping delicately at a fine china teacup that sent wafts of lemon and ginger across the room.
Willoughby paced the room like a caged animal, running his hands through his hair and chewing at his thumbnail. When the door opened for me he whirled around and the relief on his face sent waves of bizarre sickness through my stomach.
'Will you be alright from here Miss?' Humphrey, whose gentle arm had supported me on our way, led me towards a chair alongside the Princess.
Willoughby stepped forward, hand at the ready, but stopped at my warning glare.
'Thank you, Humphrey. I can manage from here.'
'Very good, Miss.' He dropped a polite bow to the Princess and the Prime Minister and closed the door softly behind him.
The large clock on the mantlepiece ticked ominously. A carriage clattered past the window, the sound of wheels on cobbles muffled through the glass. Princess Augusta's teaspoon clinked against the side of her teacup.
Irritated all over again, I glared over at Grenville and Willoughby, 'so, have you decided which lie you're going to spin me this time?'
'With respect, Miss Wentworth,' Grenville glanced over at Princess Augusta, 'I would remind you that you're in the presence of royalty.'
'With respect, Grenville,' her crisp voice twinkled, 'now is hardly the time to stand on ceremony.' She sipped at her tea and smiled at me over the rim of the teacup. 'I understand this must all be rather confusing, Miss Wentworth. I've heard of your fierce protection of my daughter from Mr Willoughby here, and I'd like to offer my sincere and deep gratitude.'
I frowned, still waiting for the other shoe to drop, 'thank you, Your Highness. It has been an honour.'
She chuckled, 'I'm sure it's been much more chaotic than you thought it would be, knowing my daughter's lifestyle. But even I raised an eyebrow when I heard you two had climbed the outside of Rothwell House to see my granddaughter.' She put the teacup down and daintily picked up an almond biscuit, 'it all sounded very buccaneer.'
I shot an alarmed look at Willoughby. He just shrugged.
'I had everything under control, Your Highness, I swear. Neither Princess Caroline nor Princess Charlotte were in any danger.'
She waved the biscuit at me, 'oh gracious, Miss Wentworth, stop. I'm not chastising you for it, I'm congratulating you. It was high time for someone at court to take a stand against my daughter's treatment.'
Grenville cleared his throat, 'yes, on that note . . . James, would you pour Miss Wentworth a cup of tea and we'll get started?'
Willoughby jumped at the order and in moments I had a steaming teacup clasped in my fingers. He was twitchy, glancing between the three of us and holding the teapot for a few redundant seconds before putting it down and sitting on the very edge of the chair opposite me.
Grenville watched him with an amused sort of smile. He was still quite young himself, I realised, perhaps his mid-forties. His eyes were pale brown and his skin a flawless porcelain. He wasn't wearing a wig, despite the royal company that he had reminded me of. His whole manner was careful, watchful, deliberate. He held Willoughby's eyes until the younger man stopped fidgeting, breathed deeply, and laced his fingers together.
I ached suddenly for my father.
'Miss Wentworth,' Grenville turned to me, 'as I'm sure you know, I am the leader of the Delicate Investigation against Her Royal Highness, Princess Caroline. However, about a year ago I received a message from Her Highness, Princess Augusta.'
He indicated the Princess next to me, who raised her teacup and continued. 'I had heard rumours in Brunswick of attempts on my daughter's life, although I cannot attest to how accurate they are considering I have been barred from seeing her.' She sent a pointed look in Grenville's direction. 'And, while I have not lived in England for some time I am still a Princess of the realm and the sister of the King, and so I moved my household here with as much discretion as could be had, and have been here now for some months.'
'What were you planning on doing?' I asked.
'At first, very little,' she shrugged. 'The Prince Regent, my nephew, is the heir to the throne and, even if we did get proof that he was attempting to eliminate my daughter, we could do nothing. The Crown is the Crown, Miss Wentworth, and as the future king, he is protected from everything. We could not remove him, replace him, punish him, expose him, or do anything that would tarnish the reputation of the monarchy. He is, unfortunately, totally untouchable.'
She waved at Grenville, who took up where she had left off, 'conveniently, however, His Royal Highness is answerable to Parliament. And so, if we can prove that there is physical evidence that the Prince is planning an assassination, we can use that as a basis to dismiss the Delicate Investigation, and enforce civility between the royal couple.'
'Civility? He's tried to have her killed, I don't think we're going to get to family dinners.'
He inclined his head, 'it does look to be that way, especially considering how stubborn both parties are.'
I frowned, glancing around at my companions, 'so how did this all come together?' My eyes landed on Willoughby, 'and who are you?'
'A few months after I arrived In England,' Princes Augusta said, 'I arranged a discreet meeting with Lord Grenville here. My intention was to persuade him to drop the Delicate Investigation. It is an embarrassment to the entire country, having its future queen paraded through the streets like a common harlot, her sheets waved about in public, and her personal matters gossiped about. The Crown is about stability, Miss Wentworth, and considering we're at war with Napoleon, I thought it prudent to nip this petty internal squabble in the bud.'
'Unfortunately, we are obliged to continue the Investigation until the Prince Regent drops his allegations,' Grenville said. 'And he remains determined to continue them, despite a total lack of evidence, and the corruption of any personal account that had been presented to us.'
'And so,' Princess Augusta sipped at her tea. 'A more inventive solution was needed.'
I glanced at Willoughby, who remained focused on his interlaced fingers.
'The attacks on the Princess had become more frequent, and had started soon after I expressed my concerns about the lack of evidence against her to the Prince,' Grenville carried on. 'I had my suspicions, as did Princess Augusta, and I had noticed that the Prince had formed acquaintances with several unfamiliar characters who seemed to have no history.'
'Beresford and Paulette,' I said.
'Indeed. They go by different identities at court – Beresford has styled himself as Henry Davenport and Paulette as his valet. That is where James here came into play.'
I turned my cool attention to Willoughby.
'James's parents were great friends of mine from my time in Ireland, where I was secretary to the Lord Lieutenant, my brother. His father, originally from Edinburgh, worked alongside me and we became close friends. When they died a year or so later, I was told that their infant son had been placed in the care of a relative in Scotland, and I made a conscious effort to keep in contact with the boy and be involved in his upbringing.' Grenville sent a warm smile towards Willoughby, 'we lost contact after he left school and joined the armed forces, until he turned up at my door three years ago. He's been working for me ever since.'
'As a spy?' I asked.
'We prefer the term 'agent'. One can learn many things having to adapt to new environments.'
'I was told you had a brother and father still living.'
'With respect, Miss Wentworth,' Willoughby sent me a rueful smile, 'you told me you were an orphan from Munich.'
I scowled at him.
Grenville cleared his throat, 'James has been acting as my eyes and ears at Court for some time, as well as occasionally being sent out on other assignments, much in the same line of work as your own, Miss Wentworth. And, as I had been recently taken into the Prince's confidences about his knowledge of the attacks on the Princess, I tasked him with getting closer to Beresford and Paulette. He has been reporting back to me about their plans for the last six months.'
'And what have you learnt?'
'There's a contract,' Willoughby raked his hand through his hair again. 'Terms of employment signed by the Prince and by both Beresford and Paulette, hiring them to 'remove' the Princess.'
Princess Augusta sniffed disapprovingly.
'Is that enough? If they're not explicitly hired to 'kill' her?'
'It's enough,' Grenville nodded firmly. 'It's enough to present it to him as evidence of illicit involvement with a parliamentary investigation as a way of forcing our hand. It won't remove him from succession, but it will force him to give up.'
I nodded slowly, fingers tapping on my empty teacup. Willoughby noticed and refilled it.
'So what do you want with me?'
'We need your help, Miss Wentworth. James here has done well to get so involved with Beresford and Paulette, but we need your help to get hold of the contract so we can present it to the Prince. On top of that, we will need your aid in removing Beresford and Paulette from the equation.'
'Remove? As in, remove?'
'Exactly like that,' Princess Augusta placed her teacup down with a clink and raised her chin. 'I shall not have these money-hungry criminals going after my daughter.'
'It may not come to that,' Grenville stepped in. 'If we get hold of the contract, along with your own personal testimony and that of the Princess', her ladies, James', that will be enough evidence to have them executed for treason legitimately. You may not be required to dispose of them through illicit means.'
I rolled my eyes, 'forgive me, Prime Minister, but that seems unlikely.'
Willoughby stood and started tidying the tray. 'We can decide on that later. The contract must be the first priority.'
'And how do we get that?'
'Beresford keeps it in a safe in his rooms. Not the rooms at Carlton House that he's been given, but his business lodgings, in Vauxhall. He's packed them up into a safe there so no one at Court can stumble across them, and no one who knows him from Vauxhall would think to search his rooms.'
'And can't you get them yourself? If you know where he keeps them, and you're trusted enough not to arouse suspicion?'
He shot me another wry smile, 'I'm not a lockpicking expert.'
My jaw dropped, 'how did you know about that?!'
All three of them chuckled to themselves. 'Miss Wentworth, you're the Silver Sword,' Willoughby said, with a little awe in his voice that twisted something deep in my chest.
I sipped my tea frustratedly. 'How do I know that I can trust you? Forgive me for pointing out the unsavoury but my body is currently riddled with reasons why I should not be here.'
'Because, Miss Wentworth,' Princess Augusta turned to me and flexed her fingers over the silver head of her cane. 'If you don't, then at some point you will slip, or your focus will be distracted, or you will be hurt, or taken. And, when that happens, someone will kill my daughter. They will exploit your failure and they will murder her in her bed. You are the only person who she trusts to keep her safe. You are the person who is most qualified to ensure she stays breathing. You have a duty to your employer, Miss Wentworth, and that extends now to a duty to your Crown. My daughter must take her place as Queen of England, and we cannot allow a sulking brute of a man to continue believing he can simply pay for his problems to be removed.' She stood and we all hurried to follow. Looking around the rag-tag band of people, she nodded to Grenville and accepted Willoughby's bow and my awkward, pained curtsey. 'I have every faith in you, Miss Wentworth, because Caroline does. Because you risked your life to reunite my child with hers. And I have every faith in Willoughby here because Grenville does. I am not a woman often disappointed.'
Then she turned and swept out of the room.
We planned all afternoon. As the light outside shifted from a clear white to a warm beige and deeper into pink we worked our way through pots of coffee and thick, sweet biscuits that Humphrey wordlessly left every half hour. Soon the room was littered with scraps of paper, half-smoked pipes, jotted maps of Vauxhall and crumpled handkerchiefs.
We moved from the desk to the table when my knee started shaking, Willoughby pulling chairs out for me to rest my leg on. My back ached and every breath sent a pulsing pain through my ribs and I could feel my jaw and lip swelling as I tried to speak.
But it was liberating.
For months I had been the only one to run my own thoughts by, the only one who could plan and strategize and worry and plot. After weeks of being forced to rely only on my experience, I finally had two people who would ask questions about breaking and entering, who would warn me about weapon supplies without batting an eyelid, who would listen as I explained my proposed plan. Willoughby deferred to me, Grenville challenged me.
It was strange, having a team. But it was not unpleasant.
Our plan was worryingly simple. I'd take three days to recover - that I had insisted upon. Three days for me to heal enough that the next attack, which I knew would come sooner rather than later, wouldn't kill me.
Those three days would also allow Willoughby to test the waters with Beresford and Paulette. 'We just need to be sure they don't suspect anything,' he said, avoiding looking at my battered face. 'I need to convince them you're dead. It'll be useful to lay low for a couple of days, see what they do now they think the threat has been neutralised.'
We'd meet three days from now, Willoughby and I, at Beresford's lodgings in Vauxhall.
'There's a butcher on the corner of Scotch Lane and Denning Row,' he laid a bruised hand on the map over our next target. 'Beresford lives three floors up. Meet me out the back at eleven o'clock.'
'I'll find a way of requiring their presence at court,' Grenville said.
I wasn't sure how I felt about working so closely with Willoughby, after everything. Every time he looked at me my heart twinged, I couldn't deny it, but at the same time my jaw panged, and my ribs ached, and the scabs at my wrists stung.
He'd betrayed me before, had embodied his fake life so well that he had the whole court convinced. How much more of a stretch would it be for him to flip the other way? I didn't know him at all, I realised. Grenville had only known him properly for three years. I'd met plenty of mercenaries and spies in my time, and they were as slippery as fish when money was concerned.
I was putting myself at risk by going to Beresford's house with him. All alone, and hardly in my top physical condition, in the enemy's territory. I could be walking right into a trap.
But he did bring me here, I thought. If he was a double agent, stringing Grenville along while feeding information to the Prince Regent and his goons, why hadn't he just killed me?
My head said not to trust him – even if my heart wanted to.
When the sky outside started to tinge purple I heaved myself to my feet. I couldn't afford to wait any longer, it was the final night of my deal with Mother Quinn. I had no idea if or when she'd come to collect, but I doubted she'd be late.
I needed to get back to Montagu House and make my decision about Lynton's Seal of Office. The very thought of it made my chest ache – it seemed so wrong. After everything that had happened Sarah had been at my side, supporting me in my mad dealings. Her husband was one of the most important men in the country – and his Seal could do untold damage in the wrong hands.
Grenville asked Humphrey to prepare an unmarked carriage for me, and extended his hand. 'It was truly a pleasure to finally meet you, Miss Wentworth,' he said, a pleasant smile on his face. 'I look forward to hearing about your foray into safe-cracking.'
I shook his hand warily, unnerved at the ease with which he gave his respect to a young woman like me. But there had been no trace of mockery in his manner today, he'd listened and questioned and validated, and his behaviour with Princess Augusta had been nothing but beautifully civil. Even now, as he gave me a polite bow and motioned for Humphrey to show him out, he sent me a warm smile without an ounce of derision.
Willoughby looked up from the map, still spread on the desk and covered with coffee stains, 'would you like assistance to the –'
'No,' I said hurriedly. Turning towards the door my knee twinged and I winced loudly, rubbing at the scar and gritting my teeth. 'Thank you. I'll see you in Vauxhall.'
I felt his eyes on my back as I limped away, and they continued to bore into me all the way back home.
YOU ARE READING
A Matter Of Delicacy
Historical Fiction1806, England - When Katherine Wentworth, trained killer known as the Silver Sword, is called to the service of Princess Caroline in London she is apprehensive. Years of training and foreign missions means she has had little experience of society a...
