The consulate was a tidy structure of only two floors, but it was rather deceptively large. It extended from the front street—theCalçada,if she heard the men aright—all the way to the next block.
Something important seemed to be happening, for several messengers ran through the rooms ahead of them. There was an air of suppressed concern in the officers who stood in twos and threes, speaking in low tones in the great hall on the lowest floor. She heard exclamations farther away.
“What’s toward?” Captain Smythe asked one of the whiskered officers.
“Why, you’ve heard that the Beau has trounced the French at Vitoria? We’re rejoicing, but we are just receiving the first casualty lists. We heard it was heavy.”
His fellow officer shook his head. “Painful but necessary. This could push the French out of Spain for good if he can hold it.”
Captain Smythe let them into a small, empty parlor, with a few London papers left unrolled on the floral fabric of the settee, as if someone had been reading here, but then rushed out.
Captain Smythe sighed, as one whose work is never done. “I had best make sure someone takes charge of you.” He stuck his head in the hall. “Oi—you there. I’m looking for Mr. Howard. I’ve got the two as is mixed up with this Marston business.”
“I thought he took them away?”
“No—the other two. The lady that is a companion and the man who—er—faked his credentials.”
“Sorry, who?” he repeated.
“Just tell me where Mr. Howard has gone!”
“I’ll thank you to speak respectfully, sir. Mr. Howard has a great deal to do?—”
Captain Smythe looked back at them with a tired glare, taking in the narrow windows and single door. “I’ll be back directly.”
Mr. Belvedere waited only a moment before striding to the door and sticking his head into the passageway, then looked back at Sophia. “How do you feel about fainting?”
26
Sophia braced her hands on the gilt-edged table, and the cold surface of the marble served as a helpful check on her nerves. “Fainting? I’m not light-headed.”
Or was she? Perhaps that was the meaning of the over-brightness of the sunshine from the narrow windows. Perhaps that was why her lips were dry and her palms clammy.
“What? Even with news of Boney’s defeat?” Mr. Belvedere suddenly came back and swept her up into his arms. “Can you fake a faint for me?”
Sophia threw her arms around his neck lest she fall. “What are you doing?”
“I’ll ask once more—do you trust me?”
Sophia looked at the forgotten pile of London papers on the upholstered settee and thought of all the turmoil that faced her. She, a penniless widow of questionable background and no real talent except cards and picking pockets, was now an accomplice to fraud or even murder. But what would happen if she went with Mr. Belvedere? She didn’t know—but she believed that he would not leave her. Not when he had been shielding her the entire trip.
“Yes, I do.”
He grinned. “That’s enough for me. Now, you have fainted at the news of dear Old Douro’s victory. Do play the part.”
He waited no longer before surging back into the passageway, this time heading away from the front entrance. Sophia went limp, but she could tell they went from the narrow hall to a larger space of some sort; there were voices and manly exclamations.
“Oh, I say,” exclaimed a nearby gentleman. “What’s going on?”
Sophia remained motionless with her left arm dangling and even allowed her lips to hang slightly agape. Shehadonce thought of joining the stage, after all.
“My sister fainted with the news,” Mr. Belvedere said, rushing along. “I hardly know what—She hoped to get news of her husband at Vitoria.”
“Oh.We did just receive the lists, but we cannot give out casualties until they are put in the papers, not even for our own citizens.”
“I know that, and I told her so, but she couldn’t be convinced. Older sisters always think they know best! Could you get that door for me?”
“Of course.”
