Page 96 of Scandalous: Family Ties and Spies

Tonight, he was hoping they might get lucky. Billy had told him several days ago that he’d seen one man repeatedly visit the Princess of Prussia then leaving less than thirty minutes later to visit The Black Horse Inn where he met with Ellerbie.

Both pubs were known for catering to German immigrants and Prussian sympathizers as far back as the middle of the century. Even Karl Marx had once given a speech at the Princess of Prussia. Ellerbie having patronized both pubs on a regular basis couldn’t be a coincidence.

Although Valeran had been reluctant to disobey a direct order, he’d been unwilling to wait on Jamie and Vincent to meet him at their usual pub in the East End. Instead, he’d left word for his friends where to meet him in Whitechapel. Technically, he hadn’t entered the East End alone, it was just that his companions were late. Valeran muttered an inaudible oath.

He seriously doubted his superior would agree with him on that. The dressing down he’d received for his recent surly behavior would be nothing compared to what C would do if he heard about tonight’s adventures. Of course, before C could get his hands on Valeran, Jamie would have already gutted him and strung him up to dry.

From where Valeran stood in one of the dark doorways on Scarborough Street, the sound of laughter spilling out onto Prescott made his body tighten with tension. The narrow stream of light that was visible on the cobblestones nearby, slowly disappeared as the groaning door of the Princess of Prussia pub closed. The sound of coughing heightened the coiled tension in his muscles as he heard Billy begging someone for a coin.

“Damn you, Billy,” he murmured with a quiet hiss of air. “I’m going to have your head the next time I see you.”

Aware of the danger the boy might face tonight, Valeran had instructed Billy to walk away coughing, not to stop and beg for coins. He was going to cuff the boys ears while threatening to never use him again for information if he ever failed to obey Valeran’s orders again. He’d make sure no one else in the section would use him as an informant either.

Coins jangled and bounced off the cobblestones, and he heard Billy’s soft cry of excitement as he scrambled to pick them up. Suddenly, the money hit the street again. Before Valeran could move, he heard the sickening sound of Billy gurgling in the dark silence of St. Marks alleyway. The moment Valeran heard the quiet splash of something hitting a puddle, he knew the boy was dead.

Fuck.

The curse echoed silently in his head as he heard footsteps continue forward in his direction. Without hesitating, Valeran moved swiftly away from where Scarborough and St. Marks intersected. Almost halfway down the unlit street, he found a dark recess in the wall of buildings and pressed himself into the small area. Slime dampened the back of his shirt, and it smelled as if something had died behind the slats of wood he was pressed into. The footsteps suddenly halted. Was the man at the corner?

The rhythmic sound of shoes, maybe boots, softly hitting the street surface resumed. This time the footsteps were headed in his direction. Every shoe tap against cobblestone grew louder as the stranger walked toward Valeran’s hiding place. His heart was pounding so violently in his chest, he wondered if it was possible for the stranger to hear it.

Fighting to keep his breathing inaudible, Valeran remained motionless in the dark doorway. When the footsteps stopped about thirty feet away from him, he debated stepping out into the street and confronting the man. The whisper of a small paper box being opened and closed was followed by the sound of a match scratching against a striking surface.

The match sizzled the instant it was ignited. As it flared to life, Valeran saw the light from the small flame bouncing off the walls of the buildings as the stranger raised it up high. It illuminated the small area in front of the man, but it failed to reach where Valeran stood in the darkness. Beneath the light, the man was dressed like a wealthy merchant. The stranger was about Valeran’s height and of a slender build. He looked completely out of place in the alleyway. He grimaced at the thought. As quickly as it had flared to life, the match sputtered out.

Sweat rolled down his back in rivulets, and a bolt of fear chilled him. This had to be the Prussian. His behavior was too calculated and patient to be anyone else. Valeran’s entire body tingled as tension held his body tighter than a coiled spring. A low chuckle drifted toward him, before the man turned away and headed back to St. Marks and continued on his way. Worried the man might double back, Valeran didn’t move for almost a minute, waiting for the sound of the footsteps returning. They didn’t.

As quickly as he could, Valeran moved away from St. Marks and turned right onto West Tenter Street, which ran parallel to St. Marks before it circled the block and intersected with St. Marks again. At the end of the block, he turned right onto North Tenter Street. Senses tuned to every sound and smell around him, Valeran saw light suddenly spill out onto the street about twelve feet away.

“Goodnight, Mrs. Hughes. I’ll arrange for the doctor tae come as soon as he can.”

Ice sluiced through Valeran’s blood as his wife’s lyrical voice filled his ears. Christ almighty, how in the hell had he forgotten White Willow orphanage was at the corner of St. Marks and Tenter Street. He truly had lost his inability to function. And what in God’s name was Amalie doing here after dark. She knew better. As the light narrowed from the door closing behind her, Valeran leaped forward. The instant the door closed with a thud, his hand clamped over her mouth. Amalie’s shoes scuffled against the cobblestones as she tried to free herself and cry out beneath his hand. His arm wrapped tightly around her waist, he pressed his lips to her ear and murmured her name. His wife immediately ceased struggling, which made him breathe easier.

“Listen to me, mouse, and listen well. Unless you want one or both of us to wind up dead, you need to do exactly what I say. You’re going to hide from a cat. A very dangerous cat. When I release you, I want you to go back into the orphanage and tell Mrs. Hughes you forgot your book. Once you’re inside, you’re to quietly throw the bolt on the door and lock it. Do not open it to anyone except a family member. Do not turn your head to look at me. Do not say my name. And for the love of God, do not ask questions. Do you understand?”

Amalie didn’t make a sound, she simply nodded. Valeran dragged in a breath, and her sweet scent filled his nostrils. He pulled her even tighter against his chest. She didn’t resist, instead she pushed her body into him, and her head fell back onto his shoulder. God, how he wanted to pick her up and carry her into the orphanage and lock the door behind them. She was everything right in his life, and if he died tonight, holding her this one last time meant he would meet his maker knowing he’d kept her safe.

“Remember, sweetheart. Do exactly what I’ve told you to do. Our lives depend on it. Do you understand?” At his question, she nodded again. “Thank you, my darling mouse. I love you.”

The instant he said the words, a vise wrapped around his chest and squeezed so tight he thought he’d be crushed beneath the pressure. Amalie’s body grew rigid against his, but she didn’t move. Brushing his mouth against her temple, he shuddered. Slowly releasing her, Valeran drew in a ragged breath. Of all the times to realize he was in love with his wife, this had to be the worst. What a fucking idiot he was for not realizing he’d been in love with her all this time.

“Now, go,” he murmured in her ear, then released her and moved to the opposite side of the street to find a dark doorway just short of the corner where the street intersected with St. Marks. She must have hesitated as it took several seconds for him to see light flooding the wall.

“Mrs. Hughes, I forgot my book. Do you mind helping me look for it?” Amalie’s voice rang out not too loudly, but with enough confidence that no one would be able to tell something was wrong.

As she closed the door behind her, Valeran heard the bolt slide softly into place. Relief made his body go limp. She was safe. Tension tightened his muscles a split-second later as he heard the footsteps of his prey growing louder. Unable to find an empty doorway, Valeran pressed his back against the building behind him. A moment later, the footsteps halted.

“If you wish to fight me, mein lieber herr, I suggest we stop playing this game of cat and mouse. I can assure you, I shall make your death as painless as possible.”

Valeran’s body hardened at the enemy’s cocky words. The man wasn’t German. He was a goddamn Englishman. Stunned, Valeran tried to wrap his mind around the fact. An Englishman who had chosen to spy for the Prussians? The idea of a traitor to the Crown was almost incomprehensible to him.

But this man was doing exactly that. The bastard was working for the Prussians, and in plain open sight. With the exception of saying my dear sir in German, the man’s voice was the crisp, aristocratic English accent one heard in the best salons of those born into the nobility.

Even his flawless German had been learned in an English schoolroom. It didn’t possess the full-flavored accent of someone who’d been born in Prussia. If anyone were to meet this man on the street, they would never discern he wasn’t English. How had they overlooked this? How had they not realized the man they’d been hunting was an Englishman? The fact that the man was a traitor only made the bastard even more vile.

“Come now, mein lieber herr, has the cat got your tongue, or are you afraid to face me?”

Without speaking, Valeran moved slowly out of the shadows on Tenter Street onto the cobblestones of St. Mark Street. Gaslight lanterns hanging from the sides of several buildings shed enough light to make it much easier to define the enemy’s shape from inanimate objects. The man’s tall, slender shadow made Valeran’s jaw clenched. The man wasn’t a brawler, but his height and build said he’d be a light and swift on his feet. It would take all his skill to beat this man. The most important thing to remember was never to turn his back on the bastard. It would be the end of him.