Lavender Lies (Historical Romance) Page 3

  Colonel Grimsley glanced at the wall clock, then removed his pocket watch to check the time. "It is but ten minutes until the appointed hour."

  Cleave Wilson stared into the face of his companion, noting the colonel's long, aquiline nose and his heavy eyebrows, guessing that both men were of the same age. While they were from different classes, and would never have crossed each other's paths back in England, the war and a common cause had united them. Grimsley's family was in trade, and he had worked his way up the ranks in the military, while Wilson's family was of English aristocracy.

  "Do you have any notion why His Grace wanted to see us? And why in such secrecy? A man of his standing would not have come to the Colonies unless it was a matter of extreme importance. I will wager it has to do with his younger brother, Lord William Westfield. 1 know that the young man was an aide to General Clinton, and was sent back to England in disgrace, but 1 never quite understood why."

  "It is not surprising that you have not heard all the details. The matter was hushed up at the highest level." Cleave Wilson took a sip of mulled wine and frowned at its poor quality. He set the tankard down and eyed his companion before continuing. "I mean the very highest level, if you know to whom I'm referring Are you aware that the Westfield family are second or third cousins of the royal family?"

  "I had heard that."

  "I was told that the king was most displeased about the whole affair and had young William Westfield drummed out of the guard. I believe he was banished to one of the duke's numerous country estates."

  "As you know, I have but newly come to this godforsaken country and know little of what has occurred before my arrival. Are you privy to any of the particulars about young Westfield?" Colonel Grimsley asked with interest.

  Wilson nodded his head and stared at the colonel, his eyes secretive. "Yes, somewhat. His trouble had something to do with the Swallow!"

  Grimsley's face reddened, and he shook his head in disbelief. "You don't mean to tell me that His Grace's brother came up against that spy?"

  Wilson looked uncomfortable for a moment, as if discussing the duke's brother disturbed him. "I have been sworn to secrecy, but I can tell you this much: young Westfield allowed secret documents that had been entrusted to him to fall into the hands of the Swallow."

  "Good Lord, that would explain why His Grace wants to see us. We are both involved with trying to capture the Swallow. You have been asked by Parliament to look into the situation, while I have been assigned to investigate the matter on a military level. But if that is the case, what does His Grace hope to gain by talking to us? We have found out very little."

  Wilson lit his clay pipe and watched the smoke circle his head. "I believe I can guess why he's here. Are you aware that the duke's brother killed himself?"

  Colonel Grimsley stared at his companion in amazement. "I had heard that he was dead, but I wasn't told that he died by his own hand."

  "Apparently he could not live with the disgrace he had brought upon the family name. I suppose the Duke of Mannington is here to find out all the details leading up to his brother's ignominy."

  Colonel Grimsley nodded in agreement. "It galls me to know that the Swallow is making fools out of our men. I hope His Grace will put his energies and influence to work on this matter. Perhaps he will be instrumental in capturing this woman . . . if indeed she is a woman at all."

  Cleave Wilson sipped his wine and then toyed with the glass. "Let's assume it is a woman. Who else but a woman could charm so many of our men and make buffoons of them? It is believed that the Swallow's list of conquests is far larger than we know. We suspect some of her victims are too ashamed to come forward and admit they have been tricked by her."

  "Perhaps the duke will put an end to her tricks."

  "Perhaps. I have met Julian Westfield at court on several occasions. He is arrogant as hell, but highly intelligent and respected. 1 can tell you one thing, I would not like to be on the receiving end of his anger. I have heard him referred to as the Meticulous Duke. He never makes allowances for unfinished business, especially when it pertains to his family's honor. It must be extremely distasteful for him, knowing a mere woman brought about his brother's downfall. He must have trouble accepting the fact that some will-o'-the-wisp outsmarted a Westfield."

  "Tell me more about the duke, Cleave. What's he really like?"

  "I don't know if anyone can answer that. His Grace is an extremely private person. He is a handsome rogue, and it's a well-known fact that many a fair lady has lost her heart to him. However, he retains his own heart, even though I hear there is some dispute as to whether he even has a heart. Pity the poor woman he finally decides to make his duchess. He will expect her to be a saint or a paragon of virtue."

  "I take it he is not married then?"

  "No, but if one can overlook his domineering ways, he would be a brilliant catch. His mother and father both died when His Grace was but a boy, leaving him in charge of numerous holdings and estates. I believe he and his brother were raised by their grandmother, the Dowager Duchess of Mannington. It is said Julian is extremely shrewd. I would wager the Swallow is about to sing her last song if he has come to put an end to her treachery."

  At that moment the front door opened and a blast of cold wind swept through the room, its icy fingers rattling the pewter plates that were lined up across the mantel.

  Colonel Grimsley and Cleave Wilson turned to observe the men who stood in the doorway. It was easy to see that the newcomer was someone of importance because he was flanked by a second man who was obviously a servant.

  As the newcomer's eyes moved over the room, he appeared to view his surroundings with remote indifference. Slowly and deliberately, he removed his silk-lined cape and handed it to his attendant. His knee-high boots, though muddy, still held a high shine. His dark blue jacket and trousers were of the finest material and were London-cut. His black hair was without benefit of powder and tied back in a queue. His face was handsome despite the supercilious expression he wore. Tall and broad of shoulder, the Duke of Mannington looked out of place in the quaint country inn.

  "It's him," Cleave Wilson remarked, rising respectfully to his feet. "He's here!"

  Julian Westfield, Duke of Mannington, surveyed the common room of the inn with distaste. To him, the room was drab, like everything else he had encountered since first stepping ashore. He paid little heed to the innkeeper, who rushed forward to greet his important guest. Julian Westfield brushed the little man aside with a haughty glance, and moved in the direction of the two men who were standing respectfully, waiting for the duke to be seated at the table.

  "Good evening, Cleave," he said in a deep, clipped voice. "Will you present me to your friend?" There was neither warmth in Julian Westfield's voice nor in his dark eyes that swept across Cleave's face.

  Cleave Wilson almost choked on his pipe smoke, and after a fit of coughing, he cleared his throat and made the customary introductions. "Your Grace, this is Colonel Grimsley, whom you asked to see tonight. Colonel, I have the great pleasure to present His Grace, the Duke of Mannington."

  Both men bowed politely, while the innkeeper lurked nearby, straining his ears, hoping to overhear scraps of conversation between the three men.

  Julian gave the innkeeper a scalding glance that sent him out of the room. "I would ask that you keep my title to yourself, gentlemen, and address me only as Julian. If at all possible, I want to keep my identity a secret."

  Wilson and Grimsley exchanged glances, each wondering how they could dare bring themselves to call a man of such distinction by his given name. It was Wilson who first found his voice. "How may we be of service to you, J-Julian?"

  The duke rested his arm on the table and lowered his voice. "May I assume that both of you know about the death of my brother, Lord William Westfield?"

  Wilson and Grimsley nodded grimly, each reluctant to speak on such a delicate matter, not knowing how the duke would react to their limited knowledge of his brother's death.
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  Julian sensed the men's hesitation, and his irritation was apparent in his tone of voice. "Let us not pretend ignorance. I believe we can all safely assume that both of you know the circumstances surrounding my brother's death?"

  "I .. . the details are a bit vague, Your Gr— Julian. Colonel Grimsley and I assumed his untimely death had something to do with his . . ." the words seemed to stick in Grimsley's throat, ". . . dis . . . grace."

  A muscle twitched in Julian's cheek, and a coldness touched his dark eyes. "You have assumed correctly. I want to know about this woman who calls herself the Swallow. Don't leave anything out, no matter how insignificant you think it might be. I will need to know everything about her, if I am to succeed in capturing her."

  Colonel Grimsley stared into the face of the duke for a fraction of a second, before he felt compelled to turn his gaze away. He wondered if anyone could withstand the duke's penetrating gaze for very long. "The information we have on her is sketchy at best. Some say she has red hair, while others swear her hair is black. We have had reports that she is a young girl, and even some who insist that she is past her prime. We have even been told that she is not a woman at all, but a man dressed as a woman. Of course, it is my belief that she is a woman. How else could she wheedle secrets out of our soldiers?" The colonel's voice trailed off, remembering the duke's brother had been one of those soldiers who had been tricked by the Swallow.

  The duke absently ran a lean finger across his ruffled cuff. "I have it on good authority that the Swallow is a woman," he said. "Make no mistake about that. Tell me, have either of you come close to catching her?"

  Grimsley shrugged his shoulders, looking uncomfortable under Julian's close scrutiny. "1 am sorry to say we have not. I begin to think she is a myth. Surely you can see what we have been up against."

  "She will not be easy to catch," Cleave Wilson added, coming to the aid of Colonel Grimsley. "She is too elusive and strikes where we least expect, only to disappear without a trace once she has achieved her objective. She has been responsible for freeing traitors from the guardhouse, capturing sensitive documents, and wheedling secrets of the most delicate nature from her unsuspecting victims. Once she even enticed a high-ranking officer into drawing the entire plans of our headquarters in New York."

  "Surely you have some notion as to where she is operating from?" Julian stated flatly. "You have been on her trail long enough to have made at least that much progress."

  Wilson leaned back in his chair and glanced into the handsome face of Julian Westfield. "I have been led to believe that she may be operating out of Williamsburg, Virginia. However, as you can imagine, I have not been able to substantiate that fact. Of course, the evidence is inconclusive since we cannot go unmolested among the people. Williamsburg is a hotbed of Whigs. As you may know, some of the first rumblings of war came out of the capital there."

  Colonel Grimsley leaned in closer. "It is said the Swallow uses her charms to entice her victims to do her will. I believe we can assume she is a woman of little virtue. I... of course you are aware of what she did to your . . . brother."

  Julian's jaw tightened. "Am I to deduce that she does not confine her activities to one area?"

  "That is correct. She has been known to operate as far north as Philadelphia and beyond both Carolinas," Colonel Grimsley confirmed.

  "Can you tell me anything else about her?"

  "Not much," the colonel replied. "Two months ago I was assigned to track her down. In that time there has been no word of her. It is as if she knows what we are doing every step of the way. I had begun to hope that she has ceased her traitorous activities."

  Julian studied Colonel Grimsley's face closely. "Williamsburg." He became thoughtful. "I wonder?"

  "Perhaps we have heard the last of her, Your Gr—" Wilson's face reddened. "I mean, Julian."

  "Do not delude yourself into thinking she has retired, gentlemen." Julian lowered his eyes and stared into the flickering flames of the fireplace. "I would think she has become too valuable to the rebellious cause. She will strike again, and when she does, I will be waiting for her!"

  Colonel Grimsley shivered at the bitterness he saw in the duke's eyes. He had very little doubt that if anyone could catch the Swallow, it would be this man. "Do we work with you, then, Your Gr— Julian?"

  "No. Both of you are to immediately cease any and all activities concerning the Swallow. I want her to feel safe and to be lulled into complacency. Given time, she will become careless and 1 shall have her!" Julian's eyes narrowed, and his voice came out in a harsh whisper. "I alone will bring down the woman who is responsible for my brother's death!"

  At that very moment, upstairs, in one of the bedrooms of the Fife and Drum, a single candle burned low in the pewter sconce, casting shadows across the wall. Soft laughter tumbled from the lips of the beautiful young woman as she tucked a crumpled piece of paper into her scuffed boot.

  She gazed cautiously at the British captain who was sprawled across the bed. Moving to his side, she lifted his eyelids to determine if the drug she had put in his drink had rendered him fully unconscious. When she saw that he was beginning to stir, she hurriedly removed the black wig she was wearing and stepped out of her green velvet gown. The man groaned, and she immediately reached into the lining of her cape and removed the clothing she had placed there earlier.

  Hastily the young girl pulled on the man's trousers and shirt and placed a powdered wig on her head. As she pulled the cape about her, she crossed the room. With an urgency, she moved out the door and walked toward the stairs that led below to the common room.

  When the girl reached the bottom of the stairs, her heart skipped a beat when she saw that there were three men seated at a table. For a fraction of a second, her eyes locked with deep brown eyes, and she was touched by an icy breath of fear. The dark, handsome man seemed to view her with boredom, and still she shivered with a feeling of strange foreboding. Quickly ducking her head and breaking eye contact, she pulled her hat low over her forehead and moved to the door, knowing the man followed her with his dark gaze.

  Once outside, the wind whipped at the young woman's cloak, and the rain stung her delicate face. She strained her eyes in the downpour until she saw a familiar figure leading her mount forward. Losing no time, she sprung into the saddle and gathered her cape about her.

  "Let's get away from here, Nicodemus. I have an uneasy feeling about this place."

  Nicodemus checked his prancing horse. "Did you get what you came for?"

  "Yes, I have the captain's papers," she replied, kicking her horse in the flanks and propelling him into the blinding rainstorm.

  It was only moments after the door closed behind the young lad that Julian heard a commotion and glanced up at the English officer who staggered down the stairs waving his pistol in the air. His red captain's uniform was in disarray, his wig askew on his head. "To horse, men," the captain cried. "The Swallow struck, and she took my papers. After her, before she gets away!"

  "Damnation," Julian swore, rising to his feet. He remembered staring into the young lad's face and thinking he was too pretty to be a boy. How was he to know that it had been none other than the Swallow! Even as Julian had been planning her downfall, the Swallow had been operating within his grasp. It was as if she had been mocking him!

  Julian watched as the captain fumbled into his cape before darting for the door. He knew no one would catch the Swallow tonight. His eyes narrowed, and he stared out the window, noticing that the rain had intensified and would probably aid the woman in her escape.

  Grimsley and Wilson stared in disbelief as the drugged captain staggered out the front door, hurling obscenities to the wind. The room became strangely silent. Turning to his fellow conspirators, Julian spoke in a soft voice. "I will begin my search for the Swallow in Williamsburg, Virginia. Do not expect to hear from me for some time."

  "But, Your Grace," Wilson sputtered, in a voice of disbelief. "It would be foolhardy and dangerous to go among tho
se rebellious hotheads."

  A smile curved Julian's lips. "I will take pains to ingratiate myself with the rebels of Williamsburg. Perhaps that is the only way I will learn anything about our Swallow. When I was a boy, I fancied myself an artist, and will use that talent as my disguise."

  "Please pardon me if I point out the folly of such a venture, Your Grace," Colonel Grimsley spoke up. 'The locals in Virginia will know you for an impostor the moment you open your mouth. It is very apparent that you are a man of noble birth. Your clothing alone will give you away. Everything you wear bespeaks of London."

  Julian laughed aloud. "You would be surprised at what a fine actor I can be when the occasion calls for it. Does not every man at court these days act a part while in the company of my cousin, the German king?"

  Cleave Wilson's face sobered. He was shocked that the duke should refer to the king in such unflattering terms. Many people spoke out against the king as "that German on the throne," but only in whispers.

  "If you are set on doing this thing," Wilson said, quickly changing the subject, "at least allow one of us to go with you."

  "No," Julian stated in an irrefutable tone. "This I must do alone."

  His eyes sparkled with a dangerous light, and he realized he had to curb his impatience and bide his time. He would never give up his quest until he had the Swallow where he wanted her. Even though she was a woman, he would soon see her dance from the end of a rope—or, better still, he could have her transported back to England to face the humiliation of a public trial! He wanted her to experience the same pain and shame his brother had felt.

  3

  A gentle spring breeze ruffled the branches of the dogwood tree, causing a shower of snow-colored petals to fall earthward. As Lavender rushed down Gloucester Street, she noticed that the cherry trees were arrayed in a cloud of soft pink. She breathed in the delicate aroma of lilac bushes that mingled with wild honeysuckle, regretting the fact that she had no time to stop and enjoy the beauty of the flower gardens that were in full bloom. Could there be anywhere on earth as beautiful as Williamsburg in the spring? she wondered.