The light was better here than it had been when she’d sketched Mrs. Crossing and her lover. There were three men gathered, the last having turned the lamp up full when he’d arrived a moment or so before. All seemed extremely convivial and Lissa was shocked to see an empty bottle of arrack, broken, its jagged bottom pressed against the leg of one chair. None of the men seemed concerned as they discussed the matter at hand.
“Hurry.” Cosmo elbowed her and wordlessly Lissa began to sketch.
Lord Smythe, the eldest of the trio looked to be in his late fifties. His thatch of thick dung-colored hair was in stark contrast to the thinning locks of the youngest, a nervous, reedy-looking man with a bulbous red nose. Lissa was surprised at his presence for despite his foppish rig-out, he spoke like a poor man. His cheeks were sunken, giving him a cadaverous look, and when he laughed, Lissa saw most of his teeth were black stumps. Yet he was richly garbed in a paisley waistcoat and claret-colored wool coat together with black satin pantaloons.
With deft, quick strokes, Lissa recreated the scene: foppish Lord Smythe with his caramel drawl, the wizened, younger man whom Lissa heard Lord Debenham refer to as Buzby. He dominated the conversation until Lord Debenham mounted a strong defense for whatever was being argued. Lissa paid little attention until she heard Buzy’s aggressive tones, “And then our esteemed Lord Liverpool will rue the harsh line he’s taken with the machine-breakers in the north. If that won’t stop the government in their tracks, I don’t know what will,” before the men started laughing.
She glanced nervously at Cosmo but his expression remained impassive. He’d either not heard, or chosen to pretend he had not.
For Lissa, the implications were terrifying, made more so as the conversation progressed.
Were these men plotting treason?
She was aware of Cosmo craning over her shoulder to see her work and she stepped back, suddenly nervous, giving a small cry as she dropped her sketchbook onto the ground.
Immediately Cosmo was upon her, roughly clapping his hand over her mouth as he dragged her to the back of the structure and into the shadows. Her heart pounded as she heard one of the men mutter something in fright, and then the door was thrown open and Lord Debenham thrust his head out for a cursory look around.
Apparently satisfied, he returned. “Damned squirrels,” she heard one of them say before the conversation resumed, this time on a more muted level.
Lissa picked up her sketchbook and hastened deeper into the darkness. She wasn’t going to risk being caught by Lord Debenham, knowing what she now did of this evil, terrifying man. The letter that Hetty had obtained from Jem confirmed his involvement in something havey-cavey, though Ralph hadn’t told her its full contents or why he’d not taken possession of it. Perhaps Jem no longer had it but was able to relay its contents, having learned in the interim what it had said.
Now Lissa had witnessed His Lordship giving voice to treasonous sentiments, and had sketched him with his associates.
It was a huge relief to be back in the safety of the thoroughfares, where revelers jostled her and men, lightheaded with d
rink, sang public odes to their consorts. The perfection of the weather seemed to add to the high spirits of the crowd.
Except Lissa didn’t feel high spirited at all. Quite the opposite, in fact. For all that Mrs. Crossing might be guilty of terrible wickedness, the genuine and touching way the couple had said farewell to each other spoke to Lissa’s purest sentiments.
She decided to destroy the sketch. She didn’t care how much Cosmo was being paid for it—or how much she’d make.
“There you are, my lad!”
Their progress about the rotunda was arrested by a broad-shouldered giant with an enormous head topped with lustrous salt-and-pepper curls topping a bullish neck, and extravagant mutton-chop side-whiskers. He clapped Cosmo on the shoulder. Mr. Crossing. His smile was unctuous but the right side of his lip curled up in what resembled a snarl, though Lissa soon decided this was really a smile as he went on, “Raising the breeze, eh? No, you’ve been working, and on my account, too. So, do I reward you? Have you found the twopenny whore? You have? By God, if she tries to cut the wheedle with me...” His words trailed off but his gesture left Lissa in no doubt that Mrs. Crossing would soon feel her husband’s displeasure.
She stared at his hands. They were monstrous, flexing now as if he meant to wrap them around the young lady’s throat the moment they were reunited.
Cosmo clicked his fingers at Lissa. “The picture for Mr. Crossing, please.” He sent a nervous glance in the direction of his benefactor, adding, “This is my—er, cousin, who sometimes acts as my assistant. She has the artwork.”
Impatiently he held out his hand but Lissa stammered, “I...I don’t have the picture. I...I sent it back to the house with my maid.” She sent Mr. Crossing an apologetic smile. “I had no idea we’d see you this evening, sir, and merely wanted to ensure it was kept safe.”
Lissa was ready to be strongly censured. And indeed she was. Cosmo immediately rounded on her, but it would seem her rueful expression was sufficiently ameliorating for Mr. Crossing, who gave her a fatherly pat on the shoulder.
“Tomorrow then. You can present it to me when I’m breakfasting with my wife. That’ll surprise her. No need to tear strips off your poor cousin.” He smiled at Lissa who was mesmerized by his fat, fishlike lips. She didn’t wonder at the risks the very young, sweet Mrs. Crossing would go to escape a close encounter with them.
Snapping back to the present, she saw that Cosmo’s benefactor had narrowed his eyes. He made a sucking noise then said in a loud whisper as he pulled Cosmo slightly away, “I trust you did not find her...in a state that would cause embarrassment either to herself or to me.” Clearing his throat, he eyed Lissa with some awkwardness. “I would that you had not accompanied Mr. Lamont.”
But Cosmo broke in quickly, saying, “Indeed, my cousin remained in the rotunda while I executed your commission. I made sure she did not...er, see...the result of my jottings, which I immediately consigned to a pouch as, like you, I would hate to have caused her distress.”
“Distress?” His eyes grew bulbous.
He was about to say more, but Lissa interjected quickly, “I think my cousin is exaggerating, sir. When he pointed your wife out to me, she was deep in conversation with another lady, listening to Mozart.” She placed her hand firmly on Cosmo’s forearm. “And now, cousin, shall we leave? Mama will be cross if you keep me up too late.”
Cosmo rounded on her when they were out of hearing. “Do you not see how you might have brought the price down with your little reassurance? Mr. Crossing was only too ready to believe the worst of Mrs. Crossing’s misdemeanors. He will pay well to have evidence of her duplicity.”
“I will not be responsible for setting up his bristles,” Lissa muttered. In the shadow of a large statue-topped plinth by the edge of the rotunda where the orchestra was playing, she swung round to face him. “Mr. Crossing has the look of a man spoiling for violence at the slightest opportunity, though I think we already know that from what we overheard his wife telling her...friend.”
Cosmo gave a snide laugh as he regarded Lissa. “What are you, really?” He shook his head, adding with unusual introspection, “You pretend to the world that you’re a demure governess, but you’re the first to cut shams the moment you’re in a hobble.” Reaching forward, he pinched her cheek. “Maybe you and I make a better pair than I thought.”