For three long days, Diana served as an inmate in her pretty prison, trapped by the fear of another encounter with Ian.
Hiding didn’t sit well with her. She concealed so much of her true self from the world to perpetuate the role her parents had carved out for her among good society. It had allowed her to protect and grow a fortune she could put to use for the Stags’s mission.
But now, years after committing her life and her inheritance to serve them, deciphering a way to upend the organization consumed her. By the time they docked in La Rochelle, she had no more clarity on how they were going to thwart the traitor’s next attack. Or what the emeralds had to do with it all.
“Everythin’s sorted for the coalin’,” Birdie said as they marched down the gangplank to the pier. “Miss Hunter and the passengers will stay on the promenade deck lounge.”
“Safer to have them all in one place while they stock the coal,” Diana agreed. “Were we able to take on any local coalers for the rest of the sail?”
“Aye. No one pays as well as we do.”
“Excellent. Remind the crew that R&R ends at five o’clock.” Diana ignored the way Birdie was cataloging her movements as she pulled on her gloves. “Do you have someone tailing Mr. Holt?”
“Got my two sparrows followin’ him.”
They’d tail Diana too. Her support of Amelia’s inquiries had made Birdie visibly wary of them both.
Diana left the harbor and headed to thecentre-villeof the city. It took the entire morning—and stops at four different drop sites—before she finally dodged the sparrows and made her way to l’Eglise Saint Sauveur. The holy water font in the back of the church was the last of the established places where Widow dropped messages. When Diana found it empty, she became properly nervous.
Widow had never gone silent during an operation. It had to be a passive-aggressive reprimand for flaunting her orders to leave Ian behind. Diana hated being treated like an insubordinate child, but there was little she could do to rectify it, until Widow signaled.
She cut back across the city. At the office of her merchant bank, she retrieved a summary of her account statement, which Amelia had wired ahead to arrange. Diana took the folder—along with newspapers the manager had collected over the last week—to a small private office.
The funds in the account were in order, and she tucked the paper into the hidden pocket of her skirt so Amelia could verify it later. She perused the newspapers carefully, relieved the only account of her and the emeralds was speculation about the canceled wedding.
When she read the headlines of the previous day’s paper, her momentary relief evaporated.
“Investigation Continues into the Death of Il Corno Heir.”
The bank manager tapped jauntily at the open door. “Mademoiselle? The bank will close in five minutes. Shall I take the papersfor you?”
“What a tragedy about this poor man.” She nodded to the broadsheet. “It was a fire?”
The manager’s expression darkened. “Yes. Thankfully, no one else was hurt.”
“Thank God. Thegendarmesthink it was arson. Who would do such a terrible thing?”
“His enemies, of course.” The manager lowered his voice. “These men, they are their own society, eh? We do not speak of such things.”
Diana was surprised the newspaper was bold enough to print a reference to the Il Corno crime syndicate. The Stags had monitored several of their members for years, but information about the shadowy network was scarce and dangerous to procure. She prayed the manager was correct, that Clementi’s enemies had started the blaze; she would not linger over the fact that the fire had all the hallmarks of a White Stag operation.
As the cathedral bells pealed for evensong, Diana headed back to the harbor. Her failure to find the coordinates for where they needed to deliver the women who traveled aboard theEver Hartmade her stomach churn. There was one last place where Widow might signal, and when she reached the cobblestone lane outside Tavern L’Etoile, she gathered a breath. And her mettle.
Birdie and her sparrows knew Widow left messages at the tavern on rare occasion, which meant one of them might observe who Diana was meeting there and overhear what was said. She wished that, for once, she wouldn’t have to calculate what an honest conversation would cost her.
Themaître d’hôtelushered Diana to the quiet table she’d requested. A carafe of water and one of wine waited for her.
Along with Ian.
In his immaculate gray suit and a blue waistcoat, he hardly looked like a man who’d been at sea for three days, much of which he’d spent shoveling coal. He must have slipped off to a hotel for a bath. The only hint he’d spent time away from shore were the whiskers darkening his face. Birdie had confiscated his razor, and without it, he’d have a full beard within a matter of days.
As Ian rose from the table, his eyes traced her plain wool skirt and fitted coat, and lingered on her flushed cheeks. “You’re late.”
The clock tower chimed in the distance, and she smirked. “I’m perfectly on time.”
“Admit it. You didn’t think I’d show.”
Although Amelia had assured her Ian had received her message, Diana had perseverated over whether he would accept her dinner invitation. “I’m very glad you did.”