"He recognized Flanders ’s ring. Apparently each ring is unique and Holt knows the markings on all of them."
She kept silent for a minute.
"We need to fetch a doctor for both Terrence and Stephen. Is it safe to send for one now?"
James nodded against her head. "Hopefully Stephen is awake and I can tell you both my plan."
They reached the townhouse and James lifted her gently from the carriage. He spoke to Finn, who nodded and then continued down the street. James and Calliope walked unsteadily to the door. No one greeted them and the door remained closed.
James opened it. "Where are the footmen?"
They walked slowly into the hallway. The two beefy footmen weren’t at their posts.
Something exploded in the backyard. They ran to the windows and saw Stephen’s carriage house ablaze. All of the servants were working to extinguish it.
James pulled out his pistol and pushed her behind him. "I should have had Finn take you someplace safer. I thought we had time."
The shrieks of the horses and yells of the servants trying to extinguish the blaze reverberated through the otherwise empty house.
"I want you to go back to the street and hail a hackney," he whispered.
"No. We have to see if Stephen is still upstairs. I’m not leaving without you," she whispered back. She wasn’t going to budge.
He narrowed his eyes. "Stay behind me."
Their footfalls registered on the marble floor with each step.
There wasn’t a servant in sight.
The stairs rose into the distant shadows. Each step increased her anxiety. Calliope’s nerves were frayed by the time they neared her door.
James reached for the handle but it was flung aside. A flash of movement from the corner of her eye was the only warning she had before a rough hand twisted her arm from behind.
"Move inside, my lord." Curdle’s oily voice and fetid odor coated Calliope’s skin.
Flanders stood inside the doorway. "My, my… your survival skills are amazing, my dear. Glad you two could join my little party. Where is Terrence?"
"He’s safe," James said.
"We shall see. I don’t think Terrence has enough survival skills to last long."
Calliope looked to the bed. Stephen’s eyes were burning holes into Flanders ’s expensively tailored coat. His complexion was still pale, but he was conscious. Curdle shoved her forward, positioning himself with his back to the corner.
"Stephen, are you all right?"
"I’ve had better days. You two don’t look so well either."
Calliope gave him a weak smile and tried to edge away from the gun’s barrel.
"Don’t you worry, my sweet. You will be the last to go. I have plans for you." The whispered voice repulsively caressed her ear as he ran the gun down her side. "I thought I’d lost my chance, but the fates are kind today."
James’s eyes were murderous as he moved toward them, but he stopped when the hammer cocked at Calliope’s side.
"The good Mr. Chalmers has deigned to grace our presence once again," Flanders said. "You were lucky you had such a faithful watcher Chalmers, or else we would have had you days ago."
Stephen frowned in obvious confusion, but said nothing.
"But you finally made a mistake, Chalmers," Flanders said with relish. "At our meeting I noticed your expression when you saw Holt’s ring. I knew then that you had mine or at the very least knew where to find it. You found Salisbury just before he died; it made sense you recovered it, even though I didn’t find it on him myself. "
"Why did you need it back?" Calliope’s interruption caused Flanders to shift his attention to her. James was inching toward Stephen and he needed more time.
"I needed that ring back so I wouldn’t be implicated. The ring identifies me as plainly as my face."
"Implicated in killing my father? Why did you do it?"
"The bloody bastard was investigating us, his own team, and he was too close to finding the truth."
"The truth that you were working with Bonaparte, not against him?"
Flanders stared at her, mouth gone slack. James and Stephen both turned to her as well.
Calliope continued. "If the group’s sole purpose was to work against Bonaparte and the members started cannibalizing each other, then it was because some of you were working for the general."
Stephen nodded at her. "Our intelligence sources detected a resurgence of correspondence and suspicious movement among Napoleon’s staunch supporters. We knew the Old Guard was assembling and that plans for Napoleon’s escape from Elba were being hatched."
"A contingent of us was sent to Austria to work out the particulars at the Congress of Vienna prior to Wellington’s arrival," James said, "Meanwhile, Stephen, Merriweather, Roth, Holt and Salisbury were working in Brussels and France gleaning information from informants. Shortly after Wellington ’s arrival at the conference, it was announced that Napoleon had, in fact, escaped from Elba and was returning to France. What I want to know is, what were you doing there?"
Flanders narrowed his eyes. "It matters not, as it is." He snorted. "Funny how you have figured that out, yet you have no idea who is really behind the whole thing."
"You killed my father," Calliope said.
"I was second in command, and I did the dirty work. But I wasn’t the one responsible for the organization."
Flanders emitted a strange noise, like he was trying to say more, but his mouth caught in a sickening position as he slumped to the floor, his pistol dropping harmlessly beside him.
"No, you weren’t," a new voice agreed.
Calliope stared at the stiletto protruding from the inert form on the ground, then slowly moved her gaze to the silhouette in the doorway. Lord Holt strode nonchalantly into the room, gun cocked and poised.
Curdle’s gun was still pressed firmly against her side, although the weight of the little man was shifting. He was obviously trying to decide what to do.
Holt stared at the man behind Calliope. "Curdle, correct?"
He must have jerked his head in the affirmative, because he didn’t make a sound.
Holt smiled. "Good. I think we can work out a deal between us. I know what you want. You can have her and be well compensated for your time."
Calliope was unaware of what was happening behind her, but whatever it was, Holt seemed satisfied.
James and Stephen were preparing to move, their faces tense with concentration.
"Tut, boys. At this range Curdle can’t miss killing Miss Minton if you persist on playing the heroes."
Curdle grasped Calliope’s hair, yanking her head back. Pain radiated through her skull. They stopped.
Holt slipped into the blue padded armchair near the door. His actions were casual, but he kept his gun trained on James. Another pistol was tucked into his waistband.
"Thank you for gathering together. It saves me a lot of trouble."
"I was going to expose you. The invisible power behind the French conspiracy, " James gritted.
"Naughty boy, you didn’t tell me Stephen was alive. But it was a fact that one of my spies remedied. Without that small slip, you had me convinced I was in the clear."
"You had a Falcon ring, and I would never suspect you of being a follower. You could only be the leader of such an organization. Furthermore, you are the only one who could have pulled any of this off. No one else had the contacts. And you never had to soil your own hands; all you had to do was appoint spies to key positions as diplomats and agents. If anything went wrong, they would take the blame. You were the perfect double agent with the perfect motive-the illegitimacy of your son. I should have killed you earlier."