"As of tomorrow, the important diplomatic sessions will be held in Castlereagh's bedchamber because of his injury. I will need complete floor plans of that part of the embassy. Every room, every corridor, every closet, with accurate measurements of each. Plus, information on the staff and their movements."
"Is that all?" the Englishman asked with veiled sarcasm.
Taking the question at face value, Le Serpent said, "I also need to know who will be attending each session. I must know that, without fail, no later than the evening before." He stood, a looming figure in the half-light. "And you will tell me, mon petit Anglais. Every evening, without fail."
The Englishman nodded reluctantly. He was already in too deeply to withdraw. But he needed time, time to trace the crest he had seen on Le Serpent's hand, and to allay any suspicions of himself. He decided to offer a piece of information that he had been keeping in reserve.
"You heard about Countess Janos, who drove the horse away from Lord Castlereagh before the job was finished?"
"I heard. A pity that she and her lover were there, but one cannot plan for everything." Le Serpent gave a slight, worldly shrug, implying that minor impediments might delay but never defeat him. "Quite a beautiful woman. There is no one like a Hungarian in bed."
The Englishman said, "She isn't a Hungarian. She's an Englishwoman named Margot Ashton, an impostor, a whore, and a spy."
"Indeed?" The breathy voice held menace, but not directed against his visitor. "You interest me, mon Anglais. Tell me what you know about the woman. If she is working for the British, it may be necessary to… deal with her."
Succinctly the Englishman told everything he knew about Magda, Countess Janos, who had once been known as Margot Ashton. It would be a great pity if such a ravishing female must be sacrificed, but one's own interests must come first.
Chapter 12
The next morning Maggie and Helene Sorel went to the home of Madame Daudet, who had compiled a list of all the French family crests that included serpents. After an obligatory half hour over the teacups, the guests were presented with the listing, written in script as fragile as the old lady herself. Then they were given the freedom of the library.
The two women looked up the names in massive, gilt-stamped volumes that contained hand-colored plates of heraldic devices and family arms. They traced the most promising crests on sheets of translucent parchment that Maggie had brought. Though they rejected dragons and medieval creatures of dubious ancestry, they examined anything that was clearly snakelike, including three-headed Hydras like that featured in the d'Aguste crest.
It took four hours to complete the search, and by then they were tired and a little sleepy from the library's stuffiness. However, as they prepared to leave, Helene noticed a book on the Prussian aristocracy.
Turning to "von Fehrenbach," the Frenchwoman became so still that Maggie came to look over her shoulder. What she saw brought her instantly alert. The von Fehrenbach crest was a lion holding a spear with a snake twined along the shaft.
Unemotionally Helene translated the Latin motto. "The cunning of a serpent, the courage of a lion."
Maggie was shaken. "Of all our prospects, I thought Colonel von Fehrenbach the least probable."
"This proves nothing," Helene said, an edge in her voice. "We copied a dozen other crests as likely."
"But none of them belonged to suspects." Maggie paused, then said, "Helene, I asked this before, and I will ask again. Is there something between you and Colonel von Fehrenbach?"
Helene slipped back into one of the leather-upholstered chairs, her eyes not meeting Maggie's. "There is nothing except… an attraction. We have met several times, always in public, and have said nothing that anyone might not hear."
Maggie sat also, brushing her hair back with fingers dusty from old books. Like herself, Helene acted on instinct, usually a more reliable guide than logic. "Do you think the colonel could be involved in a plot against France?"
"No," Helene said flatly. She raised her gaze to Maggie's. "I will investigate him more closely for you."
Maggie sat forward in her chair with misgivings. "Helene, what do you have in mind? If the colonel is really Le Serpent, he is a dangerous man. In fact, he probably is anyhow."
Helene smiled faintly. "I will do nothing that will endanger either myself or your investigation." Seeing the mutinous expression on her friend's face, she added, "You can't stop me, you know. I am not your employee, but a free agent who works with you because we share the same goals."
Maggie sighed, eyeing Helene's soft features and gentle face. Though her friend looked as innocent as a newborn lamb, Helene was both tough and intelligent. If she was determined to approach von Fehrenbach, Maggie could only wait and hope that something worthwhile would come of it.
Summoned by Maggie, Robin came late that night to her house. The moon was only half full, but bright enough so that the man watching from a window across the alley had no trouble making an identification. Blond and handsome as Lucifer, just as the duke had described him.
The watcher settled back in his chair philosophically, glad that his post was comfortable. It wasn't likely that a midnight visitor to the delectable countess would be in a hurry to leave.
He had no idea that another pair of hidden eyes was also watching the same house.
Maggie slept badly after Robin left. He had found the sketches of crests promising, and intended to show them to members of the Parisian underworld in the hopes that tongues might be loosened.
Robin had little to say in return, which made Maggie nervous since she guessed that he was withholding something. There could be any number of good reasons for that, but most likely he was trying to protect her, which reinforced the idea that this was a dangerous business. Fervently she wished that the treaty was settled so she could return to England-to peace and quiet and safety.
Her eyes opened and she stared unseeing into the darkness. The idea of a little cottage in England was less appealing than it had been a few weeks before. While she would welcome the peace, the days stretched empty and uneventful. She could walk and read, make friends and pay morning calls on them- day after day, month after month, year after year…
The prospect was not an exciting one. She would be very much alone in that life of blameless respectability that she had yearned for. There would be no men like Rafe to verbally fence with her, or make disgraceful proposals.
At that thought, she laughed softly. Based on history, there would be no shortage of men to proposition her. There just wouldn't be any that she would want to accept. And that, finally, was the core of her restlessness.
Rafe Whitbourne was still the most fascinating man she had ever met, intelligent, more than a little arrogant, alternately tender and enigmatic. And damnably, maddeningly attractive. He had been charming women since he was in leading strings, so it was hardly surprising that she was among his legions of admirers.
From the vantage point of thirty-one, she could see how fortunate it was that they hadn't married. They had both been children then. She had been so in love with Rafe that it had never occurred to her that he would have mistresses, like most men of his station. The first time that had happened, she would have been shattered, just as Cynthia Northwood had been.
Rather than embrace promiscuity herself, Maggie knew that she would have turned into a rampaging virago, as unwilling to let Rafe go as she was to accept his infidelities. Rafe would have reacted with incredulity and embarrassment, regretting that he hadn't taken a more sophisticated wife who understood the way of the world.