Page 23 of The Lord Meets His Lady
Five
The same night in London…
Reinhard Wolf handed his hat to the chambermaid. Her blue eyes reflected in the gilt mirror, flitting nervously at the shadows. Avo waited in an alcove, his cheroot a glowing orange circle at his mouth, unkempt black hair falling loose about his shoulders.
“Your report, Avo.”
A weathered hand reached for the cheroot. “Do you not think it best to wait, Captain?”
The dark-haired maid reached for the black frock coat sliding off his shoulders. Eyes downcast, she played mute as good servants did, her plush lips wobbling. Avo had that effect on women. The Frisian had probably threatened to snap her neck, should she breathe one word of what was said in this house, but it was Reinhard’s house. The maid was safe.
“No. Tell me now,” Reinhard said, plucking off his black leather glove one finger at a time.
“A crate of Charleville muskets arrived. Fifty of them from our Portuguese friend.” Avo took a deep drag of his cheroot.
“Are these muskets in working order?”
Smoke clouded the Frisian’s head. “All are newly manufactured. I tested them myself. If your blondliefdesgrotwere here, she would find them impeccable.”
“Any saltpeter?” Reinhard dropped his glove into the maid’s palm.
“Twenty pounds in an old cask once used for brandy. A clever disguise. The brandy-soaked wood masks any smell.”
“And has ourEnglischfriend delivered the lead?”
“I don’t know.” The chair creaked from Avo standing up. “He waited for you in the study, but he could not stay long.”
Reinhard yanked off his second glove. “You left him alone in there?”
“Relax, Captain. No one can read your letters.”
The letters were written in Old Prussian. The language had become extinct, a perfect code for the Brotherhood of Silesia, but the study was Reinhard’s private sanctum. Papers of a more personal nature sat on his desk. Avo knew this.
“Did he leave a message?” Reinhard asked, handing the second glove to the maid before she disappeared, a hush of starched skirts.
“On your desk, next to your letters.”
Reinhard swiped an invisible speck of dust off his sleeve. Avo’s insolence had grown tiresome, made worse since Genevieve ran away. “You know my rules, Thade. Abide by them, or return toKönigsbergand explain yourself to the baron.”
Avo’s molars clamped the cheroot. The Frisian would never leave. They’d both stood before the baron and sworn a blood oath to King Frederick of Prussia, their soldier king. They were on a mission for the Brotherhood. Plucked from an Amsterdam gutter decades ago, Thade had grown up under the tutelage of a Prussian lieutenant who once served the baron. Avo never wore a uniform, never clubbed his hair, yet he wore impeccable gray suits tailored to his wiry frame.
His fanaticism for their cause delighted those in high places, but for Reinhard, Avo was a menace, a rabid dog he had to leash. He was sure the Frisian had contemplated killing him. Violence was Avo’s favorite language.
The dog needed a reminder of his place. “Fetch the letter, Thade. I’ll read it in my bedchamber.”
Avo flicked ash on the marble floor, his gaze sliding to the maid idling near a plant pedestal. “Yes, Captain.”
Reinhard stood stiffly, waiting for the slam of boots to fade. Knots in his shoulders wrenched tighter. He ran a finger under his collar, stretching his neck to one side.
“Forgive me, sir.” The maid flitted around the pedestal. “Herr Thade told me he would stay in the study with your guest.”
“Learn from this. All guests go to the drawing room.” He grimaced, loosening the neckcloth. “Where is Alston?”
“The butler took ill. I told him I would see to your needs.”
“Extinguish these candles. This hall is too bright.”
The petite maid lifted a brass candlesnuffer off a hook hidden by the door. Pushing up on her toes, her black hem rose, showing neat ankles as she snuffed one candle after another.
