Page 47 of Presenting Miss Letitia (Once a Wallflower 1)

“Not your fault that Marston chose to die the way he did. He was well aware of what would happen to him as a traitor.” Willard studied him. “This has hit you hard, hasn’t it?”

“It’s somewhat inexplicable,” Brandon admitted. “Not as though I liked the fellow. He was a brutal, unfeeling devil, who would have dispatched Miss Bromley and me without a second thought. I had nothing but contempt for him. And I’ve been involved in worst situations and seen many people die in one skirmish or another.”

“But the manner of his death has some resemblance to your friend’s, is that not so?” Willard, astute as ever, suggested. “I confess to being glad you do feel the weight of it, Brandon. That you are not hardened by the work you have performed for the Crown. Honorable though it is.”

“Honorable? Some would not say so.”

r />

“Resign,” Willard stated flatly. “Such work can strip a man of his values. Leave this business before it drags you down to a place you do not want to go.”

Brandon noted Willard’s furrowed brow. “You wish me to leave the service?”

“It is something I suggest with reluctance. You are one of my most reliable agents. But I have always felt some measure of responsibility for you, as you know, since I was instrumental in bringing you into the business.”

Brandon was about to object, but the door opened, and their coffee was brought in.

“Don’t make a decision now,” Willard said. “Give the matter some thought.”

“I will.” Brandon picked up the coffee cup and took a sip as the prospect of a life without purpose struck him with force. “Now what have you to tell me?”

Willard opened a drawer and drew out a fat, black leather journal.

“Is that what I think it is?” Brandon leaned forward, excitement tightening his chest.

“Arrived by special courier this morning. I have much to tell you, but first read it.” He pushed the journal over the desk to Brandon.

His heartbeat picking up, Brandon held the journal in his hands. He flicked through the pages. The four men were listed again and again over the course of several years. Beside each was an amount and a date. “Bullion.” Brandon glanced up at Willard. “They sent Napoleon gold to finance his campaigns, and in return, he sanctioned their smuggling ventures.”

Willard stirred his coffee. “Some quite sizeable amounts.”

Brandon sat back with a grin. “Treason. We’ve got them.”

“Indeed, we have. They are being rounded up as we speak.”

“Ah, this is interesting,” Brandon said, after going back a few pages. “Kendall is listed.”

Willard nodded.

“What about that associate of Fraughton’s by the name of Pierse? I don’t find him here.”

“No, the Frenchman was Napoleon’s aide and his courier. These men would have continued to make use of Pierse after the war. We are searching London for him.”

“So, does this mean that Lavalette has been freed?”

“Free as is the wind,” Willard said, quoting Shakespeare.

“But by what means?”

“Best read this first.” Willard pushed a letter across to him. “The account came with the journal.”

Brandon scanned it. It explained how during the changing of the guard, the comtesse had been permitted to visit her husband. She entered the prison cell where they exchanged clothing. Lavalette had then left the prison dressed in his wife’s clothes. “Audacious,” he murmured, deeply impressed.

“Simple but ingenious, wouldn’t you say?” Willard said. “The prison guards didn’t discover he had gone until the next morning.”

Brandon looked up. “But the comtesse expects to remain in prison?”

“Yes, for a period,” Willard said.

---