Maisie was attempting to coddle eggs in the Kensington house kitchen with little success. Cringing, Lina reflected that the language that spewed from her red-faced companion could peel the wallpaper from the walls.
“Honestly, Maisie—it is not as though anyone truly expects you to cook. Have done.”
The maid regarded the broken eggs scorching on the stone hearth with a fulminating eye. “Mr. Carstairs wants ye to eat eggs.”
Maisie had lately been hired by Carstairs as a housekeeper so as to give her access to Lina, although the charade would not hold together for a moment if anyone could witness the maid’s ineptitude in matters culinary. Amused, Lina rose and approached her. “How anyone could have followed the drum for as long as you did and not know how crack an egg or two is beyond me. Here, let me do it.”
Ceding the pot, Maisie stepped aside to allow Lina access to the grate. “I was needed to drive the oxen,” the other explained, folding her hands with dignity under her apron. “Bein’ as how t’ drivers kept gettin’ shot up.”
Lina expertly broke the eggs into the boiling water in rapid succession with one hand. “Then I must beg your pardon, Maisie—yours was the greater service.”
“Another for yerself—yer t’eat eggs, he says—eggs and milk.”
Lina complied without demur as she actually had an appetite this morning. “Are the two of you conniving behind my back again?”
Maisie gave her an assessing look. “Yer gettin’ skinny.”
“I’ve been skinnier, I assure you.” She leaned forward to monitor the eggs. “Ugh, the ashes haven’t been cleaned out in months. Have we any toast?”
Reminded, Maisie placed bread in the toasting rack and set it before the fire. “How soon before we go to the country? A bit o’ fresh air will put some color in yer cheeks.”
Lina contemplated the fire for a moment, aware that Maisie was uneasy with the unnatural inactivity of the past two days. “It’s a delicate matter, Maisie. There are double-crossings to consider, which hopefully do not include your own.”
“I’ll stand bluff, don’t you fret.” Maisie turned the toast rack to the other side. “I’m just sayin’ ye need to start thinkin’ about the babe, is all.”
With a smile Lina disclosed, “Then plan for three days out—Mr. Brodie has a scheme and I believe it is a good one.”
Maisie arched her brows in surprise, although she didn’t take her watchful gaze from the toast. “That soon? What’s to do?”
Lina rose and removed the eggs with a wooden spoon, ladling them into teacups for want of any other dishware. “A masquerade ball, my friend—which is always such an excellent diversion. Do you remember when I played the Condesa de la Torres in Barcelona?”
“Ah me,” sighed Maisie. “Are ye plannin’ fer the menfolk to have another duel?”
“Such a simple way to arrange for the removal of a problem,” Lina reminisced with a fond smile. “But no—I bring it to mind only because I shall need that costume again, so you’ll have to visit the town house to pack up some of my clothes and smuggle that outfit to me here. And a mask—I shall need a mask that will obscure my face.”
“Aye, missy,” Maisie agreed as she removed the rack from the hearth. “I know just the one.”
“Don’t forget to be unhappy, being as I have died,” Lina reminded her, sliding the egg onto the hot toast and carefully taking a bite. “In the event you are observed on your visit.”
“Who is doin’ the observin’?” Maisie eyed her with alarm as she sat down to her own breakfast.
“Never you mind; but this next is very important, Maisie, so listen carefully. You are also to visit Mr. Brodie at his hotel, to be paid. He will give you a wrinkled bank note that has some letters written on it in ink. Do you follow so far?”
“I’m not daft,” noted Maisie without rancor as she buttered her toast. “Then what?”
“Bring it here; Mr. Carstairs is to see you trying to decide whether there is something wrong with the bill, due to the writing on it. If necessary, you must ask him if the bank will take it in its current condition, to encourage him to examine it.” The letters would be in a difficult cipher, but Lina had every confidence that Carstairs would quietly pass it on and Jenny Dokes would manage to crack it.
“Am I to say it’s from Mr. Brodie?”
Lina smiled. “Only if he asks, and I doubt he will—he is quick on the uptake, is Mr. Carstairs. If he has seen the bank note, you must turn the tea canister around backward as a sign to me—then we don’t have to discuss it again.”
Pausing, Maisie considered the merits of this particular task with a frown. “I’m not so very good at this sort o’ thing—lyin’ to the man an’ all.”
But Lina reminded her, “You won’t be lying, Maisie, and that is exactly why I am asking you to do it—he won’t think I put you up to it.”
“Iffen ye say so,” ventured the maid in a doubtful tone.
“I do say so.” Lina wiped her fingers on Maisie’s apron. “And pray don’t be concerned; we act to Mr. Carstairs’s benefit. Mr. Brodie is the master at turning the tables.”
“He’s not yer master anymore,” Maisie reminded her, picking up the dishes and taking them to the wash basin.
“He never was, my friend,” Lina riposted with relish. “But one must give the devil his due.”
“Ah, me,” intoned Maisie, shaking her head as she began the washing. “I dinna like this talk o’ devils.”
“We entertain the devil himself in three days,” Lina remarked in a cheerful tone. “Say your prayers.” She was feeling considerably better now that the denouement was at hand; the anticipation of action always raised her spirits, particularly as she had been constrained to the house for several days. Tapping her slender fingers on the table, she thought out loud. “I must speak to Dokes again—your talk of the duel in Barcelona reminds me that I have a favor to ask of her. And it cannot hurt to draw more attention to the situation so as to put Mr. Carstairs’s discovery of your note in proper context.” She considered her options with a knit brow. “Another comfortable coze between two old friends is probably out of the question—I cannot risk another visit; the first one took her by surprise but she would be ready for me, now.”
“There be trouble brewin’,” noted Maisie to no one in particular as she reached to place the teacups back on the shelf.
Lina laughed. “Now Maisie—we are already hip deep in trouble, after all. Have some faith; have I not brought us about, time after time?”
“’Cept the one time, in Paris,” Maisie reminded her heavily.
With a graceful shrug, Lina admitted, “Well—yes. But all wrongs will soon be righted, and so deftly that those who are hoodwinked will remain unaware.”
“As ye say.”
Smiling, Lina teased her, “And I am dying for one last gambit before I am forced by motherhood to settle down.”
Maisie made a skeptical sound. “Will ye, d’ye think?”
Her eyes dancing, Lina confirmed in a solemn tone, “Indeed. Will you?”
Maisie made a gesture that portrayed long suffering. “I must; ye haven’t the first idea what to do wi’ a bairn.”
Bowing her head with mock gravity, Lina pronounced, “A new leaf, then; for the both of us—staid householders, for our sins.”
“He’s a good man,” noted Maisie, wiping her hands on her apron.
“No argument here.” She gave the other a teasing glance. “Mr. Brodie will miss you.”
Maisie was philosophical as she came back to sit on her stool. “He’ll be by, I reckon. But he’s nowt one t’ be buildin’ a nest.”
Lina nodded, relieved that the maid had no illusions. “Definitely not. He’s already looking to the next adventure—the proverbial rolling stone.”
The two sat together in silence for a few minutes until Maisie rose and said, “I’ll best be on me errands, then.”
Lina responded with a gleam of amusement in her eye. “Can you also bring my costume from the Guildhall in Campine?”
If this request for the widow’s weeds caused Maisie any alarm, she hid it well and only shook her head slightly. “I’ll be needin’ to find a new veil—the last one was torn when that Frenchman started tossin’ ’is fancy knives about.”
“And wasn’t that a nasty surprise? Remind me never to hire a cook who hasn’t been thoroughly vetted.” Much struck by her own remark she added, “Although now that I think on it, I’m afraid that horse has already run—I’m not one to learn a lesson, methinks.”
“I’ll be fetchin’ a new veil in t’afternoon,” Maisie assured her.
“No matter, Maisie—stitch it up as best you can; I’m to use it today.”
With a worried frown, the maid asked, “And what am I to tell Mr. Carstairs iffen he wonders where ye’ve gone to?”
“No need, unless I miss my guess, he has his own mysterious errands to commission this day and should be from home for most of it—which is why your bank note is going to be of such interest when you arrange for him to see it. I imagine it will inspire yet more activity on his part, in fact. If he does ask after me, simply admit you are not certain where I’ve gone, as you were out on your errands.”
Maisie nodded. “Aye, then—I’m to fetch t’ clothes and visit Mr. Brodie.”
Her spirits high, Lina teased, “And pray follow instructions so as not to bring the militia down upon my head as you did in Naples.”
Stung, Maisie protested, “The prelate couldn’t understand what I was sayin’ as he weren’t a proper Englishman, and popish besides.”
“My fault,” Lina soothed. “I shouldn’t have entrusted a Northumbrian with a message for an Italian. Small wonder he thought you were a bandito—I would have thought the same myself.”
“No harm were done,” insisted Maisie, who continued nettled. “It were all straightened out wi’ everyone merry in the end; lucky ye can charm the birds offen the trees.”
Lina suppressed a shudder. “Hard work; I have no fond memories of militia men.”
“Nor they of ye.” Maisie gave her a glance.
“I’ll have none of your sauce,” Lina warned her.
“Ah, me,” Maisie said with resignation, shaking her head.