“So you work for Bow Street.” Maryann’s voice was expressionless, giving no hint of the confusion in her mind, the chagrin that Farrell had deceived her. For deceit it was that he had not told her his profession when she begged him for help.
She measured him with a cool look. “You might have trusted me. I would not have given away that you are a—what are you? Not, I presume, a runner.”
“You might say I am a Bow Street spy.” His voice matched hers in flatness, but the dark eyes compelled and would not let her look away.
“Lady Maryann, you once asked me what I do now that I no longer spy for army and government. You said you could not see me in the role of a society fribble after years of danger and excitement.”
“I remember.”
She had called him one of the invisible heroes. But there was nothing heroic about spying on members of the ton. True, Rob was spying on Tammadge. But that was different. Farrell had deceived her. He had not told her who he was even after she sought him out in Seven Dials.
She felt letdown, disillusioned, and suddenly, it was not at all difficult to break the hold of his eyes, to look at the magistrate.
“You mentioned white slavery, Sir Nathaniel. How could Tammadge be involved in the hideous practice engaged by the Barbary states?”
Sir Nathaniel leaned back in his chair. “In this case, I am not speaking of the seizure of ships and the capture of crew and passengers by Barbary pirates. The term white slavery also applies to the sale of young Englishwomen to brothels on the Continent—or in the markets of Tunis, Tripoli, and Algiers.”
“Your betrothed owns three ships,” Farrell interposed. “The Venture, the Good Fortune, and the Daring Maiden, all engaged in trade with India and China.”
Maryann kept her eyes on the magistrate. “A route that does not lead past the Barbary Coast.”
“Exactly.” Farrell would not be ignored. He perched on a corner of the desk, disturbingly close to her.
“Unless the shipper had arranged for a special cargo to be loaded or unloaded,” he said, “a vessel sailing for Calcutta or Canton would not deviate from its route and stop in Algiers”
“But Tammadge’s ships do?” She glanced at him then, hurt and disappointment carefully disguised by an edge of irony. “You have seen them?”
Farrell’s mouth twitched. “No doubt you think my spying better employed among the Corsairs than among the elite of English society.”
“It seems to me you have not accomplished very much here in London,” she said witheringly. “If you tried to catch Tammadge carrying human cargo, and failed, then you ought to have gone to Algiers to witness the unloading.”
Sir Nathaniel cleared his throat. “There are reasons why I cannot send Farrell to Algiers. I shall not bore you with arguments that are mere points of law, but, you see, I have specific orders from Whitehall not to do anything that might disrupt or endanger treaties under negotiation with the deys of the three Barbary states.”
“Oh.” Maryann knitted her brow. “I think I understand. I remember reading—but this was some time ago, during the congress in Vienna and again last fall—that an appeal was made by one of our naval commanders to stop slavery in the Barbary states.”
“Admiral Sir William Sidney Smith,” said Farrell. “He founded an organization, ‘The Knights Liberator of the Slaves of Africa.’ In September of ’14, the Knights Liberator held their first meeting—in Vienna—and demanded that Castlereagh stop preaching on the subject of white slavery and take action.”
“It was through Smith, who has contact with many escaped and ransomed slaves from Barbary,” Sir Nathaniel interjected, “that Whitehall learned of three English vessels stopping regularly at the port of Algiers.”
Maryann stared at the handkerchief spread across the desk. “The Venture, the Good Fortune, and the Daring Maiden,” she murmured, then met Sir Nathaniel’s keen gaze. “So Whitehall charged you to look into the matter, but, at the same time, tied your hands by ordering you not to kick up a dust in Algiers.”
“Precisely,” said the magistrate, the hint of a smile briefly lighting the austere features.
“Do you know when you can expect the negotiations to be completed?”
“No. This is a delicate affair and, I need not add, quite secret.”
“I understand, sir. But since I am one of those creatures known to delight in tattling and gossiping, you do need to add it.”
This time, the smile lingered. “I tell you this much, young lady. Admiral Lord Exmouth has been put in charge of the Barbary affair. He sailed from Leghorn on March 4, and we’ve had word that he arrived in the Bay of Algiers on the first of this month. The admiral is not only empowered to negotiate new treaties with the three deys, but also to ransom British, Sicilian, and Sardinian subjects in captivity.”
“An awesome responsibility. And in the meanwhile, you can do nothing but hope that Tammadge will give himself away to Mr. Farrell.”
“Well—” Sir Nathaniel shot a look at Farrell, but received only a shrug in return.
Tilting her head to one side, Maryann eyed the Bow Street magistrate severely. “Why,” she asked, “since Mr. Farrell was at such pains to conceal his … profession from me, have I been told today that he is in your employ?”
“Because of this—” Sir Nathaniel flicked a finger against the lace edging of the handkerchief. “And because I hoped you might assist us in the investigation.”
“Devil a bit!” Farrell said sharply. “Not if I can help it.”
Maryann and Sir Nathaniel looked at him in some surprise as he pounced off the desk and, fists planted on the paper-scattered top, thrust a grim face toward the magistrate.
“For goodness sake, sir! You cannot involve the child. Telling her of the white slavery charge was risky enough, but, at least, it should convince her that she must end the—”
“As I have told you before, Mr. Farrell,” Maryann interrupted coldly. “I may be small, but I am not a child. And I cannot end the betrothal until I prove to my father that Tammadge is a scoundrel.”
Both men ignored her.
Farrell stared at the magistrate. “It’s dangerous, dirty business! She must not be embroiled. Besides, she’d more likely prove a hindrance than a help.”
“Don’t be a fool,” the magistrate said not unpleasantly. “It is through Tammadge’s betrothed that we can learn of his engagements ahead of time. We can then assign two or three men to follow him if it seems likely he’ll slip out a back door once he’s safely inside his supposed destination.”
“Indeed!” Maryann’s breath came faster as she remembered Rush’s report of Friday night. “Tammadge was at Carlton House the night the girl and the handkerchief were found. He left his carriage in The Mall at seven-thirty and did not call for it until the early morning hours. But there are innumerable ways of leaving Carlton House and slipping back in unobserved. And hackneys are readily available in Warwick Street, Pall Mall, or St. James’s Square.”
Sir Nathaniel chuckled. “Seems to me, you’ve joined ranks with us already, my dear lady.”
Farrell was not so reasonable in his attitude. “Spying on your betrothed?” he asked in what seemed to Maryann a decidedly nasty manner. “Perhaps you think it is more honorable than crying off—or my spying on him?”
Her face grew warm, but she would not concede the point. In fact, she decided, she’d do her best to make him pay for deceiving her about his profession.
Farrell turned to the magistrate. “Any information we need about Tammadge, I can supply. After all, I worked hard these past months to gain his confidence.”
“He trusts you sufficiently to request your company in the slums and gaming hells, but will he inform you of his social engagements?”
“He asked for my support while he is ‘fulfilling his duty,’ as he phrased it, ‘toward his dear betrothed.’ ”
If Farrell meant to annoy Maryann, he had failed. She did not rise to the bait.
“Sir Nathaniel,” she said, “I shall do everything in my power to assist you. Please tell me what to do.”
“Whenever you can, inform Farrell of Tammadge’s plans.”
All innocence, she widened her eyes at the magistrate. “Should I leave the message at the Fighting Cock?”
“If I catch you near the place,” Farrell cut in, “I’ll personally administer the spanking you so richly deserve.”
“Will you? But as you said, you’ll have to catch me first.”
“Farrell will get in touch with you,” said the magistrate, frowning impartially at them both. “Do you have a servant you can trust, Lady Maryann?”
“Yes, indeed.” She ignored Farrell’s thunderous brow and named her champions with aplomb. “There’s Robert, my groom, then our footmen, James and Harv, and I have recently engaged Rush, a very capable old soldier.”
“A veritable army of confederates. Have one of them take a list of your engagements to Farrell’s lodgings in Ryder Street.”
“Ryder Street! How disgustingly respectable.” She observed the tightening of Farrell’s jaw, and added audaciously, “However, I daresay it’s all in the line of duty.”
“May I be permitted to make my point?” Sir Nathaniel asked sternly and proceeded to do so without delay. “Once Farrell has your agenda, he will be able to attend the same nightly functions you do and hear your report or give you instructions from me.”
“Oh, I will, will I?” Farrell looked even grimmer than before. “Have you considered the consequences, sir, if I am seen by someone returning from Paris, or by an old acquaintance from Sussex?”
Enjoying herself more and more, Maryann gave him a saucy look. “Outrunning your creditors? Yet you were not too frightened to attend my ball or the Crabtree rout.”
“And a bloody fool I was,” muttered Farrell.
He was about to say more. Whether on the subject of his being a fool or to convince the magistrate not to involve her in their schemes, Maryann could only guess, for his opportunity to voice an opinion was lost as a sudden clamor arose downstairs.
“What the deuce?” muttered Sir Nathaniel. “Can we not keep peace and order at least in the Bow Street offices?”
He looked at Maryann, who could scarcely conceal her satisfaction at having scored a number of points over Stephen Farrell.
“One more thing, my dear. If you have news and cannot get in touch with Farrell, go to my old friend Samuel Crabtree. It is best that you do not come to see me again—except in a dire emergency.”
Maryann nodded. Mr. Crabtree, of course! He would have introduced Farrell to his wife, who had in turn introduced him to her nephew, the Marquess of Woverley—a close friend of Tammadge.
The ruckus on the lower floor had not subsided. On the contrary, it grew louder and was coming closer. Above the clatter of high heels on the stairs, Maryann heard a strident, tantalizingly familiar voice order someone to “let go o’ me, old spindly-shanks! I know he’s up there, an’ I promise ye, he’ll be ever so glad to see me.”
Maryann cast a startled, questioning look at Farrell. Beneath the tan, his face turned a dull red as light footsteps approached the magistrate’s office at a run. He looked as though he would have liked to barricade the door, but before he could move, it was thrust open to reveal the young woman of undress Maryann had seen at the Fighting Cock.
“Stevie, love!” she cried, at the same time swinging her reticule at Mr. Jeremy Swift, the Bow Street clerk, who was doing his puny best to prevent her precipitate entrance.
“Tolly said ye was back, an’ I couldn’t wait ter see ye!”