A Midwinter's Masquerade Read online

  A Midwinter’s Masquerade

  Tracy Grant

  This ebook is licensed to you for your personal enjoyment only.

  This ebook may not be sold, shared, or given away.

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the writer’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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  A Midwinter’s Masquerade

  Copyright © 2019 by Tracy Grant

  Ebook ISBN: 9781641971256

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  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  No part of this work may be used, reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without prior permission in writing from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  * * *

  NYLA Publishing

  121 W 27th St., Suite 1201, New York, NY 10001

  http://www.nyliterary.com

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Dramatis Personae

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Historical Notes

  Excerpt from THE TAVISTOCK PLOT

  Also by Tracy Grant

  About the Author

  For Jessica, with thanks for your kindness and inspiration to Mélanie

  Acknowledgments

  As always, huge thanks to my wonderful agent, Nancy Yost, for her support and insights. Thanks to Natanya Wheeler for once again working her magic to create a cover filled with theatrical magic and for shepherding the book expertly through the publication process, to Sarah Younger for superlative social media support and for helping the book along through production and publication, and to the entire team at Nancy Yost Literary Agency for their fabulous work. Malcolm, Mélanie, and I are all very fortunate to have their support.

  Thanks to Eve Lynch for the meticulous and thoughtful copyediting and to Kristen Loken for magical author photos.

  I am very fortunate to have a wonderful group of writer friends near and far who make being a writer less solitary. Thanks to Veronica Wolff and Lauren Willig, who both understand the challenges of being a writer and a mom. To Penelope Williamson, for sharing adventures, analyzing plots, and being a wonderful honorary aunt to my daughter. To Jami Alden, Tasha Alexander, Bella Andre, Allison Brennan, Josie Brown, Isobel Carr, Catherine Coulter, Deborah Coonts, Deborah Crombie, Carol Culver/Grace, Catherine Duthie, Alexandra Elliott, J.T. Ellison, Barbara Freethy, Andrew Grant, C.S. Harris, Candice Hern, Anne Mallory, Monica McCarty, Brenda Novak, Poppy Reifiin, Deanna Raybourn, and Jacqueline Yau.

  Thank you to the readers who support Malcolm and Mélanie and their friends and provide wonderful insights on my Web site and social media.

  Thanks to Gregory Paris and jim saliba for creating and updating a fabulous Web site that chronicles Malcolm and Mélanief's adventures. To Suzi Shoemake and Betty Strohecker for managing a wonderful Google+ Discussion Group for readers of the series. Thanks to my colleagues at the Merola Opera Program who help me keep my life in balance. Thanks to Peet's Coffee & Tea at The Village, Corte Madera, for welcoming me and my daughter Mélanie and giving me some of my best writing time. And thanks to Mélanie herself, for inspiring my writing, being patient with Mummy's "work time", and offering her own insights at the keyboard. This is her contribution to this story – "made by Tracy the best mommy in the world!" Mélanie said.

  Dramatis Personae

  *indicates real historical figures

  The Rannoch Family & Household

  * * *

  Mélanie Suzanne Rannoch, former French intelligence agent

  Malcolm Rannoch, her husband, MP and former British intelligence agent

  Colin Rannoch, their son

  Jessica Rannoch, their daughter

  Berowne, their cat

  * * *

  Laura O'Roarke, Colin and Jessica's former governess

  Raoul O'Roarke, her husband, Mélanie's former spymaster, and Malcolm's father

  Lady Emily Fitzwalter, Laura's daughter from her first marriage

  Clara O'Roarke, Laura and Raoul's daughter

  * * *

  Miles Addison, Malcolm's valet

  Blanca Mendoza Addison, his wife, Mélanie's companion

  Pedro Addison, their son

  * * *

  The Davenport Family

  Lady Cordelia Davenport

  Colonel Harry Davenport, her husband, classical scholar and former British intelligence agent

  Livia Davenport, their daughter

  Drusilla Davenport, their daughter

  * * *

  Archibald (Archie) Davenport, Harry's uncle

  Lady Frances Davenport, his wife, Malcolm's aunt

  Francesca Davenport, their daughter

  Philip Davenport, their son

  Chloe Dacre-Hammond, Frances's daughter from her first marriage

  * * *

  Others

  * * *

  Bertrand Laclos, French émigré and former British intelligence agent

  Rupert, Viscount Caruthers, his lover, MP and former British intelligence agent

  * * *

  Sofia Vincenzo

  Kit Montagu, her fiancé

  Nerezza

  * * *

  Manon Caret Harleton, actress

  Crispin, Lord Harleton, her husband

  Roderick, their son

  Roxane, Manon's daughter

  Clarisse, Manon's daughter

  * * *

  Simon Tanner, playwright

  David Mallinson, Viscount Worsley, his lover

  Teddy Craven, David's nephew

  George Craven, David's nephew

  Amy Craven, David's niece

  Jamie Craven, David's nephew

  * * *

  Hubert Mallinson, Earl Carfax, Malcolm's former spymaster and David's father

  Amelia, Countess Carfax, his wife

  Lady Lucinda Carfax, their youngest daughter

  * * *

  Lord Beverston

  Benedict Smythe, his younger son

  Roger Smythe, Beverston's elder son

  * * *

  *Emily, Countess Cowper, patroness of Almack's

  *Harry, Lord Palmerston, Secretary at War, her lover

  * * *

  Kitty Velasquez Ashford, former British and Spanish intelligence agent

  Leo Ashford, her son

  Timothy Ashford, her son

  Genny Ashford, her daughter

  * * *

  Sylvie, Viscountess St. Ives, agent for hire

  * * *

  Julien St. Juste, agent for hire

  Give me your hands if we be friends,

  And Robin shall restore amends.

  —Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream, Act V, scene i

  Chapter 1

  London

  December, 1819

  Bertrand Laclos rounded a corner, booted feet skidding on something slippery and rotten on the cracked cobblestones. Vegetable peelings or damp leaves or rotting meat or something worse. He'd prefer not to know.

  A gust of wind bit the back of his neck, sharp with the sleety bite of December. He glanced at the two women beside him, jerked his head towards a doorway, dodged inside, and leaned against the r
otted boards, breath jerking against the buttons of his waistcoat.

  In the shadows, he ran his gaze over the two women across from him. It was harder to run in a long gown (as he knew from certain missions in disguise), but they had had the sense to kirtle up their skirts with strings pulled from their chemises. Their eyes gleamed bright in the darkness. He could see the quick rise and fall of their breath, feel the taut urgency of the chase coming off them, but neither showed signs of panic.

  "We've lost them for now," he said. "But it's not safe to go to your lodgings."

  Sofia nodded, but Nerezza jerked out her chin. "Why not? I've been surviving on the streets my whole life. I can get myself to safety."

  "And when you get there and they're waiting for you?" Bertrand asked. "We can't be sure the whole plan hasn't been uncovered."

  Her gaze shot over his face, bright and hard. "You said—"

  "I know. Our plan was clever. We used people I trust implicitly. As much as I can trust anyone. We were careful. But Carfax is very good."

  For a moment he saw a flicker of fear in that defiant green gaze. Then Nerezza's jaw hardened. "I could—"

  "You're brave," Bertrand said, "but you're not foolhardy."

  She shook her head. The hood of her cloak slipped back from her bright hair. "This Carfax and his people can't be that dangerous—"

  "He's the head of British intelligence," Sofia said. "His people are everywhere. And he is that dangerous." She pushed the dark tangle of her side curls out of her eyes. "Why else have we run all the way across the Alps and half the Continent, and across the Channel?" She looked at Bertrand. "Where can we go? I hate to ask to go to your house—"

  "I'd gladly take you there," he said, "but I think we need somewhere it's easier to lose ourselves. I think we need the Rannochs."

  Sofia's eyes widened. "Is it safe to involve them?"

  Despite the situation, Bertrand nearly smiled at the combination of Malcolm and Mélanie Rannoch and the word "safe" in any context. "With Carfax in the mix, they're going to be involved in any case."

  "But their home isn't any larger than yours and to go there—"

  "They'd be the first to welcome you, but they aren't at home. They're at the Tavistock Theatre, where Mélanie's scandalizing Mayfair by appearing in a Christmas pantomime."

  "You're suggesting we hide in a bloody theatre?" Nerezza demanded. "If it's such a scandal, surely half of London will be there."

  "Actually," Bertrand said, "I can't think of a better place to lose ourselves."

  "Nervous?" Manon Caret adjusted a blonde ringlet round the sparkling paste jewels of her tiara.

  "No. Yes. Maybe a little." Mélanie Rannoch leaned closer to the looking glass, fluttering the light of the tapers that burned on either side, and added a bit more rouge to her cheeks. Far more than she'd wear in a ballroom or if she were sitting in a box on the other side of the footlights. "It's a long time since I've been onstage."

  Manon turned from the dressing-table looking glass to smile at her. "You've lived your life onstage, chérie." Her shrewd gaze belied the gauzy pink draperies of her Titania costume.

  "That's a bit different." Mélanie reached for the brush to deepen the blacking round her eyes. "One tries to blend in." She angled the brush to the side and softened the line of the blacking.

  "You couldn't blend in if you wanted to, Mellie." Manon smoothed the silver lace flounce at her shoulder. "Though you're certainly going to be the talk of Mayfair tonight. In a different way than you've been for the past two years."

  "We've faded into the background since we got back from Italy." Mélanie rubbed some more rouge onto her cheek. "I'm hardly as noticed as I was, which makes being onstage less notable."

  "Don't believe it for a moment, darling." Manon tugged one of her silver-edged flounces smooth. "Your face is still in printshop windows. Why do you think the ticket sales for a charity holiday performance were so excellent?"

  "Oh, well. Anything for ticket sales. Now I know why Simon asked me to be in the pantomime."

  "That has nothing to do with it, and you know it. If you ask me, he's been longing to ask you for years, and now that you've written a play—"

  "I obviously have no concern for scandal?"

  "I wouldn't say that. After all, I manage to be an actress and married to a baron."

  Which Manon was managing superbly. But everyone had known she was an actress when she married Crispin Harleton. Mayfair believed Mélanie's past had been very different from the reality. Childhood with a traveling theatre troupe and life as a French agent. With a soul-destroying few months in a Spanish brothel in between.

  Mélanie gathered up her trailing silver net and seagreen velvet draperies and moved to the door. Into the heat from the footlights, the looming shadows of canvas flats, the brush of feet on bare boards, the draft from the flies above. The sights and sounds of her childhood.

  "Mélanie." The voice came from behind a canvas flat painted with trees and a moonlit sky as Mélanie stepped down the passage towards the wings. Familiar but out of context. A slender dark-haired figure slipped from behind the flat. Mélanie recognized her but it was like seeing a character from the wrong play appear onstage, so unexpected that it took her mind a moment to catch up.

  "Sofia!"

  Sofia Vincenzo darted to Mélanie and took her hand. "I'm so sorry. Bertrand said you could help."

  "Bertrand—" Mélanie scanned Sofia's face. For all the risks she ran, Sofia should have no need to seek Bertrand Laclos's help to slip into Britain in secret. She was Italian nobility and betrothed to an Englishman and could travel freely. Which meant—

  "Who have you brought with you?" Mélanie asked.

  Sofia cast a quick glance round, waited until a stagehand vanished into the wings, then addressed the canvas flat. "It's all right. You can come out now."

  A slender woman with auburn hair slipping free of its pins and half-obscuring her face emerged from behind the flat, arms hugged across her chest.

  "This is Nerezza," Sofia said.

  Mélanie didn't wait to hear more. She pulled Sofia and Nerezza into her dressing room. Manon, who had been right behind Mélanie, followed without speaking and pulled the door to.

  The woman called Nerezza backed into a corner of the dressing room, arms folded across her chest, gaze darting about as though she were seeking escape. She was slender and, though not tall, considerably taller than the petite Sofia. Her hair was straight and henna-bright, her eyes a brilliant green, her generous mouth set in lines of defiance.

  "There was no need—" she said.

  "There's every need," Sofia said in a tone that indicated this was not the first time they'd had this argument. She turned to Mélanie and Manon. "Nerezza, Mélanie Rannoch and Manon Caret. That is Harleton. Lady Harleton."

  "You're a lady?" Nerezza turned to Manon, surprised out of her belligerence. "What are you doing onstage?"

  "I'm not really a lady. I'm an actress who married a baron. Mélanie's more of a lady than I am, though that's neither here nor there. Why are you running?"

  "It's got worse for Carbonari in Italy," Sofia said. "It wasn't safe for Nerezza to travel openly."

  "Nerezza was working with the Carbonari?" Mélanie asked. The Carbonari were Radicals, but though Sofia worked with them they weren't known for numbering women in their ranks.

  "Yes." Sofia cast a quick glance about. "Nerezza was mistress to the minister of police. She was passing information to the Carbonari at great risk to herself. Invaluable information. Then she was discovered. My brother smuggled her to my rooms in the middle of the night. We knew we had to get her out of Italy. Enrico wanted to bring her himself, but I managed to convince him that I'd be much less likely to attract attention. Even then we knew it wasn't safe to travel openly. Nerezza disguised herself as my maid, but we when we got to Paris we realized we were being followed. Enrico had reached out to Bertrand and he met us and got us across the Channel in secret. We know the authorities in Naples are
searching for Nerezza. They're bound to have alerted Carfax. We've uncovered more than one communication they've had with him. He might send her back. Or take her in for questioning. I'm not sure which would be worse. We never meant to come here. We never meant to involve you. But Bertrand recognized one of Carfax's agents near the docks. We think we gave him the slip, but it wasn't safe to go to the lodgings we had prepared. We needed somewhere we could lose ourselves. Bertrand remembered you were here tonight. He's gone to tell Malcolm."

  "I'm glad you came to us," Mélanie said. "But Carfax is in the audience."

  Sofia's eyes widened. "Oh, God. I should have thought of that."

  "Perfect," Nerezza said.

  "Along with hundreds of other people. It doesn't make it a bad place to hide. He won't be looking for you." Mélanie exchanged a look with Manon. "I think a variation of how you hid me in Paris would work."

  "Excellent," Manon said. "I feel quite ten years younger." She looked at Sofia. "Mélanie and I did something very similar at the Comédie Française nearly a decade ago."