Devil May Care Part 4/?
Author: Nefret24
Disclaimers and notes, see parts 1 through 3. Still do not own the characters of the Lost World- though oh, how I wish I owned Will Snow's smile!
Author's Notes: Again, I apologize for the delay- finals. That time of the year. Plus the whole moving out and transfer of all my worldly goods three states over. No fun but it cannot be helped. To make amends, this part is extra long. Yippee.
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"I know that he who frets/ Loses the night." ~ Devil May Care, Bob Dorough
"D. Pedro: O day untowardly turned!
Claudius: O mischief strangely thwarting!
D. John: O plague right well prevented! So will you say when you have seen the sequel. " ~ Much Ado About Nothing, William Shakespeare
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The Day After
Marguerite was entering the Ritz dining hall for luncheon (or in her case, breakfast) when she was stopped by the head waiter at the door.
"Your cousin, miss, has stopped by. We have seated him at your usual table."
"My cousin" she repeated. She looked to the table by the window. For a woman with no past, no family, to have a cousin appear well, this was a sight to be seen, was it not? Sitting there in her typical seat was indeed someone she knew. Someone she thought she would not being seeing ever again. She laughed merrily to wipe the concern off the waiter's face. "Of course! My cousin! It is Wednesday, isn't it?" she said, as if she had had an appointment that had been temporarily forgotten.
The waiter beamed at her and led her to her table. The man rose from his seat. "Cousin!" he said, his hand extended for hers.
The waiter saw her smile at this; the man, who knew her better, knew she was baring her fangs. Allowing him to hold her hand for a mere instant and refusing to let him kiss her long fingers, she waited impatiently for him to pull out her chair so she could be seated.
"Been a long time, hasn't it, Marguerite?" he whispered into her ear as he pushed her chair forward towards the table, before returning to his own.
"Too long," she succinctly replied in the same faux sugar voice.
They fell silent as the waiter came round to place her napkin in her lap and take her order. When he was well out of distance, Marguerite leveled a stare at her companion.
He did not flinch. He knew her too well to cower under that steely gaze. It unnerved him; no one could withstand it completely, but he would not be forced into looking away. Instead, he did what was expected of him: he talked. "I suppose you're wondering what I'm doing here."
"Dear me, what a hopelessly cliché opening. I hope you're not going to talk like that the entire time- I shan't need to order sweet rolls."
"You haven't changed," he laughed. "Blunt as ever."
"Sharp, rather," she said, fixing her gaze on the window and retaining her unimpressed countenance.
The man suppressed a grin. "By the by, my name's Robinson today, should anyone ask."
"As in Jack? My, how droll."
"Your enthusiasm is overwhelming, as usual. There is a slight problem."
"Well, that's obvious, isn't it?" she said, her impatience creeping into her voice.
"Certain papers have been misplaced."
"Stolen secrets? By whom?"
"We're not entirely certain. We know that he or she," he added hastily, receiving a nod of acknowledgement from Marguerite, "had a man on the inside"
"Whom, I take it, is no longer with us?"
"Gone to meet his maker three days ago."
"By our chauffeur?" she said with a wry smile. The department did have a nasty habit of effectively dealing with traitors, quickly and quietly.
"No- the, erm, driver was unknown," he managed, as the waiter returned with her order.
She daintily picked at her food, her breakfast suddenly unpalatable. When, o when, would she ever extricate herself from his Majesty's service?
"And if I refused?" she said, lifting a strawberry half to her lips.
"You're not exactly in a bargaining position, my dear," he said condescendingly, watching her as her eyes flared with annoyance. She swallowed the strawberry and touched a napkin to each side of her mouth.
"You forget Jack, was it? That deals can always be made," she remarked as she lowered the napkin. "As well as broken," she ended ominously.
He chuckled nervously. That was always the hazard with dealing with her: one minute you were bantering casually and the next you had to fend off threats.
"Well, I can't say the department's been fair to you in the past"
"Bloody well haven't."
"but I will say that should this little affair be cleaned up, quietly and efficiently," he paused for effect, "all records would be mysteriously gone."
"Criminal as well as?" she would refuse to say the name in public. The codename of the most successful spy of the Great War- a triple agent at that- and her old nom de guerre. That record remained secret to only a handful of prominent individuals within the War Office. It should have made them beholden to her but in the weird workings of fate, it was the other way around. They had depended on her before, and they would continue to do so as well as they knew they held something she desired. Namely, her freedom.
"Yes," he said confidently.
"Ah, but you see, that's what they said before," she said wearily. "I grow tired of your games. Those records were destroyed."
"The old criminal charges, yes. But it seems to me that you have been busy since you last worked for us haven't you?"
She did not reply but busied herself with buttering her croissant, all the while looking directly into his eyes.
"Building up quite the little nest egg. Can't imagine what for," he said, smiling and toying with the table cloth. He was winning and he knew it.
"Preparation for a long, cold winter," she replied coolly, raising an eyebrow. "Girl's got to have something to keep her warm at night."
They stared at each other for a while, his confidence in victory waning ever so slightly. Finally, he spoke. "The recovery of these documents is critical, Marguerite. It's very important that they don't fall into the wrong hands. Now you can refuse and continue working for Xian or whoever you care to call your current employer, but realize that we can be a very powerful friend. And an even more powerful enemy."
"I'll keep that in mind," she replied sarcastically, eyeing him critically and frowning ever so slightly.
"You know how to reach me, if you change your mind," he said, rising. "Good day, Marguerite."
"Jack," she said with the same unimpressed expression. It was of little consequence; he knew that she'd consider the deal.
And so she did, silently fuming and finishing her brunch. She hadn't wanted to work for the War Office in the first place, but it was only logical. She had the language skills, the connections in almost every facet of society high to low across numerous countries- continents even. Not to mention all the finely honed skills of an expert thief, liar, and seductress. And she had been caught. By the very same smug son of a bitch who had sat down in her chair and called her cousin.
She loved her freedom. It was one of the only things that she considered in her life to be positive: the ability to go anywhere, do anything and be beholden to no one. She had her hand caught in the cookie jar- to be blunt, it was the private safe of one of the King's cousins- and she had forfeited her prison sentence for what was now appearing to be lifetime service with the government's espionage team.
She hated it. It was a tricky thing, being a spy, acting as a double or triple agent, and it wasn't just the logistics of keeping your loyalties and cover stories in line. She had missions and duties to fulfill but she wasn't always let in on the big secret. Like with him today. Papers missing, stolen. Important papers just gone. They must suspect someone- didn't tell me who. Must have something of special significance to call on me to retrieve it- didn't tell me what it was. Or who wants it. And why it's so special to them to have it back- not destroyed, otherwise he would have said to destroy them. Get them back. Hmmm
Her mind raced with scenarios, each permutating into more unanswered questions and yet more scenarios. That was the trouble of spying; you can't let on that you don't know information and you can't ask for it- at least, not directly. He had left her some crumbs, just enough to peak her interest.
Damn the man! This is going to be serious chink in my plans, she thought disgustedly. Just as she had been preparing for the Roxton heist. She was fully satisfied with her capabilities to get back into the Roxton townhouse and already had decided which accessory she would pilfer: Lady Beatrice's sapphire necklace. She had seen the lady wear it at a tea being held by Mrs. Caruthers a few days before and had, of course, coveted it. One little piece that would most certainly fetch a very nice (and considerably ample) price. Not to mention the fact that if only one small token of the lady's considerable collection was missing, it would be most likely considered a misplaced object before a theft.
Angrily musing on this, she belatedly noticed that she was being marked. A man, in a gray suit and tweed hat, was speaking with one of the porters who seemed to be gesturing to her. He looked young, was clean-shaven and slight of build. He looked like another one of the young dilettantes with the exception of his clothes.
No respectable member of the upper class would ever wear a suit like that. Not even Nigel's less fortunate friend, the Spitter, as Marguerite liked to refer to him. Such an unbecoming color- and with a tweed hat, no less! No, that man worked for a living. And he probably was single. Either that or his wife was blind.
She watched him out of her peripheral vision as he began to approach her table with a forced idleness, as if he were casually strolling along without a purpose. As he got closer, she noticed a notebook sticking out of his pocket and ink stains on the cuffs of his shirt. Ah, a writer, she thought triumphantly, sipping her tea.
He stood in front of her and smiled. Setting the cup down slowly and daintily dabbing the corners of her mouth, she waited until he had to clear his throat before looking up at him.
"Did you want something? If not, please move- you're blocking my view," she said, waving her hand. He turned and belatedly realized his back was to the windows.
"May I sit down?" he asked, grabbing the empty chair across from her.
"It seems as though I can't stop you," she commented nastily, her eyebrow raised at the alacrity at which he had claimed his seat. An American to boot, from the accent. No wonder he wasn't civilized.
"Oh do forgive me it's just that- that- you're Marguerite Krux, aren't you?" he asked, his voice filled with hope. She leveled a stare at him.
What could this man possibly want with her? She didn't know him, she was sure she didn't move in any of the social circles of his friends- if he had any- and her name meant nothing to no one.
"Yes I am. And you are?"
"Oh, I am so sorry. So sorry!" he said, a grin breaking out on his face. He looked like he just had been handed a silver platter. Wiping his hands on his jacket, he extended a hand towards her. "Ned Malone."
She noticed the other hand was busy extracting the notebook under the table so that she wouldn't see.
"So," he said, still grinning like an idiot.
"So," she said back. Well, if he was a reporter, he damn well start asking me questions, she thought as she fiddled with her teaspoon.
"Did you do it?" he blurted out, after some indeterminate amount of time.
"Did I do what?" she asked, her tone getting harsher by the second. Really, the man was positively, mind-numbingly and utterly irritating. Guessing games with the press were not her idea of spending a leisurely afternoon. Especially after the morning she had been having.
"Did you steal them? Lady Roxton's jewels?"
"What did you say?" she asked in a controlled voice as she felt her stomach sink.
"D'ya mean you don't know?" he asked, his eyes getting wide and that grin of his slowly draining off his face.
"Isn't that obvious?"
"But you- but he- they said that-" he stammered.
"Oh do shut up. Are you trying to tell me," she said, barely reigning in her temper, "that someone stole Lady Roxton's jewels- last night? Just nod your head, yes or no?"
He nodded his head vigorously. "Yes and-"
"Do not open your mouth until I give you permission," she said sternly. "And you were assigned the story by your newspaper?"
His eyes went wide and he almost began to speak. Marguerite shot him one of her best withering glares and he clamped his lips shut while shaking his head no.
"Doing it on spec?"
A nod yes.
"Well, aren't you the boy scout?" she commented, baring her teeth. "And from your already exhaustive research, you've determined that I was at the party last night and must be the culprit," she said sarcastically, watching him blush. "And what was it exactly that I stole?" she inquired, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair, still giving him a glare. "You may speak now," she added impatiently.
"A ruby brooch, a pair of diamond earrings, a peridot ring," here he paused to flip a page of his notes, "and a sapphire necklace."
The bastards took my mark! Marguerite frowned in annoyance. Whoever it was seemed to have taken the trouble not only to take what she wanted, but to set her up for the fall as well. Could it have been her erstwhile "cousin"? No, he had been referring to past marks. And stealing from a Lord of the Realm in order to blackmail her stooped even below his low standards of ethics. Might as well see what the young imbecile knew about it before she began her own inquiries.
"And why did you believe that I had stolen them?"
"Well, usually with a theft of this kind, we interview the servants- ask them if they heard or saw anything unusual. The butler says he found a photograph on the floor of the library that had a bullet hole in it."
"Not for decoration, I assume," she commented wryly. Damn, I just had to show off last night, didn't I?
"No one can recall hearing the shot but then there was a party going on and it was at the other end of the house. I was going to ask Lord Roxton about it but he's been tied up with the police all morning," he said gloomily. "The butler said you had been in the library with him did you hear anything?"
"No," Marguerite said plainly, looking him squarely in the eye. He certainly wouldn't question her honesty- too young and idealistic.
"Oh," he said and looked dejected once more.
"I take it you've set yourself out to discovering- what is that American phrase?- whodunit?" she asked more hospitably.
"Oh, yes, I suppose I have. By the by, how did you know?"
"That you were a journalist? You stick out like a sore thumb. And only a newspaperman with a pressing deadline would be so hasty as to question a lady with whom he had no previous acquaintance."
He blushed again and shifted in his chair. The poor thing was embarrassed. Well, he should be, thought Marguerite, it serves him right for not paying attention to social conventions in pursuit of a damned story.
"I'm sorry, Miss Krux, it's just that this could be the story of a lifetime!"
"Your big break?"
He nodded vigorously. " The thing which makes it all the more interesting is that Lady Roxton swears that all her jewels were locked up in the safe- and no callers, strange noises or anything out of the ordinary happened between the end of the party and when she discovered the theft this morning," he said, abstractly tapping his pencil against his pad. "It's a professional job," he said quietly, apparently deep in thought.
"Then why question me?" she said, her temper getting the better of her again. How could this ignorant young fool even consider?
"Oh, didn't you know? The safe- it's in the library." Marguerite raised an eyebrow at this as he stumbled on with his apologies. "And you were the only one in that part of the house, so I just figured"
"Well, you 'figured' wrong," she said superciliously and glaring at him once more. She inclined her head at his continued protests of penitence and finally sent him on his way.
What a day this has been- and I haven't even finished breakfast yet! Bloody government wants a job done, my mark is stolen and I get the blame, and now I'll have a blasted journalist nipping at my heels, trying to catch me in the act! Marguerite frowned as she stared out through the window. And probably John Roxton will be paying me a visit too- along with the flashers. Not what I needed. Not at all, she thought angrily, shaking her head.
Well, she thought resolvedly, I'm not going to wait around here for something else to bloody go wrong. Time to figure out what the hell is going on- and how to fix it all. She rose from her table and with considerable determination, prepared to leave and begin her inquiries.
TBC
Oooh, and more questions arise. Don't worry- it's not the last of them. g And by the end of this week, I'll have finally seen the pilot movie- hurrah!
Coming soon Roxton, more people from Marguerite's past, yet another problem and an explanation for the disappearance of wealth
Review- it'll make you feel special. (Won't hurt me either)