Page 22 of Snowbound with the Scoundrel
Her heart in her throat, Clarissa sprinted along the covered gallery, wondering if she was too late.
Chapter10
Considering the volume of brandy he had drunk the night before, Rupert was feeling remarkably sprightly.But, of course, that was why Sir Henry had recruited him—because he could imbibe incredible amounts of alcohol without becoming foxed and because he remembered deuced near every word someone told him.
His target had been Mr.Ulysses F.Humphrey, one of the suspects Sir Henry had asked him to keep an eye on.Chap owned a big sugar cane plantation on Antigua run by slaves—not the sort of fellow Rupert would normally choose to chum around with, but this wouldn’t be the first time he’d had to feign a liking for a rotten egg.All part of the job and whatnot.
After dinner, some of the men had retreated to Lord Helmsley’s study.Rupert had put on his usual show—draining his glass, matching everyone at the table drink for drink, slurring his words and acting a lot more groggified than he actually was.After about an hour of this performance, he had collapsed into the chair next to Humphrey and poured them both a double.
“So, Humpy,” he began, then frowned, staring across the room.“That’s not right.It’s Humpo… Humplee… Say, you don’t mind if I call you Humpy, do you?”
Humphrey, who was already several cups into it, had laughed.“Not at all, Dupree.Not at all.”
This was Sir Henry’s number one rule for success as a spy: you had to be the last person anyone would ever suspect.And the dumber and drunker Rupert acted, the less likely it was to occur to anyone that maybe they shouldn’t go spilling their deepest, darkest secrets.
Rupert and his new mate “Humpy” had drunk another half a bottle, by which time Humphrey had related his whole life story.By the time he got around to his decision to buy the plantation in Antigua, Rupert had the opening he needed.
“I say!”he exclaimed, trying to look alarmed on Humphrey’s behalf.“It’s not awkward for you, being here with”—he dropped his voice low and cut his eyes to Baxter, who was sitting across the room—“you know.”
“Who, Baxter?”Humphrey slurred.“What makes you s-say that?”
“Well, isn’t he what you call one of those abominable… No, not abominable… aboriginal…” Rupert shook his head.“That’s not it either.Ab… Ab… abracadabra?”He peered at Humphrey, crossing his eyes ever so slightly.“What’s the term again?”
“Abolitionists,” Humphrey supplied.
“Abolitionists!”Rupert said, pumping his fist so hard he lilted to the side.“That’s the one.I mean, if Baxter has his way, he’d cleave you from your living with one fell stroke.”He shook his head as if in sympathy.“Deucedunsporting of him.”
Humphrey laughed.“I don’t waste one minute worrying about that.It’ll never happen.”
“You don’t think?”Rupert asked, refilling their glasses.
“Not a chance.”At this point, Humphrey launched into a bunch of drivel about white people being ‘the superior race’ and black people being ‘brutes’ with ‘inferior minds.’
Bollocks.Rupert had friends who were black, and they were a darn sight more intelligent than he was.
But even if Humphrey were right, it wouldn’t matter.There were more important things than being clever, and just because you weren’t clever didn’t mean you deserved to be treated like rubbish.
Rupert should know.He wasn’t clever, after all.But at least he wasn’t a terrible person, like Ulysses F.Humphrey.
Not that Rupert said any of this.He had a job to do.So, he made surprised noises as if Humphrey were enlightening him to something other than the fact that he was a toad, and when it was clear Humphrey wasn’t going to say anything new, Rupert made a great show of yawning and sliding halfway off his chair.Humphrey called for a pair of footmen to carry him up to his rooms, and Rupert was rid of him at last.
Now, as he jogged down the stairs to get some breakfast, he reviewed everything Humphrey had said last night.Not that Rupert ever cleared someone from suspicion unless the evidence was ironclad.
But he very much doubted that Humphrey was the assassin.He didn’t seem to consider Baxter a threat.Of course, Humphrey might have been lying about that.
But Rupert had got him as drunk as a wheelbarrow.And when a fellow was that drunk, he tended to say what he really meant, whether it was good, bad, or ugly.
The next order of business was to look in on the Baxters.Rupert hadn’t bothered to inform them that he was an agent.He’d learned the hard way that no one ever believed him.And really, why would they?Rupert Dupree, one of the stupidest fellows in all of England, a special operative for the Home Office?The very notion was preposterous.More than one person had suggested he was having delusions of grandeur.
Still, he needed to identify the other agent for the Home Office.In extreme circumstances, Rupert would scratch out a note for Sir Henry himself.But given the abysmal state of his handwriting, he usually worked with a partner who would take care of reporting back to headquarters.Much better all-around that way, and Sir Henry had said he would be sending someone.
Now, Rupert just needed to find them.
Peeking inside the breakfast room, Rupert saw that the Baxters weren’t there.He cheerfully asked the footman posted in the hall if they’d been down to breakfast yet and was informed that both Mr.and Mrs.Baxter had stepped outside for a turn about the gardens.
Rupert headed for a parlor with a nice view out the back of the castle.He spotted Mrs.Baxter easily enough, as she was pacing back and forth just outside his window.She was wringing her hands, and her face was a portrait of misery, which made Rupert wonder if something of a distressing nature had occurred.
Just then, Mr.Baxter came jogging into the scene.Unlike his wife, who looked distraught, Mr.Baxter merely looked annoyed.Rupert watched him grab his wife’s arm and try to drag her inside the house.
