Christmas Royale: Royal Intelligence, #3

1

AN airship drifted across the moonless night sky almost as silently as its neighboring clouds. Below, a pair of night watchmen exchanged jokes as they patrolled. Their voices echoed off the cobblestone street in the narrow alleyway.

James Bennett—Vernon Wright when he wasn’t on assignment for the Royal Intelligence Office—waited until the men had passed before slipping through an open window of Genoa’s largest banking institution. Inside, he found exactly what he expected. Several storage cabinets lined the one windowless wall. A relatively plain desk had been centered in the eastern half of the room, facing the door. Other than the painting of one of the city’s fountains that hung on the wall behind the desk, the entire room lacked ornamentation.

Vernon aimed a narrow band of light into the drawer he searched. File after file of banking records, loans, and investments revealed nothing but error-free documents. Everything meticulously organized.

That alone screamed impossibility for a bank this size.

Footsteps echoed on the wood floor outside the office warning him of the need to hide. He flicked the shutter on the slender light device he held to cast the room once again into darkness. Then he slid the drawer shut and ducked behind the door. His dark suit and hat as well as his brown hair and neatly trimmed beard helped him blend into the shadows.

A key rattled in the lock then the door opened part way. A security guard glanced about the room then closed and relocked the door and moved farther down the hall.

Vernon waited for the footsteps to recede before coming out of his hiding place. He checked the room for hidden storage compartments and recently used documents then tidied the area so that no would know it had been searched. Once he was satisfied he had obtained all the information he could on Signor Romano’s day-to-day transactions, he tucked his notebook away and pulled on his sticky gloves. He’d left his shoes with the sticky pads on the floor near the wall to minimize the noise he made. The ingenuity of the devices that allowed him to momentarily cling to any surface never failed to make him feel like a kid with a favorite toy.

With the gloves and shoe pads in place, he departed the way he had entered – through one of the windows near the ceiling.

Once he escaped the office, he accessed the roof and scurried along the shadowed edges to the side of the building with the fire escape ladder. He’d only just removed the gloves and shoe pads when a man yelled, You there! What are you doing up here?

Vernon tipped his hat then dashed for the end of the roof in the opposite direction.

Stop! You can’t—

Vernon couldn’t hear anything else the man may have said over the sound of his own heartbeat and the wind rushing in his ears as he leapt off the building. The gust of cold air in his face as he began his descent very nearly made his breath catch, but he ignored it.

He extended his arms out from his sides and waited for the leather wings hidden inside his jacket to spring out. As soon as the air cradled him from below, he smiled. The sticky pads were fun but they were nothing in comparison to his false wings. Since it was the middle of the night, he refrained from yelling out in glee as he glided almost effortlessly through the next two alleys.

The landing was always a bit tricky but he’d recently figured out how to coordinate both the retraction of the wings and getting his feet under him. He was proud he no longer had to take a tumble to come to a stop. That never made for a dignified landing.

Once both feet were on the ground, he continued his forward momentum and hurried out of the alley and further down the block. By the time he reached the next block he had slowed his pace to a leisurely stroll. To alter his appearance, he tucked his hat into one of his pockets, pulled up the collar on his coat, and extended the length of the baton he pulled from his pocket used it as a walking stick.

He smiled in satisfaction. At a glance, anyone who passed would think he was nothing more than a young man on the way home from a late night at one of Genoa’s many clubs.

2

"I’M going to the gala and that is final."

Phoebe Elizabeth Ashdown silently counted to ten as her sister, Sophia, stormed out of the sitting room in a huff.

It is the biggest event of the season, my dear. Aunt Gladys set her teacup on the table. Surely you don’t expect her to pass up the opportunity?

Phoebe crossed her arms. I do if the opportunity could end badly.

You must be exaggerating. Sophia is a lovely, spirited young woman. It’s quite natural for her to want to experience the world.

I do know that. Phoebe paced back and forth behind the floral patterned settee. The heavy skirts of her dress rustled with every agitated step. I just don’t understand how or why she was invited in the first place. After all, we have only been in Genoa for a little more than a week.

Do you think it could have been the young man she introduced us to at the art museum?

Agapito Romano? Phoebe asked.

Phoebe’s aunt nodded making her greyish-blonde curls bounce. He did say he was from Genoa.

I don’t know who else would have sent it, Phoebe admitted.

Her aunt waved dismissively. Well, there you have it.

But don’t you see? Phoebe grasped the back of the settee. That’s one of the reasons I’m worried.

Her aunt patted Phoebe’s hands. Perhaps you worry too much.

Phoebe pressed her lips together. Worrying wasn’t something she made a habit of. Her instincts screamed there was more to Agapito Romano, Sophia’s current focus of infatuation, than just polished manners and a pretty face. Her skin crawled every time he came near her or her sister. There had to be a reason for it.

Sophia, however, was completely taken with him. And all it had taken was one waltz. Since that night, she hadn’t stopped talking about him.

When their aunt had mentioned she had always wanted to go to Italy, her sister had immediately pushed for a trip. Apparently it had been a good thing that their mother insisted she travel with Sophia. As much as she loved their aunt, she was incapable of keeping a close enough watch on the bundle of energy and emotion Phoebe called sister.

She groaned just thinking of everything that could go wrong at a crowded ball in a foreign country where they knew very few people.

Aunt Gladys’ friends Signor and Signora Bianchi had been very accommodating hosts during their stay. But they, too, were older. She doubted they would be able to keep up with either of them throughout the evening. And since Gladys tended to be a bit flighty, the bulk of the responsibility of chaperoning Sophia would fall on her shoulders.

That was fine. It wasn’t as if she had any expectation of socializing with friends at the event. After all, the only people they knew in Genoa were her aunt’s friends.

All in all, she had enjoyed their trip but she was ready to return to England. It was only a few weeks until Christmas and she missed her family. If it hadn’t been for Sophia’s insistence that they stay until after this gala, they would have been most of the way home by now.

You know we will have no peace until Sophia gets her way, Aunt Gladys pointed out.

Yes. I know. Phoebe sighed and dropped onto the sofa closest to her aunt. She pulled her spectacles off and rubbed the bridge of her nose. Resigned to her fate she sighed. I’ll say nothing more about it if you promise to not let her buy the frilliest gown she finds at the dress makers.

I doubt she will have much to choose from at this late date, Signora Bianchi reminded them.

It is a shame we didn’t have time to visit that dressmaker I love so much in Paris. What was his name, Charlotte? Gladys asked her friend.

Hmmm. Let me think. Signora Bianchi tapped her own cheek thoughtfully. Wise. She frowned. No, Worth. Her expression brightened. Worth was his name.

Yes. That’s him, Aunt Gladys reached for another biscuit. Lovely man. Beautiful gowns.

It might be considered bold for a young lady her age but I think Phoebe would look lovely in emerald green, Signora Bianchi suggested.

You know, I was just thinking the same thing, Aunt Gladys said, almost conspiratorially.

The two matrons rattled on about the gowns they both had purchased on their last visit to Paris together while Phoebe drifted into her own thoughts.

Around this same time last year, Phoebe had been making plans to attend the Lockwood Ball with her friends. It turned out to be a huge success for one of them. Her friend Charlotte was now engaged to the Viscount of Huntingdon. Even though it had yet to be settled, Phoebe’s other close friend, Lillian, had also made a promising connection that same evening with the Earl of Derby.

Which left Phoebe largely on the shelf.

Even though she was ecstatic for her friends to find good matches—matches that included love—it wouldn’t be long before she would be standing alone on the side of dance floor. Once they were running their own households, her friends simply wouldn’t have as much time to spare for her.

She wasn’t bitter. She was realistic. After more than four seasons, the odds of her making a good match had narrowed considerably. And while she had always dreamed of a suitable match and starting her own family, she could be content to be the eccentric aunt and ladies’ companion to her friends.

At least she hoped she would be content.

For now, though, she needed to ensure that Sophia didn’t do anything foolish to ruin her chances at a good match. Sophia might be beautiful, but that would only go so far if their family were to face another scandal.

She just needed to make it through one ball and then quelling Sophia’s flights of fancy could once again be their mother’s responsibility. How hard could that be?

3

VERNON Wright poured a healthy splash of amber liquid into each of the two crystal glasses and waited for his current partner to arrive. The heavy footsteps on the creaking wood floor above him told him that he wouldn’t have to wait long.

Sure enough, before he could finish digging through the maps they had collected during their month long investigation, Lawrence Moretti staggered through the door.

You’re late.

Not by much. The red-haired Scotsman grinned.

Vernon assessed his partner’s state. Clothes wrinkled. Cravat askew. Hair mussed. The faint smell of cigars and at least two brands of tobacco he couldn’t recognize as well as brandy and ale clung to Moretti’s person. And you’ve been drinking.

Admittedly. Moretti flipped his chair around and straddled it.

Did they fall for it?

Moretti scoffed. Of course. He pulled a document from his jacket pocket and tossed it onto the table.

Good. Vernon approached the table that served as their workspace. Let’s see what we’ve got. He unfolded the document and used his palms to flatten the creases.

Moretti turned the crank on the lamp closest to him making the false-flame brighten the room further. Both men bent over the paper and studied the information.

You’re sure this is the Casa de Romano? Vernon asked.

My source swears it is.

Did you look at it?

Only long enough to verify it was the correct map.

Vernon looked up from the document. And you think it’s accurate?

Based on what I know of the property, yes, it is.

Vernon nodded. Tell me what you expect to happen the night of the gala.

Moretti downed the contents of his glass and then pointed to a place on the map. This is the ballroom. Most of the event will be held here. He slid his finger to one of the connecting rooms. There will be refreshments set up here. Musicians here. He moved farther across the page. This room will likely be used for entertainment.

Entertainment such as?

He always hosts card games.

That information piqued Vernon’s interest enough to make him look up. What kind of stakes?

Nothing you can’t handle. The one you need to worry about will be here. Moretti slid his finger across the page to a smaller drawing in corner. Romano’s private study. High stakes. Excusive entry. Romano senior will be here.

So this one, Vernon pointed to the large room, Is merely for entertainment of his guests?

Yes.

Understood.

But to get to the exclusive room you have to prove yourself worthy there. Moretti gestured to the first picture.

Not a problem.

Probably not for you.

Vernon didn’t try to deny it. He had a knack for cards and making his own luck, as they said. He just needed to make sure he produced plenty of it come Saturday. And where will you be while I’m working my way up the proverbial ladder?

Mingling amongst the common folk.

Hardly.

Well I assume you don’t need me hovering over your shoulder so I will likely make my way through the crowds and ensure nothing goes awry while you’re hob-knobbing and canoodling with Romano under the table.

Vernon sorted. Canoodling? He shook his head.

What else would you call it?

Working for Queen and country.

Hmmmm. Moretti pointed at Vernon with his glass. What did you learn today?

In truth not much. His bank records are virtually spotless and so are his investments.

Moretti frowned. How often does that happen?

Only when someone is taking drastic measures to hide something. Vernon sighed. It’s a bit of a shame, really. I admire a man who keeps tidy records.

So you don’t think it’s because he’s well organized.

No. Vernon scoffed. Even the best banker or clerk makes mistakes from time to time. Neatness and criminal activity are two different concepts.

But still bedfellows.

Vernon saluted Moretti with his own glass. True. He gestured to the diagram. So tell me where I can find Romano’s office or where ever he is most likely to keep important documents.

It should be here. Moretti circled an area on the map with his finger. Whenever he conducts business at home, this is where he brings them. He pointed to one room on the diagram. But that room has been searched and nothing was found.

What about hidden safes?

Not that we’ve found.

Does it lead to any other rooms around it?

Yes. Moretti pointed to the small marks on the map. Here and here.

Do we know what is in those rooms?

Not thoroughly. Only from glimpses.

Cleaning staff won’t say?

They’re not allowed in. Only his personal valet is permitted.

Interesting. Vernon’s brows rose in surprise. What about possible exits?

There are two windows and a small balcony overlooking the gardens on this room. Just one window on this one and no other exits.

Last detail, how do we get in?

We walk in.

Vernon cocked a brow. Just show up and expect to be allowed admittance to not only a social event but also the big game? A game that locals talk about for months ahead of the event.

These... Moretti pulled two more documents from his pocket and dropped them in the center of the table. Will get us into the event.

Vernon scanned the embellished card. Invitations.

Moretti dipped his head. They are indeed.

How did you— Vernon shook his head. "Never mind, don’t tell me.

Moretti chuckled.

You could have told me that from the start.

That would far too easy for you, my English friend.

Vernon snorted. I suppose we should pop in to see a tailor.

You might, but I’m set.

Vernon shook his head. Please tell me you brought something other than your plaid as formal wear.

What’s wrong with wearing my colors?

Nothing, if you want to stand out.

As if your pale skin doesn’t stand out.

No more than yours.

Bah, Moretti scoffed.

What do you know of guards and their patrol? Vernon asked.

Not a lot. The dogs are rather effective but we believe they will be secured during the event.

What about hired security? Romano keeps a staff of men to guard himself and his family, doesn’t he?

Yes. He put a call out last month to increase his numbers, but I haven’t been able to confirm how many. Moretti tapped his finger on the table. Do we know who was included on the guest list?

All of the wealthy families, of course. Anyone he personally conducts business with, and, of course, friends of the family.

Hard to believe that hornswoggler has friends.

Vernon refilled his glass, this time with water. I suspect most of them are either friends with Romano’s wife or seeking some sort of connection to him. Although why they bother baffles me. That man does no one favors when it comes to business.

Moretti grunted.

Who will we have for back up? Vernon asked.

That largely depends on how far you want to push Romano.

As far as we can without tipping our hand.

I have five men lined up to be on the grounds as hired staff. Two as guards, the others as servers. Moretti pushed his now empty glass aside. My local contacts will be there as guests but we can’t count on them to bail us out if we get in a bind. They will be there mostly to observe and warn us if they notice anything peculiar.

So we’re mostly on our own.

Isn’t that how we usually operate?

Vernon shrugged. Yes.

Moretti leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. Personally, I’d like to take that bastard out but Glastone keeps shooting that idea down.

He’s a stickler for the rules.

Shame that.

Vernon went to the sideboard and splashed more brandy into his glass then flopped into his chair. Do you think we’ll ever get a mission that allows us to do more than gather information for someone else to act on?

Wanting to get into the action, are ye?

I certainly wouldn’t mind a little more action. Vernon swirled the amber liquid in his glass. But mostly, I’d like to finish a mission knowing that what I had done actually made a difference.

Aye. Moretti turned pensive. That would be a nice for a change, wouldn’t it?

Indeed.

4

PHOEBE pulled her wrap tighter around her shoulders and followed Aunt Gladys into the carriage. Signor Bianchi climbed inside and settled in next to his wife, Lady Charlotte.

Are you girls excited about this evening? Lady Charlotte asked.

Oh, yes, Sophia exclaimed as she clasped her hands together. I can’t wait to see all of the dresses and hear the music.

Signor Romano always has the very best musicians for his events, Lady Charlotte told them.

I’m going to dance every dance, Sophia declared.

Aunt Gladys patted Sophia’s knee. And you should my dear.

Just don’t forget there are rules here too, Sophia. Just because we aren’t in London doesn’t mean that people do not talk.

I know, Phoebe. Sophia waved her hand toward Phoebe. Stop worrying. I promise I won’t do anything to embarrass you or our generous hosts. She smiled at Signor Bianchi and Lady Charlotte.

To change the subject, Phoebe faced Lady Charlotte’s husband. This is a lovely carriage, Signor Bianchi. Papa has been thinking of retiring his favorite horses in favor of a steam-powered carriage. They’re all the rage in London.

I will say that we have enjoyed it immensely. There are fewer horses for my stable master to care for. This one doesn’t require food or shelter. Nor do we have to worry about injuries to our mounts whilst out on a run.

That is a good thing, Phoebe remarked. But I’m curious, how does yours operate? What propels it forward?

Signor Bianchi chuckled. The mechanics would likely bore you, my dear. But suffice to say, we add fuel in the back to heat the boiler and Renzo controls the motion and speed up front.

But doesn’t that leave Renzo vulnerable up front?

Well, I suppose it does to a small degree, but he has become quite adept at handling this machine. I have every confidence that he knows what he’s doing and that he would do everything in his power to limit any risks to us and himself.

Well it’s certainly warmer in here than expected, Phoebe pointed out.

The boiler and the mechanics are located right under us. The steam warms the interior nicely. Signor Bianchi patted the seat they sat on.

"That’s why