Discreet Gentleman Book One: A Discreet Gentleman of Discovery Read online

  The Discreet Gentleman Series

  Book One

  A Discreet Gentleman of Discovery

  By

  Kris Tualla

  Desert Breeze Publishing, Inc.

  27305 W. Live Oak Rd #424

  Castaic, CA 91384

  http://www.DesertBreezePublishing.com

  Copyright © 2012 by Kris Tualla

  ISBN 10: 1-61252-148-7

  ISBN 13: 978-1-61252-148-0

  Published in the United States of America

  Publish Date: March 15, 2012

  Editor-In-Chief: Gail R. Delaney

  Content Editor: Shawna K. Williams

  Marketing Director: Jenifer Ranieri

  Cover Artist: Jenifer Ranieri

  Photography Credit: Elizabeth Barry and Kris Tualla

  Cover Model: Sam Partain

  Photography Taken On Location in Hamar, Norway

  Cover Art Copyright by Desert Breeze Publishing, Inc © 2011

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information retrieval and storage system without permission of the publisher.

  Ebooks are not transferrable, either in whole or in part. As the purchaser or otherwise lawful recipient of this ebook, you have the right to enjoy the novel on your own computer or other device. Further distribution, copying, sharing, gifting or uploading is illegal and violates United States Copyright laws.

  Pirating of ebooks is illegal. Criminal Copyright Infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, may be investigated by the Federal Bureau of Investigation and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of up to $250,000.

  Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author's imagination, or are used in a fictitious situation. Any resemblances to actual events, locations, organizations, incidents or persons – living or dead – are coincidental and beyond the intent of the author.

  Dedication

  Many people have helped me in my writing journey, but for my Discreet Gentleman I thank Suzanne and Nannette for sharing their expertise in deaf culture and sign language. And I thank Gail, the first editor who became truly excited when I pitched him.

  As always, I wouldn't be here without the continuous love and support of my husband. I love you, Mister Man.

  Chapter One

  Lunde Boarding House

  Christiania, Norway

  June 12, 1720

  Brander Hansen read the names a second time to be certain of the connection. The irony was too perfect. He scribbled the words Skogen's creditors on a piece of paper and laid it atop several letters on his desk.

  He snapped his fingers to get Niels' attention. When his valet looked in his direction, he held up the letters and the note.

  "Skogen's creditors," Niels said.

  Brander nodded then held up the letter he received this morning in his other hand.

  His wife, he mouthed.

  Niels' head fell back and a grin yanked his features. Brander knew he was laughing because his throat bounced.

  Brander smiled. Thank God for Niels. His cousin, four years older and less privileged, was brought into the household to be his ears when Brander went deaf at seven. Without him, Brander might not have remembered how sound looked. Or how it felt.

  As boys, Niels talked while Brander's hands felt the vibrations in his neck. They spent hours staring into the silvered glass in his bedchamber. Cheek to cheek -- and leaning close enough for their breath to fog the mirror -- Brander made his lips and tongue mimic the older boy's while Niels taught him to silently mouth words.

  And to read lips. That skill was invaluable to him now in his adopted profession. Niels waved his hand and Brander looked at him.

  "You can take money from both the husband and the wife for the same investigation!" Niels said.

  Brander nodded and motioned: Yes. And I will.

  Though that course of action made sense, it did provoke a twinge of conscience. The husband was dissolute with no redeeming qualities that Brander had yet discovered. Recent forays into opium further debilitated the fool. His creditors were legion and they called on Brander's services to discover to where the man's money was hidden.

  Or if he had money any left.

  But the wife sounded different. There was a sincere desperation in her letter that made Brander empathize with her dismal situation. Becoming deaf had made him oddly more attuned to words. He heard them differently than the average man seemed to.

  Perhaps there was a way to help her, even while he destroyed her husband.

  Kildahlshus

  Hamar, Norway

  Regin heard her husband's voice thunder up the stairway.

  "When did he return?" she asked her maid, Marthe, trying to keep the panic from her tone. She thrust her arms into black velvet sleeves and waited while the woman tied them to her embroidered bodice.

  "I don't know, my lady," she answered switching sides.

  "Lady Skogen! Where are you?" His words blurred together. "I've need of your presence!"

  "I'm finished." Marthe stepped back.

  "Not a moment too soon!" Regin hiked her skirt and ran out of her bedchamber to the top of the stairs. What she saw nearly stopped her there. Thorlak's face was pallid, and dark smudges underscored his sunken eyes. His hair was oily and untied.

  She began a deliberately dignified descent. "Here I am, my lord. Welcome home."

  "I won't be here long. I came to fetch some clothes."

  Regin swallowed and straightened her shoulders. "I believe you took your clothes the last time you were here."

  He looked startled. "All of them?"

  She dipped her chin, but didn't speak. If he couldn't remember, then his condition was worse than she believed. "Can I not persuade you to stay, my lord? Until you are feeling better?"

  "What makes you call me incompetent?" he demanded.

  By now she stood beside him. She looked up into his eyes, hoping to see the man she married seven years ago. He wasn't there. He was cruelly replaced by an empty-eyed apparition whose skin leeched the sickly-sweet odor of alcohol, and whose teeth were now edged in brown.

  Good, Lord -- what was that from?

  Regin set her features in a mask of acceptance. "You've come a long distance -- it's over fifty miles to Christiania. You have traveled for two days or more, so you must be tired and hungry. Any man would be."

  "I'm not any man," he sneered. "I shall see for myself."

  Thorlak shoved past her and stomped up the stairs. Regin gripped the railing and waited. She had no desire to be nearby when he saw his chambers.

  During his last appearance in their home he had stripped his wardrobe bare. Any items of even questionable value had long since disappeared from the manor. These days Regin struggled to just to feed the few bodies who remained in their immediate service. The tenants were left to their own resources.

  A bellow of fury preceded the sounds of breaking glass.

  "Please, no. Not the window!" she whispered. How would they keep the manor warm next winter? There was no money to pay either a glazier to repair it, nor a mason to cover it.

  Perhaps it was only the mirror.

  Thorlak burst from his room. "What have you done?" he screamed down at her.

  Every fiber of Regin's body demanded she run. Breeding demanded she stand firm. Either way, she was square in the path of his rage.

  "N-nothing, my lord. You already removed your clothes, as I reminded you..."
/>   He began to stumble down the stairs. "Everything else is gone! You have robbed me bare! Stolen from your own husband!"

  "No, I have not!" Regin recoiled as he drew near. "You took the things yourself--"

  Her head snapped to the side and her ears filled with discordant ringing. Her vision blurred. Her cheek began to burn. Somehow she was on her hands and knees facing the bare stone floor. Before she could make sense of what happened a hard boot hit her belly and claimed her ability to breathe.

  She curled on the floor, seeing nothing but red, and struggled unsuccessfully to draw a breath. The cold stone floor undulated under her. Her body tingled and pieces of it disappeared. The red dissolved to black.

  Lunde Boarding House

  Christiania

  Brander sat in his room after supper and read the woman's letter again, trying to discern what it was that troubled him. She was saying something he couldn't quite hear.

  My esteemed Lord Olsen, the letter addressed his pseudonym,

  You have come well recommended to me as a discreet gentleman who might be able to discover information of a highly sensitive nature. This information concerns my husband, Lord Thorlak Skogen, Baron of Hamar. His behavior has become secretive of late and I am concerned for his safety.

  Might you be able to help? And while I hesitate to mention recompense, I fear I must ask what fees will be required and when payment is due in the event your answer is affirmative.

  I look forward to your prompt and encouraging response.

  Lady Regin Kildahl Skogen

  Baroness of Hamar

  Brander's chamber door opened; the movement pulled his attention from the letter. Niels closed the door to the common hallway with his hip. He carried a bottle of red wine and two pewter goblets. He handed Brander a generous glassful and poured one for himself. After the valet sat in the only other chair in the room, he leaned over to catch Brander's eye.

  "What's on your mind?" he asked.

  Brander shrugged and held up the letter from the reprobate's wife for Niels to see.

  "Is something amiss?"

  Brander circled his middle finger and thumb together, their agreed-on gesture for 'no.' Then he switched his first finger to his thumb, 'yes.' Then he tapped his middle finger to his temple: I don't know.

  Niels held out his palm and wiggled his fingers. Brander handed him the letter then closed his eyes and concentrated on the message between the woman's neatly inked words.

  Obviously, Lady Skogen knew that her husband was involved in some sort of scandalous behaviors. Calling him by his full name and title was intended to let Lord Olsen know how important his discretion would be. And the claims 'of late' and 'for his safety' were nearly universal when people brought their concerns to him. Denial was a useful tool for maintaining one's sanity.

  Especially when one was standing over the precipice of ruin, as was Lady Skogen.

  And she knew it; Brander was certain of that fact. Her concern about payment was another common thread, but few asked outright in their initial inquiry. She must be at the end of her resources. And that was no surprise, considering what he already learned about the man.

  Niels nudged his boot. Brander opened his eyes and met his cousin's gaze.

  "She's in trouble, Brand."

  He nodded.

  "How much do you think she knows?"

  More than she says, he motioned.

  "I would agree." Niels handed him the letter. "What now?"

  Brander sighed and gestured: I shall write her tomorrow.

  Kildahlshus

  Hamar

  The mirror was strewn in bright slashes of light across the dark wooden floor. Shards of thick window glass dimly echoed their garish reflections. The stark chamber glittered like a crystal palace.

  "We'll sweep up the glass and remove the rest of the furnishings," Regin murmured. "Then hang the drapes over the door and nail them to the floor to keep the wind from blowing around them. Have Hauk bolt the door shut."

  "Yes, my lady," Marthe whispered.

  "Prepare another room for his lordship, should he return."

  Marthe hesitated and Regin tossed her a sharp look. The maid's worried gray gaze caressed Regin's swollen cheek. Regin fisted stiff hands at her sides to keep from touching her battered face. She narrowed her eyes, demanding obedience from the slightly older woman.

  "Yes, my lady," Marthe acquiesced with a small curtsy.

  Regin strode from the room with as much dignity as she could manifest. She made it to the top of the stairs before another bout of dizziness dropped her to her knees. They would be bruised as well now, with two hard tumbles in as many hours. At least she hadn't fallen down the steps.

  "My lady!" Marthe cried. She knelt beside Regin.

  Resistance was of no use. Courage was of no use. Misery swamped her and dragged her into its mire. Her shoulders shook with sobs and tears dripped from her chin. She didn't even have a kerchief to wipe them with.

  "Oh, Marthe... What's to become of us?"

  Marthe cradled her in a rough embrace. "I haven't any answers, but perhaps that gentleman will?"

  That suggestion prompted another -- humiliating -- wash of tears. "I have sunk so low as to engage a spy to follow my own husband. He will never forgive me."

  But Regin's belly ached and her head pounded like Thor's Hammer. Her husband had never struck her before, and she might still disbelieve it -- if it weren't for the ugly physical evidence. "He wasn't always like this."

  "No, he wasn't."

  "Do you remember him? When he courted me?" Regin closed her eyes and summoned the vision. Just over six feet and lanky; fine, light-brown hair cropped at his chin; pale blue eyes pinched at the corners by an engaging smile.

  "A finer man wasn't to be found," the maid whispered.

  She pulled a shuddering sigh. "What happened to him? Where did he go?"

  "Your Lord Olsen will help."

  "He must, Marthe. He must! Or we shall be cast starving into the winter with only the clothes we wear."

  Christiania

  June 16, 1720

  My dear Mister Knudsen,

  It has come to my attention that you have extended substantial credit to Lord Thorlak Skogen, Baron of Hamar. I have also heard that the gentleman in question has yet to repay his debt. If these statements are true, I have a client interested in purchasing Lord Skogen's liability.

  Before you become too excited, I must warn you concerning my client. The poor man is deaf and dumb and attempting to acquire lands of his own. I shall also warn you that my client is not wealthy and will likely offer you less in recompense than you extended to Skogen.

  I suppose you must decide which risk is the greater: take less than you are owed but get something of a return, or wait with nothing in hand and hope that Lord Skogen's fortunes might eventually reverse themselves ~ before he dies of his foolishness.

  I shall await your reply.

  Your servant,

  Lord Olaf Olsen

  Brander handed the letter to Niels, who read it and nodded. "Before he dies. Very nice touch."

  Brander grinned. He thought so, too.

  "So what will you do about the wife?"

  Brander leaned back and stretched his legs in front of him. They nearly reached his bed in the unassuming quarters. He tapped his temple with his middle finger: I don't know.

  The ink dried and Niels folded the letter. "I'll see that this is delivered today," he said as he dripped hot wax to seal it.

  Brander stood, pointed to his clock and lifted his brow.

  "Oh! We best go if we are to meet Mister Gulbrandsen," Niels said. He tipped his head toward the door. "I'll get my coat. Are you wearing the gray?"

  Brander nodded. It suited today's task. But he needn't oil his hair.

  His shoulder-length hair was a shining mix of gold and copper. His eyes were indeterminate, holding equal parts green, blue and gray. Brander found that he could change his appearance completely -- and by extension an
y description of his person -- by robing himself in certain colors and styles.

  For more flamboyant occasions he wore multiple shades of green, turning himself into a green-eyed redhead. On sedate assignments, blue was his choice. It made his hair appear golden and his eyes looked the color of a calm summer's sky.

  But there were many times when he darkened his hair by combing it with oil. A charcoal frockcoat drained his eyes of any color but gray. Even at six-foot-five, if he slouched he became unremarkable. Able to move through any room without anyone remembering he had been there.

  Perfect for a "Discreet Gentleman of Discovery."

  Chapter Two

  Hamar

  June 16, 1720

  Regin took the letter to her bedchamber. She sat on the edge of her bed. Her knees were as weak as a baby bird's and she trembled every bit as hard.

  What if Lord Olsen said he couldn't help her?

  Or worse, what if he said he could, but his fee was beyond her resources? She wasn't able to conceal many coins from Thorlak. Selling eggs in Hamar was humiliating, but she was desperate. She would do whatever was required to save his life. And her own.

  "Open the letter, you fool," she chided. "There's no point in guessing."

  Regin broke the wax seal and unfolded the thick paper. She closed her eyes a moment and pulled a deep, steadying breath. Then she began to read.

  My Lady Skogen,

  I am in receipt of your request. I must be forthcoming and inform you that your husband's name is already known to me. For someone in my particular trade that is not welcome news, for I seldom cross paths with persons whose lives are in acceptable order.