by Tracy Grant
"Definitely not a Hotspur," Mélanie agreed. "And not a Hal either. He's not—he wasn't—as dissolute as Hal on the surface, and he wasn't nearly as much of a calculating schemer underneath. At least not unless he was a very good actor, as Carfax said. Do you believe Carfax about Thornsby's not having been his agent?"
Malcolm's frown deepened. "With Carfax, you know I hesitate to believe anything. But for the moment I'm inclined to do so. We found nothing in Thornsby's things to support it. But in addition to Billy, we found Kit Montagu in Thornsby's lodgings."
Mélanie let go of the pendant. "Searching?"
"Attempting to. He said he wanted to go through Thornsby's things before anyone else did because Thornsby was a Leveller. Which is pretty much what Carfax said as well about employing Billy. And while on the surface it makes a certain amount of sense from both of them, I can't help thinking there's more in both cases."
"If Lewis Thornsby was involved in something secret for the Levellers, Kit could have wanted to cover it up and Carfax could want to learn about it. Or if Thornsby was Carfax's agent, Carfax could want to cover that up, and Kit could want to search for evidence if he suspected. Though in that case, I'd have thought he'd have told you."
Malcolm picked up her whisky glass and took a sip. "Thornsby didn't strike me as duplicitous. But then, I've been known to be spectacularly wrong."
Including about his own brother. Mélanie slid her arms round her husband. "You're a good judge of people, darling. Don't doubt yourself."
He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "There's something else." He drew another paper from his coat and held it out to her, fingers taut on the cream laid writing paper.
Less than six months ago, Malcolm's first love had been a nameless, faceless mystery to Mélanie, known only in the sense she knew there must have been someone before her. But now Kitty Ashford was a frequent guest in their house, familiar enough that Mélanie recognized her hand immediately.
"I didn't know Kitty even knew Thornsby," Malcolm said. "Did you?"
"No. That is, she's visited the theatre with the children occasionally and she's certainly brought them to performances, but I don't remember ever seeing her with Thornsby. But then, though I'd call her a friend now, we're hardly confidantes."
Malcolm gave a wry smile. "I can hardly call her a confidante either. There could be several very innocuous explanations. Save for the all the very complicated intrigues we're all caught up in. And the fact that her lover arrived on the scene just after you discovered the body. What do you think St. Juste was doing at the theatre?"
"I'm not sure. He never really explained this errand for Bertrand that he claimed he was on. I'm sure there's more to it. Though I'll own I was distinctly relieved when he arrived."
Malcolm's arms tightened round her. "I'm inestimably relieved too. Not that you couldn't have handled it, but it would have been difficult with the children."
"They both handled it splendidly, but there were certainly things I wasn't going to attempt with them there." Mélanie shook her hair back from her shoulders. "I'm sure there are connections to what Julien was doing there that we have yet to unravel, but I don't think—"
"That St. Juste killed Thornsby? No, nor do I. We've got to a rather interesting place with him. He's one of us."
Mélanie laughed. "It sounds so improbable but—yes. I gave him Jessica to hold tonight. Without a second thought, save that I was glad someone was there I could trust with her so I could look at the body."
"I'd trust him with the children now too. And yes, that does make me realize how far we've come."
She smoothed a crease from Malcolm's coat. "Carfax asked me a lot of questions about Julien. And about Julien and Kitty. He seems to take an inordinate interest in their relationship."
"Kitty was once his agent too."
"But this seems to go beyond that. Carfax doesn't strike me as the sort to care about his agents' personal lives unless they interfere with work."
"With Carfax, everything is work. He may well not want Julien involved in Kitty's work in Spain."
"Perhaps." Kitty was deeply involved with those in Spain seeking to move against the restored monarchy, as was Raoul O'Roarke. "It's still strange he's so interested in the details." Mélanie thought about Julien. His quick support tonight and yet his odd detachment from the sketch and its implications. "It's strange," she said.
"What?"
"Kitty believes so strongly in her work in Spain. And one of Julien's points of pride has always been that he doesn't believe in anything."
Malcolm gave a faint smile. "Which could be a problem. Though people can change. And I'm starting to get a strong sense that Julien believes in Kitty. He may be willing to do quite a lot to support her."
"Yes, but just like me, he's going to have to figure out what he wants for himself."
"A good point."
"Even tonight he was apparently willing to keep quiet about a possible plot against a member of the royal family if Simon and I wanted to. Though I think he was glad we didn't, for any number of reasons."
"And knowing you and Simon, he may have realized you wouldn't."
"Have I mentioned your insights are amazing, Malcolm?"
"I can be singularly slow at times." His brows drew together. "I'm going to have to figure out how to talk to Kitty."
"She may even come to you, once she hears Thornsby is dead."
"She may. But I have a strong suspicion—one could say fear—that she won't."
Mélanie watched her husband. "Darling—"
She broke off at the sound of the front door opening. Not as alarming as it once would have been at this hour. After their return from a less formal life in Italy, they'd taken to sending the staff to bed after a certain hour and managing the door themselves. Laura and Raoul must be back from their dinner with Laura's family.
Mélanie and Malcolm went into the hall to find the O'Roarke family, Laura with baby Clara in her arms, Raoul with six-year-old Emily draped over one shoulder, fastening the bolt on the front door with his free hand.
"I'll get it." Malcolm went to help his father.
"Thank you." Raoul steadied Emily. "Hard to believe these days that I used to manage a sword and pistol at once on a regular basis."
And still did so, if the stories of his current work in Spain were even remotely close to the truth. Mélanie looked from Raoul to Laura. Odd to think that they'd been having a conventional evening while the drama at the Tavistock unfolded. "How was dinner?" she asked.
"Quite lovely," Laura said. "The children played together splendidly. Clara demonstrated her crawling prowess. And we had a very interesting conversation about Spain today compared to India twenty years ago."
"Laura's father had a lot of insights." Raoul looked from Mélanie to Malcolm. "But it looks as though your evening was unexpectedly eventful."
"There's no keeping anything from you." Malcolm grinned. "Best get the children in bed. It's a rather long story."
It was some minutes before Raoul and Laura returned downstairs. Malcolm poured whisky for everyone in the library while Mélanie began the story and then Malcolm took up with his and Roth's examination of Thornsby's rooms and their encounters with Billy and Kit.
Laura shook her head. "I remember Lewis Thornsby just yesterday when I brought the children to the theatre."
"I've been thinking the same thing," Mélanie said.
Raoul was frowning. "Interesting about St. Juste showing up."
"Yes, we thought so as well," Malcolm said. "Do you know about anything Thornsby was tangled up in?"
"Other than the Levellers?" Raoul asked. "You both knew him better than I did."
Malcolm watched the man who was his father, as well as Mélanie's former spymaster, over the rim of his whisky glass. "But you have sources among the London Radicals that we don't. And just like Kit, you don't tell me some things. Which is understandable. We're all working out how to work round our various loyalties. But in an investigation—
"
"It's important to get at the truth," Raoul said. "Quite right. I haven't heard anything about Thornsby. But I can make some inquiries."
Malcolm nodded. "Do you"—he hesitated, and for a moment Mélanie wasn't sure he'd say more—"do you think there could really be a plot to assassinate a royal at the theatre?"
Raoul continued to hold Malcolm's gaze steadily. Sometimes, even now, it was difficult for Mélanie to read the tangled waters between the two men. "My dear Malcolm. Are you asking if I know about a plot to assassinate a member of the royal family?"
"No." Malcolm scraped a hand over his face. "Maybe."
Raoul's gaze remained steady, but something shifted within it. "Granted we all have secrets, but surely at this point you believe that if I had even a suspicion of such a plot, I'd tell you."
"Probably."
Raoul's mouth lifted in a faint smile. "Given my past actions, I probably deserve that. My darling boy, I don't believe in assassination."
"You believe in change."
"And I'm willing to take drastic measures? If I think they can succeed. Morality aside, the only change assassinating a member of the royal family would cause is to bring down repression on everyone working for any sort of reform in Britain."
Malcolm inclined his head. His gaze held the cool calculation of a professional, overlaying a son's desperate desire to believe. "So you think it's an agent provocateur?"
"I think there's a good chance. But just because an action would be foolish for our cause doesn't mean no one on our side would undertake it. I can make inquiries about that as well."
Malcolm nodded again, and then hesitated, as though framing his words with care. "Do you know of any reason Kitty would have been writing to Thornsby?" His voice was almost too carefully unstudied.
Raoul returned Malcolm's gaze with equally unstudied care. "Though we've all got to be friends, you're more in Kitty's confidence than I am."
"I don't know that any of us is in Kitty's confidence. But you know more about her work in Spain than I do."
Raoul and Kitty were both working with forces in Spain opposed to the Bourbon government. A situation that had grown more intense since the recent mutiny by the Asturian battalion in Cádiz. Raoul had been in England by the time the mutiny started, but Mélanie was quite sure he had had more to do with it than he was admitting. His nephew, Raimundo, was in Spain working with the rebels now, despite having married the widowed Annabel Larrimer only two months ago. "Kitty and I each have our own connections," Raoul said. "And while they do overlap, it's hard to see a connection between Lewis Thornsby and Spain."
Laura had been sitting by in silence. Like Mélanie, she tended not to interfere in the complexities between Malcolm and Raoul. But now she turned to Malcolm.
"Do you know Lewis Thornsby's family?"
"Only by name. But I believe his elder brother is a classicist. Harry may know him."
"And Cordy may know the family, or at least know gossip about them," Mélanie said. Harry and Cordelia Davenport were an essential part of any investigation. Odd to think they weren't part of this one yet. "I'll talk to her tomorrow—no, I won't. That is, not in the morning. Jeremy's going to talk to the Tavistock company and I should be there."
"I can talk to Cordy," Laura said. "And bring her round to the theatre to see you. She won't want to be left out of an investigation. Any more than I wish to be."
Chapter 6
Julien found Kitty, one-and-a-half-year-old Genny on her lap, sitting on the nursery floor, playing lottery tickets with the boys. He bent to kiss Kitty and touched Genny's hair, then dropped down beside the boys, careful not to disrupt the gleaming piles of mother-of-pearl fish. "You missed dinner," Timothy said.
"I know." Julien took a sip from the glass of wine Kitty held out to him. "I ran into some complications at the Tavistock."
"Is Aunt Mélanie all right?" Leo was quick to pick up on worries.
"Yes, all our friends are fine." Julien gave Kitty back her wine glass, though for a moment he felt like downing the entire contents. "I just stayed a bit to help answer questions." It was a constant challenge, Julien had found since being about children more, knowing how much to say. In general, he subscribed to the theory that telling as much of the truth as possible was best. But even with his limited parenting experience, he realized that one had to use finesse in telling children under ten that someone had been murdered.
"Mummy was late too," Timothy said. "We had bread and cheese and apple slices. We kept some for you." He nodded towards the nursery table. Part of a Stilton, a loaf of bread, and apples were arranged on a Wedgwood platter that took him back to childhood memories he'd just as soon not explore tonight.
"I called on Emily Cowper," Kitty said. "It took longer than I thought."
"Those sorts of calls generally do." Julien leaned back against the side of the nursery settee and held out his arms to take Genny. She climbed into his lap with gratifying enthusiasm and reached for the diamond pin in his cravat that never failed to fascinate her. In truth, that was why he'd taken to wearing it so much.
Kitty got up and moved to the table where she began to assemble a plate of bread and cheese and apples. Julien settled Genny in his lap and examined the boys' cards. "You're missing a prime chance to put your mother in check. Not to mix my game metaphors, but if you let me help you…"
Kitty returned to the floor with a plate of food. Julien ate one-handed and shared apple slices with Genny while they continued the game. Timothy, with help from Julien, vanquished his mother and elder brother and gave a crow of triumph. Genny, who had fallen asleep on Julien's shoulder by that point, one hand clutching his cravat, slumbered on despite the noise.
Julien carried her to her cradle, but it was some time before they got the boys into their nightshirts with their teeth brushed. Finally, in the quiet of Kitty's bedchamber (which practically was really their bedchamber now, though he wasn't going to think about that at present), Julien poured them both a calvados. Kitty came up behind him and slid her arms round him. "Are you going to tell me what happened? Or isn't it something you can tell?"
"No reason not to, now. Didn't want to disturb the children." Julien turned in her arms and put one of the glasses in her hand. He smiled into her familiar green eyes, a gaze he knew better than he had ever thought to know anyone's. A gaze that knew him better than he had ever intended to let anyone know him.
"Someone's dead," Kitty said. "But not anyone we know. Because while I don't think you'd have told the children, I don't think you'd have actively lied to them. Not if you could help it."
Odd, the faint trepidation he felt. He took a sip of calvados and told her. About visiting the Tavistock. Finding Mélanie and the children. Finding Lewis Thornsby's body. Finding the sketch of the rifle trajectory on the body. Tanner's arrival. Talking to Tanner and Mélanie, and then to Malcolm and Roth. Everything, except the actual reason he'd been at the Tavistock in the first place. Because that would unravel everything.
"How unspeakably awful," Kitty said. "And how beastly for Mélanie to have been there with the children. I don't think she'd quail from anything, but one can't precisely rush into danger with children to think of. And, of course, it would have been unthinkable for her just to leave. I'm glad you were there." She gave a faint smile. "Even if you were there with Mélanie."
"My sweet." Julien kissed her forehead. "I thought we'd settled matters when it comes to Mélanie."
"I don't think matters will ever be precisely settled when it comes to you and Mélanie Rannoch." Kitty's voice was as tart and familiar as the crisp green apples they'd just eaten. "But I stopped being anything approaching jealous of her long since."
"I thought we didn't admit to jealousy."
Kitty laughed. "Speak for yourself, my darling. I'm conventional enough to feel a twinge on occasion. Even if I have no right to it."
"I wouldn't talk about rights." He caught her hand that wasn't holding the glass and kissed it. "It sounds as tho
ugh we're debating a treaty."
"Quite." She tilted her head back. "How bad is it?"
He took a drink of calvados, weighing his words for a number of reasons. "It certainly creates complications. With Carfax, one way or another, at the very least. But then, when it come to the Rannochs and the O'Roarkes and the Davenports—and us—there are plenty of complications with Carfax, in any case. No matter where this leads, January was bound to have led us somewhere, given everything in play at the end of the year." He frowned into his glass. "Of course, a dead body's always an added complication."
"Oh, Julien." Kitty shook her head and gave a rueful smile. "I'll always love your lack of sentiment."
"Simple statement of fact, sweetheart."
"I'll call on Malcolm and Mélanie tomorrow and see if I can help." She raised a brow. "Unless you think I'll be in the way?"
"On the contrary. It's time for all hands on deck, I think. I imagine they'll both agree."
"Julien." Kitty's gaze darted across his face. "Would you really have kept quiet about this supposed plot if they'd asked you to?"
"You're loyal to Spain. I'm not loyal to any country, remember?"
"Yes, but—"
"Can you see my turning Simon Tanner over to the authorities?"
Her brows drew together. "No…"
"Well, then. I don't own to particular loyalties, but I try not to betray a friend. And these days I'll even admit to having friends."
"You never fail to surprise me, Julien."
"Because I wouldn't stop a plot, or because I'll admit to having friends?"
"Perhaps both."
"I've always rather prided myself on my ability to be surprising. Besides, can you imagine Tanner's actually trying to have someone assassinated?"
"Well, when you put it that way—no." She smoothed his hair from his forehead. "You think Carfax is behind the supposed plot?"
"What do you think?"
"That Carfax would like nothing better than to discredit the Levellers. This seems a bit heavy-handed, though. Especially as he has to have known the Rannochs would get involved. And jump to precisely these conclusions."