The Tavistock Plot

by Tracy Grant

  "My dear, I think at this point it's a given that any of us—all of us—may have reasons for keeping certain pieces of information secret."

  Archie's gaze settled on Frances's own, at once hard and tender. "Possibly. But at this point I can't think of anything about the League I'd keep secret. The stakes are too high, the fight too serious."

  "Ben?" Mélanie looked at Benedict, who was staring at a medallion on the library carpet as though it were a portal to another world he'd stumbled into.

  "I hadn't even heard of the League until a month ago," he said. "I was shocked my father was involved. The idea of Lady Shroppington—" He shook his head in amazement.

  "St. Juste?" Malcolm looked at Julien.

  "I've never been a League member," Julien said.

  "No, but they've tried to recruit you. You've been on the fringe of their councils at times. Gelly has, even more so, and she talks to you more than to any of us."

  Julien shifted in his chair. "From all my interactions, they've seemed the sort of hellfire-club-with-an-ulterior-motive that you all assume them to be. The only people I've dealt with are men. Although—" He crossed his legs and dragged the toe of his boot over the carpet. "Gelly's been trusted and accepted more than one might expect. Given the usual—and quite deplorable—lack of appreciation for women's intellect." He glanced at Kitty, then his brows drew together. "I hadn't thought of it, but that might support the idea that at least some of them aren't unaccustomed to having women in their councils."

  "Edith is under the impression Lady Shroppington was involved with the League before Lord Beverston was," Laura said. "Which implies back to its founding. Could she have been a mistress of Alistair Rannoch's?" She looked at Frances.

  It was Frances's turn to frown. "She's at least a generation older than Alistair, but that's hardly a bar to anything."

  "I should think not," Julien said. "I was sixteen years younger than Josephine." He glanced at Kitty, who was seated beside him. "Sorry."

  "It's hardly a secret, sweetheart," Kitty said. "And hardly anything to do with us."

  He drew her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. "That's my Kitkat."

  "It's not her age that surprises me," Frances said. "Henrietta Shroppington was already considered a high stickler when I made my debut. She'd have been about the age that I am now, but she looked distinctly matronly." Frances frowned. "Of course, that's the view of my seventeen-year-old self, to whom I am sure I would now seem positively decrepit. Still, she doesn't strike me as the sort to catch Alistair's attention." She glanced at Raoul.

  "Don't look at me," Raoul said. "I can claim no insights into Alistair, and I certainly wasn't aware of the women he dallied with."

  "I was wondering more if Bella said anything to you," Frances said. "If she guessed there were women—or a woman—connected to the League."

  "No," Raoul said. "At least, she never said anything to me about it. But then, there was a great deal she didn't tell me about."

  "You were partners in fighting the League," Archie said.

  "I'm not sure Bella and I were ever partners in anything," Raoul said in a quiet voice. He looked at Julien.

  "She never said anything about it to me," Julien's voice was unusually direct. "She certainly didn't tell me everything either. But I can't recall her expressing any particular interest in Lady Shroppington."

  "Nor can I," said Frances. "My guess is she didn't know."

  "Lady Shroppington pulled her great-nephew into it," Harry said. "Though she set Edith to spy on her other great-nephew. And on Cordy and me."

  Cordelia met her husband's gaze. "I was so surprised by the revelations about Lady Shroppington I hadn't really had a chance to think about Edith. It's odd, with all the spying we live amongst, we haven't been spied on ourselves until now."

  "At least not that we know of," Harry said.

  Cordelia drew her pink-and-cream Norwich shawl about her. "I expect I'll start going over every conversation I've had with Edith. But I can't help thinking it's beastly what Lady Shroppington did to her. Whereas what she did to us—"

  "Is the same thing I did to Mélanie and Malcolm," Laura said. "Only what I did was worse. Edith wasn't actually living in your house and watching your children."

  "Nothing you did for the League made you anything but exemplary with the children," Mélanie said. "In a way, we should be grateful to them for bringing you to us."

  "Put like that, I should be exceptionally grateful to them." Raoul reached for Laura's hand.

  "Yes, it's very sweet of all of you to say it, and in that sense I'm grateful to them too." Laura squeezed her husband's hand. "But it doesn't change the fact that I was living in Mélanie and Malcolm's house and spying on them while I took care of Colin and Jessica."

  "It makes one wonder." Harry contemplated the toes of his boots. "How many governesses in London are working for the League. I should have thought of it sooner."

  "So should I," said Raoul. "I was too horrified at how Trenchard took advantage of Laura's personal situation to see it could be part of a larger pattern."

  "We all were," Malcolm said.

  "I can understand the League's wanting to spy on us," Cordelia said. "I mean, we're involved in working against them. But though Thomas is an excellent scholar, I confess I'm baffled as to why they'd want information on him."

  "You aren't the only one," Harry said. "I can't imagine why the League would have an interest in a classicist."

  "The League collect art," Mélanie pointed out.

  Harry's brows drew together. "An interesting point. I don't know of any work Thomas has done that could relate to classical art, but it's possible."

  "Perhaps they wanted him to authenticate something," Kitty said. "Or spot a forgery."

  "Or they were worried he might spot a forgery," Julien said. "They seem to use art as a sort of currency in their efforts to gain influence. And also as a mark of status. My father certainly used it as both. Some of the art they deal was certainly acquired illegally. I wouldn't be surprised if some of it was inauthentic."

  Laura was frowning. "So Lady Shroppington wanted to spy on her elder nephew. But she brought Lewis into the League?"

  "Not according to Beverston," Malcolm said. "He said Edgar did." He flashed a brief look at Kitty. Kitty sent a look back meant to indicate he shouldn't be silly and avoid talking about it on her account. "And I have an odd feeling he was telling the truth."

  "Did Lady Shroppington have any connection to Edgar?" Laura asked.

  "Even before I learned my brother was the Goshawk, working for the Elsinore League, and pretending to work for Carfax, I can hardly claim to have known him well," Malcolm said. "But I know of no connection he had to Lady Shroppington. I'm not even sure they were acquainted." He looked at Frances.

  "She was hardly in Arabella and Alistair's circles," Frances said. "She'd have looked askance at the Glenister House set. I suppose all of that could have been a pose—the sort of thing you call 'deep cover'—but I have no memory of her ever even being at the same party as Edgar."

  "So Edgar just happened to recruit her nephew when they both have a connection to the League?" Cordelia asked. "Or the League set him to recruit Lewis Thornsby rather than having Lewis's aunt do so?"

  "They might have thought he'd be more likely to listen to a soldier and agent than to his aunt," Harry pointed out. "Just because he was her heir doesn't mean he'd listen to her. And it's possible she kept her connection to the League secret even from Thornsby."

  "And yet she recruited Edith," Laura said. "And went to a meeting with her with Beverston. So Beverston certainly knows about Lady Shroppington's role."

  "Nerezza saw Thornsby talking to this man calling himself Alexander Radford," Kitty pointed out. "Who seems to be the man trying to take over the League. Which rather raises the question of what Lady Shroppington knows about Alexander Radford and his efforts."

  "It does indeed," Raoul said. "According to Beverston, he's opposed to the
faction Alexander Radford represents."

  "Edith said she was under the impression that Lady Shroppington and Beverston had fallen out a few months ago," Laura said. "That could fit with the time frame in which the factions in the League became clearer."

  Nerezza was frowning. "So Alexander Radford is an outsider trying to take control of the League, and Lady Shroppington is helping him. Even though she's been involved with the League from the first?"

  "It looks that way," Malcolm said. "But whoever Alexander Radford is, he's obviously at some pains to keep his identity secret. Which raises the question of why."

  "Not to mention why Lady Shroppington would ally herself with an outsider," Cordelia said.

  Malcolm nodded. "It's funny, when we called on her yesterday, there was a moment when she put me in mind of a spymaster. I had no idea how spot on I was."

  Benedict looked up from the carpet again. "Surely she's not a spy!"

  "Not for a country, perhaps," Malcolm said. "But she's certainly running agents and dealing in information."

  "None of which explains why Lewis Thornsby was killed," Harry said.

  "No," Malcolm agreed, "it doesn't. Save that he was caught in some very complicated games." He looked at Julien. "We should go to see David before it gets much later. And I know Mel needs to get back to the theatre. Perhaps the rest of you can puzzle out some more answers before we all get back."

  Chapter 33

  David stared across his library at Julien. Arthur. The cousin he had last seen as a boy of eight. "You—"

  "I know it's a shock," Julien said. "I'll understand if you'd rather not speak to me."

  "Not speak to you?" David crossed the library carpet in five steps and embraced Julien. "How could I not be glad to have my cousin back?"

  "You always were much too decent for your own good, David." Julien's back was to Malcolm but his voice was suspiciously husky.

  David drew back and regarded his cousin. "I still can't believe this. You—"

  "Did some things that could have got me killed. So I ran away."

  "Father made you run away."

  "No, I did that on my own. He could have dragged me back to face the consequences."

  "Don't tell me Father couldn't have hushed it up if he'd wanted to."

  "I'm not sure. He wasn't quite as powerful as he is now. If he'd done anything else, my father would have insisted on turning me over to the authorities. Which, Uncle Hubert once had the goodness to tell me, would have been a sad waste. I must say he had a point there. Mind you, it might have been easier for all of you, but personally I far prefer being alive. Of course, Uncle Hubert might have left me to go my own way instead of compelling me to work for him. So one can't precisely claim he was altruistic."

  "Your father died a long time ago," David said.

  "Yes, that's true," Julien agreed.

  "And I don't think my father for a minute considered bringing you back to Britain and giving up the title."

  "Oh, no, I'm sure he didn't," Julien said. "He had power before he was Lord Carfax, but I have no doubt he enjoys his power as Lord Carfax and finds it useful. And Uncle Hubert can justify almost anything on the grounds it's useful in his work and therefore good for Britain."

  "Including betraying my mother," David said. "Sorry, Malcolm."

  "No apology necessary," Malcolm said. "Though I should point out that my mother was equally willing to go to great lengths in pursuit of her cause. And to justify those lengths."

  David's hands curled into fists. "All his talk about the earldom and the future of it. He tried to destroy my relationship with Simon. And with Malcolm and Mélanie. All to get me to produce an heir to a title that was never mine to begin with."

  Julien braced his hands on the library table behind him. "Do you want it? Because I think one could say you've been through enough it should be yours if you do. I can disappear."

  David gave an unexpected whoop of laughter. "Want it? I've been dreading the idea of being Earl Carfax ever since I got word that you were dead. Ask Malcolm. I was horrified." He swallowed. "That isn't the only reason I was upset."

  Julien clapped a hand on his shoulder. "That's because you took—take—it seriously. Most boys—and most men— wouldn't. Still, having forced yourself to come to terms with the prospect—"

  "I'd like nothing better than to be rid of it. Truly."

  Julien's hand tightened on David's shoulder. "I'm sorry, David. I'm sorry I left you with this mess for so long. Whatever games Uncle Hubert and I were playing, you shouldn't have had that burden."

  "It doesn't sound as though you had a lot of choice," David said.

  "I could have tried to come back sooner."

  "Father might have turned you over to the authorities. He still might."

  "It would be harder now I have the written evidence. His word against mine. It's true taking on Carfax is always a challenge. It's also true I've been known to relish a challenge. Indeed, since Waterloo I've rather keenly felt the lack of one, much of the time. But I also enjoyed my freedom."

  David watched his cousin closely. "Are you saying you don't want it back?"

  "Want? That's an odd word." Julien was silent for a moment. "I'd wouldn't have said so. I'd made up my mind I should reclaim it. That I might even be able to do some good. I never used the word 'want.' Kitty asked me what I wanted, and it wasn't to be Carfax. It was her, and the children. But I suppose—I can't deny it has a certain appeal. Not the earldom, per se. Home. Britain, I suppose. God, don't let your father hear me say that. But I said as much to Mélanie years ago, on that journey with Hortense. I can be in Britain as Carfax. I can come home. I can see a life I can carve out for myself. So yes, I suppose you could say I do want it."

  David nodded. "You'll be better at it than I would have been."

  "I highly doubt that. But I think I may be effective. Assuming we can pull this off."

  "If you and I choose to make the truth public, I don't see what Father can do about it."

  "Trust me, you don't want to find out," Julien said.

  "We may have to."

  "Possibly. But given that the League, or at least some in the League, know the truth, your father seems to have decided revealing the truth ourselves may be a way to outflank them. He's made a lot of noises about my assuming my rightful position. And he's shown an interest in my taking a wife."

  "Oh, God."

  "Precisely. You should appreciate the risks more than anyone. Kitty apparently doesn't suit his idea of a Countess Carfax. Which is why we're going to be married tonight before he can try to intercede."

  David grinned. "I wish you both very happy. And I applaud your good sense."

  "I'd like you to be there. And Tanner and the children."

  David smiled. "We'd be honored."

  Simon let the silence linger after the end of the scene and gave a nod. "That works. Perhaps even better than the original. Good delivery, Brandon."

  Brandon gave a somewhat abashed smile.

  "Don't let it go to your head," Manon said, "but that was quite convincing. If I weren't a happily married woman, you could sweep me off my feet. Onstage, that is."

  Brandon grinned at her. "Praise of the highest order."

  Simon glanced at his watch. "Right, we still need to work on the bows, but I think we can break for tea." He looked at Mélanie. "It's good."

  "Don't jinx it."

  He grinned. "It's not opening night yet. Everything all right in Berkeley Square?"

  "Yes, but there've been some developments. I can't explain here, but we're hoping you and David and the children can come to Berkeley Square tonight." Hard to look Simon in the eye knowing that even now David was learning he wasn't rightful heir to the Carfax title, but she couldn't tell Simon. He had to hear it from David.

  Simon nodded. "We shouldn't be late here."

  Mélanie went into the green room, where most of the actors had been joined by several of the Tavistock's supporters of various ages. Manon was tal
king with Jennifer Mansfield. Manon's daughters, Roxane and Clarisse, who played Fiona's daughters in the play, were chattering with Jennifer and Sir Horace's elder daughter. Sir Horace, their younger daughter in his lap, was expanding on parallels between Past Imperfect and Shakespeare's comedies, particularly Much Ado About Nothing and Love's Labour's Lost. At another time Mélanie might have been diverted. Both plays had been an influence on her. The comparisons were flattering, and self-styled expert though he might be, Sir Horace was not without insights. But she had a more pressing conversation she needed to engage in. She moved to the other end of the room, where Donald McDevitt was talking with Letty. Letty met Mélanie's gaze for a moment and then excused herself shortly after. Mélanie took her place on the frayed chintz sofa.

  "It's difficult for Miss Blanchard," McDevitt said. He shifted on the sofa. "Difficult to know precisely what to say to her."

  Now she had thought to look for a connection to Will, the resemblance was obvious, yet Will and Donald were quite different. The Levellers were a diverse group, but Donald stood out. He looked as though he'd be more at home sparring at Jackson's, or shooting at Manton's, or putting his hunter over a fence. As though he'd be more likely to go to a coffeehouse to play dice than to debate ideas. Of course, it was possible to do all of those things. Even those among the Levellers who were more romantic than revolutionary tended to be intellectuals. In fact, more than anyone, Donald put her in mind of Thornsby.

  "Sometimes, the most one can do is listen." Mélanie studied Donald for a long moment. "You look like him. More than most cousins do."

  Donald cast a quick glance about. "I don't know—"

  "You needn't worry about being overheard in this racket. Or about denying it. Will told me."

  "Will told—"

  "After I guessed. So he didn't have much choice."

  Donald stared at her. "He wanted it kept secret."

  "Yes, I quite understand that. I honor you for acceding to his wishes. But is it really true that you just stumbled upon him at the Tavistock?"