by Tracy Grant
"I don't understand," Sir Horace said. "Why on earth should they have wanted to kill me?"
"You're a member of the Elsinore League," Mélanie said.
"Yes, but I haven't had much to do with them in years, as I said to you. Nothing at all, recently. Surely there's some mistake."
They were back in the green room, where they'd had their earlier conversation, and many of the same people were present, but now it smelled of fresh hothouse flowers, champagne, and delicacies sent over from Rules for the opening night party. Sir Horace had a glass of champagne in his hand, but he was frowning. Jennifer, sitting beside him on the sofa, looked like a lioness protecting her mate.
"There's a split in the League." Archie took a drink of champagne and stretched his bad leg out in front of him. He and Horace had known each other for years, and had once been members of the League together, though Archie had secretly been gathering information against them. "Someone is trying to take over. And that seems to involve getting rid of a number of the original members, one way or another. They targeted Glenister a few months ago."
Sir Horace looked up from contemplation of his champagne glass. "But I'm hardly on a par with Glenister. He was one of the founders."
"You worked with Alistair Rannoch in France," Mélanie said. "And he founded the League."
Horace frowned. Jennifer put a hand on his arm. She too had been in Paris in the eighties and nineties, and she had worked with Horace and Dewhurst and Alistair Rannoch in their activities supporting the Royalists. Save that Jennifer had actually been a spy for the revolutionary government. Which Horace now knew. "There were a number of secrets from those days, Horace."
"But why should those secrets matter now? I've never even heard of this Alexander Radford. Who the devil is he?"
Mélanie looked from Raoul and Laura to Julien and Kitty to Cordy. Malcolm, Harry, Bertrand, and Rupert were still at Bow Street. "We'd all very much like to know."
"Well, I don't see how I could be a threat to some man I've never met and don't know anything about." Sir Horace downed his champagne as though to punctuate his point.
"Do you think they'll try again?" Crispin Harleton asked. He was sitting by quietly, his arm round Manon.
"They haven't persisted in trying to kill me," Raoul said.
"So far," Laura pointed out.
"So far. And they seem to have left Glenister alone since their plans in September fell through. Perhaps—"
He broke off as the door opened and Malcolm and Harry came into the room, followed by Carfax, Rupert, and Bertrand.
"He's giving us his story," Carfax said. "Roth is taking it all down and getting him to sign it."
"And in exchange?" David asked.
"He's going to be transported. Not to Botany Bay, to Canada. Before the League can arrange a convenient accident for him."
"Who is he?" Simon asked.
"Rhys Tunstall," Harry said. "A former rifleman. I'd never met him before, but I'd heard him mentioned as a particularly deadly shot."
"I actually met him," Rupert said. "At a regimental dinner. Seemed perfectly innocuous. But then the best agents often do."
"He says Edgar recruited him and that they knew each other in the Peninsula." Malcolm moved to Mélanie's side and squeezed her shoulder. "And that with Edgar gone he's been taking orders from Lady Shroppington. He also became Lewis Thornsby's main contact with the League when Edgar died. Apparently Lady Shroppington wished to remain somewhat removed from League business when it came to her great-nephew. Though she doesn't seem to have caviled at it with Miss Simmons." He turned to Edith.
"But then I wasn't related to her," Edith said. "We had no outside relationship to muddy up. In fact, she was very concerned to keep me in my place when it came to Thomas."
Malcolm nodded. "A good point. In any case, Tunstall admits to meeting Lewis Thornsby at the theatre several times, including about a week ago when Lewis complained that his work among the Levellers was starting to feel like treason because he was betraying people he liked."
"That must be the conversation I overheard," Letty said.
"I think so, yes," Malcolm said. "Tunstall says a few days later Lady Shroppington gave directions that the papers Kitty and Simon and Kit were trying to have printed must be recovered at all costs. Despite Thornsby's qualms, apparently he set about that readily enough. Then he discovered the League were planning to make use of the rifle trajectory drawing he'd stolen from Donald McDevitt and use the plot to get rid of Sir Horace. Tunstall says Lady Shroppington summoned him the night before the murder, probably just after she had the confrontation with Thornsby that Miss Simmons heard about from her friend. Lady Shroppington told Tunstall that Thornsby had become too dangerous and had to be got rid of."
Silence settled over the green room, weighted with the stark horror of premeditated murder. Mélanie gripped the bare skin of her arms, between her ivory silk gloves and her lace sleeves. They all had known Thornsby had been murdered. They were most of them hardened agents. And yet hearing it put like that—
"So Tunstall killed Lewis?" Letty said in a small voice.
Malcolm nodded again. "He says he arranged to meet Thornsby at the theatre, supposedly to negotiate. Thornsby apparently didn't have a clue how ruthless his great-aunt could be and wasn't on his guard. Tunstall says he left the rifle trajectory sketch on Thornsby because it would cast suspicion on the Levellers and muddy the waters about who might be behind Lewis's death. Because Carfax knew there wasn't an actual plot, they weren't worried about precautions tonight. And then once Sir Horace was killed, it would look like a failed assassination attempt on the regent and the Levellers would be blamed. And Carfax couldn't very well say otherwise without implicating himself."
"I confess it never occurred to me how the sketch might be used," Carfax said. "An error."
David shot a look at his father.
"I've never claimed not to make them," Carfax said.
"There's more," Bertrand said. "Tunstall says Lady Shroppington tried to task him with killing Kitty and the others involved in printing the pamphlets. Apparently she'd bribed one of the messengers carrying notes between all of you and got wind of the meeting. But Tunstall says he drew the line at killing a woman."
Kitty snorted. "The man draw odd lines. But I'm very glad he drew this one. I suspect he'd have been much more successful than the attackers we did face."
"Quite." Malcolm's face was grim. "She had to scramble to hire those ruffians, which accounts for their less than spectacular level of skill. Tunstall also said he refused because—"
"What?" Kitty said.
"That it would be as good as his life to kill Julien St. Juste's woman."
"I'm not anyone's woman," Kitty said, "but he had a point."
"He did indeed," Julien said in a quiet voice that was somehow lethal.
"Did he say why Lady Shroppington and the League wanted Horace dead?" Jennifer asked.
"He claims not to know," Malcolm said. "Just as he claims not to know who Alexander Radford is. And I'm inclined to think he's telling the truth. He was a hired agent, not a League member."
"Is there anything more in the papers Thornsby left?" Cordelia asked.
"Unfortunately no," Aline said. "Most of the rest sum up what we already knew. And there's a long personal message for Miss Blanchard." She looked at Letty. "I've saved a copy of that just for you."
Letty swallowed. "Thank you."
"We won't be able to act against Lady Shroppingon," Carfax said in a crisp voice. "But I'll make sure she knows what we have from Tunstall in writing." He looked at Sir Horace. "It should be enough to keep you safe. But you'll have to be on your guard."
"We're always on our guard, Lord Carfax," Jennifer said.
Carfax nodded. "Roth will assign a patrol to keep watch on your house."
"And Lewis?" Letty asked.
"There's no way to convict Lady Shroppington for his murder any more than for the attack on Sir Horace," Carfax said.
"You mean you don't want the messiness of trying to convict her," Will said. He was perched on the arm of the settee where Letty sat.
"That too," Carfax said. "But practically, it would be extremely difficult."
"We'll make sure Thomas knows the truth, at least." Harry turned to Edith, who was sitting beside Cordelia. "He can decide what to say to his parents."
Carfax frowned as though he was not best pleased with this, but did not attempt to argue.
"Thank you," Edith said. "I need to talk to Thomas too. He needs to know the truth. The full truth."
"You can't go back to the Wiltons'," Cordelia said. "It's not safe. Lady Shroppington may put things together about you, now that she knows Malcolm's worked out the truth. You can come home with us, at least until you decide what you want to do."
"Perhaps you'd be willing to help me with the children's lessons," Laura said. "We've been looking into starting a school for disadvantaged children on one of the Rannochs' country properties, and I'd very much welcome your thoughts."
Edith started to protest, then shook her head. "I'm not so selfless as to cavil at good fortune. But the Wiltons—"
"I'll warn Wilton about Lady Shroppington and the League," Carfax said. "And get his opinion of Antonio Barosa." He glanced at Malcolm. "You should probably talk to him as well in case I've missed something."
Malcolm nodded. "Thank you."
Carfax gave a grunt of acknowledgment.
"We can call on the Wiltons as well," Cordelia said to Edith. "I know you'll want to see the children."
"I can come with you to see Thomas if you want," Harry said.
Edith met his gaze. "Thank you, Colonel, Davenport. I can't tell you how much that means to me. But I need to do this on my own."
Harry nodded, quiet appreciation in his gaze.
"I meant to come see you tomorrow, in any case, Miss Simmons," Malcolm said. "To tell you your brother's debts have been discharged. The League have no hold on him anymore."
Edith stared at him. "Why are you being so kind to me? I was working for your enemy."
"Among other things, because I don't like to see the League win," Malcolm said. "But more than that, because I have sympathy for anyone who's been in their clutches."
"And Lady Shroppington?" Sofia asked. She was sharing an overstuffed armchair with Kit. "Who's going to stop her?"
"We are." Malcolm's gaze swept the company. "But we're going to have to learn what she's after first."
Chapter 44
Julien looked down at the boys in their nursery beds and pulled the door to, then glanced at Genny in her cradle. Sound asleep, a spit bubble on her lip, her arm round the stuffed unicorn he'd bought at a stall in Covent Garden Market the morning after he realized she was his daughter. He'd spent the night before holding Kitty, both of them fully clothed, and slipped out early in the morning to find Gisèle and tell her he had killed her brother Edgar before Edgar could kill Malcolm. And somehow, on the way he'd found himself clutching a mug of coffee, staring at white fabric and gold yarn and embroidered eyes and nose and mouth, while the reality that he was a father washed over him. He'd fished out his purse and tucked the toy into his coat, and for all the pain the day held, he'd felt strangely new born. Genny had been asleep that night when he'd tucked the unicorn into the crook of her arm. The boys had been asleep too, but looking at them, realizing what he might be to Genny, he'd begun to have a sense of what he might be to them too.
Kitty had come up beside him as he'd looked down at Genny that night and slid her hand into his own. It had been a moment of dreadful sentiment, the sort they both shied away from, the sort neither of them would put into words. But they'd stood there for what might have been minutes, drinking in the sight of Genny sleeping, before Kitty turned and stepped into his arms.
Now, four months later, Julien turned to look at the woman who had become his wife. Nothing was really different. Oh, it was different from that night, when everything had been tentative and new. But they'd been putting the children to bed, and walking or stumbling to—or tumbling into—their own bed (even if it was only to fall into exhausted slumber in each other's arms) for weeks now. The fact that they were legally bound to each other didn't change what was between them. He wouldn't want it to. And yet—
"I know," Kitty said. "We're married."
"And Lord and Lady Carfax, apparently."
"Don't remind me. I was just getting used to the first." She went up to him and slid her arms round him. "It's odd," she said, leaning back to look up at him. "It doesn't seem strange to be married to you. I thought it would, but it feels oddly as though I couldn't be anything else. I'm going to stare round in confusion, wondering who is being addressed, the first time someone calls me Lady Carfax, though."
Julien grimaced. "Carfax wants us to move into Carfax House. I told him he was welcome to keep it, but he insists. We needn't live there if you prefer not to, though."
Kitty glanced round the bedchamber, the door to the nursery, the other door to the sitting room. "We can't very well stay here."
Julien looked from door to door at the space that had shaped their lives. "No, I suppose not. Pity, though. I'm quite fond of it." It was the only home he had shared properly with anyone in his forty years.
"Carfax House must have been your home as a boy."
"It was never really a home. But yes, I lived there."
"We needn't live there. Just because Malcolm and Mélanie made Berkeley Square their own doesn't mean we need to follow suit."
"No, we don't need to. But Carfax House can be a powerful symbol. And we're going to need a base for what we want to accomplish."
"I don't want to raise the children in a symbol."
"Of course not. If we don't think we can make it work for us, we'll let it or sell it and find somewhere else. Berkeley Square is a beautiful house, but I don't think either of us has the time that Mélanie spent on it to spend on Carfax House. It has a decent garden though, and the gates can be useful. And there are plenty of rooms."
Kitty watched him for a moment. "Julien—"
"Only if you want to," he said. "I told Carfax that. And also that if we did, we wouldn't go on until we had a son."
"It's funny." Kitty drew the folds of her dressing gown about her throat. "I didn't think I wanted children at all, particularly. Or more accurately, I didn't think about it much at all. I love Leo—you know how much—but it would be folly to say I was anything but unhappy about my pregnancy. But once he was there—his own person, not a reminder of his father—it meant something else entirely. I wanted him to have a sibling. And I wasn't unhappy when I realized I was carrying Genny. Partly because it was a reminder of you."
"You might have told me."
"You were an ocean away. I was married to Edward, and I didn't think you had any interest in having a family."
He had a keen memory of the boat from Buenos Aires. Looking back at the harbor, wondering if he would see Kitty again. He was used to saying goodbye to lovers. Sometimes with more qualms than others. But he couldn't deny he'd felt a pang as the city receded into the distance. He wouldn't have admitted he had perhaps said goodbye to the love of his life. But he had been keenly aware that he'd said farewell to the person who understood him better than anyone else. "I didn't particularly," he said. "Not then. But if I'd known I had a child—"
"Whom you couldn't acknowledge."
"I'm not entirely free of feeling an obligation. And I'd have wanted to know her. Even if she couldn't know who I was."
Kitty put her hands on his chest. "I wasn't trying to keep her from you."
"Sweetheart, you had a right to navigate matters however you could. And I'll freely confess to having attempted to give even more of an illusion of not wanting ties than I in fact did."
She watched him for a moment, her wonderful green eyes very steady. "If I'd stayed in Argentina—"
He put his hands over her own. "Yes, well, we needn't confront that now. But I think I
'd have found a way to go back." He looked down at their fingers, interlaced against the blue velvet of his dressing gown. "Mélanie asked me once if Josephine was my first love."
Kitty's gaze flickered over his face. "What did you say?"
"That I was young enough that she might have been. But as it happens, she wasn't."
"Who was?"
"I'm looking at her."
Kitty drew in her breath slightly.
"Falling in love is difficult enough. You can't imagine I'd do it more than I had to."
Laugher convulsed her. "Darling Julien. You make romantic declarations like no one else."
There were other things he'd never told her and probably never would. At least, not in so many words. That he found a peace with her he'd never known in his life before. That the thought of being without her sent him spiraling into terror. That he knew what happiness was now, when he'd never really even considered it a possibility.
Her gaze settled on his own. "I never answered you. I'd have said I was happy with three children. But I think I want one with you."
Feelings he couldn't quite articulate tumbled within him. "You have a child with me. One could say you have three. You certainly have one."
"I know. And I'd say three too. But I want one where we can do it together from the start."
He felt his fingers tighten involuntarily over her own. "You don't need to do that for me."
"I'm not. I'm doing it because it's what I want. Though I suppose you could say I'm doing it for us. Funny." She shook her head. "Not a word I'm used to."
"Nor I."
"Not for a bit, though. The children have a lot to adjust to."
"Probably a good idea for you to see what sort of a father I make first."
"Darling Julien, I've watched you be an excellent father for months now. I know I accused you of playing at domesticity, but the truth is you were uncannily good at it from the start. I only worried you might decide you wanted something else. Not other than the children. Other than me."