“No. I’d have sworn his politics were much like yours.”
Carfax settled back in the chair. He was wiry and surprisingly slight, but somehow he turned the leather and oak of the chair into a throne. “I worried about you when you were up at Oxford, you know. The dangerous nonsense you’d spout off about in coffeehouses and write down in pamphlets. That you and Tanner embroiled my son in. But then I realized that for all your dangerous views, you’d never betray king and country.”
“So sure?” For an instant, Malcolm knew a savage desire to prove Carfax wrong.
“You take your loyalties seriously, my boy.”
“I never thought to find you echoing Suzette, but that’s almost exactly what she said.”
“Your wife is a perceptive woman.”
“A few minutes ago, you suggested I’d have tried to protect Alistair if I’d learned the truth while he was still alive.”
“Oh, I think you would have done. You wouldn’t have stood by and let him hang for a traitor. But you wouldn’t have been able to forgive him. Just as you find yourself unable to forgive him now. I hope your wounded feelings won’t impede your investigation.”
“I’ll manage.”
“Yes, I rather think you will. The one thing that may be stronger than your loyalty is your tenacity.”
Malcolm forced his fingers to unclench on the chair arm. He needed every ounce of self-command he possessed. “Was my father murdered?”
Carfax smoothed his fingers over the newspaper, brows drawn in what appeared to be honest appraisal. “I wondered, of course, especially as it followed close on Harleton’s death. I’d made some inquiries, but the carriage was smashed too badly to determine if it had been tampered with before the accident. I couldn’t determine who’d have gone after Alistair and Harleton at that time. Now—”
“You think they were killed by someone who wants this manuscript?”
“If so, the person was singularly unsuccessful.”
“Or by someone who wanted revenge on both of them for a past wrong? Or wanted to shut them both up because of some past secret? I haven’t seen this letter from my father to Harleton yet, but Crispin said there was a mention in it of something to do with Dunboyne. Does that mean anything to you?”
Carfax’s fingers froze on the newspaper. The look in his eyes was part surprise, part wariness, and part the scent of the chase.
“What happened at Dunboyne?” Malcolm asked.
Carfax set the newspaper on the table and cast a glance round the empty morning room. His gaze lingered on the door for a moment. “One of the drawbacks of involving you in investigations, Malcolm, is the need to reveal things to you.”
“I could investigate on my own and see what I come up with.”
“You would anyway. But I have a vested interest in you not blundering about as though this were a game of blindman’s bluff.” Carfax leaned forwards across the table in an unusually confiding posture. “Nearly twenty years ago, in July of ’98, Lord Dewhurst went from a late meeting with the prime minister to a dinner with a group of friends. He had his dispatch box with him. Containing documents relating to a secret mission he and I had just discussed with the P.M.”
“In France?” Malcolm asked, shutting his mind to the instinctive recoil at the mention of Dewhurst.
“In Ireland.” Carfax’s mouth tightened. “It was at the height of the United Irish Uprising. We’d scattered the rebels, but they were still strong. I had just received intelligence about the location where a group of the ringleaders were hiding out in Dunboyne. At our meeting Pitt had signed off on a mission to send a special force in to take them captive.”
Memory clicked into place in Malcolm’s head. “Was that—”
“Yes, when the force arrived, they found the rebels were prepared for them. We lost ten of our best men.” Carfax drew a breath that grated with frustration, but his gaze was uncompromising. “I believe the intelligence came from someone getting into Dewhurst’s dispatch box at that dinner party. Based on who was at that dinner party, that narrows it down to five men.”
“My father or Harleton?”
“No. Ironically, they were there, but they both left early. Before Dewhurst arrived. It has to be one of the five others.”
“But you think whoever it was, this person was working with my father and Harleton?”
“I’ve always wondered. This seems to confirm it.” Carfax hesitated again. His gaze shifted beyond Malcolm to the wall behind.
“You know I’ll need their names, sir.”
Carfax dragged his gaze back to Malcolm. “If asked I’ll deny I ever said any of this.”
“Isn’t that true of all our conversations?”
Carfax gave a wintry smile. “Lord Bessborough.”
Malcolm blinked. “The Duke of Devonshire’s brother-in-law?”
“Quite. You see why this is a ticklish business. Sir Horace Smytheton.”
“The patron of the Tavistock?”
“Interesting, isn’t it? Not sure what to make of the connection. Archibald Davenport.”
“Good God.” Malcolm sat forwards in his chair.
“Yes, I know you’re close to his nephew. I leave it to you how much you tell Harry Davenport, but for God’s sake use some discretion. I know Davenport was in intelligence, but we don’t need an outraged former agent defending the family honor.”
“I don’t think Harry Davenport acknowledges the existence of family honor.”
“You might well have said the same before your father was dragged into this.”
Malcolm shifted in his chair. “Who are the last two?”
“Hugo Cyrus.”
Malcolm sorted through his knowledge of past events. “Didn’t Cyrus’s brother die in the Dunboyne business?”
“He did, but he joined the mission at the last minute. Cyrus wouldn’t have known his brother was involved when he betrayed the mission. If he betrayed the mission. Though if that’s the case he now has to live with the guilt of it. Which I admit even I would find hard to bear.”
Malcolm, thinking of his brother and sisters, including the one he had lost, could not suppress a shudder.
“And the last person?”
“Dewhurst himself.”
Malcolm stared at his spymaster. “Good God.”
“Oh, that’s right. He was involved in the business in France two years ago, wasn’t he?”
“You know damned well he was.”
“I did my best to stay out of that mess. It seemed to come down to a sad tangle of personal relationships and meddling by the French authorities.”
“That was certainly the story we thought it best to put about. There was a fair amount of meddling and bungling on our own side as well.”
Carfax smoothed a corner of the newspaper. “Precisely why I thought it best to stay out of it. Besides, it all dealt with events in the Peninsula and France.”
“Which are precisely the sort of events you expertly influence. Don’t sell yourself short, sir. Suffice it to say, the events two years ago didn’t leave Dewhurst and me on amicable terms. I think it’s safe to say he blames me for his estrangement from his son.”
“But those same events should have left you with considerable leverage over Dewhurst.”
“I thought you said you stayed out of things.”
“That didn’t stop me from noting the pertinent developments. You have a hold on Dewhurst, Malcolm. Don’t be squeamish about using it. God knows Dewhurst doesn’t deserve such consideration.” Carfax shook his head. “The man was a fool. By going after Bertrand Laclos, he only roused his son’s anger. If he’d simply left his son alone, Caruthers and Laclos would have grown apart and Caruthers would have done what was expected of him as his father’s heir.”
As you’re hoping your own son will do? Malcolm bit the words back just in time. Carfax never directly referred to David and Simon’s relationship. Malcolm sensed that not referring to it was crucial to keeping Carfax from interfering. Lord D
ewhurst’s interference in his son Rupert’s relationship with Bertrand Laclos two years ago had crystalized many of Malcolm’s fears for David and Simon.
The events two years ago had also left Malcolm with a strong desire to draw Lord Dewhurst’s cork, but such an action would scarcely produce the desired results. “You strategized missions with Dewhurst.”
“Yes, I know. I watched him carefully, but he never betrayed himself. Dewhurst was in and out of France all the time in the nineties and the early part of this century. Excellent cover if he had been an agent.”
“He’s—”
“One of our most prominent diplomats. Quite.” Carfax pushed his spectacles up on his nose. “If Harleton and your father knew who was behind the Dunboyne leak and the codebook could reveal that man’s identity, it’s likely that man is also behind their deaths.” He laid his hand, palm down, on the newspaper, pressing out the wrinkles. “Whether Dewhurst leaked the information himself or left his dispatch box where someone else could get at it, I should never have trusted him with the information. The Dunboyne leak is one of my worst failures, Malcolm. I’ve wanted to find out who was behind it for almost two decades. This codebook could be the break we need to unearth the agent, but it’s an investigation that will require the utmost discretion. All of these men have powerful friends. Even with proof, it won’t be easy to bring the agent to justice.”
“And accusing the wrong person could be a catastrophe.”
“Quite. Even the questions have to be asked delicately.”
“A lot of feathers could be ruffled.”
“Precisely.” Carfax tightened a spectacle piece behind his ear. “Which is why you’re perfectly placed to conduct the investigation. Whatever your politics, your pedigree is impeccable. And I know I can rely upon your discretion. Especially with your father involved.”
“And I provide you with deniability.”
Carfax settled back in his chair. “But of course.”
CHAPTER 5
“Oh, dear God.” Manon put her face in her hands. The read-through was over. Simon was beginning to block the opening scene with Horatio and the other guards and the ghost. Manon and Suzanne had escaped back to Manon’s dressing room.
Suzanne clunked her cup of fresh tea back in its saucer. Her stomach was roiling. “You didn’t know about Lord Harleton being a French agent?”
“Can you imagine I’d have involved you if I did? That I’d have involved myself?” Manon dragged her hands away from her face and stared at Suzanne. “You do believe me, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know that you’re wise to do so, but it happens to be the truth.” Manon pushed herself to her feet and moved to a cabinet with chipped gilt paint. “You didn’t know? About Malcolm’s father?”
“Dear God no.” Suzanne shook her head, seeing again Alistair Rannoch’s mocking face and the way his gaze had at once undressed and dismissed her. “I still can’t believe it. Malcolm doesn’t—His family life has been unfortunate.” An understatement if there ever was one. “One more betrayal—”
Manon turned to her, her hand on the cabinet latch. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“You’ve been nothing but kind to me, and I’ve put you at risk.”
Suzanne smoothed her hands over her sarcenet skirt to still their trembling. “We’re all at risk.”
“You have a husband.”
“You have a lover.”
Manon gave a short laugh. “I’m fond of Crispin. Fonder than I intended to grow. But I have no illusions.” She opened the cabinet and took out a brandy bottle. “It’s better not to have illusions. Not that I don’t have moments of envy when I see you with your Malcolm.” Manon studied her for a moment. “He might forgive you if he learned the truth, you know.”
“No.” Suzanne forced herself to stare into the possible future. She could feel Malcolm’s lips against her hair in the Green Room a half hour before. “He has too much integrity himself. He could never do what I’ve done.”
Manon crossed the room and splashed brandy into Suzanne’s teacup and then her own. “You sound as though you admire him.”
“I do. It doesn’t mean I regret what I’ve done.”
Manon dropped down beside her. “Drink some of your tea. You could do with the jolt.”
Suzanne gave a bleak smile and took a sip of brandy-laced tea.
“You can’t persuade him to give up the investigation?” Manon asked, reaching for her own cup.
Suzanne shook her head.
“For a woman with a besotted husband, you’re slow to use your wiles.”
Suzanne ran her finger over a chip in the gilded rim of the cup. “Malcolm and I don’t have that sort of relationship. We never did. It’s part of what I love about him. Part of what he loves about me, I think.”
“And you claim not to be romantic.” Manon tossed down a generous swig of tea and brandy.
“It’s the opposite of romantic. Romance is rose-colored glasses. Malcolm and I see each other clearly.” Suzanne took a sip of tea and brandy. “Except for the part where he has no idea I was spying on him.”
Manon flopped back in her chair and stared up at a cobweb on the ceiling. “I can’t believe Crispin’s father was a Bonapartist agent.”
“Did you ever meet?”
“Once. He came to my dressing room after a performance. Said he wanted to get a look at his son’s bit of muslin. Tried to put his hand down my dress. The usual tiresome sort of thing.” Manon wrinkled her nose. “Crispin came in and grabbed his father by the back of his coat and threw him out. An overreaction, but I rather appreciated it.”
Suzanne studied her friend. “I think you may have more in Crispin than you’re crediting, Manon. He obviously loves your girls.”
Manon’s carefully plucked brows drew together. “It’s dangerous, that. I don’t want them to become too attached to him. They’re too young to understand that he won’t always be here.”
“Are you so sure he won’t be?”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Suzanne.” Manon sat up straight, sloshing her tea. “Has love addled your brain? Forget being a former French agent. I’m an actress. Even if I had any desire to marry, he’d hardly consider it.”
Suzanne saw the tenderness in Crispin’s gaze when it had rested on Manon. “He’s in love with you.”
“A lot of men have been in love with me. It passes.”
“He doesn’t know you were an agent?”
“Good God no. That would certainly cross a line for him.” Manon gave a crooked smile. “He may not be a Crown and country sort as he says, but he’s an English gentleman. Charming but decidedly set in his ways beneath the easygoing demeanor.”
“So is Malcolm. Well, a British gentleman. However forward-thinking he is, he’ll never get past certain things.”
“Then we’ll have to make sure he never learns the truth. While evading Lord Carfax.” Manon twitched her muslin tippet smooth, as though armoring herself for the fight ahead. “Simon doesn’t know about you, does he?”
“No,” Suzanne said.
“But?”
Suzanne stared down into her tea. “I’m not sure. I’ve always found it harder to dissemble with Simon than with the rest of Malcolm’s friends. Perhaps because he’s an observer and an outsider as well.”
“I’m never sure how much he sees, either,” Manon agreed. “I’m only comforted by the fact that if he knew the truth he wouldn’t do anything about it.”
Suzanne smoothed her hands over her lap. There was a brown smudge on the amber sarcenet she hadn’t seen before. Probably applesauce. These days Jessica’s food ended up everywhere. “I know Malcolm. He won’t rest until he learns the truth.”
“The truth about Harleton and his father won’t necessarily lead him to you.”
Suzanne rubbed at the smudge out of instinct. “It could lead him to any number of former Bonapartist agents. I can’t stand by while my husband destroy
s someone who was once an ally.”
“So you’ll oppose him?” Manon asked as though they were discussing stage combat tactics.
“If necessary. What else have I done all these years?”
“But it’s different now. You left that behind.”
“One can’t ever leave it behind truly. You know that. I should understand it.” Suzanne locked her hands together, conscious of the pressure of her wedding ring. “I knew my life would be a balancing act. I have to face the fact that it may not be a balance I can maintain.”
Manon stretched out her hand. “Suzanne—”
Suzanne closed her fingers round her friend’s own. “Of course I’m terrified. How could I not be?”
Suzanne looked up at the sight of the figure crossing Berkeley Square. Jessica dozed in her lap, having fallen into a milk coma, so Suzanne was careful not to move. Malcolm opened the gate of the square garden and stepped inside. Something in his posture told her the added weight his interview with Carfax had placed on him. Her heart lurched for a host of reasons both personal and practical.
“Daddy!” Colin scrambled to his feet from the flagstones where he was lining up his lead soldiers round a castle built of blocks.
Malcolm forced a smile to his face, though it didn’t drive the shadows from his eyes. “Excellent job with the fortifications, old chap.” Malcolm knelt down beside Colin for a few minutes, conferring over the arrangement of the soldiers. After a few adjustments, Malcolm got to his feet and moved to the bench where Suzanne sat with Jessica.
He dropped down beside her as though his bones ached. “Carfax confirmed it. Apparently he’s suspected Alistair for years. He was hoping I’d stumble on proof.”
“Oh, darling.” She touched his arm, aching with sympathy, while at the same time she felt as though the square’s gnarled plane trees were closing their branches round her.
“I don’t know why—” His fingers curled inwards. “I should be used to the ground being cut from beneath my feet and my perception of reality being turned upside down. It’s happened often enough.”
Suzanne looked down at Jessica, her head tucked into the crook of Suzanne’s elbow, one hand curled round Suzanne’s breast. “It’s different with your father.”
The Berkeley Square Affair (Malcolm & Suzanne Rannoch) Page 6