London Gambit

by Tracy Grant

  Carfax's gaze settled on Malcolm's face. He knew Malcolm too well to deny it. "My compliments."

  Malcolm stared at his spymaster. "You must have known what the thieves were after. Why in God's name did you have me investigating?"

  "You were going to investigate in any case. And I wanted the thieves apprehended. Though as it happens, I've been able to come to an accommodation, as you apparently overheard. You can consider the matter closed."

  "It's nothing of the sort. Leaving aside the fact that you were engaged in a plot to ferret out Bonapartists in London."

  "My dear Malcolm. Even you can scarcely quarrel with getting rid of those actually plotting to restore Bonaparte."

  "There are so many suppositions in that statement I scarcely know where to start. Beginning with the fact that anyone who fell for the ploy would only have been plotting because of you."

  "But if they were even susceptible to the influence—"

  "That's entrapment."

  "Call it what you will, Malcolm, if it gets rid of a menace it's a worthwhile tactic."

  "It's a bloody waste of time, sir. It's distracting you—and valuable resources—when we have people starving at home."

  "People who might join with the Bonapartists if they aren't controlled."

  Malcolm folded his arms across his chest. "And yet you sold information to Fouché."

  Carfax's hands tightened. "I don't sell information."

  "You traded it."

  "I don't believe you have proof of anything, Malcolm. But I shouldn't have to remind you how dangerous the Elsinore League are."

  "And that justifies—"

  "They could do incalculable damage if they aren't controlled."

  "That's your solution to everything, isn't it? Control. Just as you used Oliver to try to control David and Simon and me."

  Carfax leaned back in his chair. "I had no illusions I could control any of you. I wanted to know what you were up to."

  "You were spying on us."

  "I was protecting my son—and you too—from what you might get involved in."

  "Who the hell is Julien St. Juste?" Malcolm demanded.

  "If you overheard even part of our discussion, you can hardly expect me to answer that." Carfax pushed papers together on his desk. "Let it go, Malcolm. It's what I'm endeavoring to do myself. You've done what you can."

  "I still don't know who killed Ben Coventry."

  "Who?"

  "The man your agents hired to break into Whateley & Company."

  "Oh, yes. You would care about that."

  Malcolm regarded Carfax. "Someone else was in Whateley & Company that night and killed him. And unless we're dealing with wild coincidence, I think that person was hired by you."

  Carfax adjusted his spectacles. "My dear Malcolm. You are quite at liberty to think whatever you wish."

  Chapter 38

  To all intents and purposes, their interview with Julien should be over. They had learned what of substance they were going to get from him, and to linger merely risked discovery. And yet—

  Suzanne hesitated. Raoul had moved closer to her when Malcolm left, but he hung back, leaving it to her to decide when to go.

  "You involved Flahaut," she said to Julien without consciously deciding to speak.

  "Carfax insisted. I think he suspects Flahaut's settling in Britain and marrying the lovely Miss Mercer is an elaborate charade."

  "Carfax thinks Flahaut is working for Bonapartists?"

  "Or Talleyrand. Or both. It can't surprise you that Carfax doesn't trust Talleyrand."

  "Did you send Germont to him?" Flahaut's description had sounded more like Julien in disguise.

  "No. That was one visit I didn't want to entrust to someone else. I flatter myself he didn't see through my disguise. But then you spent more time with him in Switzerland than I did."

  Suzanne saw Flahaut sitting beside Hortense's childbed, then remembered Julien, suspiciously white-knuckled, when she'd gone downstairs to tell him Hortense was safely delivered of a son. "I'd have thought Flahaut was off-limits."

  Julien's mouth hardened into a thin line. "Hortense is off-limits. Flahaut rather took himself off the list by abandoning her."

  "I think it was a mutual choice," Raoul murmured.

  "You can't seriously believe Hortense is happy to have let him go."

  Suzanne saw Hortense's drawn face when she'd managed to take Colin to see her in d'Arenberg, after Waterloo. "I think Hortense wants him to be happy. And safe." Oddly, for a moment she saw Raoul watching Laura dance with William Cuthbertson. She didn't let herself look at Raoul, but an unexpected chill went through her.

  "Flahaut could have fought for her."

  "Are you saying that's what you'd do?" Suzanne asked.

  "In the right circumstances. With the right woman. You could come close."

  "My dear Julien." Suzanne kept her voice level, though it took more of an effort than she would have liked. "I'm flattered. Though I don't believe it for a second."

  He watched her for a long moment. His gaze was at once appraising and what, in another person, might be called concerned. "I don't understand this life you've built for yourself. I don't understand your being happy in it. But I haven't come to disrupt it. If you want to dull your talents playing society hostess, that's quite your own affair."

  "Thank you." The words came out more honest than she intended.

  Julien continued to watch her. "But I presume I need hardly remind you that you're living on a knife's edge. To own the truth, I'm amazed you've managed as long as you have."

  "Is that your idea of a compliment?" She kept her voice level.

  He reached out and touched his fingers to her cheek. "I trust you have an escape plan, ma belle."

  She shivered, though she knew the words were meant as advice, not threat. Raoul hadn't moved a muscle, but she could feel him poised to intervene. "You can hardly expect me to confide it in you."

  "I'm not asking you to confide it. Merely recommending that you have one in place."

  Laura was keenly aware of the moment Raoul, Suzanne, and Malcolm had slipped from the dining room. And yet, she knew the most helpful thing she could do was pretend that nothing had happened. She went on conversing with the former major and colonel seated on either side of her, and gave the best impression she could of having her attention focused on an occasion at once joyous and solemn. She was, after all, a military widow, even if her husband had died before Waterloo.

  When the company at last rose from the table, Harry moved to her side. "Malcolm sent me a note," he murmured, under cover of giving her his arm. "He said they were obliged to leave, and if they weren't back before the party breaks up, could we see you back to Berkeley Square and wait there until they return." He gave her a quick smile. "Damnable not to be in on it, but I wouldn't worry. They're all well able to take care of themselves."

  The company moved back upstairs. As they stepped into the drawing room, Laura saw William Cuthbertson making straight for her. There was nothing for it. She owed it to him to listen. And she might be able to learn something. She smiled at Harry, released his arm, and went to meet Will.

  "I must speak with you," he murmured.

  "Of course," Laura said. "There's an anteroom through that door."

  The moment he had closed the anteroom door, Will seized Laura's hands. "I wanted you to hear the truth from me, Jane. I'll understand if you can't forgive me. But I wanted you to know the truth. I was working for Carfax in India, but that had nothing to do with what was between us. And I'd never have let him know of it."

  "I daresay Carfax could have known of it, if he wanted. There was certainly gossip. And I wouldn't blame you for seeking information. I hope I have enough understanding to know that can coexist with genuine feeling. And enough to know that at least some of what was between us was genuine."

  "Some—"

  "I was hardly free of encumbrances myself."

  "I've lied. I've done things that are dish
onorable by any compass. I can understand if you wouldn't want me to be part of your life. Wouldn't trust me to be a father to your daughter."

  Laura bit back a rough laugh. Dear, sweet Will. Even with these new revelations, she very much doubted he'd done anything as morally compromised as her own actions. "I did my own share of lying." After all, he knew she'd betrayed her marriage vows.

  "That can't compare with what I've done. But I swear to you, I came back to London because I heard you were alive. I agreed to be part of this crazy plot because I heard you were alive. Because I wanted to be free."

  "Will—" She pulled one of her hands free of his grip and put it up to touch his face. "I'm not the woman I was. And I'm not free." She drew a breath, because it seemed odd to verbalize it. And yet it lifted a weight from her shoulders.

  Confusion filled his gaze. "I didn't think—And I hadn't heard—"

  "No. I don't believe it's generally known."

  "But you're betrothed? In secret?"

  "No. And I doubt we ever will be."

  "By God, he's not worthy—"

  "You're a good man, Will. And so is he."

  His gaze skimmed over her face. "You're happy."

  Despite everything, she found herself smiling. "Yes. My life is complicated, but I am. For the first time in a long time."

  Will gave a smile that was rough and bittersweet. "How can I argue with that?"

  "Whatever you're involved in, Will, I hope it frees you to find happiness yourself."

  "I thought—but that's no matter. We must pursue it to the end. But if I'd known when she first asked me—"

  "She?" Laura took an involuntary step forwards. "Will, who was it who asked you to go to Fitzroy? Was it Maria Monreal?"

  "Maria who?" Will shook his head. "No it, was Syl—" He bit the name back, but not soon enough.

  "Sylvie St. Ives," Laura said.

  Laura rushed towards Suzanne and Raoul as they came back into the crowded Apsley House drawing room. "Thank God you're back."

  Raoul caught her by the shoulders. "What? What is it, sweetheart?"

  "Will told me. Who embroiled him in the plot to find the papers. It was Lady St. Ives."

  Suzanne went still, the pieces shifting in her head. She cast a glance round the room and saw Harry and Cordelia moving towards them. Excellent timing. "Harry," Suzanne said, before either of the Davenports could ask questions, "can you introduce me to John Ennis? Cordy, Raoul can tell you what's happened."

  Neither of the Davenports blinked or asked questions. Harry gave Suzanne his arm and took her across the room to an auburn-haired man with side whiskers. John Ennis tensed visibly at the sight of Harry but didn't attempt to evade talking to him and accepted the introduction to Suzanne with a smile that was charming, if a bit strained.

  "Captain Ennis," Suzanne said. "Did Ben Coventry ever mention a beautiful women he'd known in the Peninsula who had committed a great act of betrayal?"

  Ennis stared at her. "Good God. What does that have to do with—"

  "He told Sue Kettering he saw this same woman in London a fortnight ago," Suzanne said.

  Ennis drew a sharp breath. "It was early in the war. The autumn of 1810. Ben and I were both in Lisbon. Ben came looking for me. Tracked me down all over the city." Ennis didn't say so, but from the somewhat abashed breath he drew, Suzanne suspected Coventry had found him in a brothel. "Ben had been in a tavern. The sort of dark, out of the way place we used to pass messages. He said he'd overheard a woman passing information to a man. They hadn't said much, but he'd heard enough he'd swear it was about British troop movements."

  "Good God," Harry murmured. "that was before I got to the Peninsula, but I don't remember ever hearing anything about it."

  "That's because there wasn't much to report," Ennis said. "I went to the tavern with Ben. Made some inquiries. But we couldn't trace the woman, and Ben didn't know her name. He'd moved closer to the couple to try to hear more, and he said as she was getting up from the table, she'd looked up and seen him and gone still. But he didn't recognize her, and she didn't recognize him. I passed the information on to Grant, but without identifying her or knowing more about the intelligence she'd passed along, there wasn't much we could do."

  "Did Coventry describe her?" Suzanne asked. "Besides saying she was beautiful?"

  Ennis frowned, as though in an effort of memory. "He said she was wearing a mantilla, but he could tell her hair was fair. In fact, he said she and the man she was meeting looked enough alike to be brother and sister."

  Suzanne squeezed his hand. "Thank you, Captain Ennis. You've been very helpful. Harry can explain more." Which wasn't entirely fair to Harry, but he would manage. "There's someone I need to see."

  She glanced round the room again. Bertrand wasn't present. But Rupert, a Waterloo veteran, was. Along with his wife, Gabrielle, Bertrand's cousin. Suzanne excused herself to Harry and Ennis and went across the room to Gabrielle.

  Gaby turned from the two officers' wives she was conversing with to greet Suzanne. "Exciting to remember, isn't it?" she said. "And sad." She cast a glance about and lowered her voice. "Rupert and I may not have the marriage you and Malcolm do, but I don't think I've ever been more terrified than I was those days in Brussels."

  "Of course." Suzanne put her hand on Gabrielle's arm. "No one seeing you and Rupert together could doubt that you care for each other."

  "Life's odd, isn't it?" Gabrielle said. "I don't think on that day three years ago it ever occurred to me I could be as happy as I am today. Or that Rupert could be."

  Suzanne realized she could say the same. So much had gone wrong for her and Malcolm in the past three years and yet so much was better than she ever could have imagined. "Gaby," she said. "The Brillac family. Do you know if they could be connected to Sylvie St. Ives?"

  Gabrielle's eyes widened. "How odd," she said. "Bertrand was asking me about the Brillacs yesterday, and I couldn't remember where I'd heard the name. But then tonight I saw Sylvie St. Ives, and I remembered hearing her mother and Tante Amélie talking. Sylvie's mother was a Brillac." Her gaze skimmed over Suzanne's face. "Is it part of your investigation?"

  "I think it's the puzzle piece we've been missing."

  Sylvie St. Ives was surrounded by four of her husband's fellow Life Guardsmen. But Suzanne had long since mastered the art of slipping into a crowd of gentlemen and breaking up the conversation. Two minutes and she had them laughing at a reminiscence of a moonlight picnic in Brussels in the weeks before the battle. Five minutes and she had extracted Sylvie and was moving towards the anteroom with her arm in arm. "I know my husband spoke with you earlier this evening, Lady St. Ives," Suzanne murmured. "So I'm sure you'll appreciate why it's imperative that I speak with you now."

  Sylvie's mouth tightened, but she made no protest. In the privacy of the anteroom, Suzanne leaned against the closed door and turned to survey the other woman. She could see a pronounced resemblance now, in the cheekbones and about the mouth. "I should have seen it from the first. Louis Germont is your cousin."

  Sylvie smoothed her glove. "Who?"

  "I imagine you introduced him to Julien St. Juste. How long have you known St. Juste?"

  "Yet another name that's new to me." But this time there was a definite edge beneath Lady St. Ives's well-modulated voice.

  "We overheard St. Juste tonight making an exchange with Carfax." Julien had given her a gift with that overheard meeting. An excuse to know of him without revealing their true past connection. "The papers you stole from Whateley & Company."

  "I stole— My dear Mrs. Rannoch, I'm sure Malcolm has told you I was part of a group attempting to recover papers from Carfax, so I won't fence with you about that. That group hired Coventry—"

  "Cuthbertson went to Fitzroy Somerset who went to Ennis who hired Coventry—"

  "Precisely. How—"

  "But you were the one who went to Cuthbertson."

  Sylvie St. Ives sighed. "I suppose there's no sense in denying that, but you must se
e that that doesn't mean I had any notion of Coventry's identity."

  "I'm quite sure you didn't or you'd never have risked meeting him."

  "I beg your pardon?"

  Was it her imagination, or had Lady St. Ives gone still for a fraction of a second? "I don't know all the details," Suzanne said, "but for some reason you decided to be present for the break-in."

  "Why would I risk that?"

  "I suspect because before anyone else saw this letter of Carfax's, you wanted to see if it revealed the role you had played in the information he traded with Fouché. What you hadn't bargained on was the thief who had been hired through the elaborate chain you set up to create distance being someone who recognized you."

  "What on earth makes you think—"

  "Coventry told his mistress he'd seen a beautiful woman in London who had committed one of the greatest acts of treachery he'd ever witnessed in the Peninsula"

  "I don't see what that has to do with me—"

  "I don't think you were aware he'd seen you in London. Not then. He probably saw you passing in the street. Coventry didn't know your name, but he recognized you as the woman he'd overheard passing information to a man in a tavern in Lisbon in 1810. You were in Lisbon in the autumn of 1810. Carfax had one of his agents offer information to Fouché then. An agent known to Julien St. Juste. I think it was you. I expect you coordinated with Louis Germont, who worked for Fouché. Coventry said the woman and the man she was giving the information to looked enough alike to be brother and sister. Carfax probably chose you for the mission at least in part because Germont was your cousin."

  "You can't prove—"

  "I may not be able to prove it, but I'm quite sure the night of the break-in Coventry again recognized you, and this time you recognized him as well, and you killed him. And then took the papers. St. Juste implied Maria Monreal found them in Brook Street, but Maria denied that. It makes much more sense that you found them and gave them to St. Juste. But of course you wouldn't tell the rest of your network. So Maria broke into Brook Street thinking the papers were still at large."