“Game? Game? This is no game! It is not some diplomatic conundrum for you to mull over a drop of port at the club! This is my life, the lives of my wife and children that are at stake. You know, you know of what that creature is capable, what she did to-to Jane, to our-our unborn child! You know she came close to killing her own son all to get my singular attention. She is a murderer of innocents, a procuress of abortifacients for others. She is a-a she-devil who, given a knife and opportunity, would willingly murder three little children! Do you have no feelings, no understanding of—”
“That’s enough!” Sir Antony growled, furious. “Do not utter another syllable until you have taken stock of what you have just uttered. I grant you your genuine fear for your wife and children but do not—do not ever—question my feelings or my loyalty!”
The nobleman needed a large dose of common sense and Sir Antony was going to give it to him, whether he wanted it or not. To that end, he did the unthinkable, something so out of character for a man who prided himself on being a gentleman with impeccable manners that the Earl was too shocked to put up any resistance.
While Salt gaped at him, stunned at such an uncharacteristic outburst, mulish and immobile, Sir Antony grabbed a handful of his cousin’s silk banyan and tugged him forward. And once the Earl’s feet were moving, he took hold of his upper arm and marched him to the furthest corner of the book room to stand beside a library ladder. They were in line of sight of the Countess, if she turned in the wingchair and looked over her shoulder, which she did, but, if they kept their voices level, they were out of the range of her hearing every word uttered.
Salt was so unaccustomed to having his immaculate person manhandled—no one had ever attempted it—and his conversation bluntly terminated, and by the mild-mannered Sir Antony, no less, that when his cousin let him go and presented his argument, he just stood there, silent, incredulous but listening.
“Hear yourself, Salt! Think before you proclaim in front of the mother of your children. We all know what Diana has done and what she is still capable of doing. We know she is the devil incarnate, walking amongst us, who will stop at nothing, nothing, so that she can be with you. She has no feelings, no soul worth saving. Jane is being brave for your sake, you oaf. Within, she must be terrified and crumbling. She has three little ones to protect—all healthy and thriving, and yours. And how do you respond to her loyalty and bravery? You advocate murder yourself!”
Sir Antony lifted a hand and dropped it again, gathering his thoughts, pleased his cousin remained silent with his hands thrust in the pockets of his banyan, face taut, but attentive nonetheless.
“My need for justice, to see Diana out of your life and mine forever, is as great as yours,” he continued. “If I were conscienceless, if I had a shred of my sister’s malevolence, I would have remained in ’Petersburg where I had grown accustomed to my lot. That you dare question my feelings, and thereby my loyalty, cuts to the quick. Yet I understand what prompted it, and thus will ignore it. You are not alone in this. You have friends and family who will gladly give you their support, those of us who made that pledge. But first you must stop being so bloody-minded and emotive about Diana. And you must enlist the support of those who can help you play Diana at her own game.”
The Earl raised an eyebrow in skepticism.
“So simply choking the life out of her would not end my troubles?”
“I don’t doubt you could and would do it. You almost succeeded four years ago,” Sir Antony replied. “It provides a solution and a certain satisfaction… For all of about five minutes…” When the Earl frowned in incomprehension, he smiled to himself, but explained flatly, “Perhaps you would get away with it, too. Diana would be dead, Jane and your children safe. But you could never lay your head gently on a pillow without your dreams being consumed by what you had done, and its implications. You are too honorable a man. You would quickly realize that you, too, are a murderer, and thus no better than the murderess you killed. And your waking hours would be consumed with the anxiety, that one day your children, Ron and Merry, too, would discover what their Papa had done, what he had become. You would worry yourself sick wondering if Jane loved you as she had before you became a murderer—”
“Yes, all right! I have your mental image fixed firmly in my head, thank you!” Salt grumbled, hunching his shoulders, head momentarily turned to the bookcase. When he remained silent, Sir Antony continued,
“And if you did not get away with it, if you were caught and put on trial for Diana’s murder—”
The Earl’s gaze snapped back to Sir Antony, and if his close-shaven cheeks had been flushed with the embarrassment of truth in what his cousin proposed would be his life if he did murder Diana St. John, they were now purple with anger at this further, and to him, outrageous suggestion.
“No one would dare!”
Sir Antony cocked his head, regarding his cousin with a small smile, not surprised a nobleman of his rank and fortune would smart at such a scenario, yet surprised that his supreme arrogance made him so naïve to the ways of the wider world.
“You think not…? Perhaps no one of our society would dare accuse you of murder,” Sir Antony replied calmly. “I realize you can only be tried by your peers. But there are only a handful of persons who know Diana for a murderess, so you tell me if there wouldn’t be an outcry by the general populace to see justice done a woman, your kinswoman, killed by your own hand. Your family name, your rank and position, all would work against you. That you married for love and one of the most beautiful women in the Kingdom, who has an infant at her breast, and two other small children, whom Diana hated with a mania, provides fodder for the newssheets. You couldn’t keep the crowds away from such a trial. No matter the judge and jury are exclusively your peers. The masses would welcome the pronouncement that Magnus Vernon Templestowe Sinclair, fifth Earl of Salt Hendon, is hereby charged with the willful murder of—You get the idea.”
“Yes, I do. Thank you!”
“Then you must surely realize there is more at stake here than the preservation of your family’s honor. During any such trial, your defense counsel will do whatever it takes to have you acquitted by whatever means necessary. I do not doubt they would use the insanity card. They would have no hesitation in airing in public all of Diana’s foul deeds. You and I know there are women of our society who sought out Diana for her remedies when they found themselves with an unwanted pregnancy. Whatever their reasons for ridding themselves of an unwanted child, it was unwanted and Diana helped them get rid of it. Such sensational evidence would gain you sympathy from the bench but alienate you from your fellows; it would be seen as a betrayal of trust.
“You would be acquitted by virtue of insanity but be a pariah amongst your own fellows. There would also be that tiny speck of doubt in the minds of your relatives and friends, if you have any left, that maybe, just maybe, you are mad. Jane and your children would be vilified, your blood and your memory forever tainted for generations. No chance of your portrait hanging in any ancestors’ gallery. No one would speak your name. Is that how you see your legacy to your son and heir when he inherits your title?”
The Earl shook his head, eyes fixed on his Countess, who was sipping at her cup of tea, head turned away to the little leaping flames in the grate. He heaved a great sigh, as if defeated by his cousin’s words, and took a moment to digest the consequences as suggested to him. Finally, he tore his gaze from Jane.
“What do you suggest?”
“We must include Jane in our deliberations,” Sir Antony told him, avoiding the question for the time being.
Linking arms with his cousin, he walked him back to the fireplace where he picked up the silver teapot off its warming stand. There was just enough tea brewed without the need to call the butler for a fresh pot.
“Tea?” he asked the noble couple and when they declined, poured out a fresh cup for himself.
Salt refilled his wine glass with claret, an eyebrow raised at his cousin. “Thi
s newfound abstinence and preference for tea… A ’Petersburg affectation?”
“Ha! You have found me out!” Sir Antony took a sip of his tea, which was adequate but not quite up to what his sensitive palate now demanded in a brew, and added with a sad smile, “When this business with Diana is over with I will confess all… Caroline has the right to be told first…”
The Earl and Countess shared a glance, and when Jane smiled knowingly at her husband he had the feeling that again, where matters stood between Caroline and Sir Antony, he would be the last to know. As he had no wish to discuss their volatile history there and then, he returned the conversation to the problem of Diana, willing to listen to whatever his cousin was about to suggest, having no thought but murder on his mind.
“I want you to send for Tom Allenby and Rufus Willis: Tom to stay close to Jane and the children; Willis to keep a keen eye on the household comings and goings. Their arrival here will not seem out of the ordinary, particularly when you have the masquerade ball at the end of the week,” Sir Antony explained. “You both must carry on with your daily lives as if Diana did not exist. You owe it to your children and family to do so, and, more importantly, any change in your routines would alert Diana and she may change her plans accordingly.”
“You know her plans?” Jane asked.
Sir Antony shook his head. “Not yet. I hope to discover that from others. I have instructed a thief-taker to be her shadow. She cannot move without it being reported to me. But Diana is clever. Much cleverer than I, and therein lies my strength.” He smiled wryly. “She has always been the more intelligent of the two of us. Ever since childhood, she has never let me forget it. And because of that, her self-confidence will be her undoing. While I remain the suitably stupid younger brother in her presence, she does not suspect me, nor does she think me capable of comprehending her machinations—”
“It is not true that you are not clever!” Jane argued, annoyed by his self-deprecation. “You have always been quick to understand people. You are highly sensitive to how people feel, which is a far superior attribute to my way of thinking than possessing an intellect that hypothesizes and strategizes or pontificates but gives no thought to another’s wishes and wellbeing.”
“It is pointless to argue with her ladyship,” the Earl said when Sir Antony turned pink with pleasure at the Countess’s spirited defense. “Jane’s way of thinking is always sound. So is yours. I shall have Rufus Willis brought up to town at once. Tom has accepted his invitation to attend the masquerade ball.” Salt smiled thinly. “He would not forfeit watching you squirm under the weight of your new title and sash for anything. His words—not mine! Besides, he said he wants the opportunity to beat you at a game of tennis. Although…” He looked Sir Antony up and down. “I do believe Tom will lose, and I shall forfeit fifty pounds.”
“Magnus!? You did not wager against Antony to win?”
“It’s your brother who stands to gain,” the Earl retorted good-naturedly. He shrugged and looked momentarily sheepish. “I’d not have done so had I the benefit of seeing Antony before I put down my blunt.”
“Then I shall give you the opportunity to win back your fifty on the tennis court before Tom’s arrival. I need the practice,” Sir Antony said good-naturedly, adding quietly, a glance at Jane, “Salt, when Willis arrives, have him look into your household. Diana stopped in Hendon the day of Sam’s birth, on her way to London. As Diana does not breathe without purpose, there has to be a reason she was lurking so close to the estate.”
He returned his empty cup and saucer to the tea tray then addressed the Earl.
“There is no easy way to ask this, so I shall just come out with it. I want you to invite Diana to the masquerade.”
SEVENTEEN
‘WHAT?” the Earl thundered.
“Antony, how can you make such a request?” Jane asked, distraught. “You know I cannot allow into my-my home a woman whose only purpose in life is to-to harm my children!”
Salt pulled Jane into his embrace, and when she turned her head into his shoulder on a shudder, he held her closer and put up his chin at his cousin.
“You have your answer.”
Sir Antony mentally sighed. He understood only too well that what he was asking of them was distressing in the extreme, but he was also convinced the course of action he had decided on was the right one, and the only way they would discover his malevolent sister’s plans.
“Diana’s weakness is her conceit,” Sir Antony explained patiently. “She will accept your invitation because it will give legitimacy to her claims that she has returned from the Continent forgiven by you, and because such an invitation is clear evidence that you want her here. She will be so consumed with this idea, and the fact she has won a small victory over Jane, that she will let down her guard that evening in her efforts to show you how very necessary she is to your life and political success.”
“That is not reason enough to allow that creature within the orbit of my wife and family. And if that is the best you have to offer in how to deal with—”
Sir Antony met his cousin’s gaze without a blink.
“If you do not invite her you will create the sort of scandal you abhor. Society has welcomed her back with open arms. Society will expect her to be in attendance at the social event of the year. She is your cousin. More particularly, her brother, a newly-created Viscount, is to be honored by the Russians. Her absence will raise more questions, and needless gossip, than you are prepared to answer.”
“Damn,” Salt muttered through clenched teeth. He looked down at his wife. “Antony is in the right…”
Jane nodded. She addressed Sir Antony. “Why? Why now?”
“Why has Diana chosen to escape her castle confinement now and not before?”
“Yes,” she replied. “Why come to London? Why not run away, go abroad? Anywhere is better than here, where she must surely realize it is only a matter of time before she is recaptured and reincarcerated?”
“Running off to the Continent to live free and in style holds no purpose for Diana. Her only purpose on this earth is to bathe in the bright candlelight of your husband’s political success—”
“Dear God!” Salt spat out with a grimace. “That just makes me want to be violently ill!”
“No doubt your political opponents would feel the same urge to purge by such unadulterated adoration for the Earl of Salt Hendon,” Sir Antony quipped disrespectfully, which made the Countess clap a hand to her mouth to stop a giggle. He lost his smile and continued. “Diana is utterly convinced your rise to greatness cannot happen without her assistance. Thus, while you rusticated in Wiltshire, she too rusticated in her Welsh castle, planning and waiting. And then by some means, possibly the newssheets, she discovered your intention to return to the political arena—”
“Yes, the newssheets!” Jane interrupted with a gasp, looking up at her husband, then around at Sir Antony. “Speculation on ‘a Lord S-H’s return to the political fray’ was mentioned in several articles in The Gentleman’s Magazine before Christmastime. And then, when Salt came to town on the resumption of Parliament, that, too, was reported on.”
“Just so,” Sir Antony agreed and continued. “I believe the moment Diana read in the newssheets of Lord S-H’s return to the political arena was the moment she decided it was time to break free of her confinement. With Salt’s return to politics, her intellect and her particular talents as a political hostess would be needed and praised.”
“This is all well and good, and I won’t argue with your reasoning,” the Earl said flatly, “but what possible outcome do you hope to achieve, other than quelling societal gossip, by allowing her access to my home on the night of the masquerade ball, and thereby causing her ladyship great distress?”
“Better her here, under your roof and the watchful eye of your friends and servants, than lurking somewhere close by, waiting to strike,” reasoned Sir Antony. “And she will strike the night of the ball, that I do not doubt. It is just the
sort of grand occasion that lends itself to Diana’s cunning. To everyone present it will not be any different to the balls and soirées she presided over before you were married—indeed, she did so the first few months of your marriage, too.”
“So she attends the masquerade and flits about in my shadow as she was wont to do… Heaven knows, I couldn’t turn my head left or right without seeing her out of the corner of my eye! What then? What can she possibly do with three hundred people and a dozen Russian diplomats surrounding us?”
“I predict she won’t come near either of you while you remain within the orbit of the Russian contingent. To do so would expose the lie that she visited me in ’Petersburg, and she won’t want that. And while she flits about telling all and sundry how she helped orchestrate your return to the political arena, she will be focused on keeping you within view, awaiting the opportunity to take the grand stage to present herself, convinced that once you see her, once you are both surrounded by your political friends, and given the grandness of the occasion, you will welcome her with open arms.”
It was the Earl’s turn to shudder, and with disgust. “Must I? I can’t fault your picture of Diana’s behavior on such social occasions, but must I welcome her with open arms?”
“If you did, it would be the first time in your life you ever did so, and she would see through your ruse!” Sir Antony quipped. “You must treat her as you always have done upon such occasions, with distance and disregard.”
“Then upon your pedestal you must remain all evening,” Jane said, a swift kiss to her husband’s flushed cheek. “That won’t be difficult; distance and disregard are second nature to his lordship.”
“With great pleasure shall I remain there, but only with you up there beside me, and nowhere else,” Salt responded. He glanced at his cousin. “I am more than happy to leave Antony to deal with the creature, if I can be assured you and the children will be safe…”
Jane was about to ask how precisely Sir Antony intended to deal with Diana St. John when the butler trod quietly into the room from the servant passageway. Behind him was Nanny Browne, which meant something or some little one in the nursery required the Countess’s attention, so she excused herself.
Salt Redux Page 22