She had met only one man who could make her pulses race, and he could do it just by being near.
St. Mars sat very still while she elaborated her theory. Coming to the end, she was conscious of how close they were sitting. His body warmed her side, when the other was chilled. Certain that her voice would begin to waver or even grow hoarse if she did not use it for something very practical, she asked, “Do you think I am being fanciful, my lord?”
“No, I find you as clear-headed as ever, Mrs. Kean. It is highly plausible that the murderer arranged for a harlot to keep your cousin busy so he would return late to the box. And he could have made Mayfield spill his drink quite easily. The only question is, what can we do to prove this theory?”
“I wondered if the woman might not be found. She could tell us who paid her to distract Dudley.”
St. Mars did not sound amused when he said, “I hope you are not suggesting yourself for this task.”
“No. And I am persuaded that it would be fruitless, for the woman could be paid to lie as well. I had another thought, though.”
“You want me to visit every brothel in London, and ask every whore if she engaged in a certain tasteless act with Mr. Dudley Mayfield?”
“Of course, not!”
He feigned a sigh. “Well, I am relieved to hear it. I doubt that such a mission could be accomplished in the years that I have left. What is this other idea of yours, then?”
“It would serve you right if I refused to tell you! And I should, if it were not that I cannot handle this myself.
“At the inquest,” Hester continued in a dampening tone, “I was almost certain that Colonel Potter was lying when he said that he did not see Dudley spill the wine on his coat. When the Lord Chief Justice asked him about it, he hesitated, as if he had to decide whether or not to tell the truth.”
“You think he saw the person who caused the spill and was trying to leave them out of the trouble?”
“Either that or, perhaps, he caused it himself.”
“Hmm.” He sounded doubtful, but then he sighed. “Well, I suppose the only way to get the answer is to ask him.”
“But how can I? I never see him.”
“Not you, my dear Mrs. Kean! You cannot think I meant for you to accost him—during his prayers or otherwise. You can leave Colonel Potter to me.”
“But how will you get him to tell you?”
“By holding a sword to his throat. It worked remarkably well before.”
Hester choked on her shocked gasp of laughter. “I should think it would. You will be sure to be careful, won’t you, my lord?”
“I shouldn’t dream of allowing myself to be hurt. But—” And here, a note of curiosity entered his voice— “Mrs. Kean, why have you not said anything about Sir Humphrey’s other guest, Lord Lovett?”
An unpleasant warmth invaded Hester’s neck and face. She had not prepared herself for his question. “I suppose that’s because I don’t have anything of importance to say.”
In the darkness of the abbey, St. Mars leaned forward to peer into her eyes, and Hester was grateful for the poor illumination that hid her blush.
After an uncomfortable pause, he said, “I do not see why Lord Lovett should be exempt from any suspicion.”
Again, there was that curious note in his voice, along with another, which was cooler. It made her feel as if a wall had come between them.
“There is no reason,” she said, “although I will admit that I find it harder to see Lord Lovett in the role of murderer than the other gentlemen involved.”
“Even your cousin?”
Hester gave a start, then reflected before she said, “Yes, I am afraid that is so. Sir Humphrey was a near friend of Lord Lovett’s. He was most distressed by Sir Humphrey’s death.”
“Yet, if Sir Humphrey did become aware of Lovett’s and Potter’s plans, his knowledge would have been of equal danger to both.”
Hester took a deep breath. “Yes, of course.”
“Then, what can you tell me about Lord Lovett’s movements? Could it be possible that the two men contrived Sir Humphrey’s death together?”
Hester drew in a quick breath. “They did return to the box together.” Her mind struggled with this distasteful notion. “But that could exonerate them as easily as prove their guilt.”
“True. Why don’t we go over what we know? Menzies said he saw Lovett, standing outside the curtain of the ladies’ withdrawing area. That would have been before Dudley made his way down the stairs.”
“He was waiting for Isabella. He escorted her from the box.”
“Then, why did he not return with her?”
Hester tried to remember. “At the inquest, I believe he said something about stepping away to speak to a friend. Both he and Colonel Porter testified that they met up with each other just before returning to the box.”
St. Mars leaned back and stretched one arm along the back of the pew. He seemed to study her profile. “Then, Lovett would appear to have some time unaccounted for.”
“They all do. We only have their statements that they were engaged with something else at the moment of the murder. That is why it is so hard to prove anything.”
“Lovett could have waited outside the withdrawing area until your cousin Dudley disappeared down the stairs. Then, he could have found Sir Humphrey and slipped behind the curtain where he was standing, waiting for a chance to stab him through it.”
The scenario he painted made Hester very uneasy. It was possible. But the thought that she might have been kissed by a murderer was too terrible to contemplate.
“Colonel Potter would have had the same length of time. I still should prefer to believe it was he.”
St. Mars was rigidly silent. “Should you?” He hesitated, then asked, “May I inquire why?”
Hester groped for a logical reason she could give. “Lord Lovett behaved very well after the murder. He took care of everything, even though he was quite upset by the loss of his friend. And, since then, he has tried to be helpful, even giving me counsel about Dudley, when I think he truly believes that Dudley is guilty.”
“What sort of counsel has he given you?”
She found herself unable to be specific. “I cannot recall any one piece,” she said. “But he is the only person who seems to care whether Sir Humphrey’s murderer is caught, except Dudley, of course, who only wants to be acquitted. I did mention to his lordship the possibility that Dudley’s harlot might be found, but he pointed out how untrustworthy such a witness would be. You would not disagree with that, yourself, I’m persuaded,” she added defensively.
“No. But just because Lovett has a good reason for discouraging a particular line of inquiry does not rule out other motives for doing so.”
St. Mars was right, Hester had to acknowledge. But if Lord Lovett were the murderer, why would he continue to discuss it with her when it appeared that no proof would ever be found?
She posed this question to St. Mars, but his answer made her even more unhappy. “Perhaps he simply wants an excuse to be with you.”
Hester denied it, but her voice lacked conviction enough to convince St. Mars. He seemed almost to retreat from her, but all he said was, “I shall try to corner Colonel Potter again and find out who spilled the wine on Mayfield’s clothes. If he can tell us, we’ll have a better idea of what to pursue next.”
Hester agreed with him, and secretly resolved to be impartial where Lord Lovett was concerned. She might even ask him whom he had spoken to during the critical portion of the interval.
There was no more to discuss at the moment. Before they stood to go, St. Mars asked her if he could send Katy again as a messenger soon without arousing anyone’s suspicions.
“I suppose I can tell Rufus to fetch me if she comes again. I can tell him that my aunt was delighted with the quality of her strawberries. That should be reason enough. Since my aunt would never speak with any servant long enough for the subject to arise, she will never have an occasion to deny i
t.”
“Then, as soon as I have anything to tell you, I’ll send her again.” He paused. “I hope there was nothing about her that offended you?”
“No, not at all! I found her very obliging. A little shy at first, perhaps, but as soon as she got over being afraid of me, she became quite cheerful. Why do you ask?”
St. Mars seemed to ponder this, before replying, “It occurred to me that she was troubled by something last night, and I wanted to be sure it had nothing to do with the errand. But I have the feeling that it had to do with Tom, who escorted her back.” He grimaced. “I shall probably have to speak to him. You would think that an outlaw would be free of domestic problems, wouldn’t you? And yet, here I am, with only two servants, and I have to concern myself with their problems. I never had this trouble at Rotherham Abbey.”
Hester could not completely stifle her laugh. “You will have to engage a housekeeper to protect you.”
“That’s what I thought Katy was! Now do I have to hire a dueña for my housekeeper?”
Hester felt better that he could speak of Katy with such detachment. She had tried to tell herself that she had no right to be distressed by how pretty his servant was, but the truth was that it had taken a good bit of her self-respect to hide her jealousy from the woman, though Katy’s timidity had helped her overcome such unworthy feelings.
As they stood to part, she remembered the news she had meant to tell him. She put a hand on his sleeve and he turned.
“Pardon me, my lord, I almost forgot—I do not know if you have heard the news, but Lord Oxford was taken to the Tower by the Usher of the Black Rod.”
She heard his sharp intake of breath.
St. Mars looked extremely grim. She had scarcely ever seen his features look so harsh. “If they’ve taken Oxford,” he said, “then Ormonde will be next. I feared it would come to this, but Ormonde did not believe that they would dare. Walpole must have more support than he gave him credit for.”
“From what I have heard, that was why he released the report from the Committee of Secrecy yesterday. He had to convince the public that there was good reason for these arrests. Since Mr. Walpole began his accusations, there have been such disturbances outside his house, that he has been afraid for his own safety.”
As she spoke, St. Mars went as tense as a wire. Hester regretted having to give him such unsettling news.
“I hate to bring you bad tidings, my lord.”
“Not at all.” His manner was distracted. “I am very much obliged. I might never have heard it, otherwise.”
He mused, before saying, “I am afraid this will delay my errand for you, Mrs. Kean. I must make a journey to Richmond.”
“Must you, my lord?” Hester did not care if he could hear her fear.”
“Yes. I will not abandon our investigation without informing you, though. And if I must, it won’t be forever. It may only be delayed.”
“That is not my greatest fear, my lord.”
“It should be. And I forbid you to have any other.” He raised her hand to his lips, gave her a solemn look that spoke goodbye, then left before she could respond.
As Hester watched him vanish into the gloom of the nave—walking in a very un-foplike stride—she prayed that he would not run straight into danger.
Chapter Nineteen
Hope humbly then; with trembling pinions soar;
Wait the great teacher Death; and God adore.
What future bliss, he gives not thee to know,
But gives that Hope to be thy blessing now.
Hope springs eternal in the human breast:
Man never Is, but always To be blest:
The soul, uneasy and confined from home,
Rests and expatiates in a life to come.
I. iii.
Gideon set out for Richmond just before dusk. He rode Looby, since Penny would be too noticeable. He did not bother with an elaborate disguise, but did take Tom along, in case he needed him to approach the house.
They took the Wandsworth Road as far as Putney Heath, then headed across country, keeping an eye open for cover, should they need to hide.
Richmond was a sleepy country village on the south side of the Thames. In centuries past, it had been a major centre of court life, but Henry VII’s royal palace had been taken down, with little remaining except a lodge, which the Dukes of Ormonde had acquired for a country residence to be near Windsor Castle and the Palace of Hampton Court.
Given Lord Oxford’s arrest, not to mention the attacks on his family that Ormonde had spoken of, Gideon was afraid that the government might have sent troops to the area to keep the Duke from fleeing. Running into them would pose a risk to him as well, but he reckoned that few common soldiers or even officers would be likely to recognize the Viscount St. Mars. If a King’s Messenger had been sent to take the Duke into custody, it was more possible that he might be recognized, which was why he had been forced to wait all day before leaving. And, just in case, he had Katy deck Tom in a tradesman’s jacket and wig, and Gideon wore a smock to pass as Tom’s servant.
This was the first time that Tom had been subjected to the discomfort of a wig, and he made his displeasure heard more than once during their hasty ride.
“If you do not stop pulling and tugging at it,” Gideon told him, after they had ridden half the distance, “you’re going to knock it askew, and then no one will believe you’re the master.”
“I’ll tell ‘em I’ve picked up some lice,” Tom growled. “That’s what it feels like.”
“Well, now I hope that you have an appreciation for the suffering I’ve been made to endure since my boyhood.”
Gideon had been grateful for the distraction of the wig, but as they drew closer to Richmond, he ignored Tom’s squirming. His groom grew silent, too, as the dense forest of Richmond Park loomed ahead.
They pulled up their horses to scan the perimeter of the trees for signs of troops, but there were none. “If no one stops us, I shall ride with you to within sight of Richmond Lodge. If all looks safe, I want you to go up to the house. You must tell the porter that you have a message for the Duke, concerning his cousin Jonathan. They should show you in, and once you are alone with Ormonde, tell him that the Viscount St. Mars is waiting in the woods to hear his orders.
“Then, if he wants to see me,” Gideon continued, “have the porter wave a candle slowly back and forth from a window that I can see. Have you got all that, Tom?”
“I think so, my lord.” Tom made one last adjustment of his wig, but his face was set in an anxious frown. “But it seems a very havey-cavey way of doing things to me.”
“I know. But they haven’t left me with much choice. If you run into anyone who might be an officer of the Crown, just pretend to be the Duke’s chandler come to collect on a bill. He will send you away, but try to find out what’s happened to his Grace before you return to me.”
“Ay, my lord.”
They circled the park, where darkness had fallen. Gideon had hunted in Richmond Forest more than once, but they were prevented from entering it by the palisade that secured the game. The trees were rustling in the strong evening breeze, so loudly that it was good they had no need to talk. They walked their horses slowly and close to the fence, so as to make no unnecessary noise, and occasionally surprised a group of deer grazing near it. When the deer bolted, heads up and tails flying, their small hooves beat a soft tattoo against the compost-covered ground.
No soldiers were yet in evidence, but that did not mean that the Duke was safe. Gideon could imagine that the King would be reluctant to send troops for Ormonde when he was so popular with the men. It would be expected that he would go quietly and legally, though, if the King’s Messengers came for him.
Still, when they had ridden to the other side of the park and first saw the Lodge in front of them, he found it oddly quiet. Hardly a candle appeared to be lit. He wondered if he might have been too late, for if a Messenger had come for his Grace in the afternoon, Gideon would have ha
d no way of knowing.
He halted just outside. After watching the house for signs of activity, he sent Tom on his errand. He kept a close watch on him until he disappeared behind the gatekeeper’s house, then waited for a signal.
Gideon had resigned himself to a possible wait of even hours before the Duke was able to see him. He was worried, then, when Tom reappeared only a minutes later and came riding straight for him. He gave no sign of alarm, but neither did he beckon, so Gideon waited with mounting unease for Tom to reach his side.
“He’s gone,” Tom said, drawing Beau up in front of him.
“Gone? Gone where?” He could not believe that Ormonde had started the rebellion, but, still, that was the thought that flew into his mind.
“The porter didn’t want to tell me, but I finally convinced him that his master would want you to know....
“He’s left for France. The man said that a letter was brought from London yesterday. His Grace gave orders for his horse to be readied, and he set out right away.”
Gideon was stunned. If Ormonde had run, it was because he had no hopes for the rising, and he must have been certain that his own arrest was imminent. “How does the servant know he went to France?”
“The groom let his daughter know that they’d be riding to Shoreham in Sussex and that he would return alone. Nobody can think of any reason the Duke would have to go there, unless he was taking passage on a ship.”
“Nor can I.” Gideon was completely at a loss. If Ormonde had truly gone south, he must not have gone to lead the rebellion in the west. But why had he abandoned the plan? For the past month, supposedly, he had been working towards putting it in motion, but his imminent arrest must have caught him still unprepared. Gideon wondered that Ormonde had not at least ridden west to see how many men he could raise. If the riots and dissent scattered over the kingdom were any indication of James’s popularity, then surely the best thing would be to strike before any more Jacobites could be taken into custody. But, in leaving them without a military leader, the Duke would insure their defeat.
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