Dark Angel (Lescaut Quartet)

by Tracy Grant

"Interesting," Margaret said, spreading butter sparingly on a piece of bread. She sounded as if the matter was merely an intellectual puzzle. It was, Adam knew, her way of dealing with anxiety. "Do you think you can get him to admit it to Lord Castlereagh?"

  "Provided I can get him to talk before he realizes there are no charges against Talbot." Adam took a bite of cold game pie and chewed it without tasting it. "If that doesn't work, I'll have to rely on Talbot. If I'm any judge of character, he'll try something soon. With luck he'll hang himself."

  "He'll certainly try to hang someone," Margaret said, a sharp note creeping into her voice. "But I wouldn't count on it being himself."

  Adam grinned. "I'll be careful. Have you ever known me to be otherwise?"

  Margaret gave a snort that was answer enough. She left shortly after, saying she had shopping to do, but Adam and Hawkins lingered at the table. Hawkins had been silent throughout most of the meal. Though he had taken the news about Leighton seriously, Adam knew his mind was elsewhere.

  "The man in the fawn coat was on my heels again this morning," Adam said, "so we know he didn't follow Sheriton and the women."

  Hawkins looked at Adam across the table. "Unless Talbot has two men working for him."

  "That's always a possibility," Adam admitted, subduing a twinge of fear. He knew the worry and helplessness Hawkins felt, but he could think of little to say to cheer him for he felt exactly the same himself. It was not like either of them to brood or admit to anxiety in the midst of a crisis, but then they were not used to having their women involved. "They're better off out of London," Adam said.

  "It's not just that." Hawkins stared at the litter of bread crumbs on the blue-and-white Staffordshire plate before him. "Even when all this is settled—I'm not sure what I'm going to do."

  "About Elena?"

  Hawkins nodded, eyes still on his plate. "I asked her to marry me before we left Lisbon."

  "Ah," Adam said, sipping lukewarm coffee. "That explains the tension on the Sea Horse!'

  Hawkins looked up quickly, his brows drawn together. Then his face relaxed into a reluctant, rueful grin. "Were you so sure a proposal would make things worse between us?"

  "No. But Elena's suffered a lot at the hands of men. I wouldn't expect her to be eager to tie herself to any one of us again."

  "I suppose so." Hawkins sighed. "I didn't see it that way at the time. I just knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her and I thought she'd want to spend the rest of her life with me. Now—" He gave a helpless shrug. •

  "You're afraid to ask her again?" Adam said.

  Hawkins began to push the bread crumbs around on his plate. "I'm afraid I shouldn't ask her again. She said I'm not cut out to be a husband. And the hell of it is, I'm beginning to think she's right. The sort of life we lead isn't exactly the ideal to offer a woman, is it?"

  Adam had an image of Caroline's face when she finally agreed to marry him. "No," he said in an unemotional voice, "perhaps it isn't."

  "Oh, Christ." Hawkins looked up quickly. "I didn't mean it that way. Your situation is completely different."

  "I'd say it's remarkably similar." Adam pushed his chair back from the table. "Wellington will have marched by the time we get back to Lisbon. I think he may be able to go on into France this time. In which case, it's back to desks for us."

  "But you'd still hardly call me an eligible prospect, would you?" Hawkins flung himself back in his chair. "In the Peninsula Elena didn't have anyone but me. But here—You remember the way those officers on the Sea Horse treated her. And that lawyer fellow your aunt had to dinner last week. The one who's called twice since on the flimsiest of pretexts. He was taken with Elena the moment he saw her—I could tell, because I spent that whole dinner wanting to punch him in the nose. And he wasn't just after a tumble. He treats her like a lady. Suppose Elena has a chance to stay in England and marry someone like that. Who am I to stand in her way?"

  "The man who loves her," Adam said. But even as he spoke he recalled his talk with Sheriton at Boodle's. Sheriton's interest in Caroline had gone much further than the lawyer's admiration for Elena. Sheriton had wanted to marry Caroline, even after he learned the truth about Emily. For the first time, Adam acknowledged the fears he had not allowed himself to admit until Hawkins brought them to the surface. His stomach felt hollow and there was a bitter taste in his mouth that had nothing to do with the coffee. He had told Caroline she had to marry him to give Emily a name. At the time, he had thought he was her only option. But neither of them had known Sheriton would make virtually the same proposal.

  Sheriton could not be Emily's father, but he could make her his ward. He could give her a fine house and the best teachers and a substantial dowry that would do much to take the sting out of any stories about her birth. He could give Caroline wealth and security and the fashionable life she had once lived with Jared. Save that even after their brief acquaintance Adam knew that Sheriton was a far better man than Jared had ever been.

  Adam looked out into the garden, bright with spring flowers, so different from the tangled thicket in which they were all embroiled. He and Hawkins were sitting in companionable but gloomy silence, when John opened the door, an expression of surprise on his face. "There's man to see you, Mr. Durward. A Mr. Wilkins."

  Adam did not recognize the name, but when a tall, thin man with graying hair walked into the room, he knew at once that it was Sheriton's coachman. Fear surged through him. "Where are they?" he demanded, springing to his feet.

  Wilkins drew a painful breath. He must be well past sixty and he looked like a man who had ridden as though the devil were on his tail. His coat was rumpled, his hair windblown, his breathing hard and labored.

  "Forgive me," Adam said, pulling out a chair and urging the coachman into it.

  Hawkins, whose face had gone completely white, handed Wilkins a glass of water. Wilkins took a long drink, then set the glass on the table, his hand shaking. He looked up at Adam out of dazed eyes, as if he had stumbled into a situation where he was quite out of his depth. "I'm sorry, sir. It's a long time since I've ridden that hard."

  "Where are Mrs. Rawley and the others?" Adam repeated in a quieter voice. Though every instinct urged speed, he knew he must be patient to get the story.

  Wilkins shook his head helplessly. "We stopped to change horses. Lord Sheriton got down, but the ladies stayed in the carriage. I went to see to the horses and then one of the stableboys brought me a message saying I was to fetch lemonade for the ladies. By the time I returned from the kitchen, the carriage was gone. I couldn't understand it. I was sure Lord Sheriton wouldn't have left without me. Finally, I convinced the ostlers to help me look for him. We found him behind the stable. Someone had hit him over the head." Wilkins bristled at this insult to his employer.

  "Where's Sheriton now?" Adam asked in the same measured voice. Beside him, he could feel Hawkins's burning impatience.

  "Gone after them. Shepton, he said. I was to tell you he thinks the ladies and the little girl have been taken to Shepton. He's on his way there himself. It's in Kent near Farningham."

  Wilkins shook his head again, as if he could not begin to understand what it all meant.

  "Thank you." Adam placed his hand on the older man's shoulder. "You've done admirably, Mr. Wilkins. Stay here. I'll have the cook make you something to eat. When Mrs. Wellstone returns tell her what you've told us. And tell her we've gone after them."

  Adam and Hawkins were out the door before Wilkins could respond. "I'll get my pistol," Hawkins said, starting for the stairs. "It looks as if we may need it." He paused at the base of the stairs and looked back at Adam. "He's taken them as bait, you know."

  "Probably," Adam agreed. "But we don't have much altenative to walking into the trap."

  Chapter Twenty-three

  "Good God." Edward sat back in his chair and looked across his study at Lord Palmerston. "You actually saw the letter?"

  "Oh, yes. Castlereagh gave it to me to read and asked what I
thought. It's undoubtedly Charles Stuart's hand."

  Edward passed a hand over his face. After twelve years in the House of Commons, he thought he had learned to take surprises in stride. But this news was like a bolt from the blue.

  "Did Stuart write in response to Castlereagh's inquiries about Durward?" Edward asked.

  "No, Castlereagh's letter couldn't have reached him so quickly," Palmerston said. "Stuart wrote because he heard your brother was going home on leave and he was afraid it might have something to do with Durward's return to England." Palmerston clasped his hands. "Apparently, before he left Lisbon, Durward had made some accusations against Talbot. Stuart says he wasn't sure what to make of them, but he knows Duward isn't a man to say such things lightly. In case there were any complications, Stuart wrote to express his faith in Durward and his story."

  And the story, which Palmerston had already told Edward, was damnable. According to Durward, Talbot had been involved in the fraud five years ago. And to cover up his actions, he had attempted to have Caroline killed. It should have been laughable, but Edward didn't feel like laughing. He felt ill.

  "Durward never mentioned any of this at the committee meetings?" he asked.

  Palmerston shook his head. "No. He must have realized that if he accused Talbot it would look like an attempt to save his own skin. Stuart's letter proves that Durward accused Talbot well before Talbot accused him."

  Palmerston did not add that therefore Talbot might have accused Durward to save his skin, but the thought hung uncomfortably in the air between them. Edward stared unseeing at a watercolor Dolly had painted of their children, which hung on the opposite wall. "What does Castlereagh think?" he asked.

  Palmerston leaned back in his chair, his eyes shrewd with sympathy. "He says it's possible Durward is playing a very clever game. Perhaps he knew Talbot meant to accuse him and decided to accuse Talbot himself first. But Castlereagh also says this casts some doubt on Talbot's story. He'll want to talk to both Talbot and Durward again."

  Edward looked levelly at Palmerston. He had always considered Palmerston to be a little reckless and impulsive, while Palmerston, Edward suspected, considered him rather stodgy and dull. But in years of working together they had formed a friendship of sorts, strengthened by the fact that Edward's wife was a good friend of Palmerston's mistress. Edward valued Palmerston's opinion. "What do you think?" he asked.

  "I was taken quite by surprise," Palmerston said. "It's too soon to make any judgment, but I have to admit I've been inclined to take Durward's side from the first. If Durward were a spy, I think he'd be clever enough not to get caught."

  Edward gave a curt nod. "There'll be another meeting?"

  "I expect so," Palmerston said. "Castlereagh hasn't called it yet. He'll have to tell your father first and I don't think he's looking forward to it. I think he was secretly hoping I'd talk to you and you'd tell Granby before he had to do it himself."

  "I'll have to, I suppose." Edward gave a strained smile. "Thank you, Harry. I appreciate your coming to me with this."

  Palmerston grinned. "Just remember you owe me a favor next time I'm called before the House to answer questions about War finances. Be sure to thank Dolly again for the dinner on Friday," he added, getting to his feet. "It was a splendid evening."

  Edward swallowed. The thought of the dinner party and its aftermath did not make him feel any easier about his brother. He saw Palmerston out of the house himself, then returned to his study, thinking furiously. It couldn't possibly be true. Edward had had his disagreements with Talbot, but he couldn't believe his brother would try to have Caroline killed. The whole story must be lies or misunderstanding or both. And yet...

  Talbot had steered contracts toward the foundry. And Talbot, with his position in the Ordnance Office, would have been in a far better position than Jared to arrange to bribe an inspector. God knew Talbot had never been overly scrupulous. But even if he had been involved in the bribe, shocking enough in itself, to connive at the murder of Jared's widow...Aside from the morality of it, why would Talbot have been so desperate?

  Edward shook his head. He could not believe such things of his brother. But he had met Adam Durward five years ago at the time of the fraud investigation and he was inclined to agree with Palmerston's view. Durward wasn't a plausible traitor.

  Edward stopped pacing the length of his study and stood still, aware of the pulse beating in his head. He was no longer sure what he thought, save that he was determined to get the truth from his brother. The truth, he feared, was far more complicated than Talbot had made it out to be.

  Edward strode from his study, slamming the door behind him with unusual force, and quickly climbed the stairs. He found his father and uncle sharing afternoon refreshments with Dolly in her sunny sitting room, but there was no sign of Talbot.

  "Edward," Dolly said, greeting him with a pleased smile. "Come and have something to eat. We're dining at the Templetons' and you know how late they always serve and how ghastly the food is when it does come. If Templeton weren't so important to your career I wouldn't bother going there at all."

  Edward waved aside her offer of food and did not bother to sit down. "Where's Talbot?" he demanded.

  Dolly raised her brows at his abrupt tone. Then she frowned. "He's gone off somewhere. Very disagreeable of him. I met him in the hall when I came back from my morning ride. Of course, I barely consider myself on speaking terms with him since he was so wretched to Caroline, but I did remind him he was supposed to go to the Templetons' with us and he said he probably wouldn't be back till morning, the wretch."

  For some reason, the news that his brother had left London made Edward feel considerably worse. "Did Talbot say where he was going?" he asked.

  "No, but when he said he'd be gone all night I asked if he was going to Shepton, and he didn't deny it, so I suppose that's where he is. I expect he has an assignation. I do think men might have the decency not to arrange liaisons when they're supposed to be going to dinner parties."

  Edward did not bother to answer. He looked at his father, who regarded him with concern. "Edward?" Granby asked. "What is it?"

  "I'm not sure." Edward dropped into one of the yellow satin-covered chairs grouped about Dolly's tea table. "Palmerston just came to me with the most extraordinary story."

  Granby's brows drew together. "What sort of story?" he asked in a controlled voice.

  Edward hesitated. Dolly was looking at him in inquiry. Even Anandale, who had seemed to shrink into himself after the revelations about Caroline, appeared interested.

  "Oh, don't mind me, Edward," Dolly said. "You know I never chatter about anything important."

  Edward drew a breath. "Castlereagh just received a letter from Charles Stuart. It seems that before Adam Durward left Lisbon, he told Stuart he suspected Talbot may have had something to do with the bribing of the Ordnance inspector five years ago."

  There was a moment of stunned silence. For once, even Granby was taken by surprise. Edward said nothing further. He could not bring himself to mention the story that Talbot had made attempts on Caroline's life.

  "By God, that's too much," Anandale exclaimed with sudden passion. "Can't Durward be content with ruining my son's life? Must he go after Talbot too?"

  Edward was startled by his uncle's reaction. He had been afraid that Anandale, who was so wracked with guilt over what had happened to Jared, would seize on the idea that someone besides his son might be to blame. Instead Anandale had sprung to Talbot's defense more quickly than Talbot's own father. Perhaps, Edward thought, Anandale was trying to make up for not having defended Jared five years ago. Not that the two situations were the same. Jared had undoubtedly been guilty. It was still far from clear what, if anything, Talbot had done.

  Edward looked at his father. "I think I should go down to Shepton and have a talk with Talbot."

  Anandale pushed back his chair. "I'll come with you. Got to stand by the family at a time like this."

  "I think I'd best co
me as well," Granby said in a quieter voice. "I should talk to Castlereagh, but I want to hear Talbot's side of the story first."

  Dolly looked at the three men, now all on their feet. "I suppose this means none of you are going to the Templetons'. I shall have to spend the evening making excuses for you. I do hope Talbot has a good story to make up for all this trouble."

  Edward walked to the bell-pull to ring for the carriage. "So do I," he said grimly.

  Sherry leaned over his horse's neck and urged the animal to a faster pace. Clouds of dust filled his nostrils and he could feel the sweat dripping down his face. The steady pounding of the horse's hooves was a constant dirge, reminding him of his own criminal stupidity. If he hadn't been so self-confident, so damnably sure that Talbot wouldn't try anything in the peace and tranquility of England, Caroline and Elena and the child might be safely in Sussex. Burning, incredulous anger filled Sherry at the audacity of what Talbot had done. Though he had taken Durward's story about Talbot seriously, he realized that he hadn't fully believed it until now.

  From the moment he recovered consciousness at the inn and realized Caroline and the others had been taken, Sherry had been too overwhelmed with fury and self-reproach and the need for action to think beyond the fact that Talbot must be behind the abduction and that he had most likely taken the women to Shepton. Now, as familiar landmarks told him he was nearing Talbot's estate, Sherry began to consider his approach once he got there. According to Durward, Talbot believed Durward, not Caroline, was the threat now. So Talbot must have taken the women to lure Durward to Kent. In which case, Talbot would want to keep them quiet somewhere until Durward arrived. In an upstairs bderoom perhaps? Or—of course. The gamekeeper's cottage.

  It was still called the gamekeeper's cottage, though it hadn't been used by a gamekeeper in years. Talbot had turned the small building into his own private retreat, outwardly plain, inwardly secure with all the luxuries, a convenient place to meet a married lady with a jealous husband or a country girl with an inconvenient family. Talbot could put the women there and then wait comfortably at the house for Durward. Sherry realized that by sending word to Durward he might have inadvertently led him into a trap. But Durward would not arrive unprepared. With any luck, Sherry would be able to rescue the women before he got there.