“I asked for your help, Henry.”
Henry stood poised for a moment and then dropped his hands to his side. “I received an unsigned paper telling me that if I did not come here they would kill Agatha Beauregard by daybreak.”
“Mine told me to come here, and if I told anyone they would kill you… I… I couldn’t let that happen.”
“You couldn’t?” Henry’s tones were gently probing.
“No, I…” She stopped and put a hand out. Unexpectedly it came to rest on his chest, in between the lapels of his coat. “I… oh dear. Did you tell anyone where you were going?”
Slowly his hand came up and rested lightly on her up thrust arm. With the nub of his thumb, he stroked the delicate underside of her wrist. “No. There wasn’t enough time. How about you?”
Agatha drew in a deep breath. In the darkness her heart slowed to the strokes of her arm. “I… gave Janey a note to give to… you. If she can’t find you, she might open it.”
“Or give it to my valet Ames.”
“Your valet?”
“Hmm, yes. One of my sister’s footmen.”
Agatha drew back. He held her for an instant and then let her go. “You had someone spying on me?” She shivered as cool air hit the warm underside of her wrist
Henry bent forward. “I had to make sure you were alright. It was the only way I could look after you.” He brought his head down to hers. “It was the only way you would let me be near you,” he whispered. With tantalizing slowness, his breath fluttered across her cheeks, and then his lips captured hers, stroking, demanding, comforting.
Agatha froze, the intimacy of the situation complete in the silent shadows of the hallway. She moaned, the shades of her fears expelling with every caress.
“I want you to stay here.” He ran his finger over her lips. “I want you to stay here and be safe Agatha. I care for you, very much. I need to tell you—”
“I… I can’t,” she stammered, her world reeling. “I have to find out who has been doing this to me.”
“Agatha.” Henry stopped abruptly, choking slightly. “You can’t stay. I can’t risk you dying before I… before…”
She drew in a sharp breath and broke away from him. “Did you find Charles?”
“Charles? What has he to do with all of this?”
“He’s dead. In the vestibule. Shot… You couldn’t have missed him if you came through the front door.”
Henry cursed. “I came through the garden into this hallway. I broke a window to get in.” Henry fumbled for Agatha’s hand. “You need to get away, go home and wait for me.”
“I can’t, Henry. They said that they would kill you. I have to find out who is here.”
“At least can’t you find somewhere to—”
“This is all very touching.”
Agatha froze. Henry’s hand tightened on hers. A dim light backlit a figure that stood in the open doorway to the large recital room.
“Please come in when you are ready.” The figure flitted away, leaving just the unobstructed light shining into the corridor.
“I’ll go first.” Agatha made to leave the shadows of the corridor.
“No, Agatha please…”
Pushing up on tip toes and clasping at Henry’s hand, Agatha drew a finger down his nose. “I know you will be there for me, Henry,” she said softly. “You always have been. In my heart I never doubted that.”
“No, Agatha please…” Henry gasped audibly as Agatha stepped out of his reach and walked resolutely into the recital room.
The dim light came from a small candle placed on the conductor’s stand. The recital room seemed cavernous as the candle’s light did not quite touch the edges of the room. A figure sat primly upright in the second row of seats.
Agatha walked alone up the central aisle of seats towards the rigid figure, darting furtive glances behind her as she did so. There was no sign of Henry. As she drew closer, the person turned round.
The well-dressed form of the woman was familiar, as was the sneer that stretched across her face.
“Lady Guthrie?”
The woman inclined her head and raised her eyebrows.
“It’s not a good idea to be here.” Agatha realized she was babbling, but couldn’t stop herself. “Someone has already killed Charles, and I don’t believe they are very nice…”
Lady Guthrie’s sneer became wolfish, and yet still she remained silent.
“That’s right. They aren’t very nice at all.” The contralto tones reached out from the corner of the room, deeper in the shadows. “But then, they grew up on the streets and had no other means of survival.”
Agatha drew back and scuttled down the third row of seats as the owner of the voice appeared by the conductor’s stand, fully illuminated by the light.
“Monique!” she gasped.
“Miss Beauregard.” Monique inclined her head towards Agatha. “I don’t believe we met down in Devon when your shambolic lover tried to fool me that he was just a stable boy.”
“He is not my lover!”
Both Monique and Lady Guthrie laughed harshly. Agatha darted an agonized glance at Lady Guthrie, searching for reassurance. But Lady Guthrie only continued to look at Monique.
Agatha reached the end of the third row. From where she stood, she swiftly looked up and down the edge of the room. There were no obstructions between herself and the side door which led out to another hallway.
“He is not my lover, but I… I love him,” she said quietly, edging towards the wall.
“N’y pense même pas, do not think about it, Miss Beauregard. It would be a bad idea.”
Without Agatha realizing, Monique had skirted the edge of the orchestral area and now stood less than ten feet away in the middle of the first row. To Agatha’s horror, she also held a pistol in her hand, a wide grin stretching across her face
“You… you killed Charles?” she asked querulously. Monique laughed.
“Oh no! He wasn’t mine to kill.”
“But are you not Monsieur Herr?” Agatha looked round at Lady Guthrie for support, but the woman looked away from her towards the stage, ignoring her darting glances.
The candle at the center of the room guttered slightly, dripping tallow wax down the stand. As the flame flared, it threw Lady Guthrie’s face into shadow against the wall. Agatha looked back at Monique. Her jaw dropped.
Monique cackled. “I see you are beginning to see, Miss Beauregard.”
“You’re twins!”
“It must have been the nose, Monique.” Lady Guthrie stood and turned. She sighed. “It’s the nose each time.”
“I quite like our nose.” Monique’s pistol never wavered as she laughed.
“We’re cousins actually.” Lady Guthrie moved daintily down the second row of chairs. “I was the one who grew up on the streets of Paris, and Monique had the good life in Strasbourg.”
“You killed Charles,” Agatha said flatly. “You left him in the hall to die.”
“Oh yes. He was beginning to annoy me. He had run out of money and couldn’t even keep little Miss insipid Guthrie in check which was our route to a fortune.”
“You are the one that he said he loved five years ago,” Agatha whispered, a cold shiver grasping at her neck.
“Mmm. I catered to all of his needs, very nicely indeed.”
Celine had said the same. Agatha rubbed at the back of her neck and grimaced. She had to keep the conversation going, still having no idea why she was there. “Why didn’t you marry him when Lord Foxtone died?”
Lady Guthrie threw back her head and laughed. “Do you not get it, you fool? I’m surprised Anglethorpe fell in love with such a silly girl like you.”
“I don’t understand.” Agatha kept her eyes on Monique and the pistol.
“Charles was my primary source of information! His fall from grace after compromising you made him worse than useless. I had to find myself another government man. Unfortunately your lover turned me down. Lord Guthrie has
done very nicely instead. He tells me everything.”
Unwilling, Agatha detached her gaze from Monique and the pistol and for the first time to faced Lady Guthrie directly.
“You are Monsieur Herr?”
“Of course I am! You really are silly, aren’t you? Monique laid it all out for your incompetent lover, and yet he still did not come any closer to revealing my identity.”
Monique nodded. “We were quite surprised when they came up with the rather apt name of Monsieur Herr, weren’t we, cousin?”
Lady Guthrie nodded. “Of course it should have been Madame Frau of course. But no man would have thought of that.”
Agatha was bewildered. “But why did you involve me in your plot? Why the notes, the threats?”
Lady Guthrie drew back. “You mean you haven’t worked it out yet? You must have realized when he showed you?” She paused and threw back her head and laughed again. “Oh, this is priceless. All these years I’ve been worrying and now I find out I never need have worried at all.”
Agatha glanced back at Monique. The pistol was still trained on her, Monique’s finger resting nonchalantly on the trigger. Agatha realized she was shaking. There was something unhinged about Lady Guthrie tonight. Before when she had seen her she had constantly been in a rage, but now she was deadly calm.
“Why the threats?” she repeated. “Why draw me into this?”
“It was stupid Charles’ fault. Even though we were having an affair he did like to dally with the ladies. I had just disposed of some letters my contact had given to me at the ball. As the host I did not have much time so left the fire burning in the grate. That stupid man took it into his head to meet a little strumpet at my ball in the room where I was burning secret letters.”
Agatha gasped and clutched at the chair in front of her. The letters that Henry had shown her, the ones that forced everybody into believing she was a spy.
“I can see you now realize what you had seen. And yes, the little trollop is yourself. Of course I had to get rid of you immediately unless you put two and two together. I had no idea how much you had seen of the letters. Unfortunately I did not bargain on the spymaster general also discovering you ‘in flagrante delicto’ as well and seeing the letters in the grate for himself.”
“You knew he’d seen the letters too?”
“Of course! Why, it was so easy to shift the blame onto yourself years later. Thank you for leaving London, by the way. You helped me escape discovery so easily. It was just luck your brother dying at the same time. Saved me from following through on my note.”
CHAPTER 40
Behind the curtain on the stage, Henry’s stomach rumbled. Oh god, not now. Not now in one of the most important times of his life, when he finally had the chance to put the mistakes of the past right, to be with the woman he loved, and to whom all intents and purposes had just declared to Monsieur Herr that she loved him in return.
With the shaking tip of his pistol, he edged the curtain slightly to one side. Through the small break in the material he could see Agatha, frozen in the aisle of seating.
“But what about the gunshot?” she said, her face white. “Surely you meant to end me.”
Henry nodded approvingly. Good, let them talk, waste more breath and give him time to think of a plan.
“Oh! You mean in Vauxhall Gardens? When you were playing at being the Grande Salvatore? Charles took me to watch the knife throwing. He said that he’d asked an old friend of his to deal with you—Moreno. After the first knife throw, Moreno was meant to uncover you to the crowds to embarrass you and give Fashington a legitimate reason to jilt you. Turns out Moreno then wanted to blackmail Anglethorpe with the information. No—I was trying to shoot Anglethorpe! If you hadn’t started a bloody nodding fit with that stupid mask and put me off my aim, I would have got him. He was getting a little too close to finding out who I was. And he wasn’t useful. You were next, though.”
Henry gasped; his pistol shook slightly on the curtain. Agatha had never been the intended target at first. Although Lady Guthrie was ruthless, it seemed it would have only been a matter of time before she would have come after Agatha if she hadn’t disappeared herself. Of course Lady Guthrie had been aiming for him, how else had he been able to find the bullet so easily, not ten feet behind where he had stood?
Tightening his grip on the pistol, he shifted the curtain a little more; if he just took it half and inch he could nearly see the other two. Ah.
Lady Guthrie made a moue with her mouth and shifted in her seat. “I think, Monique, it is time to deal with our Miss Beauregard here.”
“What shall I do with her body, cousin?”
Surely the note had said daybreak? He didn’t have much time.
“I think we will leave her with Charles in the front hall.”
“Ooh, make it seem like a lover’s quarrel?”
“Yes, after all, despite my stepdaughter throwing him over, I think there is still enough coal I can stoke on the old rumor mill to persuade the ton that they were still seeing each other. Lady of easy virtue and all that.”
“What about Henry?”
With a curse, Henry drew back the pistol from the curtain and froze.
“Aah yes. Lord Anglethorpe, you can step out from the curtain now.”
Damn.
His hand shook on the trigger of the pistol. Carefully he removed his forefinger and wrapped it around the hilt of the gun. He couldn’t risk a rerun of Wales, with Agatha in the room there was a risk that she would be shot too.
Pushing back the curtain with a free hand, Henry stepped through into the orchestral area and stopped.
Agatha gasped. “Henry!”
Lady Guthrie laughed. “I was counting on your love for Miss Beauregard to keep you here. I’ve been watching you standing behind the curtain for some time.”
Of course she’d known he was there. She’d remarked on the touching scene in the hall, they would have been waiting for him to appear.
“Do you know, Monique.” Lady Guthrie scratched her chin. “I think we can expand this scenario a little further. Anglethorpe discovers Charles and Agatha together, kills both and then kills himself. At the same time he realizes that his lover was Monsieur Herr working in concert with Charles Fashington all along.”
“That makes an extremely neat story, Lady Guthrie.” Henry stepped down from the stage, the glinting candlelight reflecting off his pistol. He hoped they wouldn’t see that he hadn’t got his finger on the trigger. “But I’m afraid that I really can’t let you kill Agatha.”
Lady Guthrie looked affronted. “And who is going to stop me?” She smiled soberly. “Come on, Monique. We won’t be able to carry their bodies to the entrance.”
“Why didn’t you kill us at Berale House? I saw the footsteps in the garden. You must have been there?” Henry stalled for time.
“Berale House?” Lady Guthrie looked blank. “Where is that? Brambridge? I’ve never been there. I didn’t want to get too close in case you discovered me.” She sniggered lightly. “It turns out you weren’t even close in suspecting me.”
“What about you, Monique? Perhaps you kept an eye on us?” Henry pushed his gun further forward in his hand.
“Pah. Why would I want to get caught a second time? The first I was only lucky because of that Lassiter man being drunk. I prefer being free, thank you very much.”
Lady Guthrie waved her hands impatiently. “I don’t have time for this. Move, Miss Beauregard. Now.”
Monique slid forward, the pistol ever outstretched in her arm. Agatha looked imploringly at him, but he shook his head. There was nothing he could do to help her whilst Monique still held her gun on her. Agatha stumbled forward, down the side aisle, keeping five paces away from Monique. She shivered visibly.
There was no chance to for Agatha to escape in the carpeted hall. Monique sped up in order to keep up with her, the pistol grazing her thigh as they left the recital room. Lady Guthrie had already gone ahead, evidently to stay out of
the way of Henry’s gun.
Henry followed slowly, keeping his pistol on Monique. Why didn’t they just shoot Agatha now? Of course. They were using her as a chip to stop Henry shooting them. The sound of Agatha’s footsteps slowed as she crossed the carpet and into the vestibule.
The entrance hall was chilly; the residual heat of the day had left the building. Charles’ body still lay across the front doors as Agatha had described. Lady Guthrie merely gave it a dispassionate glance and grunted, pointing at Agatha.
“Get over there by Charles and kneel down. Monique, check that there is no one outside. Come in, Anglethorpe, and stand in the corner.”
Agatha crossed to where Charles lay and kneeled down beside him.
“Was Charles a spy too?” she asked quietly. Henry stopped as she spoke, but walked to the corner as Monique gave a jerk of her head.
Lady Guthrie pouted whilst keeping her eyes on Henry. “Of course not. He was just extremely indiscreet. He provided me with much information that I put to good use over the years. After I had satisfied him, he was always rather garrulous and hungry.”
Henry winced. “Bloody hell. The Belgian buns.”
“Of course. Such a silly bit of information. He thought he could make me laugh with a tit bit such as that without revealing what he was up to. The stupid man didn’t understand that all information is food for a spy. And it was so bloody pertinent.”
Agatha shook her head and looked up at Monique who was still checking the window. “Pertinent? Poor man.”
“Poor man? You try having an affair with a man with strange tastes for five years and still call him poor. He received everything he deserved.”
Henry looked at the still figure of Charles on the floor. He hadn’t been a traitor, just a man with exceptionally poor judgement.
“Why the Greek letters?” he said suddenly.
“I beg your pardon?” Lady Guthrie turned her head towards him.
“Why did you sign yourself with Greek letters, iota eta pi?”
“Can’t you guess, dear Henry? You mean your mathematical lover here didn’t explain it to you? I thought I was famous for it. That’s why it’s so bloody pertinent.”
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