“Sir,” Hannah says, “if that letter should shed any light on why my father was killed, I believe I have a right to see it.”
“I hesitate not because I would deny you that right but because it occurs to me that at least two people who knew the contents of this document have been murdered. I would not be honoring my friendship with your late father if I put you in harm’s way.”
“I am determined”—she glances at Edward—“we are determined to find out the truth, regardless of the consequences.”
Dr. Sydenham looks at Strathern, eyebrows raised. “What she says is true, sir,” Edward assures him.
Dr. Sydenham hands the paper to Hannah. “You are your father’s daughter.”
She unfolds it and begins to read. Almost at once she looks up from the page, her eyes wide. “This is my father’s report on Princess Henriette-Anne’s postmortem,” she says, amazed.
“He gave it to me for safekeeping soon after his disagreement with Lord Arlington,” Dr. Sydenham explains.
Hannah pores over the page written in her father’s familiar hand. “‘Corrosion of the stomach lining, morbidity of the liver, evidence of renal injury…,’” she reads aloud. She looks quizzically at the other physicians. “He does not come right out and say so, but his findings are strongly indicative of poison.”
Dr. Sydenham nods solemnly. “Keep reading.”
She quickly peruses the rest of the report. “My God,” she whispers.
“What is it?” Edward asks. Hannah silently hands him the report. It takes only a moment for him to discover what has shocked her. “‘The uterus is enlarged,’” he reads. “‘Upon further examination, the princess is found to be with child. Judging from the size of the fetus, about three months gone.’”
“Poisoned and pregnant,” says Hannah, perplexed. “My father lied to me. He told me himself that the princess died from natural causes, and he never said a word about her being with child.”
“I’m sure he was only trying to protect you,” Dr. Sydenham says. “He must have suspected that knowing this was dangerous.”
“What did you mean when you said Lord Arlington asked him to lie?”
“He asked your father to destroy this report and write a new one, a report that made no reference to those morbidities that indicated poisoning or to the princess’s condition. Your father refused to do it.”
“Why would Arlington try to conceal the murder of the king’s sister?” Hannah asks. “He could be sent to the Tower.”
“Not only sent to the Tower, but executed,” the physician adds. “Whoever poisoned the princess murdered not only her but her child—the child of the Duc d’Orleans and a potential heir to the French throne. A treasonable crime in both England and France.”
“Perhaps Arlington has concealed this because it is he who is behind it,” Edward remarks.
“Why are you so suspicious of Arlington?” Hannah asks.
“He is known to be ruthless in achieving his aims.”
“But murder? It seems extreme, even for someone as ambitious as Arlington. Do you believe that the minister is behind this, Dr. Sydenham?” Hannah asks. “Is that what my father believed?”
“I have often wondered about Arlington’s role in this matter. Your father did not share his thoughts on the subject with me, so I cannot tell you his conclusions. For myself, I think the minister is unscrupulous and considers nothing other than his own interests, no matter how loudly he brays about his service to king and country, but I have never thought him a murderer. Indeed, I cannot see how the death of the princess benefits him in any way.”
“You raise an important point, sir,” Edward says. “Who, if anyone, stood to gain from the princess’s death? I recall that at the time, rumors condemned her husband’s lover, the Chevalier de Lorraine. It went around that he had her poisoned in retribution for being banished from the French court. But those rumors ended once it was put about that she died from natural causes.”
“I’m sorry to say, Dr. Strathern, that your uncle helped to spread that particular fiction. Lord Arlington prevailed upon Sir Granville to write a new, false postmortem report that became the official one.”
Edward nods slowly. “In exchange for a better position at court, no doubt.”
“It appears that these murders are meant to conceal the murder of the princess,” Dr. Sydenham sums up.
“Someone is killing everyone who knows the truth,” Hannah agrees. The three regard each other soberly as the reality sinks in: they are all potential victims.
Edward reaches into his pocket. “There is something else we cannot make sense of, sir. We would appreciate hearing your opinion on this.” He gives a piece of foolscap to the physician, who carefully studies the symbols written thereupon.
“My father and the others were not only murdered but mutilated, all in a similar fashion,” Hannah says. “Their fingers were cut off in the same sequence in which they were killed. My father, being the first, had one finger missing, and Sir Granville, being the last—”
“Was missing four,” Edward adds. “The symbols you see there were inscribed on the bodies.”
“The x in the square is an apothecaries’ mark,” Hannah says.
“Yes, I recognize it. Menses,” Dr. Sydenham says, using the Latin word for month.
“Are the others familiar to you?” she asks.
“These two”—he points them out to Hannah—“look like the astrological signs Capricorn and Leo.” He hands the paper to her.
It’s the first time she’s seen all the markings together. There are twelve in all, as each body was inscribed with three different symbols. So far, if Dr. Sydenham is correct, they have deciphered only three of the twelve: the astrological sign for Leo, the sign for Capricorn, and the x enclosed by a square, the apothecaries’ symbol for month. No, menses. It’s Latin. Some of the other symbols, she sees now, are not symbols at all. They’re letters.
“Dr. Strathern, the mark on Sir Henry’s body wasn’t a cross. It’s a T. And the one on my father’s body was a P. It’s a word, or the beginning of one. P-O-T-I.” The answer seems obvious now. “Potio. It’s Latin for poison.”
Edward nods, agreeing with her deduction, then cocks his head, perplexed. “But if the killer is trying to obscure the truth, why would he reveal the method of the princess’s murder?”
“Someone who could commit these heinous acts cannot be of sound mind,” Hannah points out. “And, I’m beginning to believe, is not a man.”
“Not a man?” Edward scoffs.
“Madame Severin,” Hannah says. “When I first began treating Louise de Keroualle, she was strangely fearful of the mademoiselle being poisoned.”
“She had good reason to be fearful. She’d already seen one mistress die.”
“But she tasted my medicines herself, as if she were familiar with poisons.” Hannah pauses as she recalls a darker memory. “I thought it was the laudanum that made me faint at the dance, but I have not experienced anything like that before or since. I remember that the wine tasted strangely bitter—”
“You think she poisoned your wine?” Edward asks.
“I don’t know for certain, but she had ample opportunity.” Hannah shakes her head. “I knew from the moment I met her that she was not to be trusted, that there was something menacing about her. And you yourself said that a woman was seen at Sir Granville’s last night.”
“An accomplice, perhaps, but not the killer. If you had seen the violence done to my uncle’s body, you would not believe that it was carried out by a woman.”
“You’re going against your own precepts of philosophy,” Hannah reminds him. “A woman called on Sir Granville, and then he was found dead. I think we should at least entertain the notion that a woman could be the murderer. I would not put anything past Madame Severin.”
“But how can we possibly prove it?” Edward asks.
“I can think of only one course. The only person who may have the answers we seek is Lord Arlingt
on.”
“But you yourself said it would be dangerous to confront him.”
“But if we do not, we may never know the truth.”
“I agree with Hannah,” Dr. Sydenham says. “You must speak to him. And it occurs to me that there is yet another reason for proceeding. There are five letters in potio, five fingers on one hand. I think this killer means to strike once more.”
“But to accuse Lord Arlington of conspiring to conceal the murder of the king’s sister? We might never see the light of day again,” Edward says.
“I think there may be a way to approach him,” Dr. Sydenham says, eyeing Dr. Briscoe’s report. “Keep in mind, however, that you’ll still be putting yourselves at great risk.”
Chapter Forty-one
“SIR GRANVILLE’S BEEN murdered?” Arlington’s stony gaze shifts from Edward to Hannah and back again.
“Last night,” Edward grimly informs him. “In his bed.”
They convene in the secretary of state’s baronial chambers. It’s the epitome of luxurious officialdom, with gleaming mahogany walls and French carpets as thick as sheep’s wool yet silken to the touch. Except for the light cast by the two candles the clerk brought in, the room is draped in shadow. The smoldering remnants of a fire glow red in the huge hearth.
Hannah watches the minister closely for his reaction. Even artful dissemblers such as Arlington cannot disguise their every emotion. Beneath his impassive veneer she detects suspicion, doubt, even fear. She’s certain that he knew nothing of Sir Granville’s demise before now, but she suspects that the news does not come as a complete shock to him.
“My father, Mr. Osborne, Sir Henry, and now Sir Granville,” Hannah says. “What do you imagine all these men had in common, Lord Arlington?”
“I’m sure I do not know,” he replies indifferently. He straightens the velvet collar of his embroidered dressing gown; with the palm of his hand he rights his wig, haphazardly donned as he entered the room. “I’m saddened to hear about your uncle, Dr. Strathern, but neither of you has any business bothering me at this hour of the night. It’s only out of my respect for the deceased that I have been prevailed upon to leave the sanctity of my privy quarters and meet with you. And now it’s time to say good night.” He takes a step toward the door to his private rooms only to find Edward blocking his progress. To procure entrée to the minister, Dr. Strathern has already threatened Arlington’s clerk with bodily harm, and he has no qualms about using a similar sort of intimidation on the secretary of state, foolhardy though it may be.
“All of those men were present at the Palace of Saint-Cloud the night that Princess Henriette-Anne died,” Edward says. “As you were yourself.”
“And how would you know that?” The minister’s lips press together as if he’s just tasted something sour.
“I was there, too.”
Arlington looks back and forth between them once more, as if trying to discern precisely what they know or, perhaps, what is wise to tell them. “One word”—his head jerks toward the door to the clerk’s office—“and you’ll both be taken from here and thrown in the Tower.”
“We’re aware of that, sir,” Edward says. “Why not allow us a few minutes of your time first?”
Arlington’s head tilts skeptically. “What good will it do me?”
“It might very well save your life.”
The minister remains wary, as if he doesn’t really care to know what they have to tell him but decides he must listen. Whether his choice is based upon self-interest or political expedience Hannah can’t determine. “All right, then,” he says crossly. With his thumbnail he scratches a notch into one of the candles a half inch below the flame. “You have until the candle burns down to there.”
Hannah glances at Edward, who nods for her to take the lead. “The Princess Henriette-Anne was poisoned,” she begins, “and someone is killing those who know the secret of how she died.”
“You think that the king’s sister was murdered?” Arlington’s voice is inflected with just the right amount of haughty disbelief. If Hannah didn’t know that the minister knew otherwise, she might be shamed by his disdain. But she knows the truth, and she will not let him deny it.
“We’ve seen my father’s report on the princess’s postmortem.”
“That’s not possible—I destroyed it myself.”
“He made a copy before presenting it to you. Dr. Strathern and I have both seen it. There’s no mistaking his hand, or what it implies.”
“Where is this report?”
“In a safe place.”
“And what did you imagine you would do with it?”
“All we ask, Lord Arlington, is that you tell us what happened so that we may discover the true identity of this fiend and bring him to justice,” Edward says.
“And if I choose not to tell you anything?”
“If you do not help us, we’ll take my father’s report to the king,” Hannah adds. It was Dr. Sydenham’s idea to use the report as leverage.
Arlington crosses his arms over his chest and huffs with annoyance. “You think you’ve got me over a barrel, don’t you?”
From the sarcasm in his voice and the condescending smirk on his face, Hannah knows that their threat hasn’t had the effect they’d hoped for. Edward notices it too and appears equally uneasy. Perhaps Arlington doesn’t fully understand the peril he’s facing. “You concealed the murder of the king’s sister,” Hannah says. “Surely that’s treason.”
“It would be, if you were correct in your assumption that I concealed it from him.”
“The king knows?”
Arlington doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to—his rejoinder is evident in his eyes.
“Why would the king not speak out against his own sister’s murder?” Hannah asks.
“It is not yours to question why the king acts as he does. I suggest you abandon your inquiry. No good will come of it.”
“But this killer may strike again,” Edward cautions. “Even you could be in danger, Lord Arlington—as is anyone who knows the truth of the manner in which the princess died.” Arlington still looks skeptical, but Edward’s exhortations appear to have struck a chord. He presses further. “Do you have any notion of who may be responsible for these terrible crimes?”
Arlington sighs heavily. “No,” he replies, his voice threaded with worry and fatigue. Hannah suspects that for the first time tonight the minister is responding with candor. “So far our own investigations have come to naught.”
“Your own investigations?” Hannah says. “You too have been seeking the killer?”
“Do you imagine the king cares not when his loyal subjects are mercilessly slaughtered? Of course we have been trying to uncover the identity of this knave.” He looks at them sharply. “Don’t tell me—you already have someone particular in mind.”
“Yes, we do,” Hannah says carefully. “We believe that Madame Severin—”
“Madame Severin!” Arlington scoffs. “You can’t possibly imagine—”
“Lord Arlington, please bear with me. Madame Severin was close to the princess, perhaps closer than anyone else. I am certain she has knowledge of poisons, and therefore had not only the opportunity but the means. She had a sad history in France, of which you are probably aware. Perhaps she desired to quit the princess’s household for England but the princess would not give her leave.” Hannah thinks back to the dance and Madame Severin’s strange behavior. “I fully believe she is capable of carrying out these attacks.”
“Do you?” he asks dryly.
Hannah looks to Edward for confirmation and nods. “Last night, a woman called at Sir Granville’s—a woman dressed in black.”
“And this is what you base your conjectures on?”
“In part, yes.” How can she explain that she intuitively knows that Madame Severin is guilty of something?
He arches a brow. “It’s an imaginative tale.”
“There is more than my imagination at work here.”
“How can you be so sure?”
Arlington glances down and shakes his head, sighing. When he looks back at them, there’s a spark of anger in his eyes. “Because she was here,” he says without breaking his gaze. “With me. All night.” He waits for them to comprehend the full meaning of his words.
A guarded glance at Edward tells Hannah that he is as astonished as she. Twice now the minister has surprised them.
“Stay here,” Arlington commands. He crosses the room and disappears through the door to his privy chambers.
“What’s going to happen now?” Edward asks.
“I have no idea,” Hannah replies. “But I suspect he will never forgive us for forcing his hand like this.”
“Might he be lying about Madame Severin?”
“I don’t think so. Indeed, the first night I came to Whitehall I suspected something between them, but they conceal their alliance well with their bickering.”
They don’t have to wait long for confirmation. Arlington returns with Madame Severin on his arm. From across the room Hannah can barely distinguish her form, cloaked as it is in black, a shadow among shadows, one that’s alive with the whispering rustle of silk skirts. Steadily the indistinct pale oval of her face grows closer, larger, sharper. Both the minister and his mistress look discomfited, as if they have just had a row; and in Madame Severin’s expression Hannah detects a petulant anger. But then it’s no surprise that the mistress of the bedchamber is not pleased to see her.
“Madame Severin is not to blame for your father’s death, Mrs. Devlin, or that of your uncle, Dr. Strathern. Quite the contrary—we are worried that whoever killed them may set his sights on her too.” He turns to his mistress. “Madame?”
“I still say that telling them this is unnecessary,” she says vehemently.
“And I say it is,” he replies calmly but with no less conviction. His subsequent glance says it all—he is the king’s counselor, not she.
The Devlin Diary Page 34