by Tracy Grant
"Were your husband and his brother close?" Cordelia asked.
"They were very different. Jack—James never talks about it, but from a bit I've heard, I had the sense they'd quarreled before Jack went to India. About—"
"The duel?" Suzanne asked.
The duchess flushed but did not look away. "I'm not even supposed to know there was a duel. James can be ridiculously protective, which has its sweet side but does make it rather hard to know what's going on."
"I know the feeling," Suzanne said.
"Oh, Malcolm is quite the opposite. I can't imagine James including me in an investigation. Assuming he investigated anything. But I think the duel may have been the last straw for him when it came to Jack. He was relieved when Jack married and hoped the marriage would have a steadying influence on him. I'm sure he thought there was plenty of time for them to mend their fences. But of course, as it happened, he never saw Jack again. I think losing Jack was that much harder for James because there was so much unresolved between them." She drew a breath, as though surprised she had said so much, then smoothed her fichu. "It's odd, Jack still seems like so much a part of the family, and yet my children never met him."
Cordelia touched Henrietta's hand. "It's not easy to marry into a ducal family."
"James is nothing but considerate," Henrietta said. "Which is a good thing, as I was scarcely cut out for this. Not like Mary."
"Mary Mallinson did rather seem born to be a duchess," Cordelia said in an easy tone, though Suzanne suspected she had quite deliberately steered Henrietta to speak of her stepmother-in-law. "But there are times I haven't been sure she had the easiest life."
"I'm afraid Trenchard wasn't the easiest man to be married to." Henrietta swallowed, as though the reality of her father-in-law's death was slamming into her. "He terrified me when I first married James. I was sure I was disappointing him whenever I opened my mouth."
"He must have been pleased to have grandchildren," Suzanne said. Alistair Rannoch hadn't been, but then Alistair had known Colin and Jessica weren't his grandchildren. She wondered how Raoul felt about having grandchildren, and then flinched from that line of thought.
"I wouldn't say pleased, precisely." Henrietta took a sip of tea. "It was more that I'd done what was expected of me. I'm quite sure he'd have been displeased if I'd failed to have children. Or if I'd only produced girls. Mostly he ignored me, which was a relief. But every so often I'd catch his gaze on me, as though he was thinking I'd never make a proper duchess. I used to envy Mary her wonderful self-assurance. But I confess lately I'd begun to wonder if it all came easily to her or if she was simply adept at making it look that way."
"You think Mary was unhappy?" Cordelia asked.
"I think Mary had learned to make the best of things. Which is what we all do, one way or another." Henrietta put her hand to her head. "I don't usually prattle like this. I fear I'm not myself."
"Understandably," Suzanne said.
"You must want to ask me questions."
"It helps to get a general picture of the family," Suzanne said.
Henrietta met her gaze, as though not at all sure a general picture of the family was something she wanted to convey. "As I said, in many ways I scarcely knew Trenchard. I'm not sure mine is the best perspective."
"Do you know of any enemies your father-in-law had?"
"He was a powerful man," Henrietta said, with unlooked-for realism. "And he enjoyed wielding his power. So he couldn't help but have enemies."
"Did he ever talk about anyone specific?" Suzanne asked.
"To me? Hardly."
"To your husband?"
"Trenchard and James were hardly on terms of intimacy. And if Trenchard had confided in James, I doubt James would have confided in me. As I said, he tends to shield me from such matters."
Suzanne took a sip of tea. Drawing out confidences was an art, particularly when the interviewee had defenses up. So much had to do with creating an atmosphere of ease. And sometimes it was a matter of drawing out memories that the subject wasn't consciously shielding but that weren't coming to the surface. "You spent a good deal of time at Trenchard House, and you're obviously an observant woman. Did you ever notice Trenchard quarreling with anyone?"
Henrietta frowned as though sifting through her memories. "Trenchard would hardly quarrel in public. He was always very correct about the forms. I remember him and Lord Sidmouth exchanging rather barbed comments in the drawing room before dinner one night, but I'd hardly say that made them enemies. Otherwise, I can't think—" She broke off, frowning.
"Even the smallest detail might be of great help," Suzanne said.
Henrietta took a sip of tea as though it would aid her memory. "It was about a month ago. I'd brought my boys over to play with Mary's girls while I paid some calls. When I returned, I told the footman I'd find my own way to the nursery. As I passed Trenchard's study, I heard raised voices, though I couldn't make out the words. I hurried on, but when I was on the half landing, I heard a door slam and I looked over the rail to see a man striding down the hall, obviously upset."
"Did you recognize him?" Suzanne asked.
"Yes, though I had climbed the stairs to the nursery before I could place him. I only met him two or three times, and it was years ago, when they first returned to England."
"Returned?" Cordelia asked.
"I'm sorry, I'm prattling again." Henrietta reached for her tea. "It was Colonel Hampson, Jane's father. Jack's wife," she added, in case the family tree proved too complicated.
Suzanne tried to not betray her quickening senses. "Were he and Trenchard friends?"
"Not in the least. That is, I don't believe they knew each other well. Colonel Hampson was stationed in India when Jack met Jane. Trenchard went to India shortly after and was there for a couple of years, but he wasn't at Fort Arthur the whole time. I don't know how much he saw Colonel Hampson. Trenchard came back to England after Jack and Jane were killed in that dreadful accident. Colonel Hampson sold out and took up residence in London with his family two years ago. They dined at Trenchard House and Mary would invite them to parties occasionally, but they— moved in different circles."
Cordelia added more milk to her tea. "Trenchard thought Jack had married beneath him."
"No. That is— The Hampsons have property in Derbyshire. A very respectable family. Colonel Hampson was a younger son."
Suzanne was now well enough versed in the gradations in the English ton to read between the lines. Country gentry. Not in trade—which would have put them beyond the pale—but a world away from a ducal coronet. "Do you have any idea why the duke and Hampson would have quarreled?" she asked.
Henrietta shook her head. "They'd seemed perfectly cordial in the past."
"Did Jane have a settlement?" Cordelia asked.
Henrietta flushed, but marriage settlements, too, were the way of the world among this set. "I'm sure she did. James would know more. But all that would have been tended to years ago. And it's not as though they had children to consider. The child Jane was carrying died with her."
"And Jane was the only connection between the two men?" Suzanne asked.
"Yes, of course. As I said, they moved in different circles, and they didn't even meet until after Jack and Jane married. But the look on Colonel Hampson's face— One doesn't get so angry with someone without strong reason indeed."
Laura Dudley stared at the gray wall of her cell in Newgate. The single, narrow, high-set window, with its deep frame and iron bars. Specks of mildew filtered the light. Not that the light in England was ever very bright. Nothing like the home of her childhood. It was another life, yet if she closed her eyes she could still feel the bright, clear heat on her face.
The walls seemed to close in on her. Sometimes she had to go still and force herself to draw deep breaths. She was going soft.
She cast a quick glance at the door. Had she heard footsteps? Or was it her overactive imagination? Visitors helped. They cut the monotony and the restl
ess, relentless bombardment of her thoughts. They broke through the choking, shameful panic. But with the relief came an appalling risk. Because of course they asked questions. Why had she always found too much allure in risk?
A key scraped in the iron lock. She tensed, smoothed her skirt, ran a quick hand over her hair. Who would have thought the Rannochs would become her lifeline?
And yet when the door swung open, it wasn't Mr. or Mrs. Rannoch who stepped into the room. The footsteps told her she was wrong first. Quicker than either of the Rannochs. And then the greasy light fell on the sharp, incisive features of Raoul O'Roarke.
"Miss Dudley," he said, as the turnkey closed the heavy door behind him. "I hope I may prevail upon you to grant me a few moments of your time."
"Your sense of irony is priceless, Mr. O'Roarke."
"You could ask me to leave."
For a moment she was tempted to do so. But information was valuable. And then there was the fatal allure of risk. "Won't you sit down, Mr. O'Roarke?"
O'Roarke set his hat on the splintery table, then pulled out one of the chairs and held it out for her. Laura could not resist shooting him a smile as she sank into the chair, settling her sadly dust-spattered gray skirts. An image of O'Roarke tossing a ball with Colin Rannoch danced before her eyes.
"Would you like a cup of tea?" she asked. "Thanks to Mr. and Mrs. Rannoch, I have a spirit lamp and a tea caddy with an excellent selection."
"Thank you, no. But I'm glad you're provided for." He dropped into the chair opposite her, laid his gloves beside his hat, but did not immediately speak. A tactic she was familiar with. Trenchard had frequently employed it. Yet it still unsettled her.
"I assume you've come to talk about the Duke of Trenchard's death," she said. "I've already told the Rannochs everything I know."
"I thought it might be more efficient if we spoke directly. I suspect your protective instincts have been getting in the way."
"And you thought I'd be less inclined to protect myself with you?"
O'Roarke sat back in his chair and crossed his legs. "It's not yourself you're protecting. It's Malcolm and Suzanne."
Wariness shot through her. "You flatter me, Mr. O'Roarke. But if you imagine that in the midst of my personal crisis I'm driven by concern for my employers—"
"I'm quite certain you are. You've just all but confirmed it. As someone with a more than passing fondness for them myself, I'm grateful. But it will only cause difficulties. They won't give up trying to help you. Nor would I want them to."
"My dear Mr. O'Roarke, do you know that I was put in their household to spy on them?"
"Yes, I was with them when they found the papers."
"And you think—"
"You wouldn't be the first person to be driven by guilt combined with affection."
"You're presumptuous."
"I think not." He tented his fingers on the table. "How much do you know?"
"Rather a broad question."
"About Suzanne and Malcolm."
She looked into his eyes. For reasons she could not entirely explain, a dozen lies died on her lips. She met that dark gaze, neutral and yet compelling, and found herself saying, "Mrs. Rannoch was a French agent."
He didn't move a muscle, but for a moment she saw pure fear shoot through him. Which revealed rather a lot about him and his relationship to the Rannochs. Two could play at this game. "If you've told me that so easily—"
"You were her spymaster."
O'Roarke released his breath. He scarcely moved, but she could hear the rough scrape. "My compliments. Have you known all along?"
"No. I overheard enough three months ago to make me suspicious. Trenchard confirmed the rest."
O'Roarke's fingers tensed, but he didn't look as surprised as she'd have expected. "Did he?"
"He didn't like you very much."
"You are a master of understatement, Miss Dudley. Have you—"
"Told anyone? Of course not."
His gaze held her like a vise across the table. "There isn't necessarily any 'of course' about it."
"You're the one who said I was protecting the Rannochs."
"And you admit it now?"
"I don't admit anything. Save that I wouldn't like to see any harm come to Colin and Jessica's parents."
"And yet you spied on them."
"Surely you know what it is to feel sympathy for those you're spying on."
She saw memories shoot through his eyes. "A palpable hit, Miss Dudley."
"I'm hardly in a position to blame anyone for spying." She hesitated. "I believe Mrs. Rannoch loves her husband very much."
"Did Trenchard tell you that?"
"No, Trenchard has—had—little use for either of them. But it was hardly the first thing on which we didn't see eye to eye."
O'Roarke inclined his head. She had the sense he was measuring her. "Did Trenchard tell you anything else about the Rannochs?"
"He asked a number of questions about your visits to the house."
"Did he?"
"I believe he thought you might be Mrs. Rannoch's lover. Still."
"What did you tell him?"
"That I couldn't be sure. But I doubted it." She hesitated, wondering whom she was protecting now. She drew a breath, glanced about the hard gray walls, then leaned forwards, hands clasped on the table in front of her. "But surely now you understand my determination to keep the Rannochs out of this. The last thing Mrs. Rannoch needs is to be anywhere near an investigation that could uncover her secrets."
"Mrs. Rannoch will never stay away from such investigations. Fortunately, she's exceedingly good at taking care of herself. And Malcolm knows the truth. Now."
A piece of the puzzle that was her employers clicked into place in her head. Absurd to feel such a rush of relief, as though she'd heard an old friend had survived a perilous crossing. "I thought so. Last December?"
"Given your skills at observation, it's not surprising you noticed."
"It was plain something had shifted between them. That was when I started to grow suspicious. Trenchard tried to imply Mrs. Rannoch might have a lover." She paused. She couldn't ask, but the unvoiced question lingered in the air.
"No," O'Roarke said, "not me. Not after they were married. Not anyone, I think."
"You didn't have to tell me that."
"You didn't—don't—have to believe me. But I think you deserved an answer. Or perhaps that's one calumny I don't like to have believed."
"I can see that."
"Can you?"
"It cheapens what both the Rannochs mean to you."
Once again she saw her words shoot home in his gaze, though in a different way from before. She had found his vulnerability. She should be filing it away for future advantage instead of wasting energy on compassion. But instead of probing further, she said, "Things seem easier now between them."
"Yes. Malcolm has a remarkable capacity to see things from another's perspective."
"I imagine it's still difficult for them," she said.
"And will be for a long time, I should think. Speaking as an outside observer."
A very concerned outside observer, if her judgment was correct. She should have pressed against his vulnerability, but she hesitated for reasons she wouldn't have been able to articulate. He took advantage of the pause to slide his armor back into place. "You said at the start Trenchard had you convinced you were spying for Britain."
"It helped to salve my conscience." They were both on safer ground now.
"And now you know that Suzanne and I were working for Britain's enemy."
Laura shrugged. "As I said, it helped salve my conscience; I was hardly driven by patriotism. And I could hardly blame others for a life of deception without being a complete hypocrite."
"That doesn't stop most people from blaming others."
She found herself smiling, though it hurt her mouth. "I have to draw my limits somewhere."
"Did you know Trenchard was trying to blackmail Suzanne?"
>
Laura jerked despite herself. "You're sure?"
"I found a letter he'd written to her the night of the murder."
"You—" She stared into those cool gray eyes. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised you were there."
"I'm rather relieved that you didn't know already."
"You overrate my skills, Mr. O'Roarke."
"I think not. Do you have any idea why Trenchard would have wanted a file from Lord Carfax?"
She shook her head. "Other than the obvious fact that anything Carfax possessed was likely of interest? No. Trenchard asked me for information. He wasn't inclined to confide in me about why he wanted it or what he intended to do with it."
"Which I'm sure didn't stop you from discerning things."
"I tried. But I wasn't aware of anything concerning Carfax."
O'Roarke studied her for a moment. "Who else knows about Suzanne?"
Laura wasn't sure if his use of Mrs. Rannoch's given name was a slip of the tongue or a sign that they were beyond pretense. "No one."
"That you know of."
"That I know of."
Raoul descended the steps of Newgate. A damp wind tugged at his greatcoat. Ironbound wheels clattered by, sending up a spray of muddy water from the gutter. A newsboy hawked a paper in a hoarse voice. A law clerk pushed past him, shoving papers into a sheaf of foolscap. Part of his mind noted his surroundings as he had trained himself to do, but shock glazed his senses. He prided himself on being a hardheaded realist prepared for the worst to happen. But it was one thing to tell oneself that. And quite another to actually confront the reality.
His hands had curled into fists. Stupid. This was no time to give way to sentiment. He had to keep his wits about him. If he'd managed it after Waterloo, he could manage it now.
He grimaced as he skirted two tradesmen arguing on the street corner. Not the best analogy, perhaps. But he'd managed to see to the safety of most of his agents after Waterloo. He could do damage control now.