by Tracy Grant
She rubbed her arms, bare below the puffed, beaded sleeves of her gown. "I'm not sure."
"Your honesty is rather terrifying, my darling."
She pulled on one of her gloves, tugging the knitted silk. "It's also the first time we've broken into Carfax's study."
He reached for his coat. "There's a first time for everything. Is Blanca watching the children?"
"Yes." She pulled on the second glove. "Though I think she regrets not being able to play a more active role in the investigation."
"We'll have to—"
Suzanne reached for her shawl. "We won't have to find anyone new if we get Laura released soon enough."
Chapter 12
"Malcolm. Suzanne." David approached them across Lady Carfax's drawing room. Instead of Simon at his side, he had a young woman with smooth, dark hair and delicate, precise features on his arm. "You know Lady Clare Townsend?"
"Of course. Your brother was at Harrow with me, Lady Clare." Malcolm shook Lady Clare's hand and watched as she and Suzanne exchanged curtsies. Clare Townsend had an old family name and a generous dowry, but had been out for a few seasons without becoming betrothed. Lord and Lady Carfax had marked her out as a possible bride for David, which was not surprising. What was a bit more surprising was finding David paying attention to her without his parents' active intervention.
"So dreadful," Lady Clare was saying to Suzanne. "Your children's governess. You must have been in a panic thinking what might have happened to them."
"It's very distressing," Suzanne said. "But we're quite sure Laura is innocent."
Lady Clare's brows rose. "I heard she was found standing over the duke's body—"
"Appearances can be deceiving," Suzanne said. "If London society teaches us nothing else, it teaches us that."
David's sister Isobel came up to take Clare off, perhaps by design. Suzanne took a sip of champagne. "Simon isn't here?"
"He was invited, but he has a rehearsal," David said. "The new Much Ado, with Manon Caret. Mama insisted I be kind to Lady Clare," he added, as though some explanation were called for.
Suzanne touched his arm. "Be careful, David. Kindness can easily be misconstrued. Particularly when one has been out for several seasons and is considered in need of a husband."
David grimaced. "I never said—"
"Sometimes appearances can be everything."
"Did you see Mary this afternoon?" Malcolm asked.
"Just before I came here. The girls were with her. They scarcely seemed to comprehend it, but I think being with them was helping her hold on to her sanity."
"I sometimes think I'd have collapsed during Waterloo without Colin," Suzanne said. "There's nothing like being needed."
David nodded. His gaze flickered between them. "Have you—"
"Nothing conclusive," Malcolm said. "I saw James, and Suzette saw Hetty."
David nodded again. "If—"
"David." Louisa, Viscountess Craven, the second of David's five sisters, appeared at their side. "Cousin Agatha just arrived. Can you be a dear and try to explain last night to her before she can spread rumors through the drawing room?"
David grimaced. "Since when did I acquire superhuman powers?"
"She'll listen to you if she listens to anyone. You have all the glamour of an only son and heir." Louisa adjusted her shawl, a black-bordered paisley. "No one is talking of anything but Trenchard's murder. I do wish Mama had canceled the event."
David touched his sister's arm. "Mama was afraid it was too late to contact everyone. And Father said it would make the talk worse if we did."
"And he knows the value of parties for information gathering," Malcolm said.
"That's Father. Always a spymaster." David squeezed Louisa's hand. "I'll do my best with Cousin Agatha."
Louisa drew the folds of the shawl closer about her shoulders. "It still doesn't seem real."
"I'm sorry," Malcolm said. "This is a loss for your whole family."
Louisa's fingers tensed on the blue and black silk of the shawl. "It's not as though Trenchard and I were close. But he was part of the family." She shook her head. "I called on Mary today. I have enough sisterly feeling to know what's required of me. But I couldn't begin to think what to say. Nothing prepares one for such a situation. For once in my life I felt Mary actually needed me, and I was quite at a loss as to what to do."
With her wavy dark-gold hair and sharp-featured face, Louisa was a pretty woman, but she had always lived in the shadow of Mary's glamour. A year apart in age, the two sisters had lived in a state of mutual toleration for as long as Malcolm could remember.
"I'm sure just your being there helped," he said.
"You would say that, Malcolm. You always try to see the best in everything." Louisa glanced round the ballroom. "I wish Isobel hadn't appropriated Lady Clare. David should be keeping an eye on her, not Cousin Agatha. Oh, don't object, Malcolm. David has to marry someone sooner or later, and Clare Townsend is at least sensible enough not to expect moonlight and roses."
"One never knows what someone will expect if they fancy themselves in love," Suzanne said.
Louisa's brows rose. "Love is a quaint concept, Mrs. Rannoch. But some of us know better than to expect it in marriage. That's one place Mary and I have always been alike. Excuse me. I see Lord Turlington. He's a colleague of Craven's. A politician's wife never stops working, even in the midst of family crisis."
"I was wondering how long it would take you to seek me out," Archibald Davenport said, as Raoul joined him in an embrasure created by two pillars bearing Chinese vases.
"Sorry, Davenport. It's been a busy day."
Davenport scanned his face. "I confess, when I heard Trenchard was dead, I couldn't but wonder."
Raoul met that shrewd blue gaze. The light of the candle sconces flickered over Davenport's patrician features. "No. Though in a number of ways it would be simpler if I had killed him. Fewer questions to ask."
"So you don't think Miss Dudley did it?"
"No. Though I can't be sure. But she does seem to have been working for the Elsinore League."
Davenport's brows rose.
"You didn't know?" Raoul said.
"I'd have told you, O'Roarke."
"You could have had your reasons not to."
"I like Suzanne and Malcolm. Damnable they've been embroiled in the Elsinore business."
Not for the first time, Raoul wondered how much Davenport knew about Suzanne. Malcolm wasn't the only one haunted by fears about her secrets. Davenport could probably be trusted. Probably. "What have you heard about Trenchard among the Elsinore League?"
"Mixed reactions. Apparently Trenchard had been throwing his weight about lately. As we had heard. But I'm still not sure what he was after. I don't think most of the League were sure either. Though I did hear Glenister say he wouldn't have thought even Trenchard would dare to reach quite so far."
"When was this?"
"At Mannerling's two nights ago."
"Interesting timing."
"For what it's worth, it wasn't said in a murderous tone. Glenister seemed to half admire him."
"There could have been others who felt differently about whatever it was Trenchard was trying to do. Have you ever heard the name Emily in connection with Trenchard?"
Davenport shook his head. "Who is she? A mistress?"
"I'm not sure. Trenchard left her a considerable legacy. And he died with her name on his lips."
"I'd not have thought Trenchard would die lamenting a lost love."
"People can surprise you."
"So they can." Davenport twisted the diamond handle of his walking stick. "O'Roarke."
Raoul turned to the man who was his colleague and, just possibly, his friend. "Yes?"
Davenport surveyed him for a moment. "I know a bit about what it's like to worry about the younger generation."
"What is it like?"
"Challenging. But trying to shield them only tends to create tiresome complications."
"It's not my style to try to shield anyone, Davenport."
"Rubbish. I know the lengths you went to, to protect your agents after Waterloo. And without going into specifics, no matter how you cared for your agents, Malcolm and Suzanne plainly mean more to you."
Raoul released his breath. "They'd neither of them let me shield them if I tried."
"They wouldn't be able to stop you if they didn't know what you were hiding."
"You're assuming I could keep secrets from them."
"False modesty doesn't become you, O'Roarke."
Raoul settled his shoulders against the white-and-gold paneling. "What have you heard? Among the Elsinore League?"
"Only that Trenchard seemed to have a particular interest in Malcolm. No one appears to know why. Some think it's because Trenchard didn't get on with Alistair, others that Alistair wanted Trenchard to watch Malcolm."
"But you haven't heard anything about Malcolm?" It took more effort than it should have done for Raoul to keep his voice even.
"No."
"Have you ever heard anything to suggest Frederick Hampson was an Elsinore League member?"
"Hampson?" Davenport asked.
"His daughter married Trenchard's eldest son in India. They both died in a carriage accident."
"Oh, yes. A decent man, from all I've heard. Not the sort for the Elsinore League."
"Was there talk among the League when Jack Tarrington died?"
"Concern. It was a tragedy, and Trenchard was one of their own. I don't remember anything more extreme. Which doesn't mean there weren't things I didn't hear about." Davenport twisted the walking stick again, watching how it caught the light from the candle sconce above them. "I can't claim to think of most of the Elsinore League as friends. I can't claim to think of many as friends. Present company excepted, I think."
"Thank you."
"But I've got to know many of them through the years. I've heard about their children's triumphs and setbacks, the progress of their love affairs. One can't help but form bonds of a sort. Even in the midst of deception."
"The life of a spy."
"Quite. But Trenchard always played his cards close to his chest. And he wasn't a man I could muster much sympathy for. Until the news from India. No one should have to go through losing a child, not to mention an unborn grandchild. When he returned from India, I offered him my condolences. Trenchard accepted them in a stiff tone. But a few days later, I came into the billiard room at Glenister House and found Trenchard alone. He had his head buried in the Times, and he avoided my gaze. But I'd swear he'd been crying."
Malcolm stared after Louisa Craven. Mary had made a splendid match with the Duke of Trenchard. Isobel had married Oliver Lydgate, a brilliant but penniless barrister who had gone to Oxford with Malcolm and David and Simon. Louisa had chosen Craven, who seemed unlikely ever to rise further than his position at the Board of Control, and whom even Carfax seemed to find dull.
"Why on earth did she choose Lord Craven?" Suzanne asked. "I can never even quite remember what he looks like."
"She'd been out a few seasons. And he is a viscount."
"And she'd realized you were never going to offer for her," Suzanne said. "Admit it, Malcolm. Simon told me Lady Carfax did her best to throw you together."
Malcolm flushed at the memory of the moment he'd realized Lady Carfax's matrimonial ambitions for him. "Lady Carfax had five daughters to marry off, and I was always about the house growing up. I imagine Louisa was as mortified by her machinations as I was." He glanced at David, who now had a gray-haired lady on his arm. They had joined Isobel and Lady Clare.
"I don't think David realizes how easily a woman could fancy herself in love with him," Suzanne said.
"There is that. And—"
"Darling?" Suzanne said, as he trailed off. "You don't think David would actually—"
Malcolm was silent, scarcely able to articulate what he feared for his friend. "Family duty compels David to marry and produce an heir. No one I know is more aware of the weight of family duty than David."
Suzanne cast a quick glance at David. "But surely he couldn't—"
"Live a lie?" Malcolm could not quite keep the dryness from his voice.
Suzanne swung her head round and met his gaze without flinching. "If anyone knows how difficult it is, I do. But at least I wasn't lying about the person I loved. Or about wanting to share his bed."
"But you put duty ahead of personal inclination."
"And you're afraid David will do the same?" She glanced at David again. His head was bent towards Lady Clare at a flattering angle, though his posture betrayed his unease, at least to Malcolm, who had known him since boyhood. "I'm afraid duty could drive David, like you, to an extravagant gesture."
"There's nothing in the least extravagant about me, Malcolm." Suzanne's fingers closed on the white gold and diamonds of her bracelet. He had given it to her for her last birthday, a different world in which he had still had his delusions. "Have they learned nothing from Rupert and Bertrand?"
Rupert, Viscount Caruthers, and Bertrand de Laclos had been lucky enough to find each other again after Rupert's father had done everything in his power to separate them—to the extent of trying to have Bertrand killed. Malcolm could not think of them without wondering with an inwards flinch how far Carfax would go to ensure his plans for David. "David feels the weight of his position even more strongly than Rupert, I think."
"Simon wouldn't stand for being part of a pretense."
"No. Simon would be uncompromising in that regard. More so than I. Or Bertrand. Though Rupert was already married before they reunited. And it's cost both of them and Gabrielle enough heartache as it is."
"Thank God Gabrielle found Nick Gordon." Suzanne glanced across the room. Gabrielle Caruthers, Rupert's wife, stood with her hand tucked decorously through Gordon's arm. Gabrielle had settled into an affair with Nick Gordon, which seemed to keep the four of them reasonably happy. Or as happy as anyone could hope to be, dancing on a knife's edge.
"I didn't say it will come to pass," Malcolm said. "I hope to God it doesn't. It's just that I've worried about David for a long time."
"Malcolm. Suzanne. Good evening." O'Roarke emerged from the crowd and inclined his head to them. A natural greeting. They were known to be friends. After Paris, and before the revelations of a month ago, Malcolm would have called him a family friend. God, how simple that life now seemed.
"I see there is Beethoven on the programme," O'Roarke said, in an easy voice. "And some Schubert, which must be owed to Suzanne, as his work isn't generally known in London."
"I brought the songs back for Bel from Vienna," Suzanne said with an easy smile.
O'Roarke cast a glance round the room. "I must try to corner Carfax before the music begins. I need to make a plea for the Spanish Liberals. I hope he'll have drunk enough glasses of champagne to be approachable."
"I'd never call Carfax approachable," Malcolm said. "But there's always the hope."
O'Roarke smiled and moved off. Malcolm gave Suzanne his arm and they moved to the doors to the first-floor hall, pausing to exchange greetings with the Granvilles and Lord John Russell. As they stepped into the first-floor hall, they came face to face with Cordelia and her husband, Harry Davenport.
Harry's gaze moved over both of them, even as he leaned forwards to kiss Suzanne's cheek. "You look as though you're bent on a mission."
Denying it was pointless. And Malcolm trusted Harry enough to render it unnecessary. "How well you know us, Davenport," he murmured.
"We'll cover for you," Cordelia said, with a bright smile designed to indicate to any watchers that she was engaged in social chitchat.
"Just don't keep us keep us out of the fun," Harry murmured. "Sorry. Poor choice of words. But you take my meaning."
"Quite." Malcolm touched his friend's arm. Harry was a good friend and an invaluable asset to an investigation. The same went for Cordelia. Save that their keen instincts rendered them just a bit
too dangerous when it came to Suzanne's secrets.
"Oh, look, there are the Hollands," Cordelia said. "We'll intercept them or you'll be talking politics all night."
The hall was crowded with late arrivals. With Cordelia and Harry's aid, it was easy enough for Malcolm and Suzanne to lose themselves in the throng, wander towards one of the sitting rooms, and then slip through a white-painted door to a back staircase. The stairs were unlit, but he knew them from memory, thanks to boyhood visits to Carfax House. "David and I used to use these to sneak down to the library," he murmured. "Unless something's changed, the third and ninth treads squeak."
"Useful."
"When did you last do something like this?" he asked, reaching for Suzanne's hand.
"Paris. The embassy. Castlereagh's study."
"Manon Caret?" He was surprised at how casual his voice was.
"Castlereagh's seal." Her fingers tightened round his. "For her travel documents. Stewart nearly caught me, but I think he thought I was sneaking off to tryst with a lover."
Malcolm grimaced at the reference to Castlereagh's tiresome half-brother. Lord Stewart was a disgrace to diplomacy and a threat to international stability. "Not that I don't know you can take care of yourself, but I don't like the idea of your encountering him in a darkened passage."
"It wasn't anything I couldn't handle."
Even though it was what he had just said, Malcolm stopped walking and tightened his grip on his wife's hand.
"I let him steal a kiss. Small price for keeping my secret."
He bit back a curse.
"Don't be squeamish, dearest. It's hardly the worst thing either of us has done. In any case, break-ins are easier with two people."
Malcolm forced his qualms and fears to the recesses of his brain. "For a lot of reasons, it's as well the truth is in the open between us."
They had reached the ground floor. He eased open the door. The sound of the front doors opening and closing echoed from the hall. Voices, the swish of silk skirts, and the clatter of French heels on marble drifted through the air. But the passage was in shadow, lit only by a few candles in wall sconces. Malcolm took Suzanne's hand and led her down the passage, past the library, to the plain oak door that opened onto Carfax's study.