The Mayfair Affair

by Tracy Grant

  "Few people are," Raoul said. "Not entirely. Though they don't always listen to it."

  "Where does Craven fit in?" Cordelia asked.

  "If we're right, presumably he was on in the scheme," Raoul said.

  "It illumines Trenchard's last days," Roth said. "But it still doesn't tell us who killed him."

  "No," Malcolm said, "but—"

  He broke off as Valentin rapped at the door. "This was just delivered for Mr. Roth," he said, coming into the room and handing Roth a sealed paper.

  Roth slit the paper and scanned it. "It's from Clements, the constable I had watching Lily Duval's. James Tarrington just arrived."

  "Not necessarily surprising," Malcolm said. "But it means we can talk to the two of them together. Not an opportunity to miss."

  Suzanne looked at Laura. "Of course you should go," she said. "I'll stay with the children."

  "We'll keep you company," Cordelia said. She looked at Suzanne and Malcolm. "But do, pray, take notes."

  In the bustle of ringing for outer garments, and saying goodbye to the children, Suzanne contrived to stand beside Raoul for a moment. "Thank you for going with Laura. It obviously helped her."

  He nodded. "She could have managed very well on her own. But I'm glad she didn't have to."

  Suzanne continued to watch him as she did up the top clasp on her pelisse. "You must know I want you to be happy. You've said the same to me."

  "Dear me. When did we both become so concerned with personal happiness? The perils of civilian life."

  She tugged on one of her gloves. "I may not be as observant when it comes to you as you are when it comes to me, but I can see rather a lot."

  He gave a twisted smile. "I rather gave up on happiness years ago."

  She pulled on her second glove. "Perhaps that was a mistake."

  Chapter 36

  Lily Duval's bright-eyed maid opened the door with an unusually firm set to her pert chin. "Madam has retired."

  "This isn't a social call," Malcolm said. "And nor do I think she's retired." For Hetty Tarrington's sake he profoundly hoped not. "Tell her we know the Duke of Trenchard is here. We need to speak to both of them, and it will be easier for all of us if we do so here and now."

  Five minutes later they were upstairs in the parlor. Miss Duval's hair was down, but her gown was firmly buttoned, and the concerned look James wore was anything but loverlike.

  "I knew we weren't done with you," Lily Duval said. "But I wasn't expecting a midnight invasion."

  "It's not yet eleven," Malcolm said. "May I present Inspector Roth of Bow Street?"

  Fear flashed in Miss Duval's bright eyes, then was firmly quashed. "Am I being arrested?"

  "No, upon my honor. We merely have a few questions."

  "Rannoch." James strode forwards, paused for a moment to nod to Suzanne, then turned back to Malcolm. "Leave Miss Duval out of it."

  "I'm afraid we can't do that. You and Miss Duval appear to be in the midst of it."

  "We've already told you—"

  "A great deal. A clever tactic to mask still greater revelations. But you didn't tell us you were blackmailing the late duke."

  "I admitted—"

  "But not that Miss Duval was your partner."

  "By God, Rannoch—"

  "James." Lily Duval gripped his arm. "There's no sense lying more. They always seem to be one step behind us. They're going to catch up."

  "We haven't quite caught up yet," Malcolm said. "But if I had to hazard a guess, I'd say the blackmail was because you knew Trenchard was behind the massacre of British troops by West Basmat."

  Lily Duval dropped down abruptly on the sofa. James stared at Malcolm. "How on earth—"

  "It took several of us to piece it together."

  "I didn't know." Lily hunched her shoulders and drew her shawl about her. "All Jack put in his letters was vague, as I told you. But then Johnny broke a china dog Jack sent me from India. I was so angry. One of the few gifts I had from his father. I was picking up the pieces when I realized there was a paper tucked inside. It was a letter from Trenchard to Lord Craven."

  "Lord Craven was working with him?" Suzanne asked.

  "Apparently, Father sent him to the Rajah of West Basmat to negotiate." James's voice was grim. "Under cover of trying to bring about a peace between West Basmat and East Adilabad."

  "I didn't understand it," Lily said. "Not entirely. But I knew it was important, so I showed it to James. I asked him to meet me in a coffeehouse because I thought I'd seen a man hanging about the house, and I wasn't sure I could trust my maid. I think I was wrong about that last, thank God. But I was starting to jump at shadows."

  James turned to the fireplace, hands gripped tight behind his back. "I thought I had few illusions where Father was concerned. But to betray his country. To send British soldiers to their deaths. Hetty's first husband died there. Not that that should make it worse, but when it's someone one knows—"

  "It brings it home. Do you know why your father did it?"

  "From the letter to Craven, it was something to do with diamond mining."

  Malcolm nodded. "A company your father had invested in silently received a concession to mine diamonds, thanks to your father warning the rajah of the attack. That investment restored your father's fortunes."

  James frowned. "Restored—"

  "Your father was in more straitened circumstances than anyone realized. Covering up Jack's last scandal cost him a great deal and threatened to tip matters over the edge."

  James's eyes widened. "You mean we're living on the proceeds of this perfidy?"

  "Not entirely."

  James spun away. "My God. It's even worse than I realized."

  Lily Duval pulled her shawl closer about her shoulders. "Money. Odd how often things come down to it, no matter how much one has to begin with."

  James turned back to face them, hands fisted at his sides. "What I said before was true. When I confronted Father, he dared me to make it public and disgrace the family."

  "Did he admit it?"

  "Oh, no. He was too clever for that. He said if that was what I believed, I was free to make my ridiculous claims in public and tarnish my sons' legacy." James swallowed hard. "I couldn't, Malcolm. And when he was dead, I couldn't bring myself to tell you. God help me, I couldn't ruin hundreds of years of Fitzwalters."

  "It wasn't hundreds of years of Fitzwalters that did it," Lily muttered. "It was him."

  James spun towards her. "Lily—"

  "It's your family, James. It was your choice. I may not understand about honor and centuries, but I do understand family."

  James touched her arm, then looked from Malcolm to Roth. "I couldn't expose him, but words can't describe how angry I was. This doesn't change the fact that I don't have an alibi."

  "Neither do I," Lily said. "And I was angry enough to kill him. I didn't, as it happens. Failure of imagination, perhaps." She pulled the shawl taut. "Do you know how Carfax fits into all of it?"

  "Carfax?" Malcolm kept his voice even.

  "Yes, in the letter to Craven, Trenchard wrote that if Carfax caused trouble, there was always a hold Craven could use on him."

  "I know I'd only be in the way," Lady Cordelia said. "But it is hard to wait." She was sitting on the library sofa with her daughter Drusilla sprawled half on her lap and Jessica curled up on her other side, but to Laura she looked as though she was ready to charge into the fray. It had taken Laura a while to realize the toughness beneath Lady Cordelia's glamorous exterior.

  "Waiting is the hardest part of a mission, in my experience," Raoul said. "Fortunately, I haven't had to do it very often. I suspect I'd have gone mad."

  "There's no reason to think it should be dangerous." Harry Davenport drummed his fingers on the carved arm of his chair.

  "No," Raoul agreed.

  And yet they all had the sense that they were closing in on the answers to the mysteries unleashed with Trenchard's death.

  "We missed the conclusion
of the last case," Lady Cordelia said. "I should be grateful we avoided the danger, but I can't help regretting we weren't part of it."

  "Of course," Laura said. "You were involved in the case, you wanted to see it to its conclusion."

  Lady Cordelia met her gaze in perfect understanding. "Quite."

  Laura cast a glance at the hearthrug. Colin, Livia, and Emily were dangling a ribbon for Berowne. When the cat had emerged from the depths of an armchair, the last of Emily's shyness seemed to have evaporated.

  Harry Davenport pushed himself to his feet. "We'll know more when they get back. Perhaps—"

  He went still. A moment later, Laura heard it as well. A rustling from the adjoining study.

  By that time, Raoul was jerking open the door to the study, with Harry Davenport close behind him. Laura exchanged a quick look with Lady Cordelia and ran after them in time to see a sandy-haired man running towards the library window. Harry Davenport hurled a silver candlestick across the room. The sandy-haired man went crashing to the floor. Raoul landed in a flying tackle on the man's back.

  A knife flashed in the lamplight. Raoul let out a hoarse cry, but caught the sandy-haired man's wrist. Harry, already across the room, picked up the candlestick and bashed the sandy-haired man over the head.

  Laura exchanged a quick look with Cordelia, who ran to reassure the older children.

  "Is he out?" Raoul asked Harry.

  "I think so. I'll find something to bind his hands. You all right, O'Roarke?"

  "Just a scratch."

  "You're dripping blood onto the carpet." Laura pushed the library door closed and ran to Raoul's side.

  "Hold this, will you?" Raoul had his neckcloth off and was trying to tie it round his arm one-handed. Harry was using his neckcloth to bind the wrists of the still-unconscious sandy-haired man.

  Laura knotted off Raoul's cravat round his arm. "I'll get Mrs. Rannoch's medical supply box."

  The sandy-haired man stirred on the floor. The door to the hall swung open.

  "What the devil—" Malcolm Rannoch stopped short on the threshold, Suzanne and Roth behind him.

  "An intruder." Harry Davenport was sitting on the sandy-haired man's chest. "He seems to be coming round."

  Malcolm strode forwards. The sandy-haired man opened his eyes, blinked, stared at Malcolm.

  Malcolm stared back at him. "Billy?"

  Chapter 37

  Harry looked up at Malcolm. "You know him?"

  "Billy Hopkins." Malcolm stared down at the man he had last seen sighting down a sniper's rifle. "He does errands for Carfax."

  "Who?" Billy asked.

  "Cut line, Billy. I know who you work for."

  "You think I only have one employer?"

  "Who would set you to break into our house? Yes."

  "Suit yourself. I've got plenty of time. But you might have your friend get off my chest."

  Harry stood up. Malcolm jerked Billy to his feet and pushed him into a straight-backed chair. "Talk."

  "Spare me the threats, Rannoch. We both know there's nothing you'd be willing to do to me that would come close to what Carfax would do to me if I talked."

  "So you admit you're working for Carfax?"

  "I don't admit anything." Billy stretched his legs out and crossed his feet at the ankle.

  "On your feet," Roth said. "I'm taking you to Bow Street."

  "Won't be the first time I've been there. But I doubt I'll stay there long. And before we go, let me have a word alone with Rannoch. Trust me, we'll all be better off that way."

  Roth glanced at Malcolm. Malcolm gave a curt nod, then met Suzanne's gaze for a moment. She inclined her head.

  "Mr. O'Roarke's arm needs bandaging," Laura said.

  O'Roarke made a dismissive gesture. "I'm—"

  "In need of proper medical care," Suzanne said.

  Billy sat watching Malcolm as the door swung shut behind the others. Even then, he took his time before he spoke.

  "Well?" Malcolm said.

  "You'll decide what you want to do. You always do. But before you go rushing off to slay dragons, you might consider how you feel about Carfax knowing where you and Mrs. Rannoch were when Lord Craven was murdered."

  A chill gripped Malcolm. "Are you confessing to killing Craven?"

  "Of course not. But if I happened to tell the story to Carfax, what do you think he'd find most interesting?"

  "What have you said to Carfax?"

  "Nothing. Yet. I haven't seen him since Thursday last. But it would be an interesting conversation. Here or at Bow Street."

  Throttling Billy, though satisfying, wouldn't help. Malcolm spun to the door. "Keep him here," he said to Roth and Harry, who were waiting just outside. He turned to Suzanne, who was sitting on a bench in the hall, securing a bandage to O'Roarke's arm. "I need to see Carfax."

  Suzanne met his gaze, a roll of lint in her hands. "Go. You'll do better without me."

  "Never that. But Carfax may talk more freely."

  "Just make sure you don't murder him. We have too many dead bodies to contend with as it is."

  The footman at Carfax House greeted Malcolm with little surprise, despite the hour, and conducted him to Carfax's study without first checking if his lordship was at home.

  Malcolm managed to hold his tongue until the footman had withdrawn. "How long have you been spying on us?" he demanded the moment the door clicked shut.

  Carfax leaned back in his chair. "My dear Malcolm, even I have a limited number of agents at my disposal. Why would I waste agents spying on someone who already reports to me?"

  "You tell me." Malcolm slammed his hands down on the desk and leaned towards Carfax. "And while you're at it, explain what Billy was looking for when he climbed through my study window tonight."

  Carfax straightened up. "Billy climbed through your study window?"

  "How else did you expect him to break in?"

  "Malcolm." Carfax pushed himself to his feet. "I didn't send Billy to your house."

  "He came on his own initiative? You just had him keeping watch on us in general?"

  Carfax gripped the edge of the desk. "Did Billy say I sent him?"

  "He knows better than to admit it outright, but—"

  "I didn't send him, Malcolm." Carfax's fingers whitened on the edge of the desk. "If I thought your house needed searching, I'd employ someone subtler than Billy."

  "You expect me to believe that?"

  "I hope to God you do. We need to get to the bottom of this."

  Malcolm met Carfax's gaze and froze at what he saw there. Fear. In all their dealings, even when the fate of nations hung in the balance, he'd never seen such fear in his spymaster's eyes. "Who else did Billy work for?"

  "No one,that I know of."

  "Not the Elsinore League?"

  "You think I'd employ an agent who also worked for the Elsinore League?"

  "Not knowingly."

  "You think I'd miss something like that?"

  "Everyone can miss something." Malcolm stared at Carfax. "Sir. You paid Craven a large sum about eight years ago."

  Carfax stiffened for a moment, then dropped back into his chair. "Quite possibly. I told you he worked for me."

  "This was too much to be a routine payment to an agent."

  Carfax adjusted his spectacle wires. "He must have done something exemplary for me, though for the life of me I can't remember what it was. Of course, my memory isn't what it was."

  "This was about the time Jack Trenchard fought a duel with the husband of a married woman he'd got with child. Trenchard bundled Jack off to India. And someone shut up the married woman's husband. Later Trenchard wrote to Craven, saying that if you caused difficulties, Craven had a hold he could use on you."

  "What are you implying, Malcolm?"

  "Damn it, sir, time is of the essence. Did Louisa have an affair with Jack Trenchard?"

  Rage slammed through Carfax's eyes. Followed by another flash of fear. "Malcolm—"

  "I'll help Louisa if I ca
n. But I can't help her if I don't know the truth."

  Carfax's gaze locked on Malcolm's own. Then he slumped back in his chair. Malcolm had never seen him look so old. "I've often thought it would have been easier if Jack had killed Craven. Or the other way round. Or preferably if they'd both killed each other. Instead, Jack got to escape to India, and I had to pay the thankless Craven to keep his mouth shut about that damned duel."

  "And to accept the baby Louisa was carrying."

  "Good God, Malcolm—"

  "We're beyond appearances, sir."

  Carfax tapped his fingers on the desk. "I always thought Craven wasn't worth the paper his family pedigree was written on. I told Louisa she could do better when Craven offered for her. She wouldn't listen to me. So I gave in. Damnable how one's failures haunt one."

  "Did he threaten to divorce her?"

  "I don't think he had grounds. Louisa wasn't that indiscreet. But he could have made a scandal and dragged her name through the mud. I couldn't risk it. So I paid him what he asked for."

  "Was he still blackmailing you?"

  "No, he seemed content with the payment. Though I paid him more for his other services than he deserved."

  Malcolm nodded and spun towards the door.

  "Malcolm." Carfax's voice cut the air.

  "We can finish this later, sir. I need to see Louisa—"

  "What—"

  Malcolm's fingers closed on the door handle. "I don't know. But I hope to God my suspicions aren't true."

  Chapter 38

  Louisa's footman drew himself up to his full six feet two inches. "Her ladyship has already retired, sir."

  "This is an emergency." Malcolm pushed past the footman into the marble-tiled entrance hall.

  For a moment he thought the footman might actually try to tackle him, but instead the man drew a strangled breath. "Mr. Rannoch—"

  Malcolm was already halfway up the first flight of stairs by the time the footman got the two words out. He didn't pause on the first-floor landing, but immediately started up the next flight. He had just reached the second-floor landing when a gunshot cut the air.

  He was at the door of Louisa's bedchamber before his brain registered what he had heard. He hadn't seen his mother right after she killed herself. He'd been at Oxford. But he'd imagined the scene many times. The sickly-sweet smell of fresh blood. The sulfurous sting of a recently fired pistol. The blood spattered on the wall, pooled about her, dripping on the floor.