A Poisoned Season lem-2

by Tasha Alexander

  "So you think this has something to do with the murders in Richmond?" the inspector asked.

  "I'm certain of it," I replied.

  "I'm not," Colin said. "It may be that the letters you're deciphering are completely unrelated but dangerous in their own right."

  "The police are confident in the case against the maid," Inspector Manning said.

  "That does not mean they're right," I said.

  Perhaps the most baffling thing to me at that moment was the connection between the murders and the thefts. If Beatrice were culpable, then why would the news reports of the pink diamond have correlated with her husband's death? Could learning about the stone have made her want to kill the man she claimed to love?

  I looked to Ivy's masquerade ball to provide a much-needed respite in the midst of all this excitement. When at last the night of the party arrived, it seemed as if all of London had descended upon Belgrave Square. The line of carriages crowding the street paralyzed traffic for blocks, and an atmosphere of gaiety permeated the entire neighborhood. Ivy, always the most considerate of hostesses, had some of her footmen bring cider and cakes around to all the coachmen while they waited. I had arrived early to help my friend with any last-minute catastrophes but found I had nothing to do. Ivy was far too organized to allow for emergencies.

  She had decided not to impose upon her guests a theme, and the result of this was a house filled with costumes of every sort. I counted at least two queens of Sheba, three Cleopatras, and, not surprising given the current goings-on in town, no fewer than eight Marie Antoinettes. Lord Fortescue had come as Cardinal Richelieu. I was dressed as Helen of Troy, in a long tunic made by Mr. Worth from the finest white silk, artfully held together at the shoulders by gold brooches. Meg had spent nearly an hour arranging my hair in a complicated series of upswept braids and curls to a stunning result. My ensemble was completed with dainty golden sandals.

  I had planned my costume before deciding that I would wear something of Marie Antoinette's to the ball, and by the time I had arranged to do so, it was too late to order something different. So my Helen wore an anachronistic choker fashioned of diamonds that came from the infamous diamond-necklace affair. They weren't the actual stones; I was unable to persuade the current owner to part with them. She did, however, agree to pretend that she had sold them to me, and lent me the paste copy that she'd had made years ago for times when she wanted the look of the necklace without having to worry about losing it.

  "I don't think I've ever seen you look more lovely," Ivy said, coming to me as soon as the bulk of her guests had arrived.

  "I do well so long as I stand away from you," I said, smiling. She was resplendent as Britannia. Her flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes commanded the attention of any gentleman in her immediate vicinity. "No one stands a chance next to you."

  "You underestimate yourself," she said. "Have you seen Colin yet?"

  "No. Has he arrived?"

  "Yes. He's dressed as an Elizabethan courtier and looks devastatingly handsome."

  Robert, appearing as the emperor Charles V, came up next to his wife. "Who is devastatingly handsome?"

  "You of course, darling," she replied with the sweetest sort of smile. He kissed her lightly on the cheek, and, I'm happy to report, didn't seem distracted in the least. Nonetheless, I couldn't help but wonder if Mrs. Reynold-Plympton was on the guest list.

  In the ballroom the dancing had started. Isabelle, as a shepherdess, wore the most sweetly innocent costume in the house. She was positively beaming at the gentleman who guided her across the floor. It was Lord Pembroke. My heart felt heavy for the girl, and I hoped her mother would not notice her choice of partner.

  Charles Berry, proving once and for all his complete lack of imagination, appeared as Louis XIV and was hanging lecherously on a very young and very pretty girl whom I did not recognize. I couldn't find Colin but had promised the next dance to Jeremy, who was decked out as a Roman soldier, complete with bronze armor. Although he did not dance so gracefully as Colin, he was a good partner, and we spent a pleasant time together on the floor.

  "Will it scandalize everyone if you stand up with me again?" he asked when the music stopped.

  "I don't think so," I said. "Three in a row might raise eyebrows, but two surely wouldn't." We accepted champagne from an obliging footman and drank it, catching our breath as we waited for the next dance to begin. When the music started, he led me back to the floor, but almost immediately a gentleman wearing the robes of a Bedouin warrior interrupted us.

  "If you'd be so kind, Your Grace, may I steal your partner?"

  Jeremy laughed. "I knew I couldn't keep her for two full dances." He bowed and left me with this stranger.

  "Are you a friend of the duke?" I asked as he placed his hand on my waist, and we started to dance.

  "You could say that," he replied.

  "I'm a bit embarrassed to admit that I don't recognize you."

  "I didn't think you would, though I must confess to finding that slightly disappointing."

  "What is your name?"

  "Sebastian Capet." I racked my brain but could think of no acquaintance called Sebastian. My partner laughed, seeing my confusion. "You've no idea who I am, have you?" he asked.

  "Not the slightest." I could see nothing of his face except for a pair of bright blue eyes rimmed with thick, dark lashes.

  "Perhaps this will refresh your memory." He pulled me closer to him and spoke in a quiet but intense voice, reciting something in ancient Greek.

  "I hoped you would come tonight," I said, a pleasant thrill tingling all the way to my toes.

  "You were very foolish to announce to anyone who would listen that you'd be wearing diamonds from the queen's necklace. Although, you know, it never precisely belonged to her. She insisted that she'd never ordered it."

  "I did worry about that, but obviously the technicality didn't keep you away. Does it mean, though, that you won't steal them from me?"

  "That, my darling Kallista, remains to be seen. Are you enjoying Léonard's letters?"

  "Very much. From whom did you take them?"

  "Why do you assume they're stolen?"

  "Really, Mr. Capet, isn't the answer obvious?"

  "I admit that my actions are not always precisely legal, but laws do not always lead to justice."

  "And what is the justice you seek?"

  "I won't be tricked into revealing myself so easily."

  "You can't fault me for trying."

  "I should never fault you for anything. You're terminally charming. I lost my heart the moment I saw you asleep in your bed."

  "I can't say that I particularly like having a gentleman watch me sleeping."

  "Then I won't do it again."

  "And I want Cécile's earrings back."

  He stopped dancing. "Would you come outside with me?" This was no time to hesitate. He could vanish as quickly as he'd appeared. I followed him into the garden, which was filled with couples who had come outside for air and the privacy they could not find in a ballroom. Japanese lanterns hung from every tree, casting a romantic sort of dancing light over the scene. He took my hand rather than my arm, and I did nothing to protest. It was rather exciting to be escorted by such a skilled thief through a society ball. He paused to take two glasses of champagne off a footman's tray, then sat on a bench in a quiet corner.

  "Did you kill David Francis?" I asked.

  He laughed. "I'm the last person on earth who would have done that."

  "I didn't really suspect you. If you were the murderer, you wouldn't have left the snuffbox at the scene."

  "No, I certainly would not."

  "Although given the cause of death, there's no reason to think the murderer was there when Mr. Francis died."

  "I suppose."

  "Why didn't you take the snuffbox when you stole the diamond?"

  "I didn't know Francis had it."

  "So you went back after you read about it in the papers?"

  "No, d
arling, I didn't. Someone else took it."

  "Who?"

  "Now, don't you think if I knew that, I would get it for myself?"

  "How would you go about finding it?"

  "I'm not about to reveal professional secrets," he said.

  "What do you do with everything you steal? It doesn't appear that you're selling it."

  "Investigating me, are you? No, I don't sell what I take."

  "Do you give it to anyone?"

  "No."

  "Do you work with anyone?"

  "Do you really think I would tell you? Oh, darling, I would love to confide in you, but I'm afraid you've not yet earned my trust."

  A strange, heavy feeling crept up on me, and I found that I could hardly keep my eyes open. "How do I earn your trust?" It took a considerable effort to hold up my head.

  "Forgive me, darling," he said. He caught me as I started to slump over, and though my memory of the rest is, at best, hazy, I could swear that he kissed me before laying me on the bench.

  I need hardly say that he took the necklace. When I awoke, I was upstairs in a bedroom, Ivy, Robert, Colin, Jeremy, and Margaret hovering around me. I felt like lead and knew at once it would be pointless to try to sit. "What happened?"

  "You fainted," Ivy said. "Margaret and Jeremy found you in the garden. They were unable to rouse you so thought it best to bring you inside."

  "How did I get here?"

  "Bainbridge carried you," Colin said.

  "Oh dear," I said. "The gossips must have found that a ripe scene."

  "Don't worry about that now," Ivy said.

  "I didn't faint. You know that I don't faint. My champagne was drugged." I told them about my conversation with Sebastian.

  "Good gad, Emily," Jeremy said. "I should never have turned you over to him. I thought you knew him."

  "And I thought you did. It's all right, Jeremy. You're not to blame."

  "Shall I send for a doctor?" Robert asked.

  "I think so," Jeremy said. "We've no idea what he gave her."

  "I'm feeling much better," I said.

  "I'm getting a doctor." Robert left the room.

  "We found this next to you," Margaret said, handing me a book.

  "My Odyssey!" A note fell from the pages as I flipped through the book. "He's left me a message: 'You are not being careful enough, Kallista darling. It was too easy for me to take this from you, and too easy to get you to follow me tonight. Think what someone with a more nefarious purpose could do to you.'"

  "Emily, I don't think you should continue to pursue this man," Ivy said. "He's a thief and now reveals himself as dangerous."

  "Quite the contrary. He reveals himself to be concerned with my well-being. I do wish he'd given back my notebook, too."

  "He drugged you," Ivy said. "How can you not see the seriousness of this?"

  "I baited him to take the necklace. I should have known better than to drink with him."

  "If he didn't get you with the champagne, I'm sure he would have figured out another way. Going into the garden with such a man was not, perhaps, the best decision," Colin said, his eyes darker than usual.

  "Easy to say now," I said. "But I didn't think he would divulge any useful information on the dance floor."

  "It doesn't sound like he divulged anything useful in the garden, either," Colin said.

  I raised myself up on my elbows. "Well, I had to try. And he did reveal one interesting tidbit: His name is Sebastian Capet. Does it seem familiar to any of you?"

  "No," Margaret said, but none of the rest replied.

  "It was the name given to the French royal family during the revolution. Stripped of his title, the king became Louis Capet."

  "Surely you don't suspect —" Ivy began.

  "The dauphin would have changed his name," Margaret said.

  I shrugged. "Maybe. But it's entirely possible that, later, his heirs adopted it."

  25

  Whatever substance Sebastian slipped into my champagne had been innocuous enough, and we were all relieved when Robert's physician confirmed that there was no cause for alarm. Aside from sleeping extraordinarily late, I felt no ill effects the next day. Lady Elinor sent Isabelle to me in the afternoon, and I did my best to calm the girl's myriad worries about becoming the wife of Charles Berry. Not an easy task. It was obvious that her loyalty was fiercely divided. She wanted to please her mother, but she still loved Lord Pembroke, and the feeling had only intensified at Ivy's ball.

  "He's simply the most exquisite dancer," she said. "He wouldn't stand up with me more than twice, but, oh, Emily, I would gladly have given anything to dance with him all night."

  "Are you finding Mr. Berry an agreeable companion?"

  "He's tolerable. I understand why Mother thinks he's a good catch, and I know that she's always done what's best for me. Do you believe she could be right? Am I too swept up in romance to be practical? Will I be happier with Mr. Berry?"

  "Only you know the answer to that, Isabelle. Your mother's intentions are good. There is no doubt of that. But you alone can determine what sort of a marriage you are willing to accept."

  "Mother insists that young people often fall in love before they really know what will make them happy."

  "That's probably true." I thought about the time, during our first season, that Ivy had come close to being convinced she was in love with a particularly dashing army officer. He turned out to be the worst sort of cad, something her mother had suspected from the beginning. "I don't deny that mothers are sometimes useful for vetting one's admirers. But she never objected to Lord Pembroke, did she?"

  "No, but she's certain that I'll be happier in the long run with Mr. Berry. Charles. I should call him Charles." She frowned. "Is it very awful, being married? One hears such dreadful stories."

  "No, Isabelle, it's not dreadful in the least. Many people are quite content, even in arranged marriages. I was not in love with Philip when I married him, but the experience was far from unpleasant."

  "Perhaps there's hope for me, then."

  Had I any courage, I would have convinced the girl to throw over Mr. Berry and run away with Lord Pembroke. I'm ashamed that I didn't. How could I sit here and offer her comfort when I knew her future husband to be an utterly vile man? "I believe Mr. Berry's most-admired quality is his proximity to the French throne. Rumors suggest that he may be made king soon. Does that change his estimation in your eyes?"

  "Do I want to be queen? I ought to say yes, but, honestly, the prospect terrifies me."

  "An answer that shows more than a modicum of wisdom."

  "Well, it didn't work out well for Marie Antoinette, did it?"

  We talked for nearly three quarters of an hour, and I will say that, although it was abundantly clear that her heart was still very much with Lord Pembroke, she seemed less nervous about her betrothal by the time she left. I wish I could say the same for myself. If anything, I was more convinced than ever that someone needed to find a way to help her escape.

  I sorted through the mail that had come that morning, half expecting to see something from Sebastian, but he had sent nothing. I did have a letter from Cécile, and knew when I read it that I would have to show it to Colin immediately. There was no need for me to go to him, though, for even before I had returned the paper to its envelope, he walked through my door, his eyes sharp, his features marked with a severity I had not before seen on him.

  "Have you anything from Cécile?" he asked, not bothering to greet me.

  "Yes, I do, I was about to come —"

  He took the letter from my outstretched hand. "Good. I'm glad to have a date. We never suspected they planned to act this quickly."

  "What will you do?"

  "Berry told me not an hour ago that he's arranged for passage to France. He's using falsified papers so that no one will know he's there."

  "Can't you stop him?"

  "I'm to go with him."

  "When do you leave?"

  "Tomorrow afternoon."

>   "I see." I studied his handsome face. "Is there any chance the plot will work? Will the republic fall?"

  "Not if I've anything to do with it."

  "And Cécile?"

  "Her role may be more important than mine, but it's you that I'm worried about. I don't like to leave you in the midst of your own intrigue."

  "I'll be perfectly all right."

  "No more drinking drugged champagne? Next time it could be laced with something less benign."

  "Well, I've won our bet, so you can rest easy knowing that I have every intention of staying alive to collect my prize."

  "What do you mean, you've won our bet? You most certainly have not."

  "I've identified my admirer: Sebastian Capet."

  "Would you recognize him on the street? Do you know where he lives? How to contact him without having to use the Times? I don't think you can say that you've really identified him."

  "His eyes are an unmistakable shade of blue. Sapphire, really. I'd recognize them."

  "A Bedouin with sapphire eyes. Is there any hope for me?"

  I was glad to see some light return to his eyes but couldn't help thinking about Sebastian kissing me. Had it really happened? I could almost picture it, a foggy image, but the memory of soft lips was undeniable.

  "Are you still with me?" Colin asked.

  "Yes, sorry."

  "I've spoken with Manning. He's agreed to help you with whatever you might need regarding the situation in Richmond. And should anything happen, telegraph me at once in Paris. I'll be at the Meurice."

  Molly entered the room. "Excuse me, Lady Ashton, would you like me to light a fire for you?"

  It was far too hot for me to want a fire, and I had never encouraged my maids to make a habit of dropping in, without being asked, to see if I needed their assistance.

  "No, Molly, I don't." Her eyes were ringed with dark circles, and her skin was even more pale than usual. "Is something the matter?"

  She looked at Colin, then back at me. "Of course not, madam. Just trying to be helpful." She bobbed a curtsey and disappeared from the room before I could utter another word.