by Tracy Grant
The Carfax Intrigue
Tracy Grant
This ebook is licensed to you for your personal enjoyment only.
This ebook may not be sold, shared, or given away.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the writer’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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The Carfax Intrigue
Copyright © 2020 by Tracy Grant
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ISBN: 9781641972086
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ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
No part of this work may be used, reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without prior permission in writing from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
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NYLA Publishing
121 W 27th St., Suite 1201, New York, NY 10001
http://www.nyliterary.com
For all my friends in the performing arts who are finding ways to create art or just survive
and all the theatres keeping a metaphorical ghost light on.
Contents
Acknowledgments
Dramatis Personae
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
The Westminster Intrigue Excerpt
Also by Tracy Grant
About the Author
Acknowledgments
My previous book, The Tavistock Plot, was finished at the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic. The Carfax Intrigue was written entirely during the pandemic. As we navigate this uncertain time, I find myself more grateful than ever for the wonderful people who support me and my daughter and the Rannochs and their world in so many ways. As always, huge thanks to my wonderful agent, Nancy Yost, for her support and insights. Thanks to Natanya Wheeler for once again working her magic to create a cover that beautifully evokes Mélanie Rannoch and the Carfax House ballroom and for shepherding the book expertly through the publication process, to Sarah Younger for superlative social media support and for helping the book along through production and publication, and to the entire team at Nancy Yost Literary Agency for their fabulous work. Malcolm, Mélanie, and I are all very fortunate to have their support.
Thanks to Eve Lynch for the meticulous and thoughtful copyediting and to Kristen Loken for a magical author photo taken in one of my favorite places, San Francisco's War Memorial Opera House, on one of my favorite occasions of the year, the Merola Grand Finale. This photo is particularly poignant and precious now, with the lights dimmed in theatres and live performances canceled.
I am very fortunate to have a wonderful group of writer friends near and far who make being a writer less solitary. Thanks to Veronica Wolff and Lauren Willig, who both understand the challenges of being a writer and a mom. To Penelope Williamson, for sharing adventures, analyzing plots, and being a wonderful honorary aunt to my daughter. To Jami Alden, Tasha Alexander, Bella Andre, Allison Brennan, Josie Brown, Isobel Carr, Catherine Coulter, Deborah Coonts, Deborah Crombie, Carol Culver/Grace, Catherine Duthie, Alexandra Elliott, J.T. Ellison, Barbara Freethy, C.S. Harris, Candice Hern, Anne Mallory, Monica McCarty, Brenda Novak, Poppy Reifiin, Deanna Raybourn, and Jacqueline Yau.
Thank you to the readers who support Malcolm and Mélanie and their friends and provide wonderful insights on my Web site and social media.
Thanks to Gregory Paris and jim saliba for creating and updating a fabulous Web site that chronicles Malcolm and Mélanie's adventures. To Suzi Shoemake and Betty Strohecker for managing a wonderful Goodreads Discussion Group for readers of the series. Thanks to my colleagues at the Merola Opera Program who help me keep my life in balance—even on Zoom, I love spending time with you. And thanks to Mélanie herself, for inspiring my writing, being patient with Mummy's "work time", and offering her own insights at the keyboard. One of my proudest moments was when she said "Can I borrow your computer? I want to type the story I'm writing." This is Mélanie's contribution to this story – "My mommy is The best writer to me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Dramatis Personae
*indicates real historical figures
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The Rannoch Family & Household
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Mélanie Suzanne Rannoch, playwright and former French intelligence agent
Malcolm Rannoch, her husband, MP and former British intelligence agent
Colin Rannoch, their son
Jessica Rannoch, their daughter
Berowne, their cat
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Laura O'Roarke, Colin and Jessica's former governess, teacher, and writer
Raoul O'Roarke, her husband, Mélanie's former spymaster, and Malcolm's father
Lady Emily Fitzwalter, Laura's daughter from her first marriage
Clara O'Roarke, Laura and Raoul's daughter
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Gisèle Thirle, Malcolm's sister
Andrew Thirle, her husband
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Miles Addison, Malcolm's valet
Blanca Mendoza Addison, his wife, Mélanie's companion
Pedro Addison, their son
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The Davenport Family
Lady Cordelia Davenport, classicist
Colonel Harry Davenport, her husband, classicist, former British intelligence agent
Livia Davenport, their daughter
Drusilla Davenport, their daughter
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Archibald (Archie) Davenport, MP, Harry's uncle
Lady Frances Davenport, his wife, Malcolm's aunt
Francesca Davenport, their daughter
Philip Davenport, their son
Chloe Dacre-Hammond, Frances's daughter from her first marriage
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The Mallinson Family
Arthur (Julien St. Juste) Mallinson, Earl Carfax, former agent for hire
Katelina (Kitty) Velasquez Mallinson, Countess Carfax, his wife, former British and Spanish intelligence agent
Leo Ashford, her son
Timothy Ashford, her son
Guenevere (Genny) Ashford, Kitty and Julien's daughter
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Hubert Mallinson, spymaster, Julien's uncle
Amelia Mallinson, his wife
Lucinda Mallinson, their youngest daughter
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David Mallinson, MP, Hubert and Amelia's son
Simon Tanner, playwright, his lover
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Mary Laclos, Hubert and Amelia's eldest daughter
Gui Laclos, her husband
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Others
Bertrand Laclos, Gui's cousin, French émigré, former British intelligence agent
Rupert, Viscount Caruthers, his lover, MP, former British intelligence agent
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Alexander (Sandy) Trenor
Elizabeth (Bet) Simcox, his mistress
Nan Simcox Lucan, her sister
Sam Lucan, Nan's husband
Helen Trenor, Lady Marchmain, Sandy's mother
Marcus Trenor, Lord Marchmain, Sandy's father
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Kit Montagu, member of the Levellers
Sofia Montagu, his wife
Nerezza Russo, Sofia's friend
Benedict (Ben) Smythe, Nerezza's beau
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Lord Beverston, member of the Elsinore League, Benedict's father
Sir George Dalton, Elsinore League member
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William Barrington, Whig MP
Lord Wharton, Whig politician
Lady Harley, former mistress of Julien's father
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Josefina Lopes Bennet, former agent and singer
Lucian Bennet, composer and violinist, her husband
Luisa Lopes, Josefina's mother
Fernando Lopes, Josefina's father
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Edith Simmons, classicist and former governess who lives with the Davenports
Alice, Lady Wilton, Edith's former employer
Thomas Thornsby, classicist
Lady Shroppington, Thomas's great-aunt, Elsinore League member
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Manon Caret Harleton, actress
Crispin, Lord Harleton, her husband
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Jennifer Mansfield Smytheton, actress
Sir Horace Smytheton, her husband, former Elsinore League member
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James Fitzwalter, Duke of Trenchard, Laura's first husband's brother
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Lady Derby
Lord Derby, her husband
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*Emily, Countess Cowper, patroness of Almack's
*Harry, Lord Palmerston, secretary at war, her lover
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*Henry Brougham, MP, Queen Caroline's lawyer
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Sylvie, Viscountess St. Ives, agent for hire
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Jeremy Roth, Bow Street runner
Be as thou wast wont to be.
See as thou wast wont to see.
—Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream, Act IV, scene i
1
London
October 1820
Lord Carfax adjusted a fold in his cravat. He'd been tying cravats without thinking about it for three decades, but for some reason tonight the linen had refused to cooperate. Which obviously had nothing to do with the state of his fingers. Because nerves were something he wouldn't admit to.
He tucked a fold under his gray silk waistcoat, though it should have been perfect before he put the waistcoat on. The damned candles on either side of the looking glass kept flickering, which didn't help. Perhaps he should light a lamp.
"Aren't you ready, darling?" His wife appeared in the dressing room doorway, fastening a pearl bracelet he'd given her round her wrist. "It's less than half an hour until the guests are due to arrive."
"This is Mayfair, my sweet. They'll be fashionably late."
"Someone's sure to be early in hopes of gleaning information. Or simply to catch us off our guard."
"You have a point." He stuck his diamond stickpin into the cravat. At a rather awkward angle. Oh, well. He'd start making a practice of it and set a new fashion. He reached for his coat. Tailored on Bond Street, as nearly all his coats had been even when he'd lived in exile. "I'm never going to look at myself and see Lord Carfax."
"I should hope not." Kitty came up behind him and smoothed her hands over the black superfine shoulders of the coat. "I don't want to wonder what's become of the man I married. Besides, it's what other people see that matters. And you've always been very good at making other people see precisely what you want them to."
He turned and caught her hands in his own. She was wearing apricot gauze draped with an artistry befitting Aphrodite over a matching satin slip. Her tawny hair was piled high with curls escaping an antique gold bandeau to fall about her face. The pearl bracelet was round her wrist, citrines from her native Spain were at her ears and round her throat, and the emerald ring he'd given her when they married was on her hand. "You look beautiful."
"I feel like an imposter. Which is odd considering how much of my life I've spent playing a role. And this role is actually the truth."
"Truth can be damnably hard to play, as I'm sure Manon and Letty and Will and our other actor friends would confirm."
She leaned in and kissed him, lightly, but she clung for a moment. He tightened his arms round her—carefully so as not to disturb her gown. She drew back and gave a rueful smile. "Oh dear. I've got lip rouge on you."
"Never mind." He smoothed it off, but not quite completely. "It will give them something to gossip about."
"Because they'll think it's mine or someone else's?"
"Either way. But probably more if they think it's yours."
"Good. Nothing like a touch of scandal to lend interest. And it may stop people from talking about other things."
He lifted her hands to his lips, each in turn. "You didn't wear the Carfax rubies."
"Strategic choice. I'm going to be my sort of Lady Carfax."
"My darling Kitkat. You're always going to be your own anything." He picked up his gloves and held out his arm. She slid her own through it. They stopped in the nursery where Leo and Timothy made them repeat their promises to bring up ices and cakes, and Genny added a sticky print on his cravat to the smear of lip rouge. He'd always been known for his immaculate linen, but he decided to leave it for good luck.
They heard voices in the hall as they went downstairs. Mélanie and Malcolm Rannoch, and Raoul and Laura O'Roarke, who had all been an invaluable support these past months. He'd known Malcolm Rannoch since they were boys. He'd worked with Mélanie on more than one mission, notably when they helped the Empress Josephine's daughter Hortense conceal a secret pregnancy (he'd also spent one memorable night with her, but that was hardly something to dwell on now when she was more a friend than anything). He'd worked with and against O'Roarke for a quarter century and learned far more from him than he'd ever admit. He'd known Laura the least of all of them, but had grown very fond of her, as well as having a great deal of respect for her skills. And the Rannochs and O'Roarkes had brought another couple with them as well. As Julien descended the stairs, he saw the tall figure of Andrew Thirle, Malcolm Rannoch's brother-in-law, and beside him, half hidden behind Malcolm, whom she was talking to, Malcolm's younger sister Gisèle Thirle. Whom Julien had started training to be an agent when she was fourteen. And who was now one of the most formidable agents he knew. Even by the very impressive standards of the group gathered in the Carfax House hall.
"I'm so glad you're all here early." Kitty smiled as they went down the rest of the steps.
"We thought you could use the moral support," Mélanie said.
"And the practical support," Kitty said. "Come into the supper room and see how things look."
"I can offer the rest of you a drink," Julien said. "I imagine we could all do with the fortification."
In the library, he poured whisky for all of them and marveled both at the oddity of having friends and of welcoming them to the house he had grown up in but until recently hadn't ever thought to return to. Very often this group gathered in the midst of an investigation, but tonight the mood was surprisingly carefree. Until he put a glass into Gisèle's hand, and Gisèle's fingers tightened round his arm. "Could we have a word in private?"
Julien met her gaze, then nodded. A few moments later, after they had made their excuses to the others, none of whom, including Gisèle's husband, seemed particularly surprised, they removed to the study.
Gisèle took a sip from her glass and regarded him across the room that had once been the sanctum of his uncle, Hubert Mallinson, who had been Lord Carfax for the quarter century Julien had been presumed dead. And who was also Gisèle's father, though Gisèle hadn't known it until recently.
Gisèle set her glass down and smiled at him. "You don't look different."
"I should hope not. I'm the same person."
She moved to one of the chairs in front of the desk. Julien had replaced the straight-backed chairs Carfax used for his guests with a pair of cushioned armchairs designed for f
riendly chats. "Ought I to start calling you Arthur?"
"Not if you expect me to answer." Julien dropped into the chair opposite her instead of the one behind the desk. He'd kept his uncle's desk because it was practical and contained all sorts of hidden compartments worthy of a spymaster, but it still didn't feel like his. Despite his and Kitty's having gone to considerable lengths to make it their own.
"I haven't been Arthur for more than half my life. And it never suited me."
