The Carfax Intrigue

by Tracy Grant

  "Has he met Wellington?" David asked, as though the thought had just occurred to him.

  "I introduced them in Westminster a month since."

  "That's not what I meant. Has he met Wellington on missions?"

  "In numerous disguises, apparently."

  "What are you looking so solemn about?" David's lover, Simon, joined them and leaned his arm against the wall beside David. He looked more at ease than Malcolm had ever seen him in Carfax House, probably in part because it no was longer the home of David's parents, but also because David's no longer being the heir to the title and other events the previous winter had caused Hubert Mallinson to be far more accepting of David and Simon's relationship.

  "My cousin's playing with fire," David said.

  Simon glanced at Julien, still conversing with Wellington. "Somehow I think St. Ju—Julien—juggles fire in his sleep."

  "He's met Wellington in disguise," David said.

  "He's probably met half the room in disguise," Malcolm said. "I think he has a very shrewd idea about what he's setting up tonight. What he and Kitty are setting up. They don't need to play the beau monde's game, but they know it can be useful."

  "I don't think he's going to be bored as Lord Carfax," Simon said.

  "No," David said. "He's made that abundantly clear. Good God." David gaped in a way he almost never did. "Is that Lady Shroppington?"

  Malcolm watched Lady Shroppington, her gray hair adorned with plumes, fine diamonds sparkling round her throat and at her ears, exchange greetings with Emily Cowper. In whose box Lady Shroppington's paid assassin had concealed a rifle that they had narrowly prevented him from using six months since. "Yes, Julien wanted her here."

  David clutched the stem of his champagne glass as though he was afraid he'd drop it. "I understand Sam Lucan. He's a friend. I understand Beverston, for all he's a member of the League. Because he's a member of the League. I even understand Sylvie St. Ives, because Julien wants to keep an eye on her because of their past association. But Lady Shroppington—"

  "Julien's as interested in his enemies as his friends," Malcolm said. Lady Shroppington was connected—in ways they hadn't yet determined—to the faction trying to take over the Elsinore League. The faction selling the papers to Hubert Mallinson tonight.

  "She tried to kill his wife." David cast a quick glance at Simon. She'd tried to have him killed too, along with Kit Montagu and their friend Mr. Hapgood. Both of whom were also present tonight.

  "And Julien said he'd be more comfortable keeping an eye on her," Malcolm said.

  "But the risk—"

  "I doubt she'll try to attack Kitty or anyone else in the midst of the ball," Malcolm said. "If she was inclined to attempt anything, she'd be more likely to hire an assassin when she wasn't present. Besides, once the information about Antonio Barosa was published, Kitty and the rest of you were no longer a threat to her. The information's out in the open and it doesn't seem to have had the effect she feared."

  "And we're all still wondering what we missed," Simon murmured.

  "Quite." Malcolm had gone over the papers Kitty and the others had smuggled out of Spain and secretly published until he knew them by heart, searching for whatever secret they contained that Lady Shroppington and those she was working in the League were ready to kill to conceal. Last January, Lady Shroppington and the League had gone to rather extraordinary lengths to prevent the publication of notes of meetings the former Lord Carfax had had with a Spanish contact and an Italian emissary called Antonio Barossa. Malcolm hadn't been able to find any trail of the real Antonio Barossa. Which might mean the name was an alias used by an agent, as they suspected. And might support Raoul's theory that it was an alias for the man trying to take over the League, also known as Alexander Radford, though that was almost certainly not his real name either.

  "She also tried to have Sir Horace Smytheton killed at the Tavistock," David pointed out. "And he's here too."

  Sir Horace was dancing with his wife, the actress Jennifer Mansfield, as though he hadn't a care in the world. Jennifer, far more cautious, also appeared to be enjoying herself. Though Malcolm had no doubt her senses were finely tuned. She was a very capable former agent. "Lady Shroppington wouldn't move against Smytheton herself, and as with the others, she's less likely to try something when she's present. And more important, the League haven't tried anything against Sir Horace for almost six months." Though they still hadn't been able to discover why the League had targeted Smytheton, who had once been a League member himself.

  "And we're supposed to greet her as though nothing has happened." David was still staring at Lady Shroppington.

  "When all else fails, seek refuge in social niceties," Simon said. "Or in your acting ability. We were all quite proficient when we met at Oxford. Pretend we're doing Harry IV, part 1 again. With all the political intriguing and various factions, tonight isn't that different."

  "Lucan." Julien extended his hand to Sam Lucan, who had gone by the name Sancho Lugo in the days when he'd been the most reliable supplier of guns in the Iberian Peninsula, with a smile of genuine warmth. "Mrs. Lucan." He turned to Nan, red-haired and exuberant, whom Sam had had the good sense to marry. "I'm glad you could come."

  Nan shook her head. "Still can't get used to the name."

  "I think Kitty shares your feeling about being Lady Carfax," Julien said. "I hope your daughter is well. You must bring her to play with the children again some time."

  "Thank you." Nan's smile was a bit easier, as though perhaps the reminder of playing with the children on the drawing room carpet made Carfax House a bit less intimidating. Julien could sympathize. He found it intimidating himself, and the children's toys scattered about on a normal day did a great deal to humanize it. Odd to have them tidied away now.

  Sam was regarding Julien as though he were a tiger with a jeweled collar. "Good of you to invite us, St. Ju—Carfax."

  "Good of you to come," Julien said. "I can well understand it seems something of a risk."

  "Blimey," Nan said.

  "Your husband is understandably somewhat wary of me, Mrs. Lucan. But you of all people must understand the advantage of a reputation. I was never nearly as lethal as I let on."

  Sam nearly spluttered over his champagne. "Don't believe that for a moment."

  Julien clapped him on the shoulder. "It's good to have friends here."

  "Is that what we are?" Sam started to wipe his mouth, then appeared to remember he was wearing gloves.

  "I'm learning to have friends. It's a novelty I quite enjoy."

  4

  "Rannoch."

  "Sandy." Malcolm turned from scanning the crowd to smile at Sandy Trenor. "I was hoping to see you. At the risk of a cliché, it really is a crush."

  "It's a splendid party." Sandy grinned with youthful enthusiasm. "You have no idea how many people envied our being invited. The Carfaxes are the talk of London."

  "Not surprising, given everything."

  "No, but it's more than that. You can tell just looking at them. You could tell from St. Jus—devil take it, I can't manage to call him Carfax—Julien's speech in the Lords. If not before."

  "Yes. I think you're right. Kitty and Julien are making it very clear what sort of presence they mean to have in London. And how much things have changed."

  "It was good of them to invite us. And Lucan and Nan." Sandy and Sam Lucan could not be more different, but Sandy's mistress, Bet Simcox, was Nan Lucan's sister.

  Sandy cast a glance about and took a step closer to Malcolm. "See here, Rannoch, can you help look after Bet tonight? We have a lot of friends here, but there are far more people she doesn't know, and you know how overwhelming it can be. My parents are here, and I'm going to have to speak with them at some point."

  "And you don't want a scene."

  Sandy grimaced but didn't look away. "I don't want Bet made uncomfortable. And yes, I don't want a scene if we can help it. Mama's likely to try to get me to dance with eligible girls, even wit
h Bet here. It's got worse lately." He frowned. "Perhaps I shouldn't have insisted Bet come."

  "I can see the challenge for both of you. But I don't think hiding is the solution. I imagine it means quite a bit to Bet that you want her to be present." Malcolm nearly found himself asking Sandy what his intentions were when it came to Bet. But it wasn't his place to do so, of course. And he couldn't pretend it would be easy for the couple. Lewis Thornsby had been killed on the orders of his own great-aunt, Lady Shroppington, largely because he'd wanted to marry an actress. Which many would consider a more eligible match than a former prostitute.

  Malcolm touched Sandy on the shoulder. "We're very fond of Bet."

  Sandy gave a quick smile, the sort that put Malcolm in mind of his son Colin. While at the same time at the back of Sandy's eyes there was a knowledge that hadn't been there even a year and a half ago. "You're very kind to both of us. When we're with you and your friends, I forget sometimes—" Sandy looked down into his drink and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I'm not really comfortable anymore the places we can't go together. I don't enjoy it. And that includes visits to my parents."

  So easy to say his parents would come round. But if they did so, they'd be a rare exception in the beau monde rather than the rule. And though Sandy and Bet lived quietly, her past was too well known for Malcolm to invent a fictional history for her, as he once had for his agent Rachel Garnier, who had worked in a brothel in Brussels.

  "It's challenging," Malcolm said. "Having to be a different person with different people. Even without the complication of being agents, we wear a lot of masks in life."

  Sandy gave a quick nod. "But—one can't live one's life in different pieces forever, can one?"

  "People do." Gentleman often effectively had entire second families with their mistresses. The regent, now the king, had kept his marriage to Mrs. Fitzherbert going after he married Princess Caroline, as well as having numerous other mistresses, though whether his marriage to Caroline had ever been real enough to be called a life was certainly open to question. "Julien used to live his life in more pieces than I could count."

  "Yes, but even he didn't want to do that forever."

  Sandy had a way of coming up with unexpected wisdom. "Very true," Malcolm said.

  Sandy nodded and took a drink of champagne, as though contemplating his future.

  "Trenor. We've been looking for you." Kit Montagu clapped a hand on Sandy's shoulder. '"Sorry, Malcolm, you too, but we need Trenor and Bet to make up a set." Kit, a committed member of the Levellers, a group of young Radicals centered round the Tavistock Theatre, was usually focused and serious, but now he was grinning, gaze alight.

  "Er—of course," Sandy said. "Who else is in the set?"

  "Sofia and I and Nerezza and Ben."

  Sofia, Kit’s bride of two months, slipped through the crowd with her friend Nerezza Russo and Nerezza's beau, Benedict Smythe.

  "Sorry, Malcolm," Sofia said. "You and Mélanie could be in the set instead, but we assumed you'd be engaged."

  "Mélanie is and I should be," Malcolm said. "But you're the soul of tact, Sofia."

  "Where's Bet?" Nerezza asked Sandy.

  "With Nan." Sandy glanced round the room. Malcolm wondered if he was looking for Bet or his parents or both. Kit, Sofia, and Benedict were part of Sandy's world, but Nerezza was an outsider like Bet. Sandy looked back at the others and grinned. "We'd love to make up part of the set."

  "Then go and find her, man." Kit tightened his hand on Sandy's shoulder, then took Sofia's arm. Sofia had worked with the Carbonari in Italy and broken the Elsinore League's codes. Nerezza had worked undercover against the League in Italy and had escaped their agents with Sofia's help. Even Benedict, fresh-faced and innocent of intrigue six months ago, had acquired an edge since he'd learned his father was an Elsinore League member and Nerezza had been threatened. But for the moment, all five of them looked like young people at a ball. Which they were, even if they happened to be agents as well.

  Sandy cast a quick look at Malcolm. "Find Bet and enjoy yourself," Malcolm said. "And don't worry about the older generation."

  Sofia laughed, Kit gave a mock salute, the others grinned, and they went off, laughing.

  Julien surveyed the ballroom as he moved through the crowd, pausing to exchange greetings, to offer a compliment, to perform an introduction. Keeping an eye out for George Dalton. And offering plentiful distraction so the others could devote more serious energies to the attempt to thwart Dalton in selling the papers. It was easy enough to be a distraction tonight. It would have been more difficult not to gather attention as he moved about the ballroom. His father's ballroom. His uncle's. And now his own. And yet many of the eyes turned on him regarded him as an interloper.

  His paternal God-knows-how-many-times-removed Mallinson grandfather had crossed the Channel with the bastard of Normandy and managed to survive the Battle of Hastings and get a barony out of it. Which a Wars-of-the-Roses Mallinson did enough double-dealing to turn into a viscountcy, and an enterprising courtier with a good leg that caught Elizabeth's eye turned into an earldom. Not long after this first Earl Carfax started building Carfax Court with the merchant's daughter he married, Julien's maternal great-great-great-grandfather Daniel Fletcher had set sail for Jamaica. He was a tanner's son and traveled between decks. But he still had a far easier voyage than Julien's grandmother's ancestors, whose names Julien didn't know, who came on a slave ship a bit later. They all made their lives in an alien country, but his grandmother's people hadn’t had any choice about leaving. Or about how to make their lives when they got there. Daniel Fletcher dreamt of founding a fortune in the new world and became a privateer with Sir Henry Morgan. He probably did far better for himself than he would have done toiling on the land. He ended up with a sizable property in Jamaica and married the governor's niece. He was apparently a good businessman, which Julien suspected most successful pirates were. By the time his great-grandson, also named Daniel, was born, the family had property in Barbados as well. The younger Daniel was a second son and inherited the Barbados property. He did well out of sugarcane, but he did even better trading other people's sugar to Britain and the Continent. He had a tidy fortune and he wasn't bad looking, judging by the portraits, so he must have had a number of match-making mamas scheming and their daughters setting their caps at him.

  Julien cast a glance round the ballroom where much of the same activity was underway. It wasn't particularly surprising Daniel had taken a liking to one of his slaves or even that he made Julia his mistress and installed her in his house. What was surprising was that instead of marrying one of the local girls, Daniel took Julia with him on one of his trips to Britain to negotiate trading contacts and freed her and married her. It would have been legal for him to marry her in Barbados, but it would have been more of a scandal, to say the least. It was enough of a scandal as it was, though somewhat lessened by the fact that she died giving birth to Julien's mother, Pamela, not long after they returned.

  At least she died free, someone had once said to him. Julien's fingers tightened round his champagne glass.

  Kitty, of course, would say no wife is really free, legally. A wife couldn't control her own fortune unless her family were very careful with the marriage settlement, she couldn't deny her body to her husband, and her husband could deny her access to her children. Julien was still rather stunned that Kitty had agreed to marry, considering what marriage signified. But it was true his grandmother Julia hadn't been a slave when she died. Julian and her sister had come from another planation where their mother was the owner's mistress. The man who owned them and sold them was their father. Even assuming he hadn't taken their mother against her will, one couldn't possibly say their mother, Julien's great-grandmother, had acted freely. Could a person owned by another person ever give themselves freely to that person? At the very least, the person who claimed to own the other person could never be sure.

  Julien looked across the ballroom and fel
t his fingers curl tighter round the crystal stem. He'd crossed a number of lines in his life. But he'd never slept with anyone, man or woman, who wasn't willing. That was one line he couldn't imagine crossing. He drew a breath. For a moment, his mother's description of the hibiscus-tinged air was so vivid it flooded his senses. He didn't know how his grandmother Julia had felt about his grandfather Daniel. His mother had never known her own mother. His nurse told him Julia had been grateful to Daniel, which perhaps was something. Daniel seemed to have loved Julia—or what he'd have called love. He never remarried. He took her sister as a mistress and had more children. Julien's cousin in Canada, whom he corresponded with, was a cousin through both his grandmother and his grandfather. His mother had grown up playing with half-siblings who were slaves. And an aunt who looked after her and shared her father's bed who was also a slave. Julien had never got to talk to her about that. He wondered sometimes if she'd have tried to explain when he was older, if she had lived. Daniel had seen to it she had the best education—dancing masters, music masters, drawing masters. A governess he brought from France. She couldn't mingle in society in Barbados, so when she was seventeen he took her to London and got one of his aristocratic contacts to take her about. Generous funds must have been involved, because between his commercial ties, the general bias against the West Indian planter class, and her mother's having been a slave, it wouldn't have been easy. On the other hand, it was easier in London than it would have been in Barbados. And at that point, Daniel's fortune was large enough to command a great deal of attention.

  Julien wasn't sure if Daniel had been pleased with the Carfax match because he thought being a countess would make his daughter happy, or because having an earl for a son-in-law would add to his consequence, or if he persuaded himself of the first because of the second, but he evidently considered it a great coup. He'd come back from Barbados for Julien's christening, but he died not long after, so Julien had no memory of him. Daniel hadn't freed his slaves when he died. Julien's father, John Mallinson, had inherited the plantation and the trading business, which also meant he owned Julien's aunts and uncles and cousins. He engaged one of Daniel's nephews to continue to run the planation. The nephew and his family had died in the Unicorn Rebellion that Julien had helped arm. The house burned in the rebellion but was rebuilt. Julien's Uncle Hubert, who had been Lord Carfax for twenty-five years, had never visited, but hired someone to run the plantation. He had owned Julien's cousins. If Julien hadn't—disappeared—he could have freed them decades sooner.