The Tavistock Plot

by Tracy Grant

  "I knew that. I didn't quite want to admit it, but it was obvious. I'm sorry I didn't come to you sooner."

  "I'm glad you came to me now." Mélanie studied Brandon. For all his pose of selfish unconcern, he had keen insights. "Brandon—what did you think of Thornsby?"

  Brandon's mouth twisted ruefully. "Not a great deal, I'm afraid. I can't pretend to be a beacon of liberty. I'm an actor before anything else. But I have enough sense of what needs to be done in the world to respect men like Kit and Roger Smythe. And Tanner, who manages to be a playwright and an agent of change. Thornsby was playing at it." Brandon frowned. "At least that's what I thought. I couldn't really hear what he said to Kit, but it was quite a different tone from what I was accustomed to hear from him." Brandon paused for a moment, frowning. "Almost as though he were a different person."

  Clouds were beginning to mass in the sky as Raoul walked back to Berkeley Square. Rather like a flock of ravens. He shook his head at the fanciful thought. Perhaps it was the stories he'd been reading to the children. This was the second time he'd returned to the house today. Unusual, but then, as Emily had said this morning, nothing was usual in an investigation.

  Young voices carried on the quickening wind as he approached the Berkeley Square garden. He saw a familiar sapphire-blue bonnet and a flash of titian hair escaping it. His wife was in the garden with the children, including the Davenport girls, but there was no sign of the other adults in the family.

  "Mélanie went back to the theatre," Laura said, as he dropped down on the bench beside her. "And Malcolm and Cordy have gone to talk to Thornsby's aunt." Her gaze flickered over his face. Clara was in her lap, but she looked as much a seasoned agent as a mother. Not that the two were mutually exclusive. "Did you learn anything?"

  "Mostly by omission." Raoul stretched out his arms to take Clara. "I can't find any evidence to support a plot to assassinate a member of the royal family at the Tavistock. Even in what people aren't saying. There seems to be general consensus that that would have the worst implications for any sort of reform in Britain." That was all quite true. He had merely left out the confirmation he had received of his suspicions regarding Kitty Ashford.

  Laura's shrewd gaze told him she suspected he was holding something back. But then, it was hardly the first time. Raoul shifted on the bench and touched his fingers to Clara's head. Impossible to deny a pang at the thought that secrets and lies were an accepted part of his relationship with his wife. Which was foolish, because they'd both known that would always be the case long before they'd married.

  "Uncle Julien!" Jessica's greeting carried across the garden. Raoul turned his head to see Julien St. Juste approaching the garden gate.

  "You didn't bring Genny and the boys," Jessica said, running to greet St. Juste. "And Auntie Kitty didn't bring them this morning."

  "No, you must accept my apologies." Julien closed the gate behind him and knelt down in front of her. "It's been a bit of an unexpected day. We'll bring them soon."

  The other children ran over. St. Juste exchanged greetings with them, with the same ease with which he'd greet a group of royalty or diplomats or agents or assassins, then strolled over to the bench where Laura and Raoul sat. "You two—you three—are an advertisement for domesticity. No doubt quite misleading, like most advertisements. I don't suppose you've seen Kitty. It's times like these I find myself longing for a good drop system to exchange messages."

  "She was here this morning," Laura said. "But she left about ten. Raoul talked to her last."

  "She didn't say where she going," Raoul said. Which strictly speaking was true, though he could make some guesses. "I know she talked with Malcolm and wanted to help with the investigation."

  "It's no matter." Julien's voice was easy. Perhaps a shade too easy. "I just found myself near Berkeley Square and thought I would check."

  "Mummy." Emily came running over, followed by Colin and Livia. "We're thirsty. May we have lemonade?"

  "I'll get it," Raoul said.

  "No, you stay and talk with Julien and have some time with the children." Laura got to her feet. "I can bring something stronger back as well."

  Julien gave a lazy smile, quite as though they weren't in the midst of a murder investigation and he weren’t wondering what his mistress was involved in. "Have I mentioned you're an exceedingly astute woman, Laura?"

  "One can never hear it too often." Laura smiled and went out the gate towards the house, promising the children she'd bring cakes as well as lemonade.

  Julien settled himself in Laura's place on the bench. "You're a lucky man, O'Roarke."

  Raoul looked down at Clara, who was tugging his cravat free of his waistcoat with great concentration. "Don't think I don't know it."

  Julien continued to watch him, gaze narrowed as though against the sun, despite the gray sky. "How the hell do you do it?"

  Raoul returned the younger man's gaze. In the quarter century of their acquaintance, through being allies and enemies, watching Josephine fall from power and the empire itself fall, betraying each other's secrets and saving each other's lives, this might be the first time Julien had asked for his advice. "How do I do what?"

  "All that." Julien glanced at the center of the garden. Colin was helping Jessica and Drusilla build a castle out of sticks. Emily and Livia were dangling a toy for Berowne, the cat. "Being a father. Being a husband. Making it work."

  Raoul gave a short laugh. "One might argue whether or not I do make it work." He unhooked his watch and gave it to Clara to play with. "In fact, one could make a fair argument I don't."

  "Don't be self-deprecating, O'Roarke. I've seen you with your wife and your children. I know what you mean to them. I know what they mean to you. Perhaps more important, I've seen what they get from you and you get from them. The man who was playing on the drawing room carpet last week, the man whose wedding I went to last April. The man sitting here now holding his baby. I'd never have thought the man I met in Paris twenty-five years ago—even the man I knew in the Peninsula and at Waterloo—could become that man."

  The past danced before his eyes for a moment. Choices made and not made. Things admitted to and things concealed. "I'm the same man I've always been. Perhaps people just see me differently."

  "Or you let people see more of you."

  Raoul returned Julien's gaze. For all the unusual emotional questions, that blue gaze was as sharp as ever. "Possibly." Raoul hesitated, unfamiliar words bottled up in his throat. He didn't talk easily about these things. He closed up at most efforts to draw him out. But talking about feelings was probably even harder for Julien than it was for him. "I could never have envisioned it either. Twenty-five years ago. Ten years ago. Five years ago. Even two and a half years ago, when Laura and I first—I knew how I felt about her, but I couldn't have seen the way from there to here. It happened a bit at a time. A moment of mutual need. A realization that I was happy. That she seemed happy. A declaration I couldn't stop myself from making." He cast a quick glance at Emily, who had picked up the remarkably compliant Berowne and was spinning in a circle. "If it weren’t for Emily, it probably would have happened much more slowly," he said in a low voice. "Or never become what it is at all. I thought we could keep it without strings on Laura's side. But as you may appreciate, it's difficult to keep relationships without strings when there are children involved. Emily—I think she decided I was her father before I realized it was a possibility. People started treating Laura and me as a couple before we consciously admitted we were one. I remember watching Malcolm put his arm round Mélanie and realizing I could do the same with Laura. Going to Italy, where it was easier to be together openly. Realizing how far I'd come, and that I couldn't go back and wouldn't want to." Raoul looked at Emily, who had dropped down on the ground beside Livia, then down at tiny Clara. "If I'd contemplated it all from the start, I'd never have tried. But then, that's true of most things that are complicated in life."

  "Says the farseeing strategist."

  "Strat
egy is often a matter of reacting well after one blunders."

  "Because you've thought through twenty-five scenarios before you moved."

  "And sometimes because it's the twenty-sixth scenario that occurs. But then, you should know that. Your whole life is one long improvisation. And you can adapt better than most to the circumstances in which you find yourself."

  St. Juste had been watching Colin, Jessica, and Drusilla build a fortification of stones about their stick castle, but at that his gaze swung round to pin Raoul like a dagger thrust. "Is that what you think I'm doing with Kitty and the children? Adapting to circumstances?"

  Clara was examining the watch fob that held a lock of Malcolm's baby hair. "From what I've seen," Raoul said, "what you're doing with Kitty and the children is making a life."

  "Which you just said was improvisation."

  "Improvisation can make a life."

  St. Juste's gaze went back to the children. Two of the sticks had fallen over. Jessica was crying in frustration. Colin moved one of the rocks to prop them up. "You must worry—"

  "That'll I'll fail them?" Raoul watched Jessica clap her hands and Colin press a kiss to her forehead. "Every day. Though perhaps less so than a year ago. That they'll be hurt because of me—Laura wouldn't thank me for it, but yes. As I said, I'm still not sure one could say I'm making anything work. But I do know I'm far happier than I have any right to be."

  "I thought everyone had the right to be happy. Isn't that one of those principles you're always fighting for? The slave owner who is somehow a spokesperson for individual liberty said something of the sort in his declaration."

  "A palpable hit on two counts, St. Juste." Raoul touched him on the shoulder. "I'm hardly a font of wisdom, but if I've learned anything, it's that you can't be sure when you start where you're going to end up. You create a life a bit at a time and it's constantly changing. You don't have to start with all the answers. Or even any of them."

  "That sounds annoyingly wise." Julien gave a short laugh that was quite unlike his usual sangfroid. "I don't have the least idea how to do it. But I seem to be managing to muddle through, at least much of the time." He paused for a moment. "It's a long time since I've played a role I wasn't sure of. An intriguing challenge. Though this isn't really a role at all."

  "No. I've seen enough of you to be quite sure it isn't. And I speak as one who is frequently not sure of anything where you're concerned. From the outside, I'd say you've already taken a number of steps towards creating a life."

  "Perhaps. But as you say, that life is still evolving."

  Raoul glanced at the children. Emily and Livia had joined Colin and the younger girls and they were all taking toy knights and ladies out of a basket and setting them up in the stick-and-rock castle. Berowne was washing himself nearby. "Don't make the mistake of thinking it has to evolve into anything that looks like what everyone—or anyone—else has. If nothing else, being round this group should have taught you that."

  "Being round this group has rendered me sadly domestic. It's obviously catching. But I find I don't mind very much. Which may mean I'm besotted. Or mad. Though I imagine a lot of people would say I've always been mad."

  "All the most interesting people are." Raoul studied Julien for a moment. "I don't think you've ever been afraid of risks."

  Julien leaned back on the bench, gaze on the children. "There are risks and there are risks. I'm not sure someone with my past has any business dragging anyone else into it. Let alone four people. But I'm selfish enough not to let that stand in my way. It's actually not my fears that are likely to be a problem."

  "Kitty doesn't strike me as the sort to be afraid either," Raoul said.

  "She's quite fearless. But we all have our quirks. She may not think I'm up to the job. Or worth the risk. Or both. I don't know that she trusts me. In fact, it's rather obvious that she doesn't."

  "My dear fellow," Raoul said, as the door of the house opened and Laura appeared, carrying a hamper, "none of us can fully trust the others. That's part of being an agent. Even an agent who's managing to carry off matrimony."

  Laura came back into the garden and set down the promised collation for the children, then joined Raoul and Julien carrying a bottle of wine and three glasses. "What did I miss?"

  "The two of us being sadly prosaic." Julien gave a lazy smile and took the glasses, while Laura opened the bottle. "You'd never guess we were agents in the midst of an investigation."

  Malcolm found his cousin, Aline Blackwell, sitting on the floor of her study, demonstrating equations to her four-year-old daughter, Claudia, with a set of blocks.

  "Uncle Malcolm!" Claudia ran over to hug Malcolm. "What's one hundred and twenty take away fifty, and then plus thirty?"

  "I'm sure you can work it out." Malcolm scooped her up.

  "Well, of course I can." Claudia fixed him with a direct gaze that was the twin of her mother's, set beneath level dark brows that were also the twin of Aline's. "I'm testing you."

  "Oh, well then. One hundred."

  "You're smart, Uncle Malcolm."

  "I'm not half as good at numbers as you and your mother." He sat down on the Axminster carpet beside Aline, Claudia in his lap. "In truth, I came because I need your mother's help."

  "I thought it was probably that." Aline drew her legs up and hooked her arms round her knees, as she had so often when they were in the schoolroom. "Otherwise, you'd be too buried in the investigation to call."

  "You know about the investigation?" Malcolm asked. That was quick even for Mayfair, given that the story had still been out of the papers this morning.

  "We've just been to see Mama. Raoul had stopped to see Archie this morning." Aline's mother, Malcolm's aunt Frances, was married to Harry's uncle Archibald Davenport. Archie was a former agent who had been undercover with the Elsinore League.

  "I should have realized how fast news travels in this family." Malcolm reached into his coat and pulled out the coded papers they'd found in Rosemary Lane. "Do you think you can break these? We found them in rooms the victim was keeping under a secret identity."

  Aline studied the papers. "I'll get to work right away. I may ask Sofia to help. It will go faster with two of us." She looked up from the papers. "Mama said Mr. Thornsby was a Leveller so I suppose Kit is involved?"

  "Yes, he can hardly fail to be," Malcolm said.

  The question was just how deeply.

  Chapter 16

  Malcolm found Roger Smythe in a corner of the Thistle Inn, not far from the House of Commons. And not alone. As he threaded his way between the tables, Malcolm recognized the sandy head of Roger's companion even from the back. He and Roger had their heads close together over pints of porter that looked scarcely touched. The dark wainscoting below the white plaster left them in comforting shadows.

  "Rannoch." Roger saw Malcolm first. "Kit's been telling me about Thornsby. I'm still having a hard time taking it in."

  "Have you learned anything?" Kit swung round in his chair. His face was haggard as though he had slept little, his eyes dark with concern for his friend. His going to see Roger made perfect sense. But Malcolm was still not entirely sanguine about the reasons his idealistic young friend had broken into Thornsby's rooms hours after the murder.

  "Quite a bit, actually." Malcolm dropped down on the bench beside Roger, facing Kit, and signaled the waiter to bring him a pint of porter. "Does the name Montford mean anything to you?"

  No recognition flashed on either man's face. "There's not a Leveller named Montford," Kit said. "At least, not unless we have a member I don't know about."

  "In a sense, you do," Malcolm said. "Thornsby was living a double life under the name Montford, with lodgings in Rosemary Lane. I assume that wasn't for Leveller purposes, as far as you know?"

  Kit and Roger exchanged glances. "Good God," Kit said. "No."

  "Definitely not." Roger ran a hand over his sleek dark hair. "Thornsby always seemed so disingenuous."

  "He certainly gave that impres
sion," Malcolm said. "These rooms and the identity he concocted indicate he was good deal more complicated."

  The waiter deposited a tankard of porter in front of Malcolm. He took a sip. "Can you think of anything that would interest Thornsby in Rosemary Lane? The rooms are above a used bookshop run by a man called Hapgood."

  Kit shook his head. "I've never heard the name. Or anything about Rosemary Lane."

  Roger continued to frown into his tankard. "I can scarcely credit it. Lewis was never the sort for—"

  "You knew him?" Malcolm said. "That is, before he was a Leveller?"

  "Oh yes. I've known him since we were boys. I suppose you could say since he was a baby. His parents and my parents dined together from time to time, but his great-aunt, Lady Shroppington, was—is—much more of a family friend. She and my grandmother—Father's mother—made their debuts together. She's Father's godmother."

  That was interesting. "I didn't realize," Malcolm said.

  "No reason you should." Roger sat back against the bench. "I didn't bring Lewis into the Levellers, as it happens. He just started hanging about the theatre, and the next thing I knew someone brought him along to one of the Leveller meetings."

  "Do you know who?"

  Roger frowned. "I can't say I recall. I'm not sure I ever knew. Do you, Kit?"

  Kit frowned, gaze knotted across the single candle on the table. "No. I'm trying to remember when I first met him. I think it was last autumn in the green room one night, after it emptied out. After a performance of The Steward's Stratagem. I remember seeing Lewis across the room, but I don't remember anyone's bringing him in. He was simply there."

  "Could he have walked into a Leveller meeting without knowing anyone?" Malcolm asked.

  "We don't make it difficult for people to attend," Roger said. "That would rather go against the whole idea of everyone's being equal. There are smaller groups that meet more secretly, but it wouldn't have been hard for him to attend one of the larger meetings like the one Kit mentioned, if he found out when and where."