by Tracy Grant
"A day can be vital in an investigation," Malcolm said. "But I do see your dilemma. Given that none of you trusted me."
"It's not as simple as trusting, Malcolm," Kitty said. "You should know that better than anyone." She looked at Kit. "Thornsby seems to have been extremely eager to be part of what we were doing. If he wasn't working for Carfax, I wonder why."
"If he wasn't working for Carfax, as looks increasingly likely, he may well have been working for the League," Malcolm said. "The League are eager for evidence to use against Carfax. This doesn't seem quite of a level that would warrant such seriousness. But you were attacked tonight."
"Who knew all of you were meeting in the park tonight?" Mélanie asked.
Kitty, Simon, Kit, and Hapgood exchanged glances.
"Only ourselves," Simon said.
Malcolm looked at Kitty. "Is this the first time you've been attacked since you've been in London?"
Kitty took a sip of whisky. "Don't you think I'd have told you if I had been?"
"Not necessarily."
"Possibly not. But as it happens, I wasn't." She looked at Julien. "Julien can attest that these are the first injuries I've received in some time."
Julien returned her gaze steadily. "That doesn't mean you haven't been attacked without being injured. And let's not even attempt to pretend you'd have told me if you had been. You wouldn't be the woman I love if that were true."
Kitty's gaze widened and locked on his own. She shook her head as though this wasn't the time to examine his words. "I might have told you."
Julien lifted her hand to his lips, then folded it between his own. "Might."
Kitty looked from him to Malcolm. "You'll both just have to take my word for it. As Malcolm's said, sometimes we do have to trust each other."
"Your printing pamphlets of Carfax's secret meetings changes things."
"But surely—" Laura had been sitting by in concerned silence, but now she spoke. "I can see Carfax's not wanting the pamphlets printed, but his wanting to work against revolution in Spain and Italy is hardly surprising, as Malcolm said. Would he really have people attacked to stop something getting out that confirms what most people suspect?"
"Officially, the British government is committed to nonintervention on the Continent," Malcolm said. "Some government ministers would like to intervene, I suspect, but it's far from unanimous. If France decided to move into Spain to help their Bourbon cousins and Britain backed them, we'd essentially be supporting exactly what we fought Napoleon for doing."
"What Britain allegedly fought Napoleon for doing," Raoul said.
"Yes, there's that. But there's also concern that Tsar Alexander might use intervening in Spain or Italy as an excuse to move Russian troops deeper into the Continent."
"Carfax wouldn't need an army to do the sort of thing he does," Kitty said.
"No, but if it became public, there'd be more attention on him. The whole issue would be brought to the fore. Which could make it harder for him to do the sort of thing he wants to do behind the scenes. On the other hand, as Kit brought up, Thornsby seemed eager to get his hands on the papers. He was working for someone. That someone—perhaps the League—could have been behind the attacks tonight. The question is why the papers are so important."
"You said you asked for more proof, Kit," Mélanie said. "Perhaps the drawing of the rifle trajectory that Thornsby had was part of the proof."
"You think Carfax was going to have an agent provocateur assassinate a member of the royal family?" Kit asked in horror.
"I wouldn't put it past him, if he thought the payoff was sufficient," Julien said. "But it's more likely he meant to have the plot foiled at the last minute. If there is a plot. It does look more as though we have a pattern of agent provocateur attacks."
"Thornsby got the coded list somewhere," Malcolm said. "He could have got the drawing from the same source. But we still have the fact that if whoever killed him knew about the drawing, they must have wanted us to find it. Which argues against the person he got the drawing from being the person who killed him. If—"
He broke off as the library door opened abruptly. "I'm sorry," Valentin said. "But Mr. Laclos is in the hall with Miss Russo and Mr. Smythe. Mr. Benedict Smythe. Normally I'd have bought them right in, but—" He hesitated.
But Kitty was wounded and in déshabille, and he wasn't sure if all of those in the room were meant to be seen. Valentin had impeccable instincts. "Send them in," Mélanie said, wondering what other surprises the night could possibly hold.
Chapter 22
Valentin shot Mélanie a quick grin and shortly after ushered Bertrand Laclos, Nerezza Russo, and Benedict Smythe into the library. They were all still wrapped in their outer garments, as though they'd been in too much of a hurry to relinquish them to Valentin. Nerezza's bright red hair was coming unpinned. Bertrand and Benedict looked as though they'd tugged their hats off without ceremony. Bertrand had been in and out of London all month, but Nerezza and Ben had been remaining in seclusion at the Cotswolds estate of Bertrand's lover Rupert Caruthers. Nerezza had fled Italy with Sofia's help in December after helping the Carbonari in Naples and running afoul of the minister of police, only to learn that the Elsinore League—or at least one faction in the League—were trying to have her killed for reasons that had yet to be explained.
The new arrivals stopped short, even Bertrand, who was usually equal to anything, taken aback by the crowd in the library.
"It's been an interesting evening," Malcolm said. "I think you know everyone but Mr. Hapgood." He introduced the three new arrivals to Hapgood as they seated themselves. "We're in the midst of an investigation."
"Yes, that's why we've come," Bertrand said.
"I insisted he bring us." Nerezza tugged at the ties on her cloak. She was sitting bolt upright on a settee. "It's true about Mr. Thornsby?"
"I'm afraid so." Malcolm looked at Benedict, who was sitting beside Nerezza. "I'm sorry. You must have been friends. I saw Roger today and he said your families were close."
"Good God." Ben dug his fingers into his thick fair hair. "I never thought—yes, I'd known Lewis forever. We had different circles of friends at university, but we were still friends. I just saw him—"
Nerezza reached for Ben's hand. He twined his fingers round her own. "I wish you could have talked to him that last time," she said. "You couldn't because you were so busy hiding me. Which is why we've come. Because I recognized Mr. Thornsby."
"You knew him?" Malcolm asked in surprise. Nerezza had been in Italy until a month ago.
"Yes. No. Not really." Nerezza folded Ben's hand between both her own. "I saw him in the theatre the night all of you hid me. I didn't say anything about it at the time, there was too much going on. But later, after we got to Rupert and Bertrand's house I asked Ben about him. Because I recognized him."
"From where?" Malcolm hesitated. "Was—"
Nerezza, always direct, gave a quick smile. "No, I wasn't involved with him too. That would be a bit too much. But I saw him in Italy. We never spoke. But he knew a man I was involved with." She cast a quick glance at Ben. He smiled at her. "I saw them talking."
"Who was the man?"
"Alexander Radford." Nerezza accepted a cup of coffee from Laura. "I haven't heard anything else about Mr. Thornsby or Alexander Radford since I got to Britain. Mr. Radford doesn't seem to be connected to Beverston or any of the others, so I didn't think about it particularly until I heard Mr. Thornsby had been murdered. It could all be a coincidence, but Bertrand thinks Mr. Thornsby was one of the Levellers, and you told me the League are targeting the Levellers—"
"Yes," Malcolm said.
Nerezza took a quick drink of coffee. "Is Thornsby's death connected to the Levellers?"
"It looks increasingly likely it is," Malcolm said. "And we know the League are targeting you. Presumably because of something you know or saw in Italy. And it doesn't seem to be to do with Beverston, unless he's playing a very complicated game, as he helped s
ave your life and get you away."
Benedict was frowning. A month since he'd never heard of the Levellers or known of Nerezza's connection to his father. "You say there are two factions in this Elsinore League."
"At least two," Malcolm said.
"And my father's involved with one, and someone else you don't know is running the other and trying to take control of the League."
"Apparently." Malcolm looked at Julien.
"Don't look at me, I'm a lot of things, but I'm not a League member," Julien said.
"You're in closer communication with them than the rest of us," Malcolm said.
"They've tried to engage my services. I don't think they have an illusion they can do so anymore."
"But my sister still manages to have their confidence. Or at least, a way to talk to some of them." Malcolm continued to watch Julien. "And she'll talk to you more than to me."
"Family can be complicated."
"It's all right," Malcolm said. "That is, it's not really all right at all, but I know Gelly's doing something she doesn't feel she can share. And I respect that she has her reasons."
"My brother was working for the Elsinore League," Benedict said. "John. But not for the same faction as Father."
"Apparently," Julien said. "That's not based on any inside information but on what we all saw in the alley by the Tavistock in December." The night Julien had stepped in front of an assassin's bullet to save Nerezza, and Beverston had shot the assassin.
"But John was betraying the League to Carfax," Benedict said.
"That much seems clear," Malcolm said.
"So how much does Carfax know?"
Malcolm exchanged a look with Julien and then with Mélanie and then with Raoul. "An excellent question."
"The Elsinore League are after Nerezza." Benedict took a drink of coffee without looking down at the cup in his hands. "Did they have Lewis killed too?"
"Possibly." It was Julien who answered this time. "Or he may have been working for them."
"It doesn't sound like that would have stopped them from killing him," Nerezza said.
"An excellent point," Malcolm said.
"Lewis was an agent?" Ben said.
"He seems to have been. He'd set up a second identity under the name Montford."
"Lewis," Ben repeated.
"People can surprise you," Bertrand said.
Benedict turned to look at Bertrand. "Yes, but you're—I mean, all of you—" He gestured round the company. "You all have a knack for it. Lewis was just—Lewis."
"Sometimes the greatest skill is making people think one doesn't have any skills at all," Bertrand said.
"What did this Alexander Radford, whom you saw Thornsby talking to, look like?" Malcolm asked.
Nerezza frowned. "Middle height. Not as tall as you—about Mr. St. Juste's height. Sandy hair. Hazel eyes. Sharp hazel eyes. They looked blue in some lights and green in others. Middle years—about Mr. O'Roarke's age, maybe a bit older. He always seemed to be laughing at the world."
"Did he say anything about his life? Where he was from in England?"
"You don't recognize his name?"
"No." Malcolm glanced at the others. They all shook their heads.
"It may have been an alias," Malcolm said. "But sometimes even undercover people will reveal details about themselves. I know I've done so."
"Sometimes it's easier to reveal things undercover than in one's own persona," Raoul said.
Nerezza's frown deepened. "He said the English could be a stuffy lot, and that he wouldn't have thought he'd miss Britain, but at times he did."
"That sounds like me," Julien said.
Several sharp looks were directed at him.
"I didn't mean it was me," Julien said. "Nerezza obviously knows it wasn't."
"You're assuming she'd recognize you," Kitty said. "She wouldn't if you didn't want her to."
"I'm not sure about that," Julien said. "Go on, Nerezza, what else did this so-called Alexander Radford tell you?"
"That he'd once thought he had to run from the past to be safe but that he'd realized the only true way to safety, if there was one, was to vanquish the past."
"Easier said than done," Julien murmured.
"That the two people he'd loved most in his life were perhaps his greatest enemy and the product of his greatest betrayal." She looked among them. "He talked a lot. Mostly in—" She glanced at Ben. "When he was tired. I couldn't make sense of most of what he said. I think you're right that that's why he felt he could talk to me."
"One often does," Mélanie said. "With someone you think you'll only see for a night or a week or even a month. It's a sort of escape."
Malcolm shot a look at her and nodded with understanding. That was Malcolm. He never judged.
"He sounds like an interesting man," Laura said. "And a complicated one."
"Could he—" Benedict looked round the room. "Could this man be the leader of the other faction in the Elsinore League?"
The room went still with the silence of a missing puzzle piece clicking into place.
"I mean," Ben said, "he seems to have been keeping secrets and Nerezza knew him, and this faction in the League want Nerezza dead, apparently because of something she knows, and if it's that she knows this man, perhaps that she could recognize him—"
"You're very astute, Benedict," Raoul said.
"It's just a thought," Ben said. "I mean, you all know better than I do—"
"It's a damnably acute thought," Malcolm said. "You may have stumbled on a truth none of us had quite managed to piece together."
"It wouldn't have made sense without my story about Mr. Radford," Nerezza said. "But if he's the one trying to have me killed—" She broke off. "It's an odd thought. I mean, I knew someone was trying to have me killed, but the idea that it's someone I knew—" Ben put an arm round her. Nerezza reached up to squeeze his hand. "But if Mr. Radford is the one trying to have me killed, is he also the one who had Mr. Thornsby killed? Because Mr. Thornsby seemed to be friendly with him. In fact, now I know about the League, I'd say Mr. Thornsby perhaps was working for him."
"That seems increasingly likely," Malcolm said. "But as you said, that doesn't mean Mr. Radford didn't have Thornsby killed."
"To keep his identity secret?" Ben asked. "That's why we think he's after Nerezza, right? Because she could recognize him?"
"That seems likeliest," Bertrand said. "Or it could be that he thinks he revealed something to her that could be used against him."
"Do you think Carfax knows about Alexander Radford?" Simon asked Malcolm.
"I don't know," Malcolm said. "But for a number of reasons, I need to talk to him. As soon as possible."
Simon looked steadily at Malcolm across the library. "Are you going to tell him about the papers?"
Malcolm returned Simon's gaze, his own equally steady. "How soon can you get the papers published?"
Simon, Kitty, and Kit all looked at Hapgood. "If I set type tonight, we can have them out tomorrow," Hapgood said.
Malcolm nodded. "Good. Mélanie and I promised we'd share what information we could with Carfax. Which doesn't mean everything. And much as secrecy may complicate an investigation, those papers need to be published. As quickly as possible."
Chapter 23
Malcolm came downstairs from putting on a neckcloth, waistcoat, and coat to call on Carfax, to find Mélanie and Kitty in the library. Mélanie had invited anyone who wished to to spend the night, and Nerezza and Ben had taken her up on it. Bertrand was going to the London house he shared with Rupert, but it was still partially closed up, for though Rupert had returned to London for Parliament, the rest of the family were in the country. Laura had taken Nerezza and Ben upstairs to get settled. Bertrand had taken Simon, Kit, and Hapgood home in the carriage he'd arrived in. Raoul and Julien had gone to the mews to ready one of the Rannoch carriages for Kitty and Julien.
"I told Julien I was perfectly capable of walking, but he insisted," Kitty said. "I never tho
ught I'd say this about Julien, but he's inclined to fuss."
"You're not in fighting condition and I'd hate to see St. Juste have to manage attackers on his own," Malcolm said.
Kitty smiled.
Mélanie got up from the sofa where she'd been sitting beside Kitty and moved to the door. "I know it's only a short distance, but you'll attract too much notice if you get in and out of a carriage in a dressing gown. I'll get you a gown and pelisse you can put on easily."
Which was very adroitly done, Malcolm thought, but perhaps designed to allow him to talk to Kitty. He looked at her as the library doors closed behind Mel. She was still pale but some color had returned to her cheeks.
Kitty reached for her whisky. "Don't you start fussing too, Malcolm. At least not more than you already have."
Malcolm set his greatcoat—thank God he had two, because the first was still drenched—over a chair back. "I knew it."
"That we were publishing articles from Spain?"
"No, I didn't have the least idea of that, and confess I imagined something far more alarming. That there was an explanation other than the one you gave me for your interaction with Thornsby."
Kitty shook her head, setting unpinned strands of dark gold hair falling about her face. "It doesn't mean I'm what you thought I was, Malcolm. Just that, in this particular case, I didn't violate your principles."
Malcolm pulled a chair closer to the sofa where she sat. "You can violate my principles as much as you want. You don't owe me anything. It's your own principles I'm concerned with. Because of how that will make you feel about yourself."
