The Tavistock Plot

by Tracy Grant

  "Why should it be anything else?"

  "It's quite a coincidence. Of course, they do happen. But, like my husband, I'm wary of them."

  "Why on earth would I have gone looking for Will?"

  "Because you suspected he wasn't in New York?"

  "Well, if I'd known that, I might have gone looking for him, but I didn't know, and if I had known and I'd found him, why would I have kept it secret and hung about the theatre?"

  Donald's blue eyes were guileless. Too guileless? Perhaps the revelations about Thornsby were making her jump at shadows. "You were in Lancaster when Will was arrested."

  "Yes. Terrible time."

  "I heard Thornsby and Letty and Tim Scott were very involved in trying to get him free."

  "So they were. Did what I could, as well. Will didn't want me to write to my father. I would have done if it had gone on longer, though. Though I don't know that Father could have got him out. Doesn't have Worsley's pull."

  "Will said you were with Thornsby the first time he saw you in London."

  "Was I? I don't remember that. But I may well have been. Thornsby was a friend of my friend Stanhope who brought me to the Tavistock and to the Levellers. So I met him before I met Will. That is, before I met Will again."

  "What did you think of Thornsby?"

  "Er—not much. That is, he was a regular fellow. Very decent chap, but never seemed serious about much. Except Letty."

  "Yes, that seems to be the general opinion. When did you see him last?"

  "The night before he died." Donald dashed a hand across his eyes. "I didn't come to the Tavistock the day he—the day of the murder. But the night before, a group of us dined at Rules. None of the actors. Thornsby and Stanhope and Longworth and me. Thornsby was a bit abstracted. Stared into his wine glass most of the evening. Quite unlike him. He was a cheerful fellow, usually. But by the end of dinner, he looked a bit better. As we were going out the door, he looked at me and said he'd finally made up his mind to what he had to do." Donald scanned her face. "Do you know what he meant?"

  "No," Mélanie said.

  "Nor do I. But I can't help worrying that whatever it was got him killed."

  Chapter 34

  Malcolm and Julien returned to the Berkeley Square house to find enticing smells floating into the hall from the kitchen. The children's excited voices sounded from the first floor. Nerezza came running down the stairs. "We need more ribbon," she called over her shoulder to Ben, who was hanging over the first-floor stair rail with Livia and Emily beside him.

  Nerezza stopped at the base of the stairs and smiled at Malcolm and Julien. "We're arranging flowers in the drawing room. Lady Frances and Lady Cordelia got the most amazing assortment of hothouse flowers delivered quickly. I don't know how they did it."

  "I don't know how my aunt does a number of things," Malcolm said.

  "It's very thoughtful," Julien said. "I only hope the bridal preparations don't send Kitty fleeing."

  "It's keeping the children occupied," Malcolm pointed out.

  "A good point," Julien conceded. He reached into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out a delicate gold ring set with a quite magnificent emerald surrounded by tiny pearls. "My mother's," he said. "The only thing I took with me when I ran off that I didn't sell." He held it out to Malcolm. "Be a good fellow and hold on to it until it's needed."

  Malcolm took the ring and smiled. If anyone had suggested a few months ago that he'd be standing up with Julien at his wedding, let alone his wedding to Kitty…

  The afternoon passed in the bustle of preparations and further discussions of the evidence in the Thornsby case, none of which got them very far. Mélanie returned from the Tavistock again as the sky was darkening, with the news that the run-through had gone better than expected in the circumstances and Simon and David and the children would follow shortly. Soon after, everyone scattered to change into evening clothes. Malcolm carried Jessica upstairs on his shoulders and then took a spare shaving kit to Julien. He returned to his and Mélanie's bedchamber to find his wife half into a gauzy black evening gown embroidered with gold stars.

  "Thank goodness," she said. "I'm struggling with the strings."

  "St. Juste brought a complete change of clothes, but managed to forget his shaving things," Malcolm said as he went to her side. "Rather nice to know even he can be flustered."

  "You think he and Kitty will be happy?" Mélanie asked, as Malcolm did up the tiny strings that fastened the gown where it wrapped closed on one side.

  "Yes, I do," Malcolm said. "I think they're desperately in love, for one thing."

  He was looking at the strings, but he knew Mélanie smiled at his phrasing. "They'd neither of them thank you for using those words."

  "I'm quite sure they wouldn't. That doesn't make them less true. You saw St. Juste when Kitty was wounded. You've seen them the past few months."

  "Yes. It's not a Julien I ever thought to see, but it's undeniable. Being Lady Carfax won't be easy on Kitty, though."

  Malcolm did up the last of the strings and smoothed the shoulders of her gown. "St. Juste won't expect her to be anything she doesn't want to be. And he'll know how to wear the mantle of Carfax."

  Mélanie turned to face him. "I think Julien will be good at it."

  "So do I. But he won't let it define him the way David has. He'll make it into what he wants."

  Mélanie turned to her dressing table and picked up her diamond earrings. "He's not going to be able to live in the shadows." She threaded an earring through her ear. "Of course, he really hasn't ever since he moved in with Kitty and the children."

  "No, I don't think there's been any going back for Julien for some time." Malcolm stripped off his coat and started on his waistcoat buttons. Addison, he saw, had left evening clothes out on the bed for him. "And I don't think he'd want there to be."

  Mélanie cast a glance at him over her shoulder. "I love it when you talk like a romantic, darling."

  "I'm a realist." Malcolm tossed his waistcoat after the coat and decided he'd better redo his neckcloth. It was a special occasion, after all. "And I think they have a realistic chance of being happy."

  Malcolm dressed quickly and went down to the drawing room to find the only other person present so far was the bride. For all her insistence on the wedding's being pragmatic, Kitty had put on a gauzy claret-colored gown and a citrine necklace and earrings. She'd also redone her hair, in a loose knot that wouldn't have taken a great deal of time but showed attention to the importance of the occasion.

  She turned at Malcolm's entrance and gave a quick, slightly awkward smile. "I wore white muslin when I married Edward. I couldn't bear to wear anything similar. And I don't think Julien would appreciate anything too maidenly."

  "I can't imagine St. Juste not appreciating what you chose," Malcolm said. "You look beautiful." He could say that now, without worrying that either of them would take it the wrong way.

  Kitty smiled again, less awkwardly. "The room looks so lovely."

  "Frances and Cordelia both love parties," Malcolm said, closing the door. "And it's good to celebrate moments that mean something."

  "Thank you." Kitty's voice was a bit husky. "I know this wouldn't be happening without you."

  Malcolm smiled at the woman he had once thought the center of his life. "I did little enough. If you thank anyone, it should be Aunt Frances."

  "To whom I am also inestimably grateful." Kitty drew the folds of her shawl, gold embroidered with claret, about her shoulders. "Julien was very eager to have the wedding as quickly as possible. Which might seem like youthful ardor in another bridegroom, but I suspect is because he's afraid one of us won't survive. I have to admit he has a point. Danger has a way of clarifying the mind. Last night was particularly clarifying."

  A number of options he wouldn't quite let himself consider raced across Malcolm's mind. "He's being prudent."

  Kitty wrapped the folds of the shawl with a quick twist. "Not something I tend to associate with Julien
."

  "He's not used to having a family." Malcolm hesitated. "He's also afraid Carfax will try to intervene."

  "There, I agree, he also has a point." Kitty glanced in the mirror and tucked a strand of hair into its pins. "It's hard to imagine."

  "Being married?"

  "No, being Lady Carfax."

  Amelia Carfax's elegant face shot into Malcolm's mind. She hadn't yet been Lady Carfax when Malcolm first met her, but she was the only Lady Carfax Malcolm had known. "I've seen you play any number of roles."

  "But I always knew I could leave."

  Malcolm found himself smiling. "That's what Mel said about marrying me. That is, she admits she thought she could leave at first, but she knew she wouldn't be able to do so for a long time."

  Kitty's gaze settled on his face for a moment. "You sound very matter-of-fact."

  "I am. Now. She decided she couldn't leave. And I don't think she wants to."

  Kitty echoed his smile though her gaze remained steady. "I'm quite sure she doesn't."

  "Which makes the way it started all the more remarkable. And something to be grateful for. Of course, Mel was playing a role. With me. With society, certainly. You don't have to."

  "We all have to play roles in life. It's part of what keeps it interesting."

  "But I don't think St. Juste will ever expect you to play one you don't wish to play."

  "Nor do I, actually." Kitty turned to the mirror and adjusted the draped neckline of her gown. Her fingers stilled for a moment on the twists of fabric. "This must seem odd."

  "On the contrary. I couldn't be happier."

  She gave a faint smile and twisted the citrine and gold links of her necklace into place as though to prove she could do so with steady hands. "Even you enjoy winning. And it does rather prove your point in our quarrel over what I might have done with Lewis Thornsby. That is—I could hold my ground and say marriage doesn't make a bit of difference, and it's quite true, in many cases marriage wouldn't. But married or not, you're quite right. I wouldn't have betrayed Julien. Not like that."

  Malcolm watched her, leaning against the door. "No. I know you wouldn't."

  She shot a look at him over her shoulder. "Don't go about having too much faith in me, Malcolm. You're liable to be disappointed."

  "Now you sound like my father."

  "Ha." She turned back to the mirror. "Raoul could give lessons on the art of looking far worse than he is. While being impossibly noble."

  "Quite." He hesitated a moment. "I truly am happy for you. For both of you. And it doesn't matter a whit—"

  Kitty met his gaze in the looking glass. "That we never got here?"

  He smiled without rancor. "You said it would have been a disaster if we had. I don't entirely agree with you, but I do agree we're happier as we are. Besides, we were different people then." He hesitated again. "I like St. Juste. I have from the first, actually, for all Mel's and Raoul's warnings. But that doesn't matter a bit. What matters is that you love him."

  Kitty made one last, seemingly unnecessary adjustment to the necklace and turned from the mirror. "I do. Quite ridiculously. Dear God, I don't believe I said that. I don't know what's come over me, but it's true."

  "And I trust him," Malcolm said.

  "Trust him to do what?"

  "Well, any number of things, as it happens. But in this case, to make you happy."

  "I'm not sure Julien trusts himself to do that."

  "No, I suspect he doesn't. He's as hard on himself as the rest of us. Perhaps more so. Domesticity has a way of mellowing one. Not that I'm suggesting you're in for anything of the sort."

  "It doesn't sound as disagreeable as it once would have done. Besides, the one thing I can't imagine being with Julien is bored. And I trust him. As I've trusted few people in my life. He makes me happy."

  "Well then," Malcolm said. "That's everything."

  Chapter 35

  Laughter rippled across the drawing room. A champagne cork popped as Raoul opened another bottle by the drinks trolley. It might, Malcolm thought, have been any of a score of other parties they had given, most of them frequented by much the same circle now gathered in the room. At this moment an outside observer would never have guessed they were in the midst of a dangerous investigation. Or that they had just witnessed the wedding of two people who were close to the last people in their circle anyone would have expected to get married. And that the implications of that marriage would ripple across personal and intelligence circles far beyond their own group.

  Julien and Kitty were standing by the fireplace. Julien was talking to Archie, and Kitty to Simon, but their fingers were intertwined.

  "Hard to believe we got here, not just from four months ago, but from yesterday." Harry brought Malcolm a fresh glass of champagne. He watched as Julien bent down to scoop up Genny, who had toddled over to him. "I seem to remember we were once all afraid of him."

  "In the right circumstances, I'd still be afraid of him." Malcolm accepted the glass and lifted it to Harry's own. "Of course, in the right circumstances, I'd be afraid of my wife."

  Kitty was laughing at something Simon had said. For a moment, she looked carefree in a way Malcolm had never seen. "I wonder—"

  He broke off as the door opened and a new arrival slipped into the room.

  "Roth." Malcolm went forwards quickly to greet Jeremy Roth. "We're in the midst of an unexpected celebration. St. Juste and Kitty just got married."

  Roth's face was intent, but at that, his gaze widened slightly. He cast a quick look at Julien and Kitty, who were now being tugged across the room by Timothy. "That's splendid."

  "It happened very quickly," Harry said. "Cordy and I are only here rather by chance."

  "And we're keeping it secret for the moment," Malcolm said. "Especially from Carfax."

  "Understood." Roth hesitated, as though seeking words for something he didn't want to say. "I'm sorry to intrude."

  "Nonsense." Mélanie had come over to join them. "Let me get you a glass of champagne. I take it there's news?"

  "Yes. Thank you, no champagne. I need to speak with Tanner. Perhaps you could bring him into the small salon?"

  Malcolm exchanged a quick look with Mélanie. "You get Simon," she said. "I'll stay with the guests. Harry, I was going to go down for more champagne. May I send you instead?"

  Harry, being Harry, didn't ask any of the multitude of questions he no doubt had. Simon, who was laughing with Cordy and Bertrand, raised his brows but followed Malcolm without question.

  Roth had preceded them into the small salon. He was standing in front of the fire, hands jammed into the pockets of his greatcoat, which he had not removed as he usually would do on a visit.

  "I'm sorry to do this," Roth said, when Malcolm closed the door. Roth's face was set. Malcolm hadn't seen him look so uncomfortable in Berkeley Square since his very first visit. "But I have a warrant for your arrest, Tanner."

  Simon stared at Roth, seemingly rooted to the ground.

  Malcolm, who had thought himself prepared for most eventualities, felt similarly rooted to the floor. "On what grounds?" he asked.

  "Bow Street received a report that Tanner was heard threatening Mr. Thornsby two days before his death."

  "From whom?" Simon demanded.

  Roth's gaze fastened on Simon's own, dark with compassion. "Officially, I'm not permitted to say. Unofficially, I can say that the source was apparently someone within the Tavistock. And I wasn't told the person's name."

  "I'm not sure what this person claims to have heard," Simon said. "I did tell Lewis to have a care what he said in the green room, that not everyone who congregated there supported us. That was two or three days before his murder. I've said as much to other young Levellers. It was so inconsequential I didn't tell Malcolm or you. Not because I was hiding anything, but because it didn't occur to me it could have anything to do with his death."

  Roth nodded. "I can understand that. The person in question also claims to have seen you dep
ositing a knife in a rubbish pile at the corner of Southhampton Street the night of the murder." Roth hesitated, gaze steady on Simon's own. "A search of the rubbish pile did recover a bloody knife."

  Simon's hand closed, white-knuckled, on a chair back. "So the source may be the killer."

  "Or in league with the killer. I'm doing my best to learn the source's name."

  "But meanwhile, you're under orders."

  "As you say." Roth's gaze continued steady. "Of course I understand you'll need to say goodbye to Worsley and make your excuses to Mélanie. I have some things to discuss with Malcolm. I left a patrol in front of the house but there's no one guarding the mews."

  Simon returned Roth's gaze. "That's good of you, Roth. But it's not fair to you. And I need to keep this above board to clear my name and get home to my family. I suggest we leave quietly. Malcolm, tell David. Once we're gone. There's no point in disrupting the celebration. I don't want to make a scene in front of the children, and there's nothing he could do just now."

  "Where are you taking him?" Malcolm asked Roth.

  "Newgate, most likely. I'll send word as soon as I know."

  Simon clapped Malcolm on the shoulder. "Don't waste time on farewells. That makes this into more than it is. Tell Mélanie if I'm not out by morning, I'll send instructions for rehearsal."

  Chapter 36

  David cast a quick glance round the cell, then crossed to Simon and took his hands. For a moment, Malcolm knew how much he wanted to do more. Malcolm had a keen memory of Mélanie's visiting him in prison in Vienna. Their relationship had been a tangle, and he'd been far from certain he could escape prison and still raw from his sister's murder. But he'd been able to embrace his wife without fear of who might see them. He'd clung to her with rare abandon and never thought that simply the ability to take her in his arms was something to be thankful for.

  Simon's fingers tightened on David's hands with an equal impulse for more. "How are the children?"