by Tracy Grant
"And you were protecting Beverston."
She took a sip of sherry. "Yes, I suppose I was. You aren't the only one I share happy memories with."
Archie kept his gaze steady on her face. "He was heard crying in your room the night before Miranda Dormer was murdered."
Rosamund went still for a moment. Her indrawn breath was like the snick of a knife. Then she lifted a brow in acknowledgment of a hit. "Yes, I confess we spent that night together." She folded her hands in her lap, composed despite her wording. "No, we haven't been involved in that way for some time. Except on occasion. And this was one of those occasions. He'd had an uncomfortable break with his current mistress."
"Sylvie St. Ives?" Archie asked.
Her eyes narrowed. "You do have good sources of information. Yes. Apparently he'd learned Lady St. Ives was spying on him. One might quarrel with his taking exception to something he was fully capable of doing himself, but Beverston has always hated to be used." She regarded Archie for a moment. "Did you know?"
"I wasn't sure if they were allies or enemies. This resolves at least part of that."
"You know Lady St. Ives." Rosamund made it not quite a question.
"Not in the intimate sense, but yes, we've crossed paths. One might say she's a formidable woman."
"I think Beverston's feelings were unusually engaged. Until that night I'd never seen him cry. Though I saw him cry the next night over Miranda." Her brows drew together.
"I'll at least credit Beverston with the wit to appreciate formidable women," Archie said. "Sylvie St. Ives. You. Miranda Dormer, it seems."
Rosamund set down her glass and smoothed her hands over the delicate fabric of her skirt. "He wasn't Miranda's lover."
"I know. That is, I believe what I've heard of his denials. Knowing what I do of Beverston, I'm not sure why, save that I've learned people tend to draw certain lines, whatever compromises they're capable of. Perhaps the more so the more they're capable of compromise."
Rosamund inclined her head. "He was oddly protective of her, for all he exposed her to great risk. With Lady St. Ives, I think he'd let his guard down. His feelings seemed genuinely engaged, but I think he was also horrified at what he might have revealed to her."
"Yes, I imagine he was. Beverston was engaged in some very dangerous games. But then, you know that."
Rosamund held his gaze. "I've never been anything but a minor player in Beverston's games. That hasn't changed."
His instinct was to believe her. But with Rosamund, he wasn't entirely sure he could count on his instinct. "Do you think Beverston would have been capable of killing Miranda?" he asked.
Rosamund hesitated, fingering a fold of her gown. "I don't think he did," she said. "Perhaps I don't want to think he did. But yes, I think he'd have been capable of it."
"Thank you." Archie set down his glass.
Rosamund clasped her hands together. "I trust you're being careful. You're scarcely in a comfortable position with the League."
"I think the League are convinced I'm not to be trusted. They find it useful to maintain a connection to me. But you know me enough to know I'm watching my back."
Rosamund regarded him for a moment. "You're in love with her."
Archie found himself smiling. "It's not a word I use easily. But yes. I am."
She nodded. "I'm glad. Go carefully, Archie."
"You too, Rosie."
He started to push himself up from his chair. Rosamund moved as though to rise as well, then said suddenly. "Archie."
Archie sat back in his chair. "Yes?"
"The night Miranda was killed. Lord Carfax wasn't with her the entire time after they went upstairs."
"Yes, we know that. Do you know where he was?"
Rosamund fingered a fold of her gown, as though even now not sure about speaking. "I went upstairs just after midnight. I usually do, during the evening, to make sure there's no disturbance. I didn't see Miranda. Her door was closed. But when I glanced down one of the passages, I saw Carfax in an alcove."
"Alone?"
Rosamund's fingers twisted in the folds of her skirt. "No. He was talking to Beverston."
"Interesting. Do you know what they were talking about?"
"No. I didn't get close enough to hear. I assumed they wished to be private. But as I turned away I caught a glimpse of Carfax's face." Her fingers stilled. "He looked like a man who's been dealt a mortal blow."
Chapter 36
"Raoul!"
A woman's voice called Raoul's name as he left the house where Henriette and her daughters lodged. A familiar voice, save so out of context that he started and looked round in surprise. A veiled woman waved to him from the window of a barouche drawn up across the street.
He started across the street only to hear another cry from the woman in the carriage, this one a warning. He sprang back, just as a dark, closed carriage thundered down the street. He fell back against the wall of a tobacconist's, inches from being trampled under wheels and horse hooves.
He dusted his coat off and made his way to the carriage the woman had called to him from, wary but more determined than ever.
"Are you all right?" The carriage door opened and the woman leaned out, her veil pushed back. As he'd suspected, Raoul found himself looking at Margaret, the woman to whom he was married, the woman he had last seen in Italy. Where he had learned she'd been working for the Elsinore League for two decades.
"This is unexpected, Meg." He swung up into the carriage and pulled the door to.
Margaret leaned forwards on the carriage seat, veil falling back from her hat. "That carriage nearly ran you down."
"So it did. My thanks for the warning."
"Was it a deliberate attack?"
"I'm not sure. Are your friends in the League still trying to kill me?"
Margaret's gaze darted across his face. "You think I'm part of it? That I called out to you to get you to cross the street?"
"You did get me to cross the street. But then you gave me a timely warning. But the last time I saw you, you were still allied with the League."
"A lot's changed since then."
Raoul leaned back against the soft leather squabs. "What are you doing here, Meg?"
"I'm in London on my way back to Ireland." She hesitated a moment. "Desmond and I thought it best to return separately." It was like Margaret to be careful when speaking of her long-time lover, even when the only one present was Raoul, who was well aware of the relationship.
"And why do you happen to be in the street outside where I was paying a call?"
Margaret clasped her gloved hands in her lap. "I followed you when you left Berkeley Square. I need to talk to you, but it seemed best not to call openly."
"Because of the League?"
"Partly. I could explain away why I needed to talk to you—we are still married. But you can't deny it would be awkward if I called at the Rannochs' house."
"It's not as though Malcolm and Mélanie aren't well aware of you. Are you worried about meeting Laura? I think we're rather beyond awkwardness, don't you?"
"Speak for yourself." Margaret spread her hands over her lap. "I've told the League I won't work for them anymore. They haven't pressured me. So far. Lord Beverston asked me to call on him. But it was because he wanted to know more about his son John. I don't have a great deal of sympathy for Beverston, but it was impossible not to feel some."
"What did he ask you about John?"
"Mostly about his mood those last days. And if he'd approached me. I told him he had but hadn't said much."
"Did you tell him Vincenzo warned you not to trust John Smythe?"
Margaret held his gaze across the carriage. "I don't think it would be much comfort for Beverston to know his son was working against him, do you?"
"Not much comfort at all. But for the sake of the League I imagine he'd like to know."
"For the sake of the League, I imagine he would. But I told you I'm not working for them anymore." Margaret hesitated a
moment. "Beverston also warned me against you. Reading between the lines, I think you're still a target. That's why I came to see you."
"Thank you."
"I don't want any harm to befall you, Raoul. In fact, just now I realized—" She shook her head, stirring the folds of her veil. "You were nearly run down crossing the street because I called to you. I'd never forgive myself if I was responsible for your death."
"Whyever the League are after me, it's nothing to do with you, Meg."
"That wouldn't stop me from feeling guilty if they used me to get to you." She adjusted the folds of her veil. "It occurred to me of course that Beverston might want me to warn you. But I didn't think they might use me to set up an attack."
"We don’t know that's what happened. The League don't need you to find me."
She nodded. "I didn't expect to see you back in London."
"It's a short visit."
"You're looking into Carfax's arrest with the Rannochs."
"Among other things. Did Beverston say anything about Carfax?"
Margaret frowned. "When Beverston warned me about you, I said he must be relieved to at least see one of his enemies behind bars. Beverston said he placed no very great reliance upon that lasting. But that there were ways to control everyone. Even Carfax. Do you know what he meant?"
"No. But the implications are interesting." Raoul studied Margaret in the light slanting through the carriage window. Her veil fell back over her shoulders. It was a long time since he'd seen that brilliance in her eyes and complexion. "Meg," he said. "How long have you known?"
"Known what?"
He reached across the carriage and caught her wrist. "Don't forget I've seen you like this before. Does Desmond know?"
"For God's sake, Raoul." She pulled away from his grasp. "It's no concern of yours."
"Of course it's a concern of mine. I'm what's standing between you and a stable future for yourself, your child, and the man you love. But we can fix that."
"Madly idealistic, as usual."
"Meg, you can't tell me you're still opposed to divorce under these circumstances. What are you planning to do? Have the child in secret? Smuggle it away?"
"'Don't be ridiculous. But we scarcely have time—"
"Not before Laura's and my child perhaps. But we should for you."
"You're being very kind."
"What did you think I'd be?"
Margaret sniffed into her handkerchief. "You can't deny it's ironic. Considering how—"
"How opposed you've been to divorce? Yes, but children change things." He watched her for a moment. "I hope it's also a cause for joy."
"Is that what it is for you?"
"Yes, though I'm fully aware of what I'm putting Laura through." He leaned across the carriage and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I want you to be happy, Meg."
She regarded him for a moment. "As I said in Italy, you always wanted children more than I did. I'd long since given up even thinking about it. And there's no denying it's a fearful complication. But yes, I am happy."
"I'm glad." He squeezed her shoulder. "We'll make this work, Meg."
Margaret shook her head, but her smile was the affectionate sort he'd never thought to see from her again. "Still an incurable optimist."
"I'm not in the least optimistic."
"My dear. What do you call your blind conviction that you can change the world? Or that the masses you want to liberate will behave as rationally as you hope?"
"My dear girl. I long since gave up thinking I could do more than make a difference round the edges."
"Ha. If that were true, the League wouldn't be so determined to get rid of you."
"I think we know the woman who hired one of the sets of people who attacked us in the park last night." Mélanie took a sip of tea in the Berkeley Square library where they were sharing news. "I took a sketch when I visited the used the clothes-seller in Rosemary Lane. When I darkened the hair, the people at the shop recognize her as Sylvie St. Ives."
"And based on Rosamund's story about Beverston, she wasn't working for the League," Archie said.
Malcolm poked up the fire for the third time. He seemed too restless to sit. "It's just possible she's working for Carfax again despite their break six months ago. But I think it's more likely she's working for the third actor."
"Lady St. Ives's cousin is an agent for Fouché," Raoul said. "And they've worked together before."
Malcolm met his father's gaze. "You think Fouché is the third actor?"
"I begin to suspect so."
"Fouché's always wanted power and hasn't cared much—if at all—if he served Royalists or Republicans," Malcolm said. "He'd certainly have reason to want to control the dauphin."
"A puppet to give him control of France," Raoul said. "It's an open question whether that or the League's controlling France is a more frightening prospect."
"So he hired Thomas Ambrose?" Cordelia asked. "But it sounds as though Ambrose is the man who took the papers from Josephine twenty years ago."
"Yes, I'm quite sure he was," Raoul said. "I suspect Wyncliffe hired Ambrose to steal the papers from Josephine for the League. St. Juste reassured Josephine about the papers, but we know he didn't get the papers back. I suspect when he realized Wyncliffe was behind the theft and had gone to Dunmykel, he contacted Arabella and asked her to recover them."
"So they already knew each other," Malcolm said.
"They must have done if this scenario is right," Raoul said. "And it's the only one I can think of to explain Arabella's knowing to take the papers from Wyncliffe and Julien's being assured the papers wouldn't be used against Josephine."
Malcolm set down the poker and dropped down on the sofa beside Mélanie. "But Arabella kept the papers."
"Whatever was between Bella and St. Juste, I doubt she showed him blind loyalty," Raoul said. "She'd have known the papers were vitally important even if she didn't know precisely what they were. She may have promised St. Juste she wouldn't use them so long as he did something for her or complied with her wishes in some other way. In any case, St. Juste seems to have believed they were safe."
"Eleven years later, Josephine was afraid Julien would use a letter against her," Mélanie said.
Raoul nodded. "A lot had shifted by then. St. Juste had worked for a number of other masters. He remained loyal to Josephine, but I don't think she recognized it. At least not until before he gave you the paper. After that she trusted him enough that she sent him along with you to escort Hortense into Switzerland."
"So Thomas Ambrose stole the papers for Lord Wyncliffe twenty years ago," Frances said. "The papers Bella took from Wyncliffe and gave to me briefly. And then Ambrose is also the man who broke into Dunmykel just before Christmas and shot Mélanie?"
"I think so."
"And shot Tommy?" Mélanie asked. "I've always thought the man who broke in and shot me is likely the one who shot Tommy as well."
"So have I," Raoul said. "And I do think it's Ambrose. In which case, he's likely working for Fouché now. Through Sylvie St. Ives. We know that on his deathbed Wyncliffe told Beverston about the papers concerning the Wanderer that he stole and Arabella in turn stole from him. That probably started Beverston and the League searching for the papers. I suspect Lady St. Ives learned from Beverston and informed Fouché in exile."
"And Carfax got wind of it through his sources," Malcolm said. "That's probably the news he got at Carfax Court that Bel said sent him to London. So we have the League, Cafax, and Fouché all seeking the lost dauphin. And we can only hope Harry and Andrew get to Rivendell before any of them."
Mélanie could feel her husband's coiled tension on the sofa beside her. She knew how much it had cost him to remain in London. "Gildersly's story is interesting," she said, reminding him of the work for them in London. "Matthew Trenor seems to know Beverston. Not necessarily surprising, but they were talking together just after Miranda was murdered."
"Yes, and it doesn't entirely agree wit
h Trenor's account of his actions. We should follow up on it," Malcolm said. "Though I'm more intrigued by Mrs. Hartley's account of seeing Beverston and Carfax together just before Miranda was killed, and by her description of the look on Carfax's face. It would take a lot for Carfax to look as though he'd been dealt a mortal blow."
"I had an unexpected meeting with Margaret when I left Henriette's," Raoul said. "She spoke with Beverston, but his questions seem to have been about his son. Margaret didn't tell him John was working for Carfax. But she did comment to him on Carfax's being in prison. Beverston said he placed no reliance upon it lasting, but that there were ways to control everyone, including Carfax."
Malcolm's eyes narrowed. "Which together with Mrs. Hartley's story makes it seem Beverston tried to blackmail Carfax the night of the murder. Which could be why Carfax is keeping quiet in prison."
"But surely—" Cordelia stared at him. "Surely Beverston wasn't blackmailing him into accepting the blame for the murder. Miranda wasn't even dead at that point."
"We don't know precisely when she was killed," Malcolm said. "It's possible Beverton had already killed her or knew someone else had done so and blackmailed Carfax into taking the blame. Though I still have a hard time seeing Carfax simply going along with that, whatever Beverston had on him. But it's also possible Beverston tried to blackmail Carfax over something else, and then once Carfax was accused of the murder, he was afraid Beverston would use whatever he had if Carfax revealed too much. At the very least it explains why Carfax wouldn't tell me where he was when he left Miranda's room. He didn't want to risk my asking Beverston about it."
"Do you think the League really did manage to get evidence of David and Simon's relationship?" Cordelia asked.
Malcolm's brows drew together. "I'm not sure where they'd have found it. But it's a possibility we have to consider."
"Did Margaret say anything else?" Laura asked Raoul.
"Nothing that can't wait." Raoul reached for her hand. "If—"
He broke off as Valentin opened the door. "A Miss Simcox and Mr. Trenor are asking to see Mr. and Mrs. Rannoch."
"Show them in," Mélanie said without hesitation.
