by Tracy Grant
"Don't you dare go one step with Bet." Sandy Trenor ranged himself in front of his brother.
"You care for her." Matthew's gaze fastened on his brother. "I cared for Miranda, you know. Don’t think I didn't. Which made it all the harder to realize—" Matthew drew a rough breath. "If you love her you won't stop me. And Rannoch's the chivalrous sort." Matthew, dragging a white-faced Bet, edged to the side, round his brother. "Don't worry, once I'm away you'll have her back."
Sandy stared at his brother as though he'd never seen him before. "You won't. You won't let her go. She's one more loose end to you. You'll kill her like that other girl."
"Don't be stupid, Sandy—"
Sandy hurled himself at his brother. The knife went flying. Sandy caught Bet in his arms and pushed her behind him. Mélanie snatched up the knife. Sandy flung himself on top of his brother, one hand closed round Matthew's wrist. Malcolm grabbed Matthew's other arm.
"They'll never prosecute me for it," Matthew said. "Not the death of a girl like that."
"Sadly, perhaps not," Malcolm said. "But they will for treason. Which is why Miranda died in the first place."'
Gisèle was in the Berkeley Square library when Malcolm and Mélanie returned. Malcolm felt himself breathe a sigh of relief, stronger than his response to any of the myriad crises of the day. In addition to Frances, Archie, Laura, and Cordelia, Raoul had returned from Richmond. Lumley had come with him. Another man had accompanied him as well, to Malcolm's surprise. Julien St. Juste was sitting in one of the Queen Anne chairs. Malcolm had rather expected St. Juste to melt into the shadows as Talleyrand had evidently done. St. Juste raised a brow of acknowledgment at Malcolm but said nothing while Malcolm and Mélanie recounted the events of the night for those who had missed various parts of them.
"So Trenor didn't kill Miranda because she mentioned the Wanderer?" Lumley asked.
"No," Malcolm said. "I think he passed that along to Beverston, but I don't think he had the least idea what it meant."
"Her death wasn't even so much to do with the Elsinore League," Cordelia said.
"Only tangentially, in that Beverston was paying Trenor for information," Malcolm. "I don't think Trenor even knows about the League."
"Carfax didn't know Trenor was the leak?" Frances asked.
"Apparently not. He seems to have sought out Miranda because she was close to Beverston. Which probably panicked Trenor. And Carfax's questions may have prompted Miranda to search her room. She found the communication Trenor had hidden for Beverston. Trenor probably went to Miranda that night to learn if she'd revealed anything to Carfax. And Miranda must have confronted him. She told Derenvil she was disappointed in Trenor. She seems to have had some genuine feeling for him. As he did for her. But when she confronted him, Trenor realized she wouldn't keep quiet. In point of fact, I suspect she'd have told Roger Smythe if she'd lived."
"And he took the pendant because it was a reminder of her?" Cordelia asked.
"It may have got tangled up in his clothes as Harry suggested," Malcolm said. "The chain's broken. He may have just stuffed it in a pocket to get it out of the way. But guilt's an odd thing. Perhaps keeping it was a way of keeping her alive. Perhaps he couldn't bear to look at it and acknowledge what he'd done. Perhaps he simply wasn't sure how or where to get rid of it."
"And Carfax thought his staying in prison would reveal Beverston's source?" Laura said.
"He and Castlereagh were hoping Beverston would betray himself if he thought Carfax was out of the way," Malcolm said. "At least that's my theory. I doubt either would admit it. But I think Carfax also knew Beverston was looking for the dauphin, so he was treading very carefully. And then there's whatever else Beverston was threatening Carfax over at the Barque of Frailty the night of the murder."
"I didn't know, you know," Lumley said. "That I was supposed to be he." Even now, Lumley couldn't quite seem to say the dauphin's name. "I knew there was secrecy about my being taken from France. I knew I wasn't supposed to talk about it, or about my past. I suppose my hesitation to talk about it must have made it seem as though I were he." Lumley drew a breath. "The dauphin."
"A bit," Malcolm said. "Or rather it made it harder to see that you weren't. Mostly we were all making assumptions based on erroneous evidence."
"Evidence laid by you." Lumley looked at St. Juste.
"Barras and Josephine weren't fools," St. Juste said. "I had to make it convincing."
"But it's gone now, isn't it?" Lumley said. "The evidence? No one will suspect in the future."
"It's always a possibility," Malcolm said. "There've been pretenders in the past, and no doubt there will be in the future. But I think the story has been sufficiently discounted. Especially as you have no desire to promote it yourself."
"Good God, no." Lumley drew a breath, the breath of a man looking to the future after a crisis. "I'm going back to my law practice. And I'm going to marry Faith, if she'll have me." He looked at Raoul. "I still don't know quite how you got her and Danny out of Beverston's villa."
"Perseverance," Raoul said. "Not the first time I've extracted people." He glanced at Laura. "Not the first time I've extracted a child. It helped that Beverston was in shock."
"It was masterful." Lumley got to his feet. "I told Faith I'd call once she had Danny settled. I know it's late, but in the circumstances—"
"I don't think anyone's watching to cavil at the proprieties," Malcolm said.
Lumley nodded, and took himself off soon after.
"All this," Malcolm said, returning to the library after he had seen Lumley out, "because of a name people could put to him."
"Names can have a lot of power." Raoul leaned back on the sofa, his arm round Laura. "And sometimes it doesn't matter if it's the name one was born to or not. Which sounds as if it should be a good thing."
"But not if someone is pretending to bloodlines," Laura said. "Thank goodness Mr. Lumley isn't the sort to want a throne."
"You don't think he could still be used?" Cordelia asked.
"There's always the risk," Raoul said. "There'd be a risk of a pretender even if there'd never been an actual plot to switch another boy for the dauphin. But I don't think the League or Fouché will try again. They'll turn their sights elsewhere."
"Will Mr. Lumley be all right?" Gisèle spoke for the first time.
"All the pertinent actors know he's not the dauphin now," St. Juste said. "And seem to believe it. Even Sylvie, whom I had a long talk with when I returned to Berkeley Square."
"That's why you came back?" Malcolm turned from poking up the fire. Not that he'd trust anything St. Juste might say.
"Partly. I felt impelled to get her off your hands. And I wanted to thank your sister for her invaluable assistance." He smiled at Gisèle.
Malcolm felt his fingers clench round the poker. But they were going to have to discuss this, and perhaps it was as well to do it in front of everyone. They'd all have to know, one way and another. He returned the poker to the andirons. "How long were you working for St. Juste, Gelly?" Malcolm asked.
"I'm not sure I'd call it working for him," Gisèle said in a level voice. "I first met him when I was fourteen in the Elsinore League caves at Dunmykel."
"In the—" Malcolm forced his fingers to unclench from the gilded iron. "You knew about the caves?"
"I found them the summer before while Allie was working on her equations and Judith was playing with her dolls. You have to admit they're educational."
"They could give you a distinctly warped sense of all kinds of things," Frances said. She looked rather as though she swallowed hot coals.
"Yes, well, fortunately you made sure we all had plenty of accurate information about such matters. It's all right, Aunt Frances. It's not as though I actually saw any of the things that must have one on in the rooms. I never saw anyone in them at all until I encountered Julien. He told me he'd been a friend of Mama's. He was looking for something she'd told him was hidden there. He didn't say anything about the Elsin
ore League, but I assumed it was something of Alistair's, so I helped him sort of on general principles. We found the papers hidden in one of the finials on the bed post in the Midsummer room. After that Julien would appear occasionally, in the caves, or on the Dunmykel grounds, when I least expected it. I liked that I could talk to him about Mama." Gisèle's fingers tightened on the folds of her skirt for a moment. "And he taught me things—codes, how to pick a lock, how to wield a knife."
Things Malcolm might have taught her if he had been there instead of trying to outrun his ghosts on the Continent.
"You were a quick student," St. Juste said.
Gisèle flashed a smile at him, then looked back at Malcolm. "Julien came to Dunmykel in November and told me about the Wanderer and the papers Mama had hidden. I could tell they were important. I tried to find them for weeks, but I never thought of looking in Mama's jewels."
"And he suggested you go undercover with Tommy." Malcolm subdued the impulse to reach for the poker again.
"No, he wasn't there. When Tommy was recovering from his wound he tried to enlist me to look for some papers my mother might have hidden. I knew it must be the same papers. It seemed a good idea to pretend to be working with him and try to learn more. When Mélanie found the papers in Mama's jewels and Allie decoded them, I realized there might be more clues hidden in jewels that Aunt Frances or Judith now had. Tommy realized it as well." She looked straight into Malcolm's gaze, her own compelling. "He overheard it. I didn't tell him. But once Tommy knew, the best solution seemed to be for me to go with him and track what he was doing and try to learn the truth before he did."
Malcolm looked into the green gaze of his little sister, which was now also the gaze of a seasoned agent. "You could have told me."
"You'd have stopped me. Don't deny it, Malcolm. And once Tommy had the least clue I was working with you, I'd have lost any chance to go undercover with him."
Malcolm didn't for a moment believe it was as simple as that, but he also knew he wouldn't get Gisèle to say more in front of everyone. Maybe not even when they were alone. "When did you come back into it?" Malcolm swung his gaze to St. Juste.
"In London," St. Juste said in an easy voice. "I'd given Mrs. Thirle a way to contact me. Given that the secrets of the Wanderer seemed to be unraveling and that I'd started the whole thing, it seemed a good time to return to London. Your sister is a formidable agent, Rannoch. But I didn't want to leave her to handle this alone."
Frances's indrawn breath cut the air, like a diamond scraping glass. She had been sitting very still, her gaze trained on Gisèle. Now she said, "There's really no need for either of you to pretend in front of this group."
Gisèle looked at her aunt with a smile that was half defense, half apology. "I should think pretense comes as easily to this family as breathing, Aunt Frances."
"Perhaps. But whatever reasons your mother had for keeping the secret, there's really no point in making a mystery of it now. I think everyone in the room already guesses the relationship between you and Mr. St. Juste."
Confusion flickered across Gisèle's face.
St. Juste flung back his head and laughed. "You think she's my daughter?" He looked genuinely surprised. "No, I assure you, Lady Frances. Though I'd be proud to call her that." He paused for a moment. "What an odd thought. Though not entirely unwelcome. In any case, she's not mine, though she's quite brilliant. She takes after both her parents. Your mother was a formidable woman, Rannoch."
"We know that," Malcolm said. "And also that Gisèle's been asking questions about her father. I can't believe that isn't connected to all of this."
Gisèle sat up very straight. Her fingers were white against the dark green fabric of her skirt. "You think I'd only respond to a crisis and try to do something important with my life because of who my father is?"
"No," Malcolm said, "but I suspect it has something to do with it. It did for me."
Gisèle frowned down at her hands. She still wore her wedding band, Malcolm realized. It was her only jewelry at present. "For years I scarcely thought about it. But you can't imagine it wasn't on my mind with everything that's happened in the past six months and all the secrets, known and unknown. Learning who Malcolm's father is." Her gaze flickered to Raoul. "In many ways, I wish you were my father."
"I'd have been proud to be," Raoul said.
"But you aren't. And neither is Julien. Though Julien did tell me the truth. And Tommy reinforced it. I confess it was something of a shock. I can see why Mama kept it secret. Though I don't suppose now—"
She broke off as Valentin opened the door and ushered Lord Carfax into the room.
"Forgive me." Carfax hesitated a few paces into the room after Valentin withdrew and closed the door. "With Trenor in custody, Roth spoke with Conant, and I've been released. I wanted to offer my thanks."
Malcolm bit back a curse. For all he was relieved Carfax was out of prison, his former spymaster had damnable timing. And for all his thanks sounded genuine, they could have been delivered in the morning. Why had Carfax taken the time to come to Berkeley Square before going to see his wife and children? Was it worry over what Malcolm might do with the information—only a theory really—that he had been behind the dauphin's not being spirited out of France? Carfax's sharp features were shadowed with concern, but somehow it didn't seem like worry about political secrets. Malcolm was used to seeing that on his former spymaster's face. Instead, in the light from the brace of candles on the library table, Carfax looked uncharacteristically uncertain.
"I'm glad we discovered the truth, sir," Malcolm said. "I'm sure you must wish to reassure Lady Carfax and the rest of your family."
"Quite."
"But that's part of why you're here, isn't it?" St. Juste said. "You arrived at a timely moment, as it happens. All things considered, I really don't think it can remain secret any longer. Not from anyone in this room."
Carfax went pale as new-fallen snow, gaze locked on Julien's.
"He's right." Gisèle's voice cut across the room. "I was hoping to talk to you first, but really much better that everyone knows and stops speculating. Will you tell them, my lord, or shall I?"
"Tell them?" Carfax seemed to have trouble finding the breath to speak.
"That you're my father," Gisèle said.
Chapter 42
Good God. It's not possible. Of course. The thoughts raced across Malcolm's mind while his sister and former spymaster stared at each other in the warm light of the library.
Frances broke the silence that gripped the room. "This certainly explains Arabella's silence. The two of you will want to talk alone. The rest of us will remove upstairs to the drawing room. Gisèle, my dear, you have only to send word if you need us."
Mélanie slid her hand into Malcolm's as they climbed the stairs with the others. Malcolm squeezed his wife's fingers. The group was remarkably—especially for this group—silent.
"My God." Raoul shook his head as Archie pushed the drawing room door to behind everyone.
"You didn't know?" Malcolm asked.
"Good God, no."
"Or suspect?"
"Do you seriously think I could have?"
"Could? Yes. Did? I'm not sure. But I don't think you'd have told me."
"Probably not, until Gelly disappeared. Then all bets would have been off." Raoul scraped a hand over his hair. "I don't know why it shocks me so much. I knew she had lovers. I knew she had lovers in pursuit of her work."
"Of course Bella did." Frances sank down into an armchair, one hand supporting her stomach. "But this is the first I've heard so much as a rumor of Carfax's having a lover."
Archie put a hand on her shoulder. "I don't think this had much—if anything—to do with dalliance."
Raoul frowned as though puzzling over Arabella. "Whyever it started, I can imagine—they'd have each found the other a challenge. That can be very attractive." He shook his head. "Thinking back—the times Arabella and I talked about Carfax. Strategized about him." He l
ooked at Malcolm. "Mentioned your spending time with David. I can't claim I ever picked up on any clue. Which speaks very well for Bella's talents and not at all well for mine."
"She protected it," Malcolm said. "As she protected few secrets. Perhaps because of your reaction. Though I wonder if some of it wasn't for the sake of Carfax. Or at least for the sake of his marriage."
Raoul met his gaze for a moment. "Yes. It may well have been. Arabella wasn't without sensitivity."
"St. Juste knew." Frances looked round. "Where is Mr. St. Juste?"
Where indeed? Malcolm had seen him leave the library but there was no sign of him in the drawing room.
"Julien has a habit of melting away," Mélanie said. "But I do think part of the reason he came back to the house, besides dealing with Sylvie, was to make sure Gisèle was all right. And perhaps to help her tell us about Carfax."
"Do you think he learned the truth from Lady Arabella?" Cordelia asked. "Or from Carfax?"
"At a guess, from Arabella," Raoul said. "We don't exactly understand St. Juste's relationship with Carfax, but I doubt it's a confidence Carfax would share with anyone, let alone an agent."
Laura, who had been watching Raoul with concern, went up and slid an arm round him. "Tommy Belmont knows," she said. "So the League know, or some within the League."
Raoul nodded and drew her against him. "Probably Beverston. I suspect that's what Beverston threatened Carfax with at the Barque of Frailty the night of the murder."
"Watching Gisèle today—" Frances shook her head, her hand still on the babies she carried within her. "Part of me felt I was looking at a stranger. And part of me has never been more proud."
"She has a remarkable aptitude as an agent," Raoul said. "And she's noticed more than any of us realized."
"I should have seen more," Mélanie said. She was still holding Malcolm's hand.
Malcolm looked at her
"I know how women can be overlooked," she said.
"Undoubtedly. But there has to be more to it," he said. "I understand she was drawn to adventure. I understand she thought I'd keep her out of things. But for her to walk away from her family—"
