Moonstone Obsession

by Elizabeth Ellen Carter

  “Did your prisoner describe the man?” Selina enquired.

  The Colonel shook his head regretfully. “No, he did not. At least not in any useful detail.”

  “I certainly saw enough of Fidget, I mean Reynold, for him to make an impression on me, not only in Padstow, but also in Newquay,” said Selina

  “When was that?” asked Pickering.

  “When William arrived,” she recalled. “Jackson was enquiring after the Diamond and I saw Reynold from the window of the Harbour Master’s office.

  “In Padstow, I always had the sense that he was waiting for someone because of the way he’d fidget with his fingers. A few days before I saw him in Newquay, he was very agitated indeed. But at Newquay I had the impression that whoever he was waiting for had arrived.”

  “Perhaps not ‘who’ arrived, but ‘what’,” mused Pickering.

  “No, no, I think Selina’s right,” considered James, “because Morcombe did tell us that he saw Reynold meet with a man who might have been a man of means and not necessarily an Englishman.”

  “Why do you say that?” asked Catherine, who had been listening to the conversation while resetting the chess board.

  “Because Morcombe said the way the man was dressed like he was either a ‘toff' or a foreigner,” Pickering answered.

  “Oh, dear Lord!” Selina gasped, holding her hand to her lips as realisation dawned.

  Everyone reacted at the alarm and waited for her to speak.

  “Selina?” prompted James.

  “Oh James, I’m so sorry, with the wedding and the journey, I forgot all about it. But that’s silly. It could be nothing at all.”

  “Sweetheart? You’re not making any sense.”

  Selina took a deep breath and lowered her voice so as not to be heard outside the carriage.

  “After we returned from Boconnoc House, I saw Comte Alexandre talking to Fidget… to Reynold.”

  “Where?”

  “On The Strand at Padstow.”

  “Could it have been a casual acquaintance?” Pickering inquired.

  “No, I don’t think so; they looked very deep in conversation. And Reynold gave him an envelope.”

  “James, do you know how the Comte would know anyone in Padstow?”

  James shrugged. “Unfortunately I know very little about him at all. He was someone my mother found witty and amusing while in London. I hadn’t heard anything against him so I didn’t object when she said she wanted to invite him.”

  Pickering glanced at the carriage clock secured in its niche in the wall.

  “We’ll be stopping for lunch in an hour, why don’t we ask him then?”

  * * *

  Alexandre didn’t seem offended when the two ladies elected to leave lunch early to take a constitutional before the afternoon’s travels.

  He ordered brandy and three cigars for the gentlemen at the table with him.

  “Salute, gentlemen,” he gestured and drank.

  Placing his glass on the table, he regarded James and Pickering with a smile.

  “Since you are monopolising the attention of two beautiful women as travelling companions, I cannot believe that I am your first choice for company while dining,” he offered.

  James considered the first card played well, but wondered what game the Comte was playing,

  “You’re quite correct, Comte,” answered Pickering smoothly. “Both Lord Penventen and I have a puzzle to solve. We wondered if you might be able to assist us.”

  Alexandre shrugged and settled back into his seat. “But of course,” he answered mildly.

  James, less willing than the Colonel to play games, decided to show his hand directly.

  “Henry Reynolds. Who is he?”

  Pickering gave James a brief sideways glance of disapproval.

  However, Alexandre’s green eyes met James' without reservation. He did not appear surprised, but he paused, as if considering several answers, before responding.

  “You may have more success if you enquire after him under his actual name. It is Henri Renauld,” said Alexandre at last, giving the man’s name its proper pronunciation.

  “You don’t deny you know him?” asked Pickering.

  “My dear Colonel. Why should I?”

  “He is accused of organising the wreck of the Pandora with the loss, or rather, murder of all hands; also the attempted wreck of the Zeus, the assault on Lady Mitchell and the attempted murder of Lord Penventen,” responded Pickering, elucidating the charges against Renauld in an even tone that belied their gravity.

  “I’d be most distressed if a man of your calibre was keeping such company, Comte.”

  “I have to confess to not knowing the man well, and, to the extent of his nefarious activities, I would have to say not at all,” said Alexandre, gesturing with his unlit cigar.

  “I merely heard him talk and recognised him as a fellow Frenchman. It was a superficial acquaintance, enough to learn his name and for him to tell me his profession.”

  “Which was?”

  “He said he was a merchant and had interests in London, Calais, and Paris.”

  “Did he reveal what he was a merchant in?”

  “Alas, no, and it never occurred to me to ask.”

  Alexandre shook his head sadly and lit his cigar from the candle that had been left at their table for that purpose.

  “Now, if you will excuse me, please, I have letters I’d like to post before we move on.”

  The Frenchman departed.

  “What do you think?” asked James as soon as the man was out of earshot.

  “I believe the Comte is telling us the truth as far as it goes, but not the complete truth, obviously,” said Pickering. “For instance, why would a man he barely knows give him an envelope?”

  Pickering smiled and added, “I'm glad you chose not to play that card after showing the rest of our hand at the very start, my Lord.”

  James shrugged off the Colonel's gentle dig. “It worked, didn't it?”

  “Indeed it did, you read him well,” said Pickering, “but whether we ever get the full story out of him is another matter altogether.”

  “That was the impression I had too. We’ll need to get an urgent message to Pitt’s office. If anyone can find him, it will be Sir Percy.”

  * * *

  London

  10 October

  If James was preoccupied at all with thoughts of wreckers and conspiracies, he did a good job of hiding it. Almost immediately on arrival in London, he insisted on lavishing on Selina what she considered an obscene amount of money on dresses and jewellery as part of her honeymoon trousseau.

  Her first instinct was to refuse, as she had done her brother.

  She could hardly believe one person might need or wear so many clothes, but Selina soon realised she was something of a subject of interest. The young woman who had captured the bachelor of the season attracted invitations for morning and afternoon events.

  All were addressed to Selina, Lady Mitchell, a reminder that she was to honour her husband’s name as it was now her own, and James encouraged her to attend.

  She acquiesced to his generosity, but also satisfied herself that the expenditure was in budget.

  The latest event was, however, an evening affair to which they were both invited—the post-wedding party of Colonel Pickering and Lady Catherine. The wedding, owing to Pickering’s rank as Colonel, was held at Royal Military Academy Chapel at Sandhurst.

  It had been as intimate as promised, only forty guests including James and Selina attended, though there were double that number now at the party held at the Officers' Dining and Reception rooms.

  Instead of liveried footmen, young cadets in uniform waited on the guests.

  Selina complimented Catherine on her dress, a silver gown with delightful aqua embroidery.

  “Don't you think it goes rather nicely with this?” inquired Catherine, flashing her diamond engagement ring, making it sparkle in the light of the chandelier.


  “It does,” agreed Selina, and Catherine turned to show off the dress to her, then insisted on critiquing Selina's own latest ensemble, an evening gown in iris with matching satin shoes and a suite of jewellery in amethyst and diamonds on fine gold chain. She found it quite acceptable, to say the least.

  “How are you enjoying London this time?” she asked. “I hear you're popular.”

  “I keep getting invitations. I can’t possibly attend them all and the pile just keeps growing!” said Selina. “Perhaps I should just decline them all.”

  “You mustn’t do that. It would be social death,” Catherine instructed her. “The art is knowing which invitations to accept, which to refuse, and whose events you can accept as a contingency but snub if a more prestigious one comes along.”

  “That’s terrible!” exclaimed Selina.

  Catherine laughed.

  “Let me tell you...” she said.

  She linked her arm in Selina’s and urged her to take a turn around the perimeter of the ballroom.

  “Men might discuss battle strategies and affairs of state and think we women have no idea,” said Catherine, “but to be a success at court and in society it is vital to know who your enemies and allies are, how far you can rely on them, what territory to cede, and when to stake your claim,” she advised.

  As they walked, Selina watched and made note of which among the guests Catherine greeted warmly with a smile and a word, those she favoured with a nod, and those she ignored completely. It seemed the very fact that she and Catherine were now so publicly associated, as demonstrated by the promenade around the room, was sending a clear message.

  “And we’re allies?”

  “Well, we wouldn’t be normally. When we first met, I recall saying we'd hardly be friends.”

  “But marrying James changed that,” said Selina flatly.

  “If I must be frank, yes, to an extent. But...”

  She seemed to be searching for the right words.

  “Well, I just genuinely like you. I'd like to be friends with you.”

  “Not the kind of friends you are with Abigail, I hope.”

  Catherine laughed, ruefully.

  “No, I am officially retired from that sport. I have to confess it was a thrill for longer than it should have been, but now I see now this endless pursuit of gossip and sport at other people’s expense is pointless and destructive.

  “Now I must reinvent myself.

  “You’re fortunate. After your honeymoon you can decide to never step foot in London again and retire to the country or the American wilderness. Or if James does decide to take advantage of his position, you can create your own social empire.”

  Catherine leaned in conspiratorially.

  “And if you ever get bored with married life, there are always compensations...”

  Selina was unimpressed at the suggestion and her expression plainly said so. Catherine laughed heartily.

  “Oh don’t mind me; I only said it to see the look on your face!

  “It’s obvious to everyone that you and James have eyes only for one another. In fact...” Catherine stopped and looked at Selina with gentle seriousness. “It was seeing you two this summer made me really believe that love was more than just some poetic whimsy. Without your example, I may not have appreciated Martin. So thank you, Selina. I mean that most sincerely.”

  Selina smiled and thanked Catherine. She could scarcely believe that the new wife of Colonel Martin Pickering was the same brittle humoured woman she had met just a few months ago.

  Then Selina's attention was captivated by the sight of her husband moving towards them and catching her eye with his; the look in them set her pulse racing. She knew that look. He wore it every time he made love to her.

  “I’ve come to claim my wife,” he told Catherine.

  Selina squeezed Catherine’s hand.

  “I hope you and Martin enjoy your married life as much as James and I are enjoying ours,” she said.

  She kissed Catherine on the cheek, then accepted James' outstretched hand, and he led her to the dance floor for the beginning of a waltz.

  “Remember our first dance like this?” said Selina and they both smiled at the recollection.

  This time, James held her closer, their bodies moving together in a unison only learned through intimacy of mind and body.

  “Did you know that just about every man had his eyes on you and Catherine?” he whispered into her ear.

  “Catherine is a very beautiful woman,” Selina responded.

  “Is she? I’ve never noticed,” he answered, his left hand at the small of her back rubbing imperceptible small circles.

  “You, on the other hand, have made me the envy of every man here tonight.”

  “Is that so?” Selina smiled flirtatiously.

  James answered the question with a light kiss on her ear. Selina offered a breathless moan and pressed herself closer.

  “Indeed,” he whispered. “They watch you looking at me like that and they know how this evening is going to end.”

  “It’s late. Take me home,” Selina murmured.

  “More than happy to oblige the lady.”

  * * *

  Selina was grateful for the empty carriage and the drawn blinds on the twenty minute journey back to Mayfair.

  No sooner had the door closed then she found herself on James’ lap, his hand rising high under her skirts, while his lips took hers greedily.

  She returned his kisses urgently; eager to experience those lips on her neck, her breast and her sex, the potent memory of him having already touched her like that incredibly arousing.

  In answer, James’ hand slid across the front of her leg and his fingers tangled in the curls at the apex of her thighs where she was already slick with desire for him. With impassioned whispered words, she rose and assisted him in undoing the buttons of his breeches, then eased him free of their confines while his hands bunched her skirts around her waist and caressed her.

  She came to him eagerly, intuitively knowing the moves of this particular dance, although it was new to her. Selina straddled his legs and slowly lowered herself on to him. The rapture on his face was the beginning of her own release.

  At his instructions, she controlled the pace of their coupling, slow and teasing at first until her overwhelming need for him could be controlled no longer, plunging headlong into bliss a few scant seconds before James found his.

  Five minutes later, the Penventen carriage rolled to a stop outside the door of their Mayfair townhouse.

  Inside, the butler briskly informed James that Sir Percy Blakeney waited for him in the blue drawing room on a matter of importance.

  Selina kissed James and told him that she’d wait for him in bed. She was about to ascend the stairs when the drawing room door, already ajar, swung open and Sir Percy, who was dressed more soberly than James could ever remember seeing him, took a step into the hallway.

  “Actually, James, this matter quite possibly concerns the lady as well,” he suggested quietly.

  Selina looked at James in surprise. His expression told her that he didn’t expect the news to be good.

  She took his hand and together they followed Sir Percy into the drawing room.

  “What’s this about, Percy?” James asked, closing the door.

  The man sighed and helped himself to a whiskey from the decanter. James frowned—not at the liberty, but at Percy’s apparent disquiet.

  “We found where Henri Renauld was living this afternoon, and I sent two men to arrest him on suspicion,” he began, and took a mouthful of the liquor.

  “Well, that’s good news,” said Selina, hopefully.

  Sir Percy smiled grimly at her.

  “He killed one, seriously wounded the other, and escaped.”

  James and Selina were stunned into silence.

  “At least his escape wasn’t clean,” Sir Percy continued, with another sip from his glass.

  “He has been injured and was forced to leave behind
his belongings. There are papers, maps, instructions and more. I have men at the apartment examining them as we speak.”

  James opened his mouth to say something but Sir Percy pre-empted him.

  “The reason why I’m here tonight relates to letters sent to Renauld that mention you both by name. I’m sorry James. I promised you in Cornwall that this would be the end of your obligation to us.

  “Now it looks like this is only the beginning.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Percy handed the letter to James.

  It was in French and appeared to have been written in a rush. The ink had not had time to fully dry, nor had it been blotted before its author folded it in half to place in an envelope. The paper was not monogrammed but appeared to be of quality stock.

  James read a few lines to himself, roughly translating them using the memory of his schoolboy French, then handed the letter to Selina.

  “She will be much faster reading it than I,” he explained to Percy.

  Indeed Selina had already read the single page.

  “Whoever wrote this was in a hurry and says as much,” she told James. “He instructs Renauld to stay where he is and if there is a change to the program, it will come to him in a package at the usual rendezvous in Bourchier Street on Wednesday night. It says...”

  She continued by reading directly from the letter.

  Should the day pass without word from our mutual friend, we must presume that you are to continue with the original course which was set. I can help you no longer. I have been compromised by our acquaintance because of Sir James and his new bride. I have another friend who will take care of this problem so Penventen should not trouble us. Take care with your appearance. Presume it is now known to authorities.

  “It’s not signed but it has to be Comte Alexandre,” Selina concluded, handing the paper back to Percy.

  James and Percy nodded their agreement with Selina’s assessment. Percy turned to address her.

  “Your French is certainly fluent, Lady Selina. I regret my remaining men are less so and I personally am not available for perusing paperwork. If my men bring paper they find to you, will you translate?”

  “Of course.”

  “There’s a treasure trove of documents and very few people we can entrust with our mission. We need to know as much as we can about their plans and know it quickly.”