by Tracy Grant
Eustace grimaced. "Not at first. In fact, if you'd told me when we first met that Craven and I would ever be partners—"
"You have three times his understanding," Malcolm said.
"He had a knack for landing on his feet. Cecilia had to marry into trade, and he managed to snag Carfax's daughter. And her father's influence into the bargain. And there's no denying some of that influence rubbed off on him, especially after he got his position at the Board of Control. When he came to me suggesting a partnership, I had to listen. It would have been bad business sense not to. Much as my desire was to laugh in his face."
"The company was Craven's idea?"
Eustace raised a brow. "You assumed I was the one who lured Craven into trade? No, I assure you. He told me with his contacts at the Board of Control he thought we could do well."
"Carfax implied otherwise. He must have been mistaken. When did it begin?"
"Nine years ago. No, closer to eight. Cecilia and I had been married a year. Roger was a baby. Craven and Louisa had been to dine with us. One of the rare times they did. Craven made a decent case. He'd thought it through, I'll give him that. I'd put up the capital—even as Carfax's son-in-law he always seemed to have pockets to let—and run the business, and he'd steer contracts our way. It was a good opportunity. The bank was doing well. I needed a new venture to put capital into, and I confess I was a bit bored."
It was the rationale another man might have given for taking up painting. Or taking a mistress.
"Did Craven visit the warehouse often?"
"Almost never. We mostly met at White's."
"He must have come occasionally. Teddy knew about it."
"Yes, Craven brought the older children by round Christmas time last year. They were on their way to a pantomime. But it was hardly one of his regular haunts."
"Do you think he could have hidden anything there?"
Eustace's gaze shot to Malcolm's face. "Is that what you think the thief was after?"
"You must have wondered."
"I went to the warehouse last night with Roth. As I told him, I can't tell anything's gone. And I didn't know about this compartment the thief seems to have opened. My first thought was that one of our clerks had stowed something there. There could be a number of reasons for someone working in shipping to want a hiding place."
"You think one of your clerks was smuggling?"
"I didn't until last night. I pride myself on my skill in hiring my employees. But it was the first explanation for the compartment that leapt to mind. Why on earth would Craven—"
"How much do you know about Craven's work for his father-in-law?" Malcolm asked.
Eustace's hands closed on the arms of his chair. "Oh, lord. Malcolm, are you saying Craven was a spy?"
"More a low level agent. At least as far as Carfax tells it."
"Christ." Eustace passed a hand over his face. "Am I a coward to confess the thought of Carfax being so close to anything I was involved in sends a chill through me?"
"No, you're pragmatic. Though for what it's worth, Carfax claims to have little interest in Whateley & Company. Of course, with Carfax one can never be sure if one can take him at face value."
"Does he think Craven might have been hiding information in the warehouse?"
"He says if he did he'd have gone after it himself. Which makes sense. So I don't think he did. Unless he's the one behind the break-in. Or perhaps one of the break-ins."
"Good God." Eustace put his head in his hands. "This isn't my world, Malcolm. I run a bank. Safe, sober investments. A trade venture to keep things exciting. And now I've got Carfax breathing down my neck."
"Carfax won't be interested in Whateley & Company. Unless you've got something to hide."
Eustace shot a look at him. "Is that a question?"
"Should I be asking questions?"
"You're investigating, Malcolm. I don't see how you can help but ask questions. Whateley & Company are as dull as you and Carfax assumed before the break-in. But of course you don't have to believe me. I daresay I wouldn't in your shoes. Not without further investigation."
"Can you think of anyone else who would want to break into the Whateley & Company Warehouse?"
Eustace gave a wry smile. "I'd like to say we were so successful our competitors couldn't wait to steal our secrets. But in general trade's a boring business. Moving goods, storing them, selling them. Trying to eke out a few more pounds. I can't claim to have any secrets worth stealing except the value of sticking at it, day in, day out."
"Has anything unusual happened?"
"Unusual how?"
"Have you seen anyone hanging about the warehouse? Had any unusual visitors?" Sometimes the trick was to look for a break-in the pattern.
"No. Well, not except—"
"What?"
Eustace shook his head. "One couldn't remotely call it hanging about. He strolled right in. It was just so odd to see him here. We're related in a sense, but it's not as though we've ever spent a great deal of time together. So receiving a visit from him was unusual."
"Who?" Malcolm asked.
Eustace paused, and for a moment Malcolm would almost have sworn he was enjoying this. "Your friend Oliver Lydgate."
"Lady Cordelia. Mrs. Rannoch." Cecilia Whateley approached them with the careful formality of Mayfair drawing rooms.
"Surely you can still call me Cordy, Cecy." Cordelia leaned forwards to kiss the other woman's cheek.
Cecilia accepted the greeting with good grace, but then stepped back and smoothed her skirt. "We aren't girls anymore, Cordelia."
"All the more reason for us to enjoy what remnants of our girlhood we can."
Cecilia gave a strained smile and gestured them towards the matched lavender-striped settee and armchairs. "Inspector Roth was here last night. He told us about Teddy and that Mr. Rannoch took him home. Have you heard how he does today?"
Suzanne shook her head. "But Malcolm said by the time he left Brook Street Teddy was in better spirits."
"Those poor children." Cecilia shivered. "To lose both parents. I can scarcely comprehend it. Eustace and I could have taken them in, but I can see Louisa's family wanting to keep them."
Something about the way she said "Louisa's family" told volumes about Cecilia's relationship to her brother's in-laws. In the ornate social strata of the beau mode Cecilia had married below her station while her brother had married above his.
"I think it's good that the children are able to remain in their home," Suzanne said. "They've lost so much, they need whatever semblance of stability they can muster."
"Yes, of course. And Lord Worsley is so good with them. Though it will certainly be a challenge for his wife when he finally marries. Beginning marriage is challenging enough without starting off with four children."
Cordelia tugged her second glove from her fingertips. "I think anyone who loves David will understand that that also means taking on the children."
Suzanne suspected her friend had the same image in her mind she did. Simon with young Jamie draped over his shoulder.
"I hope so," Cecilia said.
A footman came in with a tea tray. Cecilia busied herself pouring tea into gilded cups. "Eustace went with Inspector Roth to the warehouse last night. Mr. Roth told Eustace Mr. Rannoch was assisting him with the investigation. I assume that's why you're here, Mrs. Rannoch." She handed a cup to Suzanne. "I may not be at the heart of Mayfair society, but I do know your husband has assisted Bow Street in the past. And that you assist him."
Suzanne took a sip of tea and choked on the idea of assisting Malcolm. Still, it was very useful their reputation had preceded them. As long as it didn't put Cecilia too much on her guard.
"Cecilia—" Cordelia said.
"To own the truth, I'm relieved." Cecilia handed a cup to Cordelia. "If I must talk to someone, I would much rather talk to you. Not that I have anything to say. I have little to do with my husband's affairs."
Suzanne wondered if the word choice was
deliberate. But then perhaps Cecilia had used "affairs" because she didn't want to use the word "business" or anything more closely approximating that. "And your brother?" she asked.
"Edward didn't confide in me either."
Odd to hear Craven referred to by his given name. Even Louisa had called him Craven. A reminder that he had once been a boy as young as Teddy. As young as Colin or little Jamie. "But you knew he was your husband's partner in Whateley & Company."
"Oh, yes." Cecilia twitched her ruched cambric skirt, as she might to pull it back from a puddle of muddy water.
"All sorts of gentlemen make investments," Cordelia said. "Many not as sensibly as your husband."
Cecilia squeezed a wedge of lemon into her own tea. "Eustace is clever. Cleverer than Edward was. I'm not ashamed. I knew what I was getting when I married him. I'm fortunate to be so comfortably situated."
"It sounds as though someone was at pains to remind you of that," Suzanne said.
Cecilia took a sip of tea. "By the time my grandfather and father paid off their gaming debts, what was left of the family fortune was entailed and settled on Edward. And heavily mortgaged into the bargain. Cordy remembers our season. Any number of men were willing to dance with me, but when it came to marriage, most weren't willing to risk it. Sensibly. It isn't easy to live on nothing."
"I know what it's like to have no dowry," Suzanne said. Which was true. It was also true she'd never expected to have one. "I'm very fortunate Malcolm came to my rescue." Which was also true, though at the time she wouldn't have used quite those words.
"There are very few men like Malcolm Rannoch," Cecilia said.
"Men who could marry anyone and choose a penniless émigrée?"
Cecilia shrugged, fluttering the rouleau of muslin at her throat. "Most marriages are bargains one way and another. Eustace and I each gave the other something. We went into it with our eyes open. I'm very well aware of what he's done for me. It doesn't mean I need to take an interest in his business dealings. In fact, I think he prefers it if I don't do so. My role is to lend social polish to our partnership." She leaned forwards to refill the cups. The muslin frill on her sleeve fell back at just the right angle to display her pearl bracelet. "It would be much the same if I'd married a soldier or a politician. I wouldn't expect him to want help with battle tactics or parliamentary speeches."
She set down the teapot and reached for another wedge of lemon. Her smile indicated she wouldn't dream of being so ill bred as to allude to the fact that Suzanne helped draft her husband's speeches. And of course, that very careful lack of allusion couldn't help but bring it to the fore. Without meeting Cordelia's gaze, Suzanne knew her friend was either bristling or stifling a laugh or both.
"Still, your husband must talk sometimes," Suzanne said, with the smile of one wife to another. "Men do. Isn't listening part of a wife's role? Do you know if he had any enemies?"
"Enemies?" Cecilia choked on her tea. "Eustace?"
For a moment Suzanne pitied Eustace Whateley. His wife might almost have said she couldn't imagine him doing anything interesting enough to create enemies.
Chapter 7
"Malcolm." Oliver Lydgate looked up from his newspaper in a quiet corner of the Great Subscription Room at Brooks's. "David came to see us this morning. He told us what you did for young Teddy last night. Thank you."
Malcolm dropped into a chair beside his friend. "I think of him as my nephew as well."
Oliver folded his copy of the Morning Chronicle and put it on the table between them. "Bel went back to Brook Street with David, though she says she sometimes fears seeing her simply reminds the children that their mother is gone."
"Bel's nothing like Louisa."
"Thank God." Oliver gave a wry smile. "Is that why you're here? Normally you avoid Brooks's like the plague unless we have a meeting."
"I wouldn't quite say that. But there is something insular about it."
"Spoken like a man who never doubted he'd become a member." Oliver, the son of a penniless Devonshire country lawyer, was always frank about his origins and the life he'd married into. His brows drew together, dark against his pale skin "Has something else happened with Teddy? I've been afraid—"
"No. Not with Teddy directly." Malcolm stretched his legs out. "Roth's asked me to assist him with the investigation into the murder of the man Teddy found at Whateley & Company."
Oliver grimaced. "As if those children haven't seen enough death. I can see Roth wanting you involved, especially with the connection to Craven. Have you talked to Carfax?"
"First thing this morning."
Oliver gave one of those grins as engaging as when he'd been an undergraduate. "Better you than me. I prefer to face my father-in-law with a drink in my hand if I have to. Do you think the break-in had something to do with Craven?"
"We're not sure. But we have to at least consider it."
Oliver watched him for a moment. "How can I help you?"
Malcolm had spent most of the drive from Fenchurch Street debating how he would frame his next question, but he still wasn't quite sure. "Eustace says you called at the Whateley & Company warehouse a week ago."
Oliver's gaze showed no surprise. "Yes, I did. There were some details about Louisa's marriage settlement that I wanted to make sure he understood. It's difficult for Carfax to talk about and David has his hands full, so I offered to talk to him. Sometimes being a barrister can come in handy. Is that so surprising?"
"I think Eustace thought it a bit odd you went to the Whateley & Company warehouse instead of the bank."
"For some reason I thought I was more likely to find him at the warehouse that particular day. I can't remember why precisely. Malcolm, what on earth did Eustace say to you?"
"Just that it was a surprise to see you at the warehouse. I was asking him about anything to do with the warehouse that seemed unusual."
"And he thought—what? That I saw something that made me hire the man who broke in and was murdered? Or that I came back myself and murdered the man? I was here with you last night."
"The man was probably dead before any of us got to Brooks's."
Oliver gripped the arms of his chair. "For God's sake, Malcolm—"
"No one's suggesting you had anything to do with it, Oliver."
"But you're here, asking questions."
"It struck Eustace as unusual enough that he mentioned it. I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't follow up."
Oliver leaned back in his chair. "Fair enough. I just—"
Malcolm watched his friend for a moment. "The investigations I undertake have a tendency to involve friends and family. You and Bel haven't been caught up in that before. I'm sorry. It's not a comfortable situation. As David discovered during the investigation into Trenchard's murder."
Oliver stared at him. "You can't seriously mean you suspected David of murder?"
Malcolm frowned at the toes of his boots, memories of three months ago shooting through his mind. "Seriously? I couldn't ever truly bring myself to believe it of him, but that may have been a failure of imagination. Logically I knew I had to consider him as a suspect. So I forced myself to do so."
Oliver nodded. "Funny, thinking back to those nights at Oxford. Drinking wine in one of our rooms. Scribbling in a coffeehouse. Rehearsing. Quoting Shakespeare or talking about how we'd change the world. Even then I knew the future was filled with uncertainties. But I'd have sworn I'd always trust the three of you with my life."
"I'd trust you or David or Simon with my life," Malcolm said without hesitation. "That's a very different thing from what questions I have to force myself to ask."
Oliver nodded slowly. "You always were ruthless at exploring a thesis."
Malcolm felt his shoulders relax against the chairback, releasing a tension he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Did you notice anything when you were at the warehouse?"
"You mean anything that could connect to this break-in?"
"Anything at all out of the ordinary. Some
times the most trivial detail can prove to be a vital clue."
"I'd never been there before, so I didn't really have a basis of comparison. The warehouse looked ordinary enough. Crates piled round. Sheaves of foolscap. Eustace and I went into a small office to the side. I haven't had a great many dealings with him. But we've met at the occasional gathering of the greater family. Which both of us married into. We share a certain fellow feeling as outsiders. At the same time—" Oliver's fingers curled round the arms of his chair. "I'm quite sure Eustace resents me. For marrying up in the world and not even bringing a fortune to balance the scales."
Malcolm stared at his friend. Like David's outburst about the secrecy he and Simon lived in, Oliver had just put into words something he rarely alluded to. Malcolm drew a breath. "You and Bel—"
Oliver stared at a hunting print that hung on the wall across from them. Redcoated figures sending sleek horses over a fence. Blue sky, rolling green grass. A world of exclusivity and privilege. "Bel does a thousand things for my parents, mostly without letting them see it. She brought out my sisters. Her fortune provided their marriage portions. And paid for my brother's commission. Without her fortune—and family name—I'd never have been able to stand for Parliament. We wouldn't have our house. I most likely wouldn't be a member of Brooks's." He glanced down the long room at the men playing whist or reading newspapers. "I'd probably be a country lawyer like my father. Or a solicitor with tradesmen for clients. Not a barrister with chambers in the Temple who sits in Parliament."
"Bel married you because she loves you. It's quite different from the marriage Eustace and Cecilia seem to have. Eustace was at great pains to make it clear it was a business arrangement. Perhaps somewhat too-great pains now I think about it. I'm not sure if the business arrangement is on both sides or simply on Cecilia's. At least in Eustace's view."
Oliver gave a wry smile. "One never knows entirely what goes on in another's marriage. Even when it comes to friends. You're fortunate, Malcolm. The man who claimed not to believe he was capable of love and found the perfect wife."
"I know full well how fortunate I am." There was a time, six months ago, fresh from the revelations of Suzanne's betrayal, when Malcolm would have struggled to keep the irony from his voice. Now it was no struggle. He'd known, almost from the first, that he and Suzanne had to find a way to make their marriage work, for Colin's and Jessica's sakes. But somehow they had got to the point where his good fortune at meeting Suzanne still took his breath away. Paradoxically, perhaps even more so now that he knew the truth of her masquerade. A change in mission strategy, a shift in the war, greater qualms on her part about embarking on such a long-term mission, and they would never have married. He wouldn't have her, or Colin. Jessica would never have been born.
