by Tracy Grant
She frowned. "Talbot was there."
"His evidence is damning, but circumstantial."
"If you believe the circumstances."
Adam took the remark seriously. "Granby must, of course. Talbot's his son. Palmerston's inclined to doubt. Castlereagh isn't, but he's a careful man. He wrote to Stuart and to Wellington the first day he saw me, and he's waiting to hear from them."
Caroline sank back into her chair. "So you must stay in London."
"I must in any case until I know you're safe from your cousin Talbot."
Caroline's smile did not conceal her distress. Adam drew up a chair and sat beside her. "I told them today I had further information on the fraud."
"Was that wise?"
"Perhaps not," Adam had to admit. "But Talbot heard me. The next move will be his, but it will be directed at me. You're no longer the sole enemy. It should give you a margin of safety."
Caroline leaned forward, her back ramrod straight. "Adam Durward, you make me furious."
"For putting my neck in the noose? It's not nearly as fragile as yours."
Caroline met his gaze for a long moment. Then she lowered her eyes and subsided against the back of the chair. "Dorothy Rawley called today. She hasn't put me beyond the pale."
"What does she advise?"
"That I brazen it through. Hold my head high and deny everything." Caroline shook her head. "I told her I couldn't."
"Did you tell her—" Adam stopped, unable to put his thought into words. Their accord was still too new and too fragile, and he feared she would change her mind.
Caroline understood that he was speaking of their marriage. "No, I didn't have time. Sherry came while she was here. I told him I was going to marry you."
Adam drew a sharp breath. That automatic flash of jealousy at the mention of Sheriton's name was wiped away by her next words. Caroline had committed herself to him.
"Adam," she said, leaning forward once more, "I think I've learned something. There may have been another man involved in the foundry, at least at the beginning. Lord Silbury. He's the eldest son of Earl Camden and he was a friend of Talbot's. Sherry remembered hearing them talk about the foundry. He thought it was Silbury's idea. That makes sense. Talbot would leap at the chance to make a bit of money, but he's not got much imagination and he doesn't think ahead. Sherry thought it odd that Silbury didn't invest in the foundry as well, but perhaps it was just idle talk on Silbury's part and Talbot tookhim seriously."
The puzzle had grown more intricate. Web upon web. Adam felt a growing excitement. "Silbury. Where can I find him?"
"America, I'm afraid. He has relatives there."
"Damnation." Adam threw himself back in his chair. "What else do you know about him?"
"Not very much. I went through my journals for the years just before the foundry started. It seems Jared knew him as well. At least he played cards with him."
"Did he lose?"
"Jared always lost. Talbot lost to Silbury too, at least the one night I made mention of seeing them together. Adam, if Talbot was in debt to Silbury, and Silbury saw a way to get his money back..."
She was very quick. "Exactly, Caro. But there are still too many questions. Why didn't Silbury invest in the foundry? And why involve Jared Rawley?"
It was these questions that drove Adam to call at Earl Camden's house on Monday morning. Lord Camden, he was told by an arrogant footman several years younger than himself, was not at home. Adam had come prepared. He handed the footman a sealed note addressed to the earl and said he would wait for an answer.
It was a long time coming. Adam was left to contemplate the austere luxury of the entrance hall, a cold circular room, white-painted, floored in black and white marble, and decorated only with a hard marble bench and two white marble busts set on pedestals. The house was unusually quiet, as though it had gone into mourning, Adam saw a housemaid scurry across the landing visible at the top of the stairs. He heard a door open and the unexpected sound of a woman's laughter, quickly stifled. The house, as though ashamed of this outburst of life, immediately returned to its state of quiet.
At last the footman returned. Lord Camden would see him, but his visit must be brief. His lordship was not in the best of health.
This last was obvious as soon as Adam was shown into the small ground floor sitting room where the earl was seated. He was dressed in black, which set off the whiteness of his hair and the pasty color of his skin. His eyes were pale and rheumy. It was impossible to judge his height, but Adam thought he might once have been a moderately tall man. Now his body seemed shrunken and drawn in upon itself, as though to ward off danger.
The earl looked up as Adam was announced. "I don't believe I know you, sir." His voice was high and surprisingly strong.
"You do not. I am here on business connected with the Ordnance Office. I hope you may be able to help me."
The earl's gaze sharpened. He took in Adam's obviously civilian clothes. "You are with Ordnance? Sit down, man, sit down, you are too tall to look at standing."
Adam saw two nearby chairs and selected the one farthest from the earl. "Actually, I am with the Foreign Office. Five years ago I was asked to undertake an investigation for Lord Wellington—Wellesley, then—regarding a problem with the ordnance at Vimeiro."
Camden leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. "I know nothing about ordnance. Come to the point."
"I'll try to be brief," Adam said. "The investigation showed that an Ordnance inspector had been bribed to pass some faulty cannon which later played havoc on the battlefield."
The earl opened his eyes. "Disgusting. I heard nothing about it."
"The matter was kept quiet. The inspector resigned his commission and the man who bribed him has since died."
"A fitting fate. Why do you come to me?"
Adam had nothing to lose by pretending to more knowledge than he had. "I've learned that the matter was more complicated than we thought five years ago. At least one other man was involved. Colonel Rawley, Earl Granby's son."
Camden frowned. "I know Granby slightly. I am not acquainted with his son. I am sorry, I cannot help you."
"Your own son, Lord Silbury, was a friend of Colonel Rawley's."
Camden came half out of his chair. His voice trembled and his hands shook. "By God, sir, what is it you suggest?" He sank back in his chair and in a weary voice said, "I've told the Home Office all I know."
Adam was startled by the depths of Camden's response and by the mention of the Home Office. What the devil did they have to do with it? "I beg your pardon," he said. "I suggest no complicity on Lord Silbury's part. I thought only that he might be able to shed some light on Rawley's involvement in the matter. I would like very much to talk to him. Can you tell me where he can be found?"
Camden's face was drained of color and his breath came in short gasps. "My son—" His voice cracked. "My son is in America. I don't know his exact whereabouts. It's a large coutry. Go and find him yourself." Camden pushed himself to his feet, walked with an unsteady gait to the bell-rope, and gave it a severe yank. "Good day, sir."
Adam left the house wondering at the extent of the earl's distress. Silbury was heir to his obviously ill father's title and estates. What could he have done, beyond what all wealthy young men did, that had sent him into exile? Adam cursed the accident of oceans. He would never talk to Silbury. Camden would tell him nothing. He wondered for a moment about trying to reach Camden's wife. And then he thought of Tom Rathbone.
Adam left the Camden house in Grosvenor Square and made his way to Whitehall. He and Rathbone had been at university together. They had not been close friends. Adam had had no close friends in those days, certainly none like Hawkins had become, but he and Rathbone had liked and respected each other. Rathbone was wellborn and would know people like Silbury. If nothing else he might tell Adam why Earl Camden's heir was rusticating in England's former colony.
Rathbone, a genial, easy-going man, had a position at the Home Of
fice, a fact that caused him some embarrassment. He would not admit to anyone that he took his work seriously, and in proof he left his desk at once on Adam's arrival and took him off to a nearby coffee house. "Last I heard, you were running the length and breadth of Spain in disguise," Rathbone said when they had settled in a quiet corner. "Durward, it's good to see you back. Will you stay?"
Adam curbed his impatience. "I don't know. I've got a problem. I can't tell you about it, not yet, but I need some information."
Rathbone raised his arm to signal a waiter, then turned back to Adam. "Anything. Who or what?"
"Lord Silbury. What do you know about him?"
"To his detriment?" Rathbone smiled, but his eyes were suddenly very alert. Adam knew he was treading on dangerous ground.
"The usual things," Rathbone continued in his pleasant drawl. "I don't suppose he was wilder than most young men of his age. He gambled a lot and usually won. He was well-liked. Didn't care much for the ladies. Then five years ago he took a notion to visit a distant cousin in America."
A waiter stopped at their table and Rathbone ordered coffee. A wry smile appeared on his face. "Providential, I would say. We were about to arrest him for spying for the French."
Chapter Twenty-one
A spy. Adam stared at Rathbone's now serious face and saw it was no jest. "Is that what you wanted to know?" Rathbone said quietly when the waiter had brought their coffee.
"Let's say it adds a new dimension to my problem." Adam leaned forward, his arms on the table, his hands cradling the warmth of the cup. Both men had lowered their voices. "What is it he actually did?"
Rathbone bit his lip. "It's confidential..."
"Of course. Let me try this. Tell me if I'm wrong. There'd be the passage of information. Weapons and manpower, that's what the French would want to know. I'd say Silbury had a friend in the Ordnance Office. Perhaps another at the War Office."
Rathbone took a swallow of coffee, grimaced, and set down his cup. "Vile brew. We could never prove any of it, though he was known to be acquainted with at least two men who were suspected French agents. Not surprising, those two drank and whored with half the young bucks in London. But—"
"But passing the odd bit of paper was too tame for Silbury. He'd never know what good they were or what anyone made of them."
Rathbone raised his brows. "Go on."
"I'd guess that sabotage was his game. More danger. And he could see results. What would the French most want to hear? Ten thousand rifles on their way to British troops in Portugal, or ten thousand rifles lying damaged and useless on a dock in Portsmouth."
Rathbone gave a visible start. "How the hell did you know about the rifles?"
Adam grinned. "Actually, my interest is in cannon."
"We didn't know anything about cannon." Rathbone was clearly shaken.
Adam pushed aside his cup and leaned closer. "Let me tell you a story."
Till that moment, Adam had not intended to tell Rathbone about how he had come to suspect Talbot Rawley. But Ratbone could be trusted and he had an unprejudiced ear. Adam told him of his original investigation, some of which Rathbone had heard of at an earlier time, described the events of the last two months, using no names, and concluded with the accusations, not quite leveled against him by the Foreign Secretary, of his own presumed treasonous behavior.
When he was done, Rathbone uttered a long low whistle. "Clever, that. Your Ordnance officer, who's a friend of Silbury's, must be in this up to his eyeballs. To save himself from exposure, he accuses you of his own crime."
Adam took a deep breath. Rathbone had had no difficulty in seeing the matter as he did. "If it is his crime. I don't know if he realized what he was involved in."
"Durward, he must. My God, man, your Ordnance man tried to encompass murder. The stakes had to be high for that. If he didn't know at the beginning that it was a question of sabotage, not simply an easy way to line his pockets, he must have known it before the end. And he must realize he can't prove he didn't know it. He was Silbury's creature. He'll be painted with the same brush."
"I can't prove he did. It's all conjecture, Rathbone. Nothing but air."
"It's as solid as this table here."
Adam grinned. "We always thought alike."
"This officer—" Rathbone looked with inquiry at Adam.
"Rawley," Adam said deliberately. "Talbot Rawley. An Atillery colonel. Well thought of. Earl Granby's younger son."
Rathbone's eyes widened. "You have landed in a proper quagmire."
"Rawley's clever, in a way. But it's all one move at a time. He doesn't think things through. Silbury's behind it, I'd swear. That part makes sense now. Rawley has bad luck with cards and he was in debt to Silbury. Easy enough for Silbury to apply a little pressure. Silbury located the gunfounder, a man with a questionable reputation and nothing to lose. Rawley might have balked at passing on ordnance information, but he would have leaped at the chance to work his way out of debt and make a spot of money besides. Can you link the two men? That's all I need."
Rathbone looked down at the now cold cup before him. Then he lifted his eyes and looked at Adam. "I'm sorry. Rawley's name never came up. I can ask about, but after all these years... I'd put the matter before the Home Secretary, but he'd want rather more to go on before he acted."
Adam leaned back and stretched out his cramped legs. "It's all right. You've told me more than I'd hoped to find. Silbury was never connected with cannon?"
"Afraid not. It was the rifles we were concerned about. We had a link there. There were formal charges drawn up and signed by the Secretary. Then the papers got mislaid and we dithered about trying to find them." Rathbone grinned. "No one wanted to admit having made a mull of it. By the time they were found, Silbury had disappeared. It was criminal. We didn't think he knew we were on to him."
"He's still in America?"
"As far as we know. With the war he'd have trouble getting back. I'm afraid the H.O. have rather lost interest. Not one of our finer hours. We tracked him to New York and then to Charleston. For all I know he's in Louisiana with his French friends."
Adam grimaced. "He won't be back to bear witness."
"I'd say not a chance. If he does set foot in England we'll go after him."
"Then I'll have to go after Rawley without him."
"It sounds dangerous. If you need any help—"
Adam smiled. "I know where to come."
They spoke for a few minutes more and then parted amicably in the street outside. Adam, needing time to digest everything he had heard that afternoon, ignored the hackneys blocking the streets while they looked for fares and walked toward the Strand. He had another reason. As he left the coffee house he had spotted a familiar face, one he had seen earlier in Grosvenor Square as he left Camden House. He had paid no particular attention to the man then, but the habits of observation were hard to break and he recalled the man in considerable detail. Nondescript, not wellborn but not working class either. A fawn-colored coat, brown breeches, scuffed boots. Clean-shaven with sparse level eyebrows, a nose turning bulbous at the end, and small ears with unusually full lobes. The description might have applied to a hundred men, were it not for the nose and those full-lobed ears. The man had been loitering outside the coffee house when he and Rathbone said goodbye. It remained only to see how far coincidence might stretch.
A half-mile later and Adam was certain. Yesterday he had thrown Talbot Rawley a challenge. Today Rawley was having him followed. Tonight, or whenever Talbot's creature reported to Talbot, he would know that Adam had called at Camden House and from there had gone to the Home Office. If Rawley had been worried yesterday, today he would be in a panic. And panicked men could be dangerous.
It took Adam half an hour to throw his pursuer off and an equal time to make his way to St. James's Street where he hoped to find George Sheriton. Sheriton had told Caroline about Silbury, an admission he need not have made, and Adam was now convinced that Sheriton could be trusted. He needed
to trust someone. Caroline's and Emily's safety was now Adam's first concern. It was Adam whom Rawley needed to silence, but he might choose to use Caroline or her daughter as bait.
He found Sheriton, as he had hoped, at his club. A servant in black knee-breeches, looking unkindly on Adam's darkened skin and carelessly tied cravat, undertook to find out if Lord Sheriton was willing to receive visitors. Members, he implied, liked their privacy. That was why they belonged to Boodle's.
Adam was left to wait in the entrance hall and contemplate the horses whose pictures adorned the stairwell. A few minutes later Sheriton appeared with a worried look on his face. "Durward, good to see you. Is there anything wrong?"
Adam clasped Sheriton's outstretched hand, wondering that this open-faced fellow could now seem so innocent when he had once appeared so suspect. "Not yet." He glanced around the hallway, now filled with a half-dozen men who had come down the stairs. "Is there somewhere we can talk?"
"Sorry. Of course." Sheriton moved down the hallway. "Let's try the morning room. At this hour it's less crowded than the saloon." He led Adam into a room with a plain white-painted ceiling, comfortably furnished with leather sofas and armchairs. A man seated at a writing desk looked up, nodded at Sheriton, and went back to his letter. There was no one else in the room. Sheriton found a couple of chairs far away from the solitary writer and motioned Adam to be seated. "I've been wanting to talk to you," he said. "I understand I must offer you my congratulations."
The admission seemed to cost him some effort. Adam made a gesture of acknowledgement.
"I'm happy for Mrs. Rawley. She needs looking after, she and the child. I intended to look after her myself, but—" He colored and looked away. "But you've known her longer, of course."
Adam concealed his surprise. He had not known that Sheriton's easy, flirtatious manner hid such genuine feeling for Caroline.
