by Jo Goodman
The Earl of Tremont prepared for the evening with reasoned care. He was suspicious of the Prince Regent's attention, but cautiously hopeful that it might portend a change in his own fortunes. So little had gone well for him of late, and much of the reason for it could be laid at Sophie's door. He wondered that he had been so lenient with her and not forced a marriage, even if it was an arrangement of only middling potential for wealth. It had been a mistake to pin so many of his hopes to her match with Eastlyn, but he had been convinced that she would recognize her duty to marry well and acquit herself honorably. Sadly, that had not been the way of it. She was impudent and incorrigible, and these flaws of character had not diminished when she abandoned childhood. The indulgence that she was shown by her own father had made her headstrong to a fault.
He could well remember the accusation in her eyes when she learned her father would not walk again. Somehow she had known that the accident was not that her father had been shot, but that he had lived. Each farthing that his own son extracted from him was as nothing when measured against what it had cost him to look upon Sophie's accusing eyes.
It gave Tremont great satisfaction to arrive at the castle and put all thoughts of Sophie to rest. That he had been invited to dine with the prince was proof that Sophie did not comprehend the influence he now enjoyed. His warning at the ambassador's ball had been most sincerely meant. Neither she nor East had the least idea what they were confronting.
Tremont was shown directly to a receiving room in the Round Tower and announced. He might have staggered back if the doors had not been pulled so quickly closed behind him. He found his bearings, offered a faint smile in the way of greeting the others, and took his first steps into the room with more assurance than he felt.
They were all standing, not one of them surprised by his entry. Indeed, they had been discussing that very thing, since it occurred to them he was the only one missing from their party. No one among them counted it likely that Dunsmore would appear.
Barlough separated himself from the others and stepped forward. "Tremont. Helmsley has only just said that you would be the next to arrive. There was no time to make a wager on it, but I do not think any of us would have challenged him. It does seem that you complete our little group."
"You are here at the prince's express wishes?" asked Tremont.
"The same as you." Barlough's tone narrowly missed being contemptuous. "It was certainly not the Princess Caroline who extended the invitation."
Tremont's coolly colored eyes narrowed briefly as he surveyed the group that had been brought together. "Helmsley. Pendrake. Harte." He nodded to each in turn, and they acknowledged him in kind. "It is an interesting assemblage, is it not? Old friends, well met." No one made any reply to that, and Tremont was struck by the notion that he was not alone in his unease. Seeing them here, as the only guests of the Prince Regent, had a far different import than being part of the crush at the ambassador's ball. He thrust his chin out between the starched points of his collar. "Have you been told when we might expect Prinny?"
Lord Helmsley was a solidly framed man, with the stature of one who might have been hewn from the stump rather than the entire tree. When he stepped to one side, a small table was revealed. He pointed to the neat stack of ledgers upon it. "We have not been told anything," he said. "But we believe that was by intention, not oversight. It seems to us that we have been encouraged to study these instead. You will have already recognized your own, I think. There is one for each of us. The question, Tremont, is what the bloody hell has your son done now?"
Tremont went immediately to the table. His book of accounts was on top, the placement suggesting it had been the last ledger they had examined. It was not prescience that led them to conclude he would arrive. Indeed, the presence of his ledger made it a certainty. He would have wondered at their intelligence if they had not expected him.
His ledger was distinguished from the others by the gilt initials on the black leather spine. Still, he picked it up and briefly examined the contents. There was no mistaking that the writing was his. "This was taken from my London residence before the ambassador's ball. Was it so long ago for you?"
Barlough nodded. "We are fairly certain the thefts were accomplished within a few days of one another. Pendrake did not miss his until recently, owing to the fact that he leaves the thing lying about as if it were of no more importance than a Gothic novel." Pendrake's narrow face flushed with this rebuke, but he accepted it without comment. The edges of Barlough's mouth tightened as he regarded Tremont. "I will say again, Tremont, what has your son done?"
There was a thinly disguised implication, Tremont knew, in Barlough referring to Harold as his son, instead of calling him Dunsmore. Implicit in that statement was Barlough's belief that he should have exercised more control over his son. They had always thought he had been negligent in bringing Harold to heel. By the time they voiced their opinion it was too late. They all paid because he had not acted to stop Harold, and now everything they did was compromised by the fact that someone outside the Society was privy to its workings. "Harold is not responsible for the thefts," he said. "I am certain of it."
This did not calm the waters. Harte, standing at Barlough's shoulder, said, "Then why is his book not here? We know he keeps one. We have all seen him record our payments."
"I don't know where his book is." He set his ledger back on the stack. "How do I know one or all of you is not responsible?"
Barlough began to deny it, but Helmsley stayed him as the doors to the receiving room were parted. They fell quiet, all turning at once. To a man their features were set without expression.
Colonel John Blackwood took his time surveying the group. It did not matter what manner of face they showed him; he could smell their fear. Nodding once, he indicated that he was ready to be wheeled into the room.
Standing at the back of the colonel's chair, the Prince Regent was pleased to oblige.
* * *
At No. 14 Bowden Street the front door was opened in response to an impatient, rather imperious knocking. Without announcing the purpose of her visit, Sophie swept past the butler. She was followed by her three escorts, none of whom responded to the man's queries or protests.
They mounted the stairs quickly. In the upper hall, Sophie pointed out Lady Dunsmore's bedchamber to her companions, then went on in the direction of the children's rooms. Abigail's shriek did not cause her even a single misstep, though she imagined it had given Northam, Southerton, and Westphal a good start. It had occurred to her to warn them of Abigail's penchant for high-pitched hysterics, but the abundance of confidence they had displayed kept her silent. Hysterics or no, Sophie thought, they would make short work of Lady Dunsmore's abduction.
Neither Robert nor Esme stirred when she entered their room. Standing between their beds, she watched them sleep for a moment. Like bookends, they faced opposite sides of the room, but were perfectly matched in posture. Sophie sat carefully on the edge of Robert's bed and lightly placed a hand on his shoulder. As was his habit, he woke almost immediately and sat up straight. Experience had taught her that although he looked for all the world as if he were alert, his brain would need a minute or more to catch up with the rest of him.
"So you've come," he said with pitch perfect aplomb. "I expected you would. Told Esme you could not forget us so easily."
Sophie bent and kissed his forehead. "How right you were," she whispered. "Up with you now. We are to have an adventure." She helped Robert push back the blankets and get his legs over the side of the bed. He began to shiver, and Sophie realized for the first time how cold the children's room was. She found his slippers and put them on his feet before she stirred the fire to life. "Go warm yourself, then find something you can wear over your nightshirt."
Robert shuffled toward the hearth, holding out his hands as he went. He swayed slightly in front of the fire, for all intents and purposes asleep on his feet.
In the event he required rescuing from a fall into
the fire, Sophie watched him out of the corner of her eye while she packed a valise with clothes for both children. He was upright, but still only dressed in his nightshirt and slippers, when she scooped up Esme. The little girl never opened her eyes, but simply burrowed into Sophie's arms. "Come, Robert, we are away."
He pivoted on his heel, the coordination of the movement indicating he was almost completely awake. "I say, Cousin Fia. Is Mama to come with us?"
"Certainly. I shouldn't be surprised if she is waiting for us now."
"And Father?"
Sophie wished she had prepared herself for Robert's questions. It was something she could have anticipated and planned for. Now she found herself hesitating, wondering what she could say that would satisfy him sufficiently to engage his cooperation. Her pause, though, proved to be her saving grace as Robert's impatience prompted him to answer his own question.
"He will be with Artemis, I think." His brow puckered, but he regarded Sophie directly. "I wasn't sure that he would allow us to go with him."
Distracted by Esme's soft cry for her mama, Sophie only listened to Robert with half an ear. She shushed the little girl, pressing her cheek against Esme's downy hair. "Robert. We must go. Will you take the valise?"
Robert needed two hands to heft the bag, but he was game for it. Sophie opened the door and let him precede her into the hallway. She urged him forward, one hand at the nape of his neck. Northam was waiting for them at the foot of the stairs and would have started up to help them if Sophie had not shaken her head. The valise thumped hard on every step, straining Robert's grip, but Northam's assistance would have been unwelcome.
Several servants besides the butler were now gathered at the entrance. Confused by the goings-on, they looked to Sophie for direction. The bolder among them were desirous of an explanation.
"Your concern speaks well of you," Sophie told them. "Lady Dunsmore and the children will return in due course, and her ladyship will want everything to be kept in readiness for her. If his lordship returns, you may tell him whatever you like. There is no secret to be kept, not even the fact that I was here." She felt Northam's palm pressing at the small of her back, a sure indication that she must finish quickly. "Take no risk upon yourself in order to protect me. That is the very last thing I would wish."
She moved quickly past the murmured farewells and quiet weeping. How much had they all known? she wondered. Without a doubt, their collective knowledge was far more than hers. It occurred to her that one of those weeping now might have been made to help Dunsmore drug Abigail. She would not be surprised to learn of it.
Northam's fine carriage was waiting for them. Southerton took Esme from Sophie's arms until West had assisted her inside. When he was assured she was comfortably settled, he handed the sleeping child back to her. Northam gave young Robert and the valise a boost up the carriage steps. When Robert saw his mother curled in the far corner, her head lolling weakly against the leather squabs, he hurled himself onto the seat beside her to lend his support and protection.
North spread a rug across Robert's thin legs, tucking him in. "Your mother will be grateful for your care," he said gently. "When she is better, she will thank you for it." Stepping back so that only his head and shoulders were visible in the doorway, Northam offered Sophie a wry smile. "Lady Dunsmore is all of a piece, though she was somewhat more excitable than we anticipated."
"She fainted?"
"Yes," he said after a moment. "I suppose it was rather like that." He closed the door before Sophie could raise the obvious question, and gave his driver Eastlyn's Everly Square address. The carriage rolled forward, followed by South and West on horseback. He mounted his animal just as the door to No. 14 was closing.
All in all, Northam reflected, it had gone surprisingly well. He had had some doubts about taking Lady Sophia into the fray but saw there was wisdom in it because of her affection for the children. She had proved herself to be a good soldier, doing precisely as she was instructed from beginning to end. Even Lady Dunsmore's shrieking had not deviated her from her purpose, though perhaps she had been more prepared for her ladyship's response than the rest of them. He chuckled at the thought that Sophie had let them walk into that bedchamber, knowing full well that a banshee awaited them. It was a proper comeuppance for their surfeit of confidence.
It was the sort of thing that East himself might do, though generally not to his friends. North considered it could only behoove him to become a friend to Lady Sophia, for she was in every way able to hold her own.
* * *
Mrs. Sawyer's home was quiet as Eastlyn let himself in using the side door. This tradesmen's entrance took him into the deserted kitchen. He paused on the threshold until he had his bearings and then navigated the darkened room without serious mishap. He was unfamiliar with the house Dunsmore had found for Annette, but careful study of the outside had given him some idea of how its rooms might flow from one to another. East negotiated the servants' stairs without benefit of a candle. His movement along the upper corridor was made easier by a window at the far end framing a three-quarter moon.
He quietly opened and closed the doors to three rooms, none of which revealed his former mistress or her new lover. It was when he stood facing the fourth and final door that he allowed himself to think the end was in sight.
And it was upon opening it that he realized such thought was premature.
* * *
The stays in Prinny's corset creaked as he lowered himself into a chair. The fashion of the day had always proved to be his most steady challenge. As long as Brummel dictated that svelte figures and trim waists were de rigueur, he was forced to pare his own substantial silhouette with a stiff whalebone corset. He pretended not to notice the sound and dared anyone else to take even the slightest note of it. Though these men—with the exception of the colonel—numbered themselves among his most ardent opposition, not one of them smirked.
"Go on," the Prince Regent said. "It is all very fascinating. The ledgers tell their own story, but it is vastly entertaining to hear it from you. You were saying, Tremont?"
The earl glanced at the account book in Colonel Blackwood's hands. It was opened to the page detailing monies paid to his son through a scheme to defraud Lloyd's. "I am certain I was at an end," Tremont said.
"Oh, that is too bad of you. And here I was, set to inquire about the attempt on my life last year. You recall it, perhaps? At the opening of Parliament? It occurs to me that in light of this conspiracy, another investigation is warranted. What say you to that, Colonel? It is possible to believe anything of them now. Even that they would kill their sovereign."
There was a general murmur of protest from the Bishops, but the colonel quelled it before it had gone very far. "Have a care what you say, gentlemen, for I have it on good authority that one of your own acted in that regard. It remains to be seen if he acted entirely alone, or with your approval." The colonel lowered his spectacles so that he might more clearly see the writing in the ledger before him. "Now, about your investments in the opium trade, it has occurred to me that—"
He was interrupted by a knock at the door and the entry of one of Prinny's secretaries. The man bowed, made his apologies for disobeying orders forbidding exactly this sort of interruption, and presented the Prince Regent with a note that he was certain would excuse him.
Prinny dismissed him, read the brief correspondence, and passed it to the colonel. The Prince Regent gave Blackwood full marks for his unchanging expression; the man's frustration must have been enormous.
The colonel folded the note and used it to mark his place in the ledger as he closed it. "It appears we are all guilty of underestimating your son, Tremont," he said without inflection. "He has fled and has had the good sense to leave his mistress behind, though not sense enough to leave her alive."
* * *
Eastlyn found his friends gathered in his drawing room, keeping company with his wife. None of them took pains to hide their surprise that he had returned befo
re the two o'clock hour—and alone. They all knew it meant that something was not as it should be.
Sophie started to rise in her chair, but sat down again when East bid her do so. "What has happened?" she asked, voicing the question for all of them.
East put forth his questions first. "Lady Dunsmore is here? And the children?"
"Yes. Yes, they are all abovestairs sleeping. Lady Gilbert also. Lord Southerton escorted her here."
West jumped to his feet. "You look as if you could use a drink, East. Brandy?"
"Whiskey." East went to the hearth, stripped off his coat and riding gloves, and warmed his hands. "Leave us, Sophie."
"I will not, my lord." She felt the room grow silent. Even West halted in his tracks to the drinks cabinet. "It is not my intention to embarrass you in front of your friends. It is no pleasure to oppose you in this, but I will remind you that Harold and Tremont are still my family. I may despise the fact of it, but it is a fact. I want to know what has happened."
East turned. He knew he could expect no interference from any quarter of the room. "Very well," he said. There would be no argument from him; there was no time for it. "Dunsmore was not at Mrs. Sawyer's. When he left Bowden Street this evening, he went to her home straightaway, but he was not there when I returned from delivering the colonel to Windsor Castle."
"The Bishops?" asked North. "They were at the castle?"
"Yes. All of them. Every invitation accepted, precisely as we hoped. I did not stay long. Prinny was anxious to put the whole of it before them, and the colonel was having difficulty containing him."
West put a tumbler of whiskey in East's hand. "What of Mrs. Sawyer? Did she say where Dunsmore had gone?"
Eastlyn's eyes darted to Sophie and back to West. "Mrs. Sawyer is dead. Murdered. It seems likely that it was by Dunsmore's hand, though what might have been his motive is not clear. I cannot be certain if he fled because he killed her or if he killed her because he meant to flee. I sent for the runners, then delivered a message to the colonel that gave him the particulars." He knocked back half of his whiskey. "There was a trunk in Mrs. Sawyer's dressing room that was partially packed. I could find no evidence of a specific destination. She might have been intending to leave him."
