The fight not to cry became harder by the moment.
“The king,” Sappho calmly reminded them.
Yes, the king. The plot. Elf could deal with that and not feel torn into pieces. “You can’t deny those Scots at Vauxhall. I saw you, heard you.”
“You are delusional. Unless, of course, you are plotting treason and merely seek to put the blame on me. That would be a typical Malloren trick.”
Before Elf could explode over this, Cassie came in with a large tray. Sappho helped her lay out brioches, butter, jam, coffee, and chocolate on a small table. When the maid had done, Sappho turned to Fort. “May I feed you something, my lord? It might sweeten your temper.”
“I like my temper bitter.”
“As you will.” Sappho turned away. “Coffee or chocolate, Lady Elf?”
Hopelessly, Elf let Sappho provide her with chocolate and a brioche. Clearly Fort was in no mood to be rational, even about a threat to the king. Instead, he would pick fights and create as much damage as possible, even as the clock of disaster ticked the moments away.
It was all her fault, and she couldn’t think how to put it right.
She nibbled on food which could as well have been sawdust, desperately seeking inspiration.
Joseph Grainger had not been in Malloren House for an hour yet, but problems and puzzles covered his desk. Then the door opened and another walked in.
Grainger shot to his feet. “My lord!”
The Marquess of Rothgar raised a brow. “I am aware that I am unexpected, Mr. Grainger. Is my appearance cause for alarm, however?” He looked down at his plain, dark riding clothes and boots as if seeking a peculiarity.
Heat flared in Grainger’s cheeks. “No, my lord. I beg your pardon. It is just that there are so many things—”
“There always are.” Rothgar settled elegantly into a plain chair and waved Grainger back into his seat. “Now, tell me what is amiss.”
Grainger studied his unruffled employer, knowing his calm meant nothing and wondering what to tell him. It was dangerous indeed to try to keep things from Lord Rothgar, but why spill things that might never come to light?
He started with a minor matter. “I have just received word from Rothgar Abbey, my lord, that a mechanical device was taken from there nigh on a week ago. Launceston seems to think it was by your orders, and yet I do not recall any such matter being raised.”
“Mechanical device?”
“The Chinese pagoda, my lord. The automaton.”
Rothgar frowned slightly. “Taken? Stolen?”
“Not precisely, my lord. It was collected by some men claiming to be from Jonas Grimes, the clock maker. They carried a note from you explaining that the device was to be cleaned and checked before being given to His Majesty. I was about to send a message to Grimes inquiring about the matter, but I fear he knows nothing of it. I’m in a puzzle, however, as to why anyone would go to such trouble to acquire a toy.”
“Puzzling indeed. And is that the only matter on your mind?”
Grainger cleared his throat. “No, my lord. This is even more peculiar. I have here a message from one of your private informants in government quarters. It seems that in some way the Stone of Scone has disappeared from Westminster Abbey.”
“The Stone of Scone,” Rothgar repeated. “If I remember correctly, it is a large and rather ugly hunk of sandstone. No wonder you seem distracted, Mr. Grainger. Perhaps it was a full moon last night.”
“No, my lord. The moon is on the wane.”
“Ah. Thank you. I can always depend on you for these details. So,” he said, counting on his long, pale fingers. “we have a missing toy and a missing rock. Has any other strange item absented itself?”
Grainger shuffled his papers anxiously. “Not exactly an item, my lord. An earl.”
Rothgar’s brows rose. “An earl?
“Lord Walgrave. He has disappeared.”
Now the marquess was attentive. “He has fled the country?”
“Not as far as anyone knows, my lord. He disappeared from his bed, taking not a stitch of clothing, and leaving a corpse and a badly injured servant behind.”
Rothgar’s dark eyes showed no particular alarm, but Grainger knew he was most dangerous when calm. “Do we know the identity of the corpse or the servant?”
Grainger swallowed. Here came the dangerous part, but he could see no way to conceal it. He thanked heaven that he had that note from Lady Elfled. “The corpse is unidentified, my lord, and the servant was not one of our people. However”—he cleared his throat—“there was another fatality. Sally Parsons, a maid in your employ.”
Rothgar raised a long pale finger to his chin and as if by design, a shaft of morning sunlight caught his ruby signet ring, flashing red as blood. “She was, perhaps, enjoying the earl’s favors?”
“Er, no, my lord. The earl had some other woman in his bed, and she’s gone, too. Sally was there . . . She was thereabouts on the orders of Lady Elfled.”
“I think you had better tell me all, Mr. Grainger, and rather speedily.”
Thus prodded, Grainger raced through his story, which was brief enough. Into an ominous silence, he produced his saving note.
Rothgar held out a hand and Grainger hurried around the desk to give it to him, thanking heaven again that he’d had the foresight to demand it.
Rothgar read it, then looked up. “You requested this, Mr. Grainger?”
A new chill starting, Grainger cleared his throat. “I thought it wisest, my lord.”
Rothgar rose. “Mr. Grainger, if you ever again question any order of any member of the family, you will be immediately dismissed. Continue with your duties.”
Badly shaken, Grainger watched the marquess enter the inner room, wondering if he would ever understand the workings of his employer’s mind.
In the private office, Rothgar slid Elf’s note into a drawer, then stood for a moment in contemplation. He suspected that God had smiled on them when He had delayed Cyn and Chastity’s departure. He rang the silver bell on the desk, causing the footman stationed in the hall to enter through that door.
“My lord?”
“Ask Lord and Lady Cynric to join me here at their earliest convenience, if you please.”
Cyn and Chastity interpreted this correctly, and appeared within moments.
“Lud, Rothgar,” Chastity said, gesturing at her traveling dress. “I haven’t had time to change out of my dirt.”
“My apologies.” The marquess settled her in a comfortable chair. “Matters have arisen that might be urgent.”
“Trouble?” asked Cyn, perching on the arm of his wife’s chair.
“I fear so. And it seems Elf might be involved.”
“Elf? She hasn’t been in trouble since she put pepper in Great-uncle Faversham’s snuff!”
“You forget Scottsdale.”
Cyn rose, hand on sword. “Are you saying she’s fallen into the hands of another adventurer?”
“I don’t know what she’s fallen into. I am about to visit Lady Lessington to find out. I thought you and Chastity might want to come.”
“Of course. What reason do you have, though, for thinking anything is amiss?”
Rothgar strolled toward the door. “Merely the fact that one of our servants was killed last night at Walgrave House, and she was there on Elf’s orders.”
“ ’Struth!”
“Oh. And did I neglect to mention that the earl is apparently missing this morning, along with an unidentified woman who was in his company?”
At the sudden silence, Chastity looked between the two brothers. “You don’t think . . . But she doesn’t like him at all!”
Cyn’s grip on his scabbard tightened. “But he hates Mallorens enough to attack us through our women. I’ll—”
“You’ll come with me to Lady Lessington’s,” said Rothgar.
“Praying to God Elf’s there,” added Cyn grimly.
Amanda was trying to enjoy breakfast with her beloved husband, despi
te a sour worry about Elf. A message had come from Sappho’s to say Elf was safe there, but it answered none of the questions seething in Amanda’s mind.
Elf had Lord Walgrave tied up. What on earth did that imply?
And would her friend be able to escape scandal?
When the footman announced that the Marquess of Rothgar had arrived asking for his sister, Amanda nearly dropped her chocolate cup.
Stephen immediately rose to attend their callers, and Amanda hurried after. She thanked heaven that the formidable marquess was here to take charge of this tangle, but feared for poor Elf. What would Rothgar do to her when the truth came out?
As she entered the best reception room, she found that the marquess had not come alone. “Cyn? Good gracious, I thought you on the seas!”
Cyn shrugged. “Winds all awry, and then the ship sprang some sort of problem. It was decided to put off sailing for a month and there seemed no point in kicking our heels in Portsmouth.” Though he spoke pleasantly enough, Amanda couldn’t help noticing that he was unusually somber. “We’re here to speak to Elf.”
Stephen turned to Rothgar. “I only arrived home last night, my lord, but I gather Lady Elfled decided to spend a few days visiting a poetess by the name of Sappho.”
Amanda prayed that the story be accepted. Then she remembered that Elf thought Sappho was the marquess’s mistress.
Oh heavens, what now?
The only sign that the information might be of significance was that Rothgar took time for a pinch of snuff. “Sappho,” he repeated, dusting his fingers with a silk handkerchief. “Have you any idea, Lady Lessington, why she might have removed there?”
Fixed by those perceptive eyes, Amanda did her best. “Oh, she didn’t remove, my lord! All her clothes are still here. I mean,” she hastily amended, “most of her clothes, of course. We visited Sappho, you see. A few nights ago . . .” The more those dark eyes observed her, the more tangled her mind and tongue became. “Poetry reading. Quite unexceptionable! Elf must have taken a fondness for the lady—”
“So she left when?”
“Ah . . . Last night, actually.”
Stephen turned to her. “Last night? I thought—”
Amanda forced a smile. “It was an impulse. You know Elf.”
“I certainly thought I did,” said Cyn. “What the devil’s she up to?”
Stephen frowned at Amanda. “But you were at Lady Yardley’s masquerade last night.”
“Well of course we were, darling. That’s where you found me!” Amanda scrambled for a coherent story. “Elf met Sappho there, you see, and—impulsively—took up her invitation to stay.” She smiled fiercely at Rothgar. “You will find her there, my lord.”
Rothgar smiled as if he believed every twittering word. And wasn’t most of it true, after all? He kissed her hand. “Then we must proceed there, of course. My apologies for interrupting your breakfast, my lady. My lord.”
Amanda watched the Mallorens leave, then turned to face her husband.
“Amanda, my love, I think you had better tell me what has been going on.”
In the coach, the three Mallorens were silent, apart from Rothgar’s command to the coachman that they be taken to Harlow Street. Then Cyn said, “Strange story.”
“Extremely,” remarked Rothgar. “Particularly as Sappho strongly dislikes masquerades and has never been known to attend one. And Lady Yardley, of course, is Walgrave’s aunt.”
At Sappho’s Elf was feeling a little revived by food and coffee. Now she studied Fort, trying to detect any chink in his armor. Breakfast had passed without him showing the slightest interest in food. Surely he must at least be thirsty. Was the man human?
He must be sore and uncomfortable, but he sat perfectly still.
She knew her stare must be irritating, even though his gaze was fixed on the wall above her head. She hoped so. She wanted to irritate him. Any response would be better than none.
Sappho had left with the tray, so for a moment they were alone.
She rose to pace in front of him. “Did you mean to imply that the king is in no danger?”
When he didn’t reply, she put her face in front of his. “Speak to me! This is more important than our petty differences.”
He focused on her, and slowly, disdainfully, his brows rose. “Almost anything is. But yes. You can cease your fidgets. The king has been warned of the plot.”
“Thank God!” she exclaimed, straightening. “So this means you weren’t really involved in treason at all.” She turned back to stare at him. “Murray was right. You were acting as an agent provocateur.”
“Not at all. An agent provocateur seduces people into criminal activity and then turns them in to the authorities. I seduced no one. Unlike you.”
Hot memories flooded her, not least of begging him for a night of pleasure, but she knew he wanted those memories, wanted her to feel uncomfortable. “Goodness,” she said, hands on hips, “are you suggesting I acted as an agent provocateur, seducing you into fornication? But at least I have no intention of turning you in to the authorities.”
“No? I rather thought you’d enjoy urging your brothers on to revenge.”
“I don’t deserve that.”
“You deserve everything that’s going to happen. If you don’t intend to stir up trouble, be assured that I do.”
She stared down at him. “What do you mean?”
He smiled, reminding her in a twisted way of his beauty. “I intend to tell the world about our adventures. In detail. Think of it. Items in the lower news sheets. Stories in the clubs. Cartoons in the print shops for the amusement of hoi polloi. It should all be vastly amusing.”
“Until Rothgar kills you for it.”
“I count on it, unless I am blessed by good fortune and manage to kill him.”
Every scrap of good she’d done was undone, and she’d added a whole new set of wounds so that he was scarcely sane. “Oh, stop this,” she begged. “Stop to think!”
At that moment, the door opened and she head Sappho say, “They are in here, my lord.”
Elf turned, stomach churning, to see not only Rothgar, but Cyn and Chastity, enter the room.
Before she had a chance to say anything, Fort turned his head toward the door. “Ah, the family! Elf and I were just discussing how best to tell the world about our night of lascivious passion.”
Chapter 13
Elf turned on him. “You fool!”
By then, Cyn’s blade already pricked Fort’s throat and Rothgar was firmly pushing it aside by the hilt. “He’s bound, Cyn. Later, perhaps.”
Chastity hurried over to Elf. “Is it true?”
Elf grimaced at her sister-in-law. “Unlike in your case, yes. Any suggestions?”
“Lud, no. I was a lamentable failure at handling scandal. I won’t let them beat you, though. I promise.”
Elf saw in Chastity’s eyes that even months of freedom and marriage to Cyn hadn’t wiped away all the fear.
“They wouldn’t,” she assured her gently. “They’ll want to kill him, though.”
Chastity went white, and Elf remembered that Fort was her brother. “I won’t let them,” she promised, taking Chastity’s hands. She meant it, too, though she didn’t underestimate the difficulties. She remembered the Scottsdale affair only too well.
“Nor will I,” said Chastity, and went to stand behind her brother, facing her husband and Rothgar.
Elf thought of joining Chastity, but it would serve no purpose, and she wasn’t sure where her ultimate allegiance lay. She remembered telling Sappho that in the end she would care for her brothers more than for Fort. Now she could only hope it wasn’t put to the test.
“Bey,” she said to Rothgar, “there are serious matters involved here.”
He turned to her. “So I gather when corpses line the path.” He was not noticeably in a rage, but she knew him able to conceal the strongest emotions.
“It’s a Jacobite plot to kill the king.”
“In Wa
lgrave’s bed?” So, he was in more of a rage than he showed.
“No,” she said crisply. “That is an incidental we can deal with later.”
“An incidental,” said Fort plaintively. “I’m sure you didn’t think so when you howled for me.”
Cyn stepped forward. Chastity grabbed his sleeve, but it was Rothgar’s raised hand that stopped him. “Later,” he said again.
Elf noted that this time he left off the “perhaps.” She wished she’d had Fort gagged as well as bound.
Rothgar addressed Fort. “Since we apparently have matters of moment to talk about, Walgrave, please postpone your attempts at suicide. What of this plot?”
“Untie me.”
“I think not. It is preserving your life. Tell me about this plot.”
Fort’s lips tightened, but then he said, “A man named Murray has an insane plan to kill the king and restore the Stuarts. He plans to stuff a gift with gunpowder and have it blow up in the king’s presence. There’s no real danger. Grenville knows of it, and the king’s household has been warned.”
“But the malefactors have been left at large?”
“Grenville wanted to catch them red-handed.”
“Why?”
Fort resisted for a moment, then said, “Because Murray is a distant connection of Bute’s, and presently living in his house.”
“Ah. And a red-handed Murray would bring down Bute, leaving the way open for Grenville to become Prime Minister.” He contemplated Fort. “I wasn’t aware that you were of Grenville’s party. How did you become involved?”
“That’s none of your damned business.”
“Your father’s connections, no doubt. Are you aware that murder was committed at your house last night?”
“I understand that to be the case.” Despite being bound and disheveled, Fort had relaxed into an excellent representation of a belted earl in boring company.
“One of the victims was a servant of mine.”
“Doing a little pilfering?” Fort raised a brow. “On your behalf?”
Jo Beverley - [Malloren 03] Page 23
