The Mayfair Affair (13 page)

Roth pushed back his chair from the table in the Brown Bear and took a sip of ale. "You've been busy."

"I wish we'd learned more. But it's a start." Malcolm had given Roth an edited version of the day's revelations, focusing on Trenchard's recent quarrel with Colonel Hampson, and Trenchard leaving his wife's portion to Emily Saunders.

Roth's brows rose. "Wouldn't Carfax have seen that as tantamount to a declaration of war? Breaking an alliance between two powerful families?"

"If he'd found out."

"I knew men who served under Hampson in India." Roth turned his glass in his hand. "It's rare to hear enlisted men speak about a commanding officer with such respect and affection. And apparently he had genuine respect for the local population, which is sadly unusual."

Malcolm took a sip of his own ale. He and Roth had shared bottles of Rioja in the Peninsula. Roth had saved his life on the mission on which they met. Malcolm had returned the favor two years later when he used his acting talents to bluff Roth away from a French patrol. The trust forged under such circumstances didn't go away. And yet he couldn't forget that Roth reported to Sir Nathaniel Conant, the chief magistrate of Bow Street, who reported to Lord Sidmouth, the home secretary. Who could arrest Suzanne for treason. "What did you learn?" Malcolm asked.

"Apparently, the new Duke of Trenchard quarreled with his father two nights before the murder."

"According to whom?"

"One of the housemaids who confided in one of my constables. She'd gone to bank the fires and didn't realize the duke and his son were still in the library. She heard them through the door. She couldn't make out most of the words, but she thinks she head Trenchard say 'blackmail.'"

"My word. Talk about being busy."

"The credit goes to my constable, not me."

"Have you questioned James?"

"No, I thought I'd leave that to you. We only have one chance to surprise him with the information, and you're much more likely to get the story out of him."

Malcolm nodded.

"He's a friend," Roth said. It was not quite a question.

"I wouldn't say that. I don't know him well enough. We're hardly allies in Parliament. But he's always struck me as decent. We couldn't be further apart on foreign affairs, but he seems genuinely concerned about the plight of displaced farmers."

"Did he reveal anything today?"

"Trenchard wasn't the warmest of fathers. Hardly a surprising revelation. And apparently he favored his eldest son, as Mary told us last night."

Roth flipped through his notebook. "According to one of the Trenchard House footmen, James Tarrington has a mistress in Half Moon Street."

Malcolm thought back to James's comments about his marriage. "I'd not necessarily have expected it of him, but he implied last night that his marriage is less than idyllic. Not that anyone's is."

"Yours excepted."

Malcolm took a sip of ale. "Spies don't live in idylls."

Suzanne turned to the pier glass and studied her gown, a robe of midnight blue crêpe fastened with pearl clasps over a white satin slip. They weren't closely enough connected to Trenchard for mourning, but it was sober enough to convey respect for the recent tragedy. "I'm sorry," she said, turning to Malcolm, who was doing up his shirt cuffs. "These are your friends from childhood. It's difficult enough to poke into their secrets. It's worse to have a stranger involved."

Malcolm fastened his second cuff. "You're hardly a stranger."

"Even David I've known for less than four years. You're practically one of the family."

He reached for his waistcoat. "If you talk again about the insularity of the ton—"

"It's a fact of life, darling." She picked up her gloves. "A fact of our life now."

Malcolm did up the jet buttons, his fingers as precise as if he were loading a rifle. "It's not the first time people I'm close to have been involved in one of our investigations."

Suzanne looked into her husband's eyes. "But it's the first time since you've known. That I was an enemy agent."

He met her gaze across a stretch of candle-warmed carpet. To her relief, he didn't attempt to laugh it off. "A bit late to be trying to keep you away from my friends. Besides, this is personal—" He broke off.

She studied him. "You're wondering if I'd have used Mary's indiscretion for political ends?"

"Would you have done?"

She rubbed her arms, bare below the puffed, beaded sleeves of her gown. "I'm not sure."

"Your honesty is rather terrifying, my darling."

She pulled on one of her gloves, tugging the knitted silk. "It's also the first time we've broken into Carfax's study."

He reached for his coat. "There's a first time for everything. Is Blanca watching the children?"

"Yes." She pulled on the second glove. "Though I think she regrets not being able to play a more active role in the investigation."

"We'll have to—"

Suzanne reached for her shawl. "We won't have to find anyone new if we get Laura released soon enough."

"Malcolm. Suzanne." David approached them across Lady Carfax's drawing room. Instead of Simon at his side, he had a young woman with smooth, dark hair and delicate, precise features on his arm. "You know Lady Clare Townsend?"

"Of course. Your brother was at Harrow with me, Lady Clare." Malcolm shook Lady Clare's hand and watched as she and Suzanne exchanged curtsies. Clare Townsend had an old family name and a generous dowry, but had been out for a few seasons without becoming betrothed. Lord and Lady Carfax had marked her out as a possible bride for David, which was not surprising. What was a bit more surprising was finding David paying attention to her without his parents' active intervention.

"So dreadful," Lady Clare was saying to Suzanne. "Your children's governess. You must have been in a panic thinking what might have happened to them."

"It's very distressing," Suzanne said. "But we're quite sure Laura is innocent."

Lady Clare's brows rose. "I heard she was found standing over the duke's body—"

"Appearances can be deceiving," Suzanne said. "If London society teaches us nothing else, it teaches us that."

David's sister Isobel came up to take Clare off, perhaps by design. Suzanne took a sip of champagne. "Simon isn't here?"

"He was invited, but he has a rehearsal," David said. "The new
Much Ado,
with Manon Caret. Mama insisted I be kind to Lady Clare," he added, as though some explanation were called for.

Suzanne touched his arm. "Be careful, David. Kindness can easily be misconstrued. Particularly when one has been out for several seasons and is considered in need of a husband."

David grimaced. "I never said—"

"Sometimes appearances can be everything."

"Did you see Mary this afternoon?" Malcolm asked.

"Just before I came here. The girls were with her. They scarcely seemed to comprehend it, but I think being with them was helping her hold on to her sanity."

"I sometimes think I'd have collapsed during Waterloo without Colin," Suzanne said. "There's nothing like being needed."

David nodded. His gaze flickered between them. "Have you—"

"Nothing conclusive," Malcolm said. "I saw James, and Suzette saw Hetty."

David nodded again. "If—"

"David." Louisa, Viscountess Craven, the second of David's five sisters, appeared at their side. "Cousin Agatha just arrived. Can you be a dear and try to explain last night to her before she can spread rumors through the drawing room?"

David grimaced. "Since when did I acquire superhuman powers?"

"She'll listen to you if she listens to anyone. You have all the glamour of an only son and heir." Louisa adjusted her shawl, a black-bordered paisley. "No one is talking of anything but Trenchard's murder. I do wish Mama had canceled the event."

David touched his sister's arm. "Mama was afraid it was too late to contact everyone. And Father said it would make the talk worse if we did."

"And he knows the value of parties for information gathering," Malcolm said.

"That's Father. Always a spymaster." David squeezed Louisa's hand. "I'll do my best with Cousin Agatha."

Louisa drew the folds of the shawl closer about her shoulders. "It still doesn't seem real."

"I'm sorry," Malcolm said. "This is a loss for your whole family."

Louisa's fingers tensed on the blue and black silk of the shawl. "It's not as though Trenchard and I were close. But he was part of the family." She shook her head. "I called on Mary today. I have enough sisterly feeling to know what's required of me. But I couldn't begin to think what to say. Nothing prepares one for such a situation. For once in my life I felt Mary actually needed me, and I was quite at a loss as to what to do."

With her wavy dark-gold hair and sharp-featured face, Louisa was a pretty woman, but she had always lived in the shadow of Mary's glamour. A year apart in age, the two sisters had lived in a state of mutual toleration for as long as Malcolm could remember.

"I'm sure just your being there helped," he said.

"You would say that, Malcolm. You always try to see the best in everything." Louisa glanced round the ballroom. "I wish Isobel hadn't appropriated Lady Clare. David should be keeping an eye on her, not Cousin Agatha. Oh, don't object, Malcolm. David has to marry someone sooner or later, and Clare Townsend is at least sensible enough not to expect moonlight and roses."

"One never knows what someone will expect if they fancy themselves in love," Suzanne said.

Louisa's brows rose. "Love is a quaint concept, Mrs. Rannoch. But some of us know better than to expect it in marriage. That's one place Mary and I have always been alike. Excuse me. I see Lord Turlington. He's a colleague of Craven's. A politician's wife never stops working, even in the midst of family crisis."

"I was wondering how long it would take you to seek me out," Archibald Davenport said, as Raoul joined him in an embrasure created by two pillars bearing Chinese vases.

"Sorry, Davenport. It's been a busy day."

Davenport scanned his face. "I confess, when I heard Trenchard was dead, I couldn't but wonder."

Raoul met that shrewd blue gaze. The light of the candle sconces flickered over Davenport's patrician features. "No. Though in a number of ways it would be simpler if I had killed him. Fewer questions to ask."

"So you don't think Miss Dudley did it?"

"No. Though I can't be sure. But she does seem to have been working for the Elsinore League."

Davenport's brows rose.

"You didn't know?" Raoul said.

"I'd have told you, O'Roarke."

"You could have had your reasons not to."

"I like Suzanne and Malcolm. Damnable they've been embroiled in the Elsinore business."

Not for the first time, Raoul wondered how much Davenport knew about Suzanne. Malcolm wasn't the only one haunted by fears about her secrets. Davenport could probably be trusted. Probably. "What have you heard about Trenchard among the Elsinore League?"

"Mixed reactions. Apparently Trenchard had been throwing his weight about lately. As we had heard. But I'm still not sure what he was after. I don't think most of the League were sure either. Though I did hear Glenister say he wouldn't have thought even Trenchard would dare to reach quite so far."

"When was this?"

"At Mannerling's two nights ago."

"Interesting timing."

"For what it's worth, it wasn't said in a murderous tone. Glenister seemed to half admire him."

"There could have been others who felt differently about whatever it was Trenchard was trying to do. Have you ever heard the name Emily in connection with Trenchard?"

Davenport shook his head. "Who is she? A mistress?"

"I'm not sure. Trenchard left her a considerable legacy. And he died with her name on his lips."

"I'd not have thought Trenchard would die lamenting a lost love."

"People can surprise you."

"So they can." Davenport twisted the diamond handle of his walking stick. "O'Roarke."

Raoul turned to the man who was his colleague and, just possibly, his friend. "Yes?"

Davenport surveyed him for a moment. "I know a bit about what it's like to worry about the younger generation."

"What is it like?"

"Challenging. But trying to shield them only tends to create tiresome complications."

"It's not my style to try to shield anyone, Davenport."

"Rubbish. I know the lengths you went to, to protect your agents after Waterloo. And without going into specifics, no matter how you cared for your agents, Malcolm and Suzanne plainly mean more to you."

Raoul released his breath. "They'd neither of them let me shield them if I tried."

"They wouldn't be able to stop you if they didn't know what you were hiding."

"You're assuming I could keep secrets from them."

"False modesty doesn't become you, O'Roarke."

Raoul settled his shoulders against the white-and-gold paneling. "What have you heard? Among the Elsinore League?"

"Only that Trenchard seemed to have a particular interest in Malcolm. No one appears to know why. Some think it's because Trenchard didn't get on with Alistair, others that Alistair wanted Trenchard to watch Malcolm."

"But you haven't heard anything about Malcolm?" It took more effort than it should have done for Raoul to keep his voice even.

"No."

"Have you ever heard anything to suggest Frederick Hampson was an Elsinore League member?"

"Hampson?" Davenport asked.

"His daughter married Trenchard's eldest son in India. They both died in a carriage accident."

"Oh, yes. A decent man, from all I've heard. Not the sort for the Elsinore League."

"Was there talk among the League when Jack Tarrington died?"

"Concern. It was a tragedy, and Trenchard was one of their own. I don't remember anything more extreme. Which doesn't mean there weren't things I didn't hear about." Davenport twisted the walking stick again, watching how it caught the light from the candle sconce above them. "I can't claim to think of most of the Elsinore League as friends. I can't claim to think of many as friends. Present company excepted, I think."

"Thank you."

"But I've got to know many of them through the years. I've heard about their children's triumphs and setbacks, the progress of their love affairs. One can't help but form bonds of a sort. Even in the midst of deception."

"The life of a spy."

"Quite. But Trenchard always played his cards close to his chest. And he wasn't a man I could muster much sympathy for. Until the news from India. No one should have to go through losing a child, not to mention an unborn grandchild. When he returned from India, I offered him my condolences. Trenchard accepted them in a stiff tone. But a few days later, I came into the billiard room at Glenister House and found Trenchard alone. He had his head buried in the
Times
, and he avoided my gaze. But I'd swear he'd been crying."

Malcolm stared after Louisa Craven. Mary had made a splendid match with the Duke of Trenchard. Isobel had married Oliver Lydgate, a brilliant but penniless barrister who had gone to Oxford with Malcolm and David and Simon. Louisa had chosen Craven, who seemed unlikely ever to rise further than his position at the Board of Control, and whom even Carfax seemed to find dull.

"Why on earth did she choose Lord Craven?" Suzanne asked. "I can never even quite remember what he looks like."

"She'd been out a few seasons. And he is a viscount."

"And she'd realized you were never going to offer for her," Suzanne said. "Admit it, Malcolm. Simon told me Lady Carfax did her best to throw you together."

Malcolm flushed at the memory of the moment he'd realized Lady Carfax's matrimonial ambitions for him. "Lady Carfax had five daughters to marry off, and I was always about the house growing up. I imagine Louisa was as mortified by her machinations as I was." He glanced at David, who now had a gray-haired lady on his arm. They had joined Isobel and Lady Clare.

"I don't think David realizes how easily a woman could fancy herself in love with him," Suzanne said.

"There is that. And—"