Sebastian paused to stare up at the smoking, crumbling walls of the building before him. “And now they’re both gone.”
STOPPING AT PAUL GIBSON’S SURGERY at the foot of Tower Hill, Sebastian found Tom asleep in Gibson’s back bedchamber.
“I thought it best,” said Gibson, one cupped hand shielding the flare of his candlestick. “He was exhausted.”
Sebastian stared down at the sleeping boy. “Is he all right?”
“He had a bad fright. But nothing worse.”
Sebastian nodded. There was no need to elaborate. They both knew what could happen to the boys and girls —and men and women—unlucky enough to find themselves in one of His Majesty’s prisons.
“He kept talking about someone named Huey,” said Gibson, leading the way to the parlor.
Sebastian nodded. “His brother. I gather the boy was hanged.”
Gibson sighed. “These are barbarous times in which we live.” He went to pour two glasses of wine. “This conspiracy to depose the Hanovers…any idea who might be involved?”
“To have any chance of success it would need the allegiance of prominent men, both in the army and the government. But do they have that support?” Sebastian shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen any sign of it. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t there. The Norfolk Arms was surely only at the periphery.”
“Could Anglessey be involved?”
“It’s possible, I suppose. Although I’d be surprised.” Sebastian took the wine from Gibson’s hand and went to sink into one of the tattered leather armchairs before the empty fireplace. “I haven’t found anyone associated with Lady Anglessey’s death who’s at all in a position of power.” He paused. “Except for Portland, of course. And he’s such a rabid Tory, he hardly seems a likely candidate to be advocating revolution.”
Gibson came to stand before the cold hearth. “Any idea yet how Lady Hendon’s necklace fits into all of this?”
Sebastian glanced up into his friend’s open, concerned face. Once, years ago in Italy, he and this man had been to hell and back together. Their friendship had nothing to do with rank or birth, but with a shared moral code and the deep, mutual respect of two men who had tested each other’s mettle and found courage under fire and a levelheaded response to danger.
But even the best of friendships have their limits. Not even to Kat had Sebastian been able to bring himself to say,
So Sebastian simply drained his wine and said, “No. It’s still a mystery.”
REACHING THE HOUSE IN BROOK STREET, Sebastian intended to go upstairs, face his valet’s tears over another ruined coat, and change into evening attire. Instead he wandered into the library, poured himself a brandy, and stood staring down at the empty hearth.
There was a time for subtlety and cleverness, and then there was a time for brute force. Sending Tom to scout out the neighborhood of Giltspur Street had been a mistake, he decided. Not only had he placed the tiger in unconscionable danger, but he’d also missed the chance to go back to the Norfolk Arms himself and directly press Caleb Carter for the truth about the Marchioness’s visit to the inn. Now it was too late.
He became aware of a bold hand beating an insistent tattoo at the front door.
“I’m not at home, Morey,” Sebastian said as his majordomo moved to open the door.
“Yes, my lord.”
Taking a sip of his brandy, Sebastian glanced out the window overlooking the front street. A smart carriage drawn by a pair of beautifully matched dapple grays stood drawn up before the steps. He didn’t need to see the coronet on its panels to know its owner.
He could hear Morey’s polite, soothing tones, blending with a woman’s voice, louder and only too familiar.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said his sister, Amanda. “I know perfectly well Devlin is at home. I saw him climb the steps myself just moments ago. Now, you can either announce me, or I shall simply go looking for him. The choice is yours.”
Sebastian went to stand in the library’s doorway, the brandy glass held lightly in his unbandaged hand as he studied the tall, slim woman in heavy mourning who stood in the marble tiled entry. “Leave off harassing the poor man. He’s simply following orders.”
Amanda turned her head to look at him. “As I am only too aware.” Her eyes widened at the sight of him, her nostrils quivering at the stench of smoke and soot. “Merciful heavens. What have you been doing? Hiring yourself out as a chimney sweep?”
Sebastian laughed and stepped back to sketch her a flourishing bow. “Do come in, my lady.”
She swept past him, jerking off her gloves but making no attempt to remove her bonnet. “You realize, of course, that you have the entire Town talking about you. Again.”
“Oh, surely not as bad as the last time.”
She swung to face him, her blue eyes blazing. “Is it too much to ask that you have some consideration for your niece?” She waved one hand through the air in a dismissive gesture. “Oh, not for my sake. But for Hendon’s. She is his granddaughter, after all.”
Sebastian frowned. “Stephanie? What has she to do with anything?”
“She is seventeen. In less than a year she will be making her come out. What do you think will be her chances of contracting a respectable alliance if her uncle is known to make it a hobby of consorting with murderers?”
Sebastian went to pour himself another drink. “Sherry?” he asked.
