Divided into small, sturdy canvas pouches, the gold almost filled an iron-banded wooden trunk shoved into a corner of a disused back bedroom littered with boxes and crates.
“Interesting,” said Sebastian, hunkering down to heft one of the bags and assess its contents. It weighed something like twenty pounds. Unknotting the string, he tipped its coins out onto the floor. Gold sovereigns, as shiny and new as if they’d come fresh from the mint, spilled across the bare floorboards.
He glanced up to find the magistrate staring at him, hard. “You know what this means,” said Sir Henry. It was more of an accusation than a question.
“Not exactly.”
“Yet you don’t appear at all surprised to find it here.”
Sebastian rose to his feet. “I’d heard Alexander Ross was involved in a transfer of gold and that the transaction was causing him some nervousness. But I didn’t know for certain the gold was going to Carl Lindquist. And I can’t begin to hazard a guess as to its purpose.”
Sir Henry frowned down at the open trunk. It represented a staggering sum, and it would be his responsibility to keep it secure. He nodded to the young constable. “I want a heavy chain and a padlock brought here, at once. Then I will personally be escorting this to Bow Street.”
“Yes, sir,” said the constable, dashing off.
Sir Henry shifted his gaze to Sebastian. “I assume you’ll be attending the exhumation of Ross’s body? It’s scheduled for eight tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll be there,” said Sebastian, turning toward the door
Hopefully, Alexander Ross would be, too.
“I trust all is set for tonight?” Sebastian asked sometime later as he prepared for Lady Weston’s ball.
“It is, my lord,” said Calhoun, smoothing the set of Sebastian’s evening coat across his shoulders. “I’ve arranged to borrow a wagon and a dark mule from my mother, and before he left for Brighton, Jumpin’ Jack kindly lent Dr. Gibson his wooden spades and various other tools of the trade. He also bribed the sexton of the churchyard to oil the gate’s hinges and leave it unlocked.”
Sebastian adjusted the snowy white folds of his cravat. “What time does Jumpin’ Jack suggest?”
“Half past two, my lord, as most residents of Mayfair will have found their way home by then. Sunrise is at six. We ought to have a good three hours before the humbler residents of the city begin to stir again.”
Sebastian cast a glance out the window. Thick clouds had come roiling in shortly after nightfall, obscuring moon and stars. “Let’s hope the rain holds off.”
“At least it will be dark, my lord.”
“That it will.” Sebastian slipped his watch into his pocket. “You and Tom take the wagon and collect Gibson and Mr. Ross. I should be back here by two. But if by some chance I’m not, I’ll meet you at the burial ground.”
“I was beginning to think you must have changed your mind,” he said, walking up to her. It came out considerably less gallant and more impatient than he’d intended.
She held a painted silk fan trimmed with fine lace and had a strand of pearls woven through her hair, but there was nothing either fragile or frivolous about the way she assessed him through narrowed eyes. “Why? Have you a pressing engagement elsewhere?” she said with an insight he found unsettling.
“At this hour?” He let his gaze rove casually over the glittering rooms, the bejeweled ladies and exquisitely tailored gentlemen, and lowered his voice. “I’m hoping to hear why His Majesty’s government is transferring vast sums of gold to the Swedes.”
She made a show of fanning her face, the delicate ivory and silk confection stirring up a useless eddy heated by hundreds of dancing candles and the hot press of fashionable bodies. “It’s quite warm in here, don’t you think?” she said for the benefit of anyone who might be listening. “Perhaps you would be so good as to escort me out to the terrace for a breath of fresh air.”
He smiled and gave a short bow. “With pleasure, Miss Jarvis.”
The terrace overlooking the darkened gardens was largely deserted, thanks to a gusty wind that had blown out most of the festive hanging lanterns. Heedless of the threat to her carefully curled locks, she walked to the stone balustrade at the edge of the terrace and drew a deep breath. “Smells like rain.”
“I sincerely hope not,” said Sebastian.
She glanced over at him in surprise. “Why? We need a good rain to clean the air of dust and wash down the streets.”
“True,” he agreed. Unfortunately, rain would also make St. George’s burial ground a muddy mess.
She was silent for a moment, as if collecting her thoughts. Then she said, “I am not betraying my father’s confidence in what I am about to tell you. It is known in certain circles, yet the fewer who know, the better.”
“I understand.”
“Two weeks ago, at Orebro, Britain signed a treaty with both Sweden and Russia. It is a peace treaty without any alliance obligations, which represents something of a failure for Russian diplomacy, since the Czar has been pushing for more.”
It was difficult sometimes to remember, but Russia had officially been at war with Britain for the past five years. He said, “Go on.”
“The war between us was never vigorously pursued by either side, and had been largely maintained by the Czar in order to placate Napoleon. But by invading Russia last month, Napoleon effectively ended the need for that fiction.”
“Hence the Treaty of Orebro,” said Sebastian.
She nodded. “Likewise, the Anglo-Swedish War has essentially been a paper war for the last two years. The Swedes’ main argument is with the Russians, who seized Finland.”
“Losing the entire eastern half of your kingdom is rather difficult to swallow with equanimity,” said Sebastian.
“True. But the Swedes have now let it be known that they would be willing to allow Russia to keep Finland if they could receive some sort of compensation.”
“Meaning?”
“Norway.”
“But Norway is part of Denmark.”
“Exactly. And Denmark is an ally of France.”
“Denmark is an ally of France because we attacked Copenhagen and sank the Danish fleet,” said Sebastian dryly.
She shrugged. “Such is the price of neutrality.”
“Well, they’re certainly not neutral anymore.”
She turned to face him, so that she was leaning back against the balustrade, the wind blowing the short curls around her face. She put up a hand to push them back. “Your perspective is certainly unusual, I’ll give you that.”
Sebastian said, “Napoleon has been unhappy with Sweden because, despite being officially at war with us, the Swedes still allowed us to station our troops in the Swedish port of Hano and trade with the Baltic states. In fact, as I understand it, Sweden has remained our largest trading partner. In other words, Napoleon’s recent attack on Sweden was driven by exactly the same motive as our attack on Denmark.”
“And now Sweden is also willing to attack Denmark.”
“In exchange for Norway.”
