Some forty-five minutes later, freshly arrayed in the buckskin breeches and dark blue coat that served a gentleman of the ton as morning wear, Sebastian knocked at the shiny black door of the Coxes’ impressive house on Bedford Square.
The door was opened by a stout, disdainful-looking butler, who listened to Sebastian with a bored air before intoning dismally, “I am sorry, my lord, but Mr. Cox is not at home this morning.”
“No?” said Sebastian, pushing past him. “You don’t mind if I have a look myself, just to be certain?”
“But ... My lord!” protested the butler, staggering at the effrontery. “What are you
Striding down the hall, Sebastian threw open the door to the library. Finding it empty, he turned to mount the stairs two at a time to the first floor.
“My lord!” wailed the butler, panting noisily as he labored in Sebastian’s wake. “Please! I do most humbly beseech you!
“Where the devil is he?” Sebastian demanded, throwing open first one door, then the next. “The morning room? His dressing room? You may as well tell me, because I—”
“May I help you?” said a pleasantly modulated female voice behind him.
Sebastian turned.
It was the young woman from the silhouette. Small and dainty, with a winsome face framed by short dark curls, she wore a well-cut but painfully plain black mourning gown caught up high under her breasts by a simple black satin ribbon.
“Miss Cox?” he said.
She was pale but surprisingly self-possessed. “Yes. You’re Lord Devlin, aren’t you? You’re looking for my brother?”
“I am.”
“I keep telling his lordship that Mr. Cox is not at home, but he won’t listen to me,” said the butler, wheezing as he reached the top step.
“Thank you, Heath,” she said to the butler. “That will be all.” She led the way into a drawing room, where an older woman in a mob cap—whom Miss Cox introduced as her former governess—sat working on a chair cover in a seat overlooking the rear garden. The woman looked up, squinted at Sebastian, then went back to her needlework.
“My brother left yesterday for Southampton,” said Miss Cox. “Is there something I can help you with?”
Sebastian cast a questioning look at the governess.
“Mrs. Forester becomes quite oblivious when she’s involved in her needlework,” said Sabrina. “You may speak freely.”
Sebastian took up a position before the empty hearth. “A week ago last Saturday, a man came to see your brother—an American named Ezekiel Kincaid. Blond hair. Prominent teeth.”
If Sabrina Cox had been pale before, she was now ashen. “Kincaid?” she said vaguely, sinking into a nearby chair. “No, I don’t recall anyone by that name visiting us. Perhaps—”
“I beg your pardon, Miss Cox, but you are a terrible liar.”
“I think you should leave now,” she said abruptly, thrusting to her feet again.
Sebastian stayed where he was. “Did you know Kincaid is dead?”
“Murdered. The same night as Alexander Ross. And in exactly the same way.”
She sank back to the edge of her chair, her hands gripped together in her lap. “No,” she said in a small voice. “I did not know.”
“Ross was here that day, wasn’t he?” said Sebastian. “He came to see you, but somehow he overheard Kincaid telling your brother that the United States had declared war on Britain.”
She shook her head back and forth, her lips pressed tightly together, her face crumpled with distress.
Sebastian said simply, “He was here.”
She bowed her head, her voice a torn agony. “I didn’t know anything about it at the time. Alexander and I were here, in the drawing room. But he went downstairs for a moment to ask Jasper some question—I don’t recall what about now. It wasn’t important. He was gone only a moment, but when he came back, he behaved strangely. It was obvious he was distressed, but he wouldn’t say what about. He left almost immediately afterward. It wasn’t until later, when Jasper told me about Kincaid’s visit, that I realized Alexander must have overheard them speaking.” She swallowed, hard. “Jasper was ... Jasper was in the midst of some delicate business transactions that would have been adversely affected had news of the declaration of war become common knowledge before he could make certain . . . adjustments. It was dreadfully important that the information be kept quiet. Not for long, you understand, just a day or two.”
Sebastian glanced up at the life-sized portrait of Jasper Cox that hung over the mantelpiece. He had no doubt that an investigation of Mr. Cox’s activities over the past twelve days would reveal an interesting flurry of buying and selling.
He said, “So you went to him that evening, didn’t you? You put on your plainest cloak and a heavy veil, and you took a hackney to Ross’s lodgings in St. James’s Street to beg him to keep what he’d heard quiet. Only, he refused.”
She nodded, her chest rising and falling with her rapid breathing. “He was horrified that I would even ask him—that I would think him capable of doing something so dishonorable, so . . . dishonest. I tried to make him understand how vitally important it was—how much was at stake. It would only have been for a few days! But he was appalled at the suggestion that he even consider putting personal financial interests ahead of his duty to his country.”
“So your brother had him killed,” said Sebastian. “Had them both killed.”
Her eyes went wide with horror. “No!”
She must have read the disbelief in his face, because she rose from her chair to stand facing him. “No, you’re wrong. Jasper would never do anything like that.”
“Even with tens of thousands of pounds at stake?”
“No! You don’t know him. He’s ruthless in business, yes, but he’s not . . . evil. Besides, he ... he couldn’t have done it. He was at a dinner given by the Lord Mayor that night!”
“I’m not suggesting he did it personally,” Sebastian said quietly.
“You think he hired someone?” It was obvious this possibility had never occurred to her. She was silent a moment, then shook her head. “No. I still don’t believe it. You say the American, Kincaid, was killed that same night, in the same way. Well, don’t you see? Jasper had no reason to kill Kincaid. Ezekiel Kincaid had as much interest in keeping the information quiet as Jasper—if not more.”
Sebastian said, “The only link between Alexander Ross and Ezekiel Kincaid is this house and the sensitive information both men possessed. The only one who knew they had that information was your brother. And you.”
“But other people did know! By the time I talked to him, Alexander had already told several people.”
“Who?”
She took a quick turn around the room, one hand brushing the curls off her forehead in a distracted gesture. “Sir Hyde Foley, for one. When Alexander left here that evening, he went straight to Sir Hyde’s house.”
“You seriously expect me to believe that the Undersecretary knew the Americans had declared war on us and kept it quiet for nearly two weeks
She turned to face him, her fists clenched to her sides. “I don’t understand it myself. But it’s true.”
Sebastian studied her pale, strained face. “You said Ross told several people. Who else?”
“Some Americans he knew. A man and his daughter—I don’t recall their names. The man’s son is a seaman who has been impressed by the British Navy, and Alexander had volunteered to see what he could do to help get the son released.”
“You mean, the Batemans? Why would Ross tell them?”
“Yes, that was their name: Bateman. Alexander said he wanted to warn Mr. Bateman to keep quiet about his son’s nationality, since once it became known that Britain and the United States were at war, any seaman identified as an American would probably be thrown in the brig. He thought Bateman would have a better chance of surviving
