the war as a British seaman than as a prisoner on some fever-infested hulk on the Thames.”
Sebastian could understand why the Batemans would decide to keep their knowledge of the outbreak of the war to themselves. But he wondered why they had in the end ignored Ross’s recommendation and asked Sebastian for help in petitioning the Admiralty. Then he realized that as the weeks passed, father and daughter had no doubt come to the conclusion that Alexander Ross’s warning of war had been nothing more than a false rumor.
By now, of course, they would know the truth—that war between the two countries had indeed broken out, and that their attempts to save their loved one from the clutches of the British Navy had perhaps succeeded only in putting his life at even greater risk. Sebastian intended to hold firm to his promise to do what he could for the man—although under the circumstances, he wondered exactly how much he could do to help.
Sebastian glanced again at the governess, Mrs. Forester, her head still bent over her embroidery as if she were indeed oblivious to the conversation in the room. He said, “Who else did Ross tell? Besides Foley and the Americans?”
“I don’t know of anyone else. But don’t you see? Word of the declaration of war never did become known. Which means that both Foley and the Batemans kept the news quiet for some reason.” She was shivering now, trembling with the need to persuade him—and herself—of her brother’s innocence.
But in truth, Sebastian was far from convinced of Jasper Cox’s guilt. Because while Jasper Cox might have had a powerful motive for silencing Alexander Ross and Ezekiel Kincaid, the fact remained that the wealthy, ruthless merchant had no conceivable reason to kill Carl Lindquist, Antoine de La Rocque, or Yasmina Ramadani. In fact, as far as Sebastian knew, Cox was completely unaware of the existence of any of the other three.
Sir Hyde Foley, on the other hand, was now clearly linked to all five victims.
“You were right.” Sebastian leaned against the iron fence of Berkeley Square, his arms crossed at his chest. “They did indeed.”
They were outside Gunter’s Tea Shop, which was the only establishment for refreshment where an unmarried young lady could be seen in the company of a gentleman who was not a relative without fear of provoking a scandal. The lady stayed in the carriage, while the gentleman lounged in the street beside her. Sebastian had noticed that however scornful Miss Jarvis might be of society’s strictures, she was still careful not to fall afoul of them.
“And now you think the killer is Sir Hyde, don’t you?” she said, watching their waiter dart across the street toward the curricle. She didn’t sound as if she agreed.
“It makes sense, doesn’t it?” Sebastian waited while the tea shop’s boy handed a cup of chocolate ice up to Miss Jarvis. “News of the American declaration of war has effectively ended all talk of committing British troops to support the Russians. That’s a powerful defeat for people like Foley who’ve been pushing for an active alliance.” He hesitated, then added, “People like Foley and your father.”
“My father did not kill Alexander Ross and Ezekiel Kincaid.”
“Probably not,” Sebastian agreed.
She let out a soft
“Yet he has, hasn’t he? Kept quiet about it, I mean.”
Miss Jarvis thrust her spoon into the ice. “Ross could have told Sabrina a lie to make her give up and stop pressing him. Perhaps he intended to tell Foley but hadn’t yet done so.”
“I suppose that’s possible,” Sebastian conceded.
“And while I can imagine Foley might well kill Yasmina if he discovered she were a spy, why on earth would he kill de La Rocque? The book collector was a vitally important link in the transfer of the French dispatches from Paris to the Foreign Office.”
Sebastian stared out over the gently rustling tops of the maples in the square. “I think de La Rocque told Ross about Foley’s indiscretions with Yasmina.”
“I thought de La Rocque suggested to you that Ross was the one ensnared by Yasmina?”
“He did. But bear with me here. We know that de La Rocque met with Ross on Wednesday, to deliver the latest dispatches. I think that’s when he told Ross about Foley and Yasmina. Ross wouldn’t simply have taken the accusation at face value, but he certainly would have investigated the possibility that de La Rocque was onto something. I suspect that by the time Ross encountered Ramadani at Vauxhall Gardens that night, he either knew it was true or had strong suspicions.”
Hero swallowed another spoonful of her ice. “Which actually gives Ramadani a motive for the murders of Ross, Jasmina, and de La Rocque, although not Lindquist and Kincaid.”
“Can we just focus on Sir Hyde and de La Rocque for a moment?” said Sebastian, pushing away from the fence. “The way I see it, de La Rocque knew Sir Hyde’s sexual indiscretions were putting his own activities at risk. That’s why, when he delivered the dispatches to Ross on Wednesday, de La Rocque demanded more compensation. It’s also why he went to see Ross again on Friday—because he was expecting more money. But for some reason, Ross refused.”
Hero said, “The only way Ross could have increased de La Rocque’s remuneration would have been to go to Foley himself—which he obviously couldn’t do in this situation—or to go over Foley’s head, to Castlereagh. So why didn’t he do that?”
“Because Foley killed him before he had gathered enough evidence. Ross wouldn’t have made that kind of accusation lightly.”
She pressed a thumb and forefinger against the high arch of her nose and looked pained.
Sebastian smiled. “That’s what happens when you eat ices too fast.”
“It’s melting in this heat.” She kept her fingers pinched on her nose. “So why did de La Rocque lie to you?”
“Because by that point he’d come up with what he thought was a clever scheme: He was going to blackmail Foley. And
She resumed eating her chocolate ice and considered this in silence. “I’ll admit it makes sense, except for Carl Lindquist. Why would Foley kill him? The payments to Sweden were an important part of Sir Hyde’s push for an alliance between Britain and Russia.”
Sebastian blew out a long breath. “That’s the one part that’s difficult to fit.”
Miss Jarvis scraped the bottom of her cup. “The way I see it, the only ones with any motive to kill Lindquist are the French. His death obviously won’t stop the transfer of gold to Sweden, but it will delay things—and make future clandestine arrangements between our two nations more difficult.”
Sebastian handed the empty cup to the passing waiter, then leapt up onto the seat beside her to take the reins. “Ah, yes; the nameless, faceless French agents,” he said as Tom stepped away from the horses’ heads and scrambled back to his perch.
She gave Sebastian a long, steady look. “Some of them have names. And faces.”
He stared back at her, wondering if she meant who he thought she meant. Then he reminded himself that she was Jarvis’s daughter, and he realized that she probably did.
But she simply opened her parasol and tilted it toward the sun as they moved out from beneath the dappled shade cast by the leafy maples in the square.
Sebastian was concerned that Miss Jarvis might insist on accompanying him to Downing Street. Instead, she seemed almost anxious to bid him adieu.
Arriving in Westminster, he found the entire stretch of Whitehall from Charing Cross to the Houses of Parliament in an uproar, with a stream of panting runners carrying messages back and forth between the Foreign
