Sebastian opened one eye, saw his valet's cheerful, fine-boned face, then squeezed the eye shut again when the room lurched unpleasantly. `Go away.'
Jules Calhoun's voice sounded irritatingly hearty.
`Sir Henry Lovejoy is here to see you, my lord.'
`Tell him I'm not here. Tell him I'm dead. I don't care what the hell you tell him. Just go away.'
There was a moment's pause. Then Calhoun said, `Unfortunately, Lady Devlin went out early this morning, so she is unable to receive the magistrate in your stead.'
`Early, you say? Where has she gone?' He opened both eyes and sat up quickly - not a wise thing to do under the circumstances. `Bloody hell,' he yelped, bowing his head and pressing one splayed hand to his pounding forehead.
`She did not say. Here, my lord; drink this.'
Sebastian felt a hot mug thrust into his free hand. `Not more of your damned milk thistle.'
`There is nothing better to cleanse the liver, my lord.'
`My liver is just fine,' growled Sebastian, and heard the valet laugh.
Calhoun went to jerk back the drapes at the windows. `Shall I have Morey tell Sir Henry you'll join him in fifteen minutes?'
Sebastian swung his legs over the side of the bed and groaned again. `Make it twenty.'
Sebastian found the magistrate munching on a tray of cucumber and brown bread and butter sandwiches washed down with tea.
`Sir Henry,' said Sebastian, entering the room with a quick step. `My apologies for keeping you waiting.'
The magistrate surged to his feet and dabbed at his lips with a napkin. `Your majordomo has most kindly provided me with some much-needed sustenance. I've been up at Camlet Moat since dawn.'
`Please, sit down,' said Sebastian, going to sprawl in the chair opposite him. `Any sign yet of the missing children?'
`None, I'm afraid. And that's despite the hundreds of men now beating through the wood and surrounding countryside in search of them. Unfortunately, Miss Tennyson's brother has offered a reward for the children; he's even set up an office in the Fleet, staffed by a solicitor, to handle any information that may be received.'
`Why do you say unfortunately?'
`Because the result is likely to be chaos. I've seen it happen before. A child is lost; with the best of intentions, the grieving family offers a reward, and suddenly you have scores of wretched children, sometimes even hundreds being offered to the authorities as the lost child.'
`Good God,' said Sebastian. `Still, I can understand why he is doing it.'
`I suppose so, yes.' Lovejoy blew out a harsh breath. `Although I fear it is only a matter of time until their bodies are discovered. If the children had merely been frightened by what they saw and run off to hide, they would have been found by now.'
`I suppose you must be right.' Sebastian considered pouring himself a cup of tea, then decided against it. What he needed was a tankard of good strong ale. `Still, it's strange that if they are dead, their bodies weren't found beside Miss Tennyson's.'
`I fear there is much about this case that is strange. I've spoken to the rector at St. Martin's, who confirms that Miss Tennyson and the two children did indeed attend services this past Sunday, as usual. He even conversed with them for a few moments afterward although not, unfortunately, about their plans for the afternoon.'
`At least it helps to narrow the time of her death.'
`Slightly, yes. We've also checked with the stages running between London and Enfield, and with the liveries in Enfield, but so far we've been unable to locate anyone who recalls seeing Miss Tennyson on Sunday.'
`In other words, Miss Tennyson and the children must have driven out to Camlet Moat with her killer.'
`So it appears. There is one disturbing piece of information that has come to light,' said Lovejoy, helping himself to another sandwich triangle. `We've discovered that Miss Tennyson was actually seen up at the moat a week ago on Sunday in the company of the children and an unidentified gentleman.'
`A gentleman? Not a driver?'
`Oh, most definitely a gentleman. I'm told he walked with a limp and had an accent that may have been French.'
For a gentlewoman to drive in the country in the company of a gentleman hinted at a degree of friendship, of intimacy even, that was quite telling. For their drive to have taken Gabrielle Tennyson and her French friend to Camlet Moat seemed even more ominous. Sebastian said, `I've heard she had befriended a French prisoner of war on his parole.'
`Have you? Good heavens; who is he?'
`I don't know. I've yet to find anyone who can give me a name.'
Lovejoy swallowed the last of his sandwich and pushed to his feet.
`If you should discover his identity, I would be most interested to know it. I've no need to tell you how this latest development is likely to be received. Sales of blunderbusses and pistols have already skyrocketed across the city, with women afraid to walk to market alone or allow their children to play outside. The Prime Minister's office is putting pressure on Bow Street to solve this, quickly. But if people learn a Frenchman was involved! Well, we ll likely have mass hysteria.'
Sebastian rose with his friend, aware of a profound sense of unease. He knew from personal experience that whenever Downing Street or the Palace troubled itself with the course of a murder investigation, they tended to be more interested in quieting public hysteria than in seeing justice done. The result, all too often, was the sacrifice of a convenient scapegoat.
Eighteen months before, Sebastian had come perilously close to being such a scapegoat himself. And the man who had pushed for his quick and convenient death was his new father-in-law.
Charles, Lord Jarvis.
Chapter 17
After the magistrate's departure, Sebastian poured himself a tankard of ale and went to stand before the empty hearth, one boot resting on the cold fender.
He stood for a long time, running through all he knew about Gabrielle Tennyson's last days, and all he still needed to learn. Then he sent for his valet.
`My lord?' asked Calhoun, bowing gracefully.
To all appearances, Jules Calhoun was the perfect gentleman's gentleman, elegant and urbane and polished. But the truth was that the valet had begun life in one of the most notorious flash houses in London, a background that gave him some interesting skills and a plethora of useful contacts.
`Ever hear of a man named Jamie Knox?' Sebastian asked, drawing on his gloves. `He owns a tavern in Bishopsgate called the Black Devil.'
`I have heard of him, my lord. But only by repute. It is my understanding he arrived in London some two or three years ago.'
`See what else you can find out about him.'
`Yes, my lord.'
Sebastian settled his hat at a rakish angle and turned toward the door. Then he paused with one hand on the jamb to glance back and add,
`This might be delicate, Calhoun.'
The valet bowed again, his dark eyes bright with intelligence, his features flawlessly composed. `I shall be the soul of discretion, my lord.'
Hero had begun the morning with a visit to the Adelphi Terrace.
She found Mr. Hildeyard Tennyson already out organizing the search for his missing cousins. But he had left clear instructions with his servants, and with the aid of a footman she spent several hours bundling up Gabrielle's research materials and notes. Having dispatched the boxes to Brook Street, she started to leave. Then she paused to turn and run up the stairs to her friend's bedroom.
