myself separate. But you.” She shook her head. The folds of her cloak rustled. “In the end you held nothing back. So I couldn’t either.”
“Except for that damnable truth we were just mentioning.”
“Except for one part of the truth. Yes. But then you held back the truth about Kitty.”
Charles stared at her for a long moment, but made no response. Too soon and too late they pulled up in the Haymarket. Lamplight issued forth from the Rose and Crown.
Stale, ale-soaked air greeted them inside. Not one of the roughest taverns in the city, but far from one of the most respectable. They threaded their way among scarred, blackened tables, through eye-stinging smoke, hearty laughter, and overturned tankards. Fortunately at this hour most of the customers were too cheerful, too morose, or too deep in their cups to pay them much heed.
Melanie’s hand closed on Charles’s arm. “There. In the chimney alcove.”
Charles followed her gaze. The man’s face was half in shadow, but the finely chiseled profile, the heavy line of the brows, the uncompromising set of the shoulders were unmistakable. He was slumped forward, elbows on the ale-stained table, gaze buried in the depths of his pewter tankard. He did not stir at their approach. They came to a stop before the table, effectively blocking any rush to the door.
“Did you think we were dead, Velasquez?” Charles said.
“Fraser.” Velasquez dragged his hands from his face and stared up at them. His eyes were red-rimmed. “Mrs. Fraser.” He pushed himself to his feet, staggered, and had to grip the table with both hands to keep from falling.
Charles put out a hand to steady him. “You haven’t answered my question.”
“Why on earth should I think you were dead?” Even from a man in his cups, the words sounded forced.
“Possibly because you’ve been trying to kill us.” Charles pushed Velasquez back into his chair, pulled out a chair for Melanie, and sat down himself.
Velasquez collapsed backwards with a thud. His gaze was unfocused, but there was wariness in its depths. “Don’t know what you’re talking about, Fraser.”
“Come now, Velasquez, surely the accidents can’t have slipped your mind already. The incident with the horse was really very clever. My compliments.”
Velasquez rubbed his hand over his eyes. “Fraser—”
“Of course, if you’d been really successful, we’d be as dead as Helen Trevennen.”
At the name, Velasquez leapt from his chair and nearly fell across the table. Charles grabbed his arm. “Sit down, Velasquez. You aren’t going anywhere. Surely knowing what you do, you can’t be surprised that Melanie and I were in the Constable house shortly after you left it. We found Mrs. Constable’s body.”
Velasquez drew a breath, as though he was trying to gather his broken defenses. “Who’s Mrs. Constable?”
“The woman also known as Helen Trevennen whom you murdered a few hours ago. I’m sure it can’t have slipped your mind, however many pints you’ve downed in an effort to forget.”
Velasquez straightened his shoulders and jerked his head up. “I’ve never heard of either of them.”
“Or was it an accident?” Charles continued as though the man hadn’t spoken.
Velasquez stared at a point over Charles’s shoulder. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Fraser.”
“Mr. Velasquez.” Melanie gave him one of her sweetest smiles. Her voice rang with sterling truth. “We saw you leaving the Constable house. Edgar Fraser and Charles’s valet saw you as well.”
Her words had the effect of a chisel applied to faulty plaster. The denial in Velasquez’s eyes cracked open to reveal a sick, dark guilt. “But—”
“She woke up while you were searching, didn’t she?” Melanie’s gaze was steady, sympathetic, implacable. “The pistol was hers. Was there a struggle? I’m sure you didn’t mean to kill her.”
Velasquez seemed to have forgotten that there was any question that he’d been in the Constable house. The bravado drained from his soldier’s shoulders. His spine curled against the chair back. “I don’t know why she woke— I’d swear I was being quiet. She kept a pistol in her bedside drawer. I’ve never known a woman to do that. She didn’t scream. She just told me to get out. It was almost as though she wasn’t surprised to find someone searching her bedchamber.” He shook his head in disbelief. “I didn’t believe she’d shoot. I asked her where the ring was. The woman pretended she didn’t know what I was talking about. She jumped out of the bed and aimed the pistol at me. I tried to wrest it away from her and—” He put his hands over his face, as though he would scrape away the memory.
“And the ring?” Charles said.
Velasquez dragged his hands from his face. “Fraser, would I be here if I’d found it? When I realized she was dead, all I could think of was to get away from there as quickly as possible.” He stared down at his hands. The guttering candlelight flickered over the smears of dried blood. “I cut my hands to pieces on that damned rope. Oh, God, her face.”
“You’re a soldier, Velasquez. You’ve killed before.”
“Not a woman.” He looked up at Charles. His cousin Kitty’s name echoed between them for a moment.
“Why the hell can’t you leave our country alone?” Velasquez demanded. “The ring was forged in Spain. It came back from the Crusades, it was spared the Armada, it survived the Inquisition and the endless War of Succession. It belongs in Spain.”
“Carevalo is Spanish. The ring belongs to the Carevalo family. You of all people should respect that. You and Kitty had a Carevalo grandmother.”
Velasquez’s eyes sparked at the mention of his cousin. “Carevalo would turn our country over to the rabble. He fought bravely in the war, but now he’s turned traitor to his heritage. And you’re helping him. But then betrayal’s something you know all about, isn’t it, Fraser?”
It was an allusion to Kitty. Velasquez couldn’t know what other weight the words carried. “It’s true my sympathies are with the liberals rather than the royalists,” Charles said. “But that isn’t why we’re helping Carevalo.” He looked at Velasquez and calculated that the truth would serve him better than deception. “Carevalo took our son hostage. He’s threatened to kill Colin if we don’t produce the ring.”
Velasquez stared at him as though he couldn’t believe he’d heard correctly. Two men at the table next to them began to argue with the waiter about the reckoning, claiming the wine had been watered.
“Good God, Fraser,” Velasquez said. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“I didn’t think you’d have much sympathy for a child of mine.”
“I’d have sympathy for a child, whoever fathered it. I’m a parent myself now. Christ, if things had been different your son might also have been—”
He couldn’t put it into words. Charles could. “Kitty’s child.”
Velasquez swallowed. “You haven’t found the ring?”
“We haven’t found it. I suspect it isn’t in the house at all.” Charles sat back in his chair. “How did you track Helen Trevennen? Did you follow us?”
“Yes, though it was only with the devil’s own luck.” Velasquez frowned. “It’s a bit strong to say I tried to have you killed. Did you say something about an attack with a horse?”
“You needn’t try to deny it now, Velasquez. It’s hardly worse than what you’ve admitted doing to Helen Trevennen.”
Velasquez reached for his tankard, but seemed too exhausted to lift it to his lips. “Fraser, I’m in no fit state to deny anything or I wouldn’t have admitted what I have. I engaged one of the stagehands at the Drury Lane to let me know if anyone came asking questions about Helen Trevennen.”
“So you followed us to the Marshalsea and stuck a knife in Melanie’s ribs.”
“Knife?” Velasquez thunked his tankard down on the table. A horror that appeared genuine filled his eyes. “See here, Fraser, I wasn’t at the Marshalsea until well after you left. That rascal Trevennen wouldn’t tell me anything, but the porter remembered that Miss Trevennen had a sister who worked at the Gilded Lily.”
“Where you did see us,” Charles said. “And paid someone to start a fight and try to break my arm.”
Velasquez flushed. “I didn’t tell him to break your arm. But I had to do something to get you away from Susan Trevennen.”
“And when you had got us away from her?” Melanie said. “Wasn’t it a bit excessive to have a sniper shoot Charles in the street outside?”
“A sniper?” Velasquez blinked, as though he had lost his ability to focus. “Why would I do that? I wanted you
