The Westminster Intrigue, page 28
"Did you hear anything about his being involved with Danielle Darnault?" Mélanie asked.
"No, but though I met him a few times, that's hardly something he'd have confided in me about. Especially if the affair was secret."
"I wonder—" Kitty's fingers slid along the stem of her champagne glass. "Well, she was working for Hubert at the time."
"If you're asking if Ducroix was the sort of person my uncle would have thought it expedient to get rid of, then the answer is yes," Julien said. "That doesn't mean this supposed affair was part of a mission."
"No," Mélanie said. "But for spies, affairs often are."
Chapter 34
"Are you all right, Nerezza?" Malcolm stopped beside Nerezza Russo near the door from the supper room to the ballroom. She was standing on her own, gaze fixed on a Chinese vase filled with roses.
"Of course." Nerezza shot a quick smile at him. "Just thinking. With everything going on, there isn't much time to think about the future."
"I don't think most people here can think beyond the queen's trial."
"That's understandable. Winning must seem like everything."
"Yes. But while it will impact the king and queen's lives, the rest of our lives will go on. And I'm not sure how much they'll be changed."
"You can never know, can you? How certain choices will change your life?"
"No. One can only make the best determination based on what one knows at the moment."
Nerezza looked up, gaze fastened on his face. "You mean do what seems right at the moment?"
"Do what seems best for everyone involved. Including yourself."
"Hard to know what's best, isn't it? And sometimes one has to weigh the needs of different people."
"Always a challenge. But don't ignore yourself."
Nerezza gave a laugh sharp as smashed crystal. "When I first met you, I thought what was best for me was running and hiding. If I'd succeeded, I'd have got myself killed. And perhaps others as well."
"But within the space of a few hours—less, minutes—you reassessed the situation and accepted our help. You have good instincts, Nerezza."
"That's kind of you."
"It's the truth."
"I don't know about that. But—" Nerezza straightened her shoulders, making her gauze scarf slither down round her elbows. "In this case, I think I do know what the right thing to do is. I've just been putting it off. Because the right thing isn't always the easy thing, is it?"
"No. Far from it."
"Yes, I expect you know about that." She pulled the ends of the scarf together with quiet determination. "Thank you, Malcolm."
"Nerezza," Malcolm said, as she turned to go.
Nerezza looked at him.
"It's a challenge, making any relationship work. That doesn't mean it isn't worth it."
Nerezza frowned. "I know you honor your commitments, Mr. Ran—Malcolm. But you wouldn't be happy cut off from your life, would you?"
"That depends on how you define my life. Mélanie and the children are the most important things in my life."
"And the rest of your life—your home, the people you grew up with, your work in Parliament? All this"—she gestured round the room. "Not the dancing and flirting and conventions—the buzz of politics. You can feel it in the air. Whatever you think of society, I know that quickens your blood."
"I'd be lying if I said it didn't," Malcolm said. "Or that I didn't love my home or countless people in my life. And no one should have to give anything up. But if it were a choice between Mel and anything else in my life—except the children—the choice would be clear."
Nerezza gave a twisted smile. "Of course you'd say that, Malcolm. You'd never turn your back on your responsibilities."
"I hope that's true. But that's not why I'm saying it. I'm saying it because it's true. And I'd certainly not want anyone to choose for me. Especially the woman I loved." There'd been moments, especially right before they ran to Italy, when he'd been afraid Mel would do just that. For a self-proclaimed pragmatic realist, she could be extraordinarily hard on herself.
"But the woman you loved might feel differently," Nerezza said. "Especially if the choice wasn't a hypothetical."
"Melly." Simon Tanner came forwards through the throng on the edge of the dance floor as he caught sight of Mélanie. "Haven't seen you all evening."
"I know." Mélanie leaned forwards as he kissed her cheek. "It sometimes seems one sees one's friends least in a crowd."
"And you're investigating."
"That too." Mélanie scanned her friend's face. "You didn't know James Blayney, did you?"
"No. Not precisely. I know his brother Edmund. I've written things for Edmund's paper. I certainly support the things Edmund has to say. Edmund never talked about his brother though, save once to say they were estranged. But—" He cast a glance round the ballroom. "We should talk. Waltz with me? It's good for cover."
"You're learning." Mélanie stepped into his arms.
"I didn't have the least idea who James Blayney was," Simon said as they moved into the dance. "What he looked like. Until Letty talked to me today."
Letty was a talented young actress at the Tavistock who had been in Mélanie's recent play. "Letty knew him?"
"She said he came round to the green room on occasion and was one of the crowd who gave her flowers and flirted with her. She said she didn't know him well, and I don't think she did. These days she has eyes for no one but Will. But she knew who he was when she heard he'd been killed. The talk was all round the theatre by the time rehearsal started this morning. Probably more so because of the murder at the Tavistock last winter. I had a hard time getting them to focus. Letty took me aside when we had a tea break. She was quite concerned. Apparently, she saw Blayney at the theatre five days ago."
"He came to see her in the green room?" Mélanie kept her gaze on Simon's face as he twirled her to the side.
"No." Simon spun her under his arm. "She didn't speak with him at all. She saw him talking with Jack."
"Jack Tarrington?" Jack was a young actor who had joined the Tavistock Company the previous spring.
"Yes." Simon's dance steps didn't falter,, but his brows drew together.
"In the green room?"
"In one of the dressing rooms. When she went to fetch her things at the end of the evening." Simon hesitated as he twirled Mélanie forwards and then back to face him. "She said she heard raised voices."
"Saying what?"
"She wasn't sure. Apparently they stopped talking when they saw her. Letty said she went on and didn't think much of it, as it wasn't any business of hers. But when she heard Blayney had been killed, she decided she should tell me. She knew I'd be seeing you tonight. We're all on edge since Lewis Thornsby's murder."
None more so, perhaps, than Letty. Thornsby had been killed, at least in part, because he wanted to marry her.
Jack Tarrington was a talented actor of little more than five-and-twenty. He seemed an unlikely candidate for Danielle Darnault's memoirs, but one never knew. "Has Jack spent time in Paris?" Mélanie asked.
"Not that I know of. He was acting in the provinces before he came to London."
"Blayney dealt in blackmail. He'd been making a number of threats lately. Have you heard of Danielle Darnault?"
"Oh, yes. I heard her sing once in Paris. Exquisite voice. Is she connected to James Blayney?"
"He was trying to sell her memoirs."
Simon whistled.
"He was also using people to send blackmail demands to others. Could Jack be connected to anyone powerful who might be a subject in the memoirs?"
Simon hesitated for two measures of music.
"James Blayney grew up in Shropshire. His father had the living on the Pendarves estate. Could Jack have a connection?"
Simon drew in and released his breath. "Damn." He spun her away from him. "I was afraid of this."
Mélanie turned, their hands linked overhead. "Simon, is Jack involved with Lord Pendarves?"
Simon's fingers tightened on her own. "My God, that's quick even for you. Or has there been gossip?"
"Not about Jack. But I had reason to believe Lord Pendarves might be involved with a man."
Simon grimaced. "They've been very discreet. I don't know anything for a certainty. But Pendarves has taken to coming to the green room. He talks to Jack more than to anyone. No more than talking. But I'm rather good at reading the looks in two people's eyes."
"You saw what was between Rupert and Bertrand before anyone else did." Mélanie spun to face him. "I'll talk to Jack. We don't know that it means anything."
"No." Simon forced a smile to his face that did not reach his eyes. "I don't like to talk about friends. Even when it's to a friend. But Jack's seemed unsettled of late. Forgot his lines in rehearsal twice. Can't remember his blocking. I hadn't thought it might be the relationship with Pendarves. But I didn't think—Is Pendarves a suspect?"
"Right now, everyone's a suspect."
Chapter 35
"Rannoch." Beverston seized Malcolm's arm in the passage outside the ballroom. "Walk with me. Pretend we're going into the cardroom."
"No one who knows me would believe that. For that matter, I haven't seen you in the cardroom much of late."
"Pretend. Isn't that what you spies do?" Beverston tugged open a door onto a small parlor beside the cardroom. "Empty. Good." He strode into the room. "We're in the devil of a mess."
"Interesting to hear you use the word 'we.' I wasn't aware it applied to us about anything."
"Shut the door, Malcolm." Beverston strode to the fireplace. "We haven't time for verbal fencing. How much do you know about Danielle Darnault?"
"Considerably more than I did yesterday." Malcolm shut the door. "Are you in her memoirs too?"
Beverston spun round to stare at him. "Who else has asked you to retrieve the memoirs?"
"You can scarcely expect me to answer that."
"Would it help if I told you I may be in them, but that that's not my chief concern?"
"The League want the memoirs."
"My rivals in the League want them. And will go to considerable lengths to get them."
"Yes, they've already held a knife to Kitty's throat. At least, I think the man was their agent."
Beverston frowned. "Lady Carfax is all right?"
"Lady Carfax is well able to take care of herself." Malcolm crossed to stand beside Beverston at the fireplace. "The League want the memoirs because they reveal Alexander Radford's identity."
"Have you seen the papers that reveal this?"
"Only a few pages that don't reveal much except that Danielle Darnault knew him. But I assume that's why the League are so invested. Unless they want to use the papers to influence the queen's case. But I tend to think that's a side issue."
Beverston frowned at the andirons. "Yes, so do I."
"And so Danielle Darnault herself is at risk. Did the League get rid of her?"
Beverston's brows drew closer together. "I don't know."
"But you don't deny they might have. They tried to get rid of Nerezza."
"And stopped."
"So you've assured me."
"My dear Rannoch. Surely by now you at least realize I don't want Nerezza hurt."
"I think so. I also think they stopped going after Nerezza because they realized that though she knew Alexander Radford, she didn't know who he really was. So as long as he remains hidden, she isn't a risk. Which I assume means whoever Alexander Radford is, he isn't showing himself in Britain. And that if he chooses to do so, Nerezza will be at risk again."
"Possibly." Beverston's gaze showed calm resolution. "And in that case, we'll have to take action."
"But Danielle Darnault is an international agent. She'd know the major players."
"You think Alexander Radford is a major player?"
"You tell me."
Beverston bit his lip, as though aware he'd made a mistake. "She'd be good at seeing through disguises. You're right, she might know who he is."
"And then, of course, there's always the possibility that you or one of the others in the League who may have been her lover told her."
"What sort of fool do you think I am, Rannoch?"
"It rather depends on how you felt about Radford. And when you turned against him."
"Who says I ever wasn't against him?"
"Just a hunch. Alliances have a way of changing in the League." Malcolm regarded Beverston. "Alistair was her lover. So was Trenchard."
"Yes, I know."
"Let me guess. You got close to her to get information about them."
"Not entirely."
"Danielle Darnault also has a child. She's missing too."
Shock flared in Beverston's gaze, though Malcolm wasn't sure at which statement.
"Did you know she had a child?"
"No. She didn't when I knew her." He frowned again. "At least if she did she didn't tell me. Do you know who the father is?"
"No. The child is about four. But she seems to have been at pains to keep her daughter secret."
"If the child is four, it's not mine. I wasn't thinking of me."
"You think Alexander Radford could be the father? Would he care?"
Beverston's brows knotted tighter. "Most men would care if they had a child."
"On the contrary. A number of men are quite indifferent to it. Women too."
"I didn't say be a good father. But it's a point. Some men seem quite uninterested. I rather think Radford wouldn't be, for a number of reasons."
"Do you think he'd try to get control of the child?"
"What makes you say that?"
"Something made Danielle Darnault disappear. We've been assuming she ran because she wanted to use the memoirs. Or because someone else had them, and it threatened her. But it's possible she ran to protect her child. Or herself. Or both."
Beverston frowned into the cold grate for a long moment. "If you're asking me if Radford is dangerous—of course he is. That's apparent, even if he wasn't a League member. If you're asking me if he'd harm a woman he'd been intimate with—we know he tried to harm Nerezza, so yes." Beverston's mouth turned grim. "As to a child—I can imagine his wanting to control a child. If he'd hurt it—I don't know. I don't much care to find out. And I speak as one with little more faith in my own morals than I imagine you have." He jerked his head up and fixed Malcom with a hard gaze. "If Radford gets the memoirs, he'll destroy the parts about himself, but he won't hesitate to use the rest."
"To get control of the League?"
"That's his aim. And to impact the queen's case, if he cares enough."
"Some of your own allies in the League might do the same."
"So might a number of people. Including a number of your allies. I doubt your friend Brougham would hesitate for a moment. He wants to win, after all."
"And you?"
"Do I want to win?"
"Would you use the memoirs?"
"The king's divorce isn't my fight. And if it topples Liverpool, he deserves it. I don't think it will, mind you. Perhaps I'd be more concerned if I did. But if they could get me something I cared about—do you really need to ask that, Malcolm?"
"When you put it that way—perhaps not."
"Well, then. If you recover the papers, we won't have to explore the question further."
"That rather evades the question of what I might do with the papers if I recover them."
"You'll destroy them, as should be done."
"Is that what you'd do?"
"You're leading the investigation, and I freely admit you have talents I don't. And I know I can count on your instinct to do what's right."
"You seem very sure of what's right."
"What I think is right—not that that's something I ponder a great deal—isn't the question. It's what you do."
"I'm not in the least sure what's right in this case. One would think it would be to return the papers to Mademoiselle Darnault."
"Who got us into this in the first place."
"We have no reason to think that. It seems far more likely they were taken from her."
"So you'd give them back to her and risk her doing this again? Or the papers' being taken again? She was fool enough to write it all down."
"Or clever enough. It was perhaps the one currency she had to protect herself."
"You think she's in danger?" Beverston asked.
"I don't know. She's missing. Which is of concern."
"Yes." Beverston's brows drew together.
"And then, of course, there are my own feelings when it comes to the outcome of the trial."
"You don't want to win through blackmail, Malcolm. That's no sort of victory."
"No, it isn't. But it's damned hard to act with conscience when the other side fails to display it."
"You're never going to win by being more ruthless than your opponents, Malcolm. Though it's not a strategy I've favored myself, there are advantages to being more principled."
"Thank you for your advice, sir." Malcolm did not try to keep the irony from his voice.
Beverston grunted. "I don't expect you'll believe this, but it's sincerely meant. The truth is, of late, I wonder more often than you'd think if your way isn't the more sensible."
"That is hard to credit, sir."
"Yes, well, whatever else I am, I hope I'm capable of learning. And risking losing certain things, one sometimes realizes they don't matter as much as one credited. And other things seem more valuable. Things one's practically let slip through one's fingers." He hesitated, tapping his fingers against the mantelpiece. "Speaking of which, there's something else I want to talk to you about, Malcolm. I need to ask for your help."
"Sir?" Malcolm kept his voice even.
"It's not going to be easy for Ben and Nerezza. It's not even going to be particularly safe. I want to see them married as soon as possible."
Malcolm stared at one of the leaders of the Elsinore League. Who had used his own eldest son for the League's ends. Whom Malcolm was used to viewing through the lens of an enemy even if they were occasional allies. "You want—"
"I assume they're tending that way. I rather thought they might be secretly engaged already. Perhaps they are, and you don't want to betray their confidence?"
