The Whitehall Conspiracy, page 32
The Red Lion. Bedford Square.
"What does it mean?" Kitty asked.
"I don't know," Malcolm said. "Perhaps a place to send word in case of emergency. But I recognize the hand. It's Alistair's."
"Well, that proves she's an imposter," Sofia said.
"I suppose it shouldn't be so surprising," Malcolm said. "We already suspected she was an imposter. We knew Alistair was plotting something to do with the trial. But what the devil is he up to?"
"We know he was in Italy most if not all of the time he was absent from England," Raoul said. "He attended Carfax's meeting in Milan about British interference against Italian revolutionaries. He had a long time to set this up."
"He started setting it up before he faked his death." Mélanie said. "Brougham and Caro were in Italy and met the supposed contessa in '16. A year before Alistair disappeared."
"Could the plot be part of why he disappeared?" Kitty asked.
"Possibly," Malcolm said. "Though it's difficult to see why. Presumably he's planning to use it to embarrass Brougham and damage the queen's case by having the contessa exposed as an imposter. And I suspect now he hopes to use it to secure the king's favor and a pardon. But four years ago, he wouldn't have known he'd need a pardon."
"He might have," Mélanie said. "Whatever made him run might have already happened. He just didn't know how bad it would get. But he might have known he could have to run long before he did."
"He wouldn't have even known there'd be a trial yet," Malcolm said. "Though he could certainly have seen the value of having leverage in the queen's case." Malcolm looked at Sofia. "When did you last hear from the actual contessa?"
Sofia smiled. "I'm quite relieved I can think of our Anna as the real contessa. I haven't seen her in years. But I think—yes, Mama mentioned her in a letter over the summer. Anna had written to congratulate Mama and Uncle Bernard on their marriage. She said she looked forward to seeing them, but it wouldn't be for a time, because she'd be traveling. And that she might have news of her own when she got back."
"Interesting," Malcolm said. "It could be a coincidence, but one can't but wonder—"
"Could one witness change the trial?" Sofia asked.
"We've seen the trial shift so often," Malcolm said.
"It's brilliant," Raoul said. "Prove a star witness is a fraud and cast doubt on all the other legitimate witnesses in the process."
"But to prove she's a fraud, wouldn't he need the real contessa?" Kitty asked. "I mean, we wouldn't have questioned her if it weren’t for Sofia, and even then we wouldn't have been sure. Just having someone challenge the contessa might raise questions, but it wouldn't prove anything."
"If the supposed contessa is working for him, as she seems to be, she could fold on the witness stand," Malcolm said. "But you're right, Kit, it would be stronger with the real contessa." He looked at Sofia.
Sofia grimaced. "I hate to think of Anna caught up in something like this. She was so kind and she seemed so sweet. I know one can't tell, and I certainly can't be sure of my instincts, but—"
"We don't know how it seems to her," Raoul said. "Alistair Rannoch can be very persuasive."
"But she's sympathetic to Princess Caroline. The queen, that is," Sofia said. "That is, she was." Sofia frowned and chewed on her lower lip. "Given how much has changed in the past years among people I know, personally and politically, I don't know how I can say I'm sure of anything. It sounds laughable."
"Alistair could have spun all sorts of stories," Malcolm said. "He could have—"
"Seduced her?" Sofia asked.
"It's possible. In a number of ways. Not necessarily the obvious construction we usually put on the word."
"If Alistair's planning to use her to discredit Bianca Falconetti, she'll be somewhere in London," Raoul said. He looked at Sofia.
"Of course, I'll help you look for her," Sofia said. "I wouldn't forgive you if you looked without me."
"Thank you," Malcolm said. "Harry will let us know what Bianca Falconetti does next. Meanwhile, I have something else I need to follow up on." He met Mélanie's gaze and Mélanie caught an unexpected apology in her husband's gray eyes. "I need to see Honoria again."
"Malcolm!" Honoria got to her feet as the footman showed Malcolm into her sitting room. "Have you learnt more?"
"You could say so." Malcolm paused a few feet inside the door and looked across the room at Honoria. She had changed into a different gown from the one she had worn this morning, a blue-and-gold-striped silk that shimmered when she moved. "I've learnt you and Val were playing at Valmont and Merteuil for years."
Honoria went white above the square neck of her gown. To her credit, she didn't look away. Or feign denial. "Who on earth—Evie or Val?"
"That's for you to discuss with your cousins. But thank you for not trying to deny it."
"I know you, Malcolm. You wouldn't accuse me of such a thing without proof." Honoria folded her arms. "Given the world we both grew up in, are you really surprised? Are you going to accuse me for doing what my father and Uncle Frederick, and both your parents, and your aunt and her new husband all did? I'm sure Julien's done far more beastly things than I have."
"I'm sure Julien would agree with you. I'm not accusing you of anything. As far as I'm concerned, people should be free to do as they like, provided no one gets hurt."
Honoria glanced away for the first time since he'd confronted her. Her wrought gold earrings stirred beside her face. "Women have more to risk in these things than men. You can't tell me men don't know what they're getting into."
"Perhaps. Most of them. What about the women Val dallied with?"
"Now I'm going to get a moralizing lecture."
"On the contrary. It's not my business to judge one way or the other. Your life is your own to live. Though it does make sense of certain things in our past."
Honoria's gaze shot back to his own. "You can't think—Malcolm, that wasn't what went on between us."
"Val didn't dare you to climb into my bed?"
She glanced away again, chewed on her finger. "Val liked to give me challenges. You were a challenge. But you were a challenge I wanted. If you'd—I know you'd have offered for me if things had progressed between us. And I wanted that. You must believe me, Malcolm. I wanted to be your wife."
"I am more and more convinced you'd have been bored."
"The games would have stopped. I wouldn't have needed diversion if we'd been together."
"That's a lot to ask of anyone, don't you think? That they can make your life complete and end your restlessness? I'm sure I'd have disappointed you."
"You underrate yourself. We could have been happy. Val would laugh at that, of course. But Val is hardly an expert."
"When it comes to what makes a relationship work, I don't think any of us is an expert. But I think honesty helps."
"So you and Mélanie started with honesty?"
Caught. "Mélanie and I are honest with each other now."
"Of course, one has to take the other's word for what honesty is."
"An excellent point. Tell me about George Chase."
Honoria retreated to the blue satin settee and sat, hugging her elbows. "It never meant very much. Val dared me with George because he thought George would be a great challenge as he was still getting over Cordelia. But George was willing enough to tumble into an affair. He did have a tiresome habit of talking about Cordelia, though. He did the same thing in Venice years later. More, perhaps. I mean, I had no illusions we had a deathless love, but one doesn't like to hear a lover go on and on about someone else. I never went on and on to anyone about you."
"George threatened to reveal your affairs?"
"Both of them. I always made sure my lovers had more to lose from the truth's coming out than I did. But George was already facing scandal. He was willing to go to great lengths to restore his reputation." She loosed her hands and folded them in her lap. "The rest is as I already told you. George threatened to reveal our past if I wouldn't look through Uncle Frederick's papers. I was still prevaricating about what to do when I learned he'd been killed. And quite honestly, when I learned he'd been killed, my first reaction was intense relief."
CHAPTER 36
"Probably good for Malcolm to have something else to focus on, hard as this is," Frances said. "I mean, something besides Alistair's return, despite Alistair's being caught up in this. Is Malcolm—"
"Matter-of-fact," Mélanie said. "He doesn't talk about Alistair except when we need to. I wouldn't expect him to. He shares more than he used to with me. But I wouldn't expect him to share that." Just as he hadn't shared precisely what he was doing after they left the supposed Contessa Montalto's rooms, save to say that he needed to talk to Honoria again. Mélanie had returned to Berkeley Square to check on the children, to find them in the garden with Laura and Mary Laclos, the former Duchess of Trenchard. Frances had called a few minutes later, clearly wanting to talk.
Frances took a sip of tea. "Give him time, my dear. Malcolm's come an amazing way since he married you. And even more in the past two years. You can't push these things."
"Of course not," Mélanie said, perhaps too quickly. "I firmly believe everyone needs privacy. And it can be very hard to maintain in a marriage." And she truly believed that. One always needed to have those places that were yours alone. But the times he retreated still stabbed at her.
Frances's gaze continued steady and shrewd on her face. "Archie and I still have things we don't talk about. I suspect we always will. We began our affair accepting that both of us had tangled pasts. We talk in bits and pieces. Of course, we haven't been married as long as you have. We didn't really talk about Alistair until we had to. And there are still things we haven't said. I don't suppose we ever will. But that doesn't mean there aren't things I wish he'd say to me. Sometimes the hardest thing is knowing that if I ask for those things, it will make it worse."
"Yes, precisely," Mélanie said. "I can't imagine anything ghastlier than someone demanding emotional confessions. That would destroy us."
"When Alistair returned, I thought it would force a great deal into the open between Archie and me. Or else destroy us. I'm still not quite sure which it will do. Though so far we seem to be muddling through. Muddling through day to day can seem a great victory. Though it does rather pull at one's nerves." Frances set down her tea. "I've been wracking my brain for anything Alistair might have said to me that could be relevant. I keep thinking about the night after Cyril died. The night I spent with Alistair. Archie was matter of fact, but there was a limit to what I could say in front of him. At least, in my mind. I've gone over all the details in the privacy of my thoughts since. But I'm afraid there's not a great deal that's relevant. At least, not so far as I can tell. Except, perhaps—" She frowned into her silver-rimmed teacup. "Alistair and I were lying together, neither of us able to sleep. I'd asked if he wanted to talk, and he quite obviously didn't. Which both relieved and distressed me. But then quite suddenly he asked me if I thought it was possible to pawn a heart. I actually sat up in bed, because the words were so odd. I said, in our world we gave hearts away and gambled and sold them, so I didn't see why pawning should be so different. Alistair got an odd look on his face and said 'Just so.' But thinking back, I can't help but feel that moment meant more than I realized at the time. Perhaps it's just my desperation to latch on to something. But—"
She broke off as the door opened and Valentin showed Simon Tanner into the library.
"I'm sorry to interrupt," Simon said. "We had a break in rehearsals. David is still at Westminster. I wanted to see if you'd learnt anything. Or, I suppose, I really mean if there's anything I can do."
"We have more bits of information," Mélanie said. "But it doesn't add up to anything yet." Or rather it did but not to the full story. And Alistair's mother's identity seemed something for Malcolm to share.
"I'm afraid all I have to talk about is theatre, which I doubt you're in the mood for."
"On the contrary," Fanny said. "I think Mélanie and I could both desperately use distraction."
Simon dropped into a chair and accepted a cup of tea from Mélanie. "I've been rehearsing Hamlet with Brandon and Manon all afternoon. I'm glad we're doing the new version again. Or perhaps I should say the old version." Two and a half years ago, Simon had first staged an alternate version of Hamlet, which had also been used as an Elsinore League codebook. And had been part of the investigation that had led to Mélanie's own spying being exposed.
"Is Jennifer called for the rehearsal?" Mélanie asked.
"She'll be there after the break. Do you need to talk to her?"
"No, but I should talk to Sir Horace," Mélanie said. Jennifer Mansfield's husband, Sir Horace Smytheton, had been an Elsinore League member, and Lady Shroppington had attempted to have him killed at the opening of Mélanie's play the previous January. They still weren't sure why but given what they had learned in the past few days (god, it was still only a few days since Alistair had appeared in their library?), it must concern Alistair.
Simon nodded, but didn't ask questions. "Sir Horace wouldn't miss a rehearsal. He still loves to comment on the differences between this Hamlet and the version we all know. Brandon says after playing this version, he can never do the traditional version without thinking of Claudius as Hamlet's father, even if it's not in the script. I told him I was once in a production that the director insisted on staging as though Laertes had an incestuous passion for Ophelia, which has as much or as little textual justification." He broke off, staring at Mélanie. "What is it?"
"Nothing," Mélanie said. "Or perhaps everything." Mélanie looked at Fanny. "Alistair asked you about pawning a heart? You're sure those were his words?"
"Yes," Fanny said. "They were odd enough I'd hardly have imagined them."
"Christ," Simon said. His gaze met Mélanie's.
"What?" Fanny asked.
"'I have killed a love, for whose each drop of blood I would have pawned my heart,'" Mélanie said. "From 'Tis Pity She's a Whore. Set in a decadent society in which perhaps the purest relationship is the incestuous love between a brother and sister. I need to go out."
"To see Malcolm?" Frances asked.
"No. To see Lord Glenister."
"I thought nothing could shock me." Glenister's face was like bleached linen as he stared across the sitting room at White's. Mélanie had got word to Malcolm and Julien, who were at Brooks's. Malcolm had had Palmerston bring him into the Tory White's while Julien and Mélanie slipped in through the service entrance, flattening themselves against walls and darting behind doors. It was not the first time Mélanie had been in a gentleman's club, though on other occasions she'd been dressed as a man.
Glenister passed a hand over his face. "You know I've done things I'm not proud of. I've done things I'm not ashamed of—that I scarcely even think about—that I should be ashamed of. I've boasted about my own sons' exploits. But this—"
"It's interesting," Julien said. "The limits we all have."
"For Cyril to take advantage of his sister—"
"Is that what happened?" Malcolm asked.
"My god—"
"There's still an issue of choice."
"He claimed he loved her." Glenister glanced away. "I never guessed. Not until after Georgiana went away. I guessed that she'd had a baby. I demanded to know who had taken advantage of her. I was determined to call the fellow to account. Father finally told me. He said, for god's sake, I couldn't fight my own brother." Glenister drew a hard breath. "One of the few times I knew him to lose his temper. I could scarcely believe it. I stalked out of the room and found Cyril just come back from a ride. I pulled him off his horse and threw him to the ground. We both fought. But at a certain point I realized he'd stopped fighting back. Both our noses were bloody. But I cracked Cyril's jaw. He knew. Without my saying anything. He had the gall to claim he loved her."
"You don't think he did?" Mélanie said.
"You can't call that—"
"There are many different forms of love. Did Georgiana say she loved him?"
"My God, you can't imagine I asked her."
"You never spoke about it?" Malcolm said.
"Of course not." Glenister drew a breath. "Cyril swore he wouldn't go near her again. He went abroad. He married. Father saw to it they were apart. I thought—I believed it was in the past. When Georgiana eloped with Mortimer I was concerned, but I believed she did it because she loved him. And I suppose—to be honest, I should have paid more attention. I was at Ascot when I learned about the elopement. I tried to convince Father not to cut off her dowry. Father wouldn't hear of it. I realized soon, of course, that she was with child when they eloped. But that would hardly shock me. I'm not quite such a hypocrite as to be shocked by my sister's indulging in something I indulged in so freely myself. It wasn't until the house party at Dunmykel that Cyril said something and I realized. He'd gone back to her. I could still scarcely believe it when I confronted him. Cyril didn't even try to deny it. He said that when he and Susan had come back from the Continent and he saw Georgiana again, he couldn't resist. She couldn't resist. He claimed she loved him too. But he was older. He should have—"
"Did you know Alistair knew?" Malcolm asked.
Glenister drew a rough breath. "Father told me after the first—after the baby was born. I think he thought Alistair would keep me in line. He said we were indebted to Alistair."
"Did he tell you he'd paid Alistair?"
"Not in so many words. But I can piece things together. Alistair told me not to waste time on Cyril. And that if I wanted to avoid a scandal, I wouldn't let the world see that Cyril and I had fallen out. Which was later true of Alistair and me." His jaw hardened. "And at times the pretense became so real I'd forget I was angry with both of them. For long stretches of time. Perhaps the majority of the time."
"Being undercover is like that," Mélanie said.
