The Mask of Night

I should be back Monday next. If not, I believe you know all you need to know. Take care of yourself, querida.

Raoul O’Roarke to Mélanie Lescaut,

11 August, 1810

Charles heard his wife make a small sound, the sort of in drawn breath she might give if someone stuck a knife in her ribs. “Missing?” he said. “You mean he’s gone off somewhere?”

“No. That is, yes, he did, but that’s not why he’s missing. He was taken.”

“Abducted?” Mélanie said.

“He got a message from Sam Lucan.’

Mélanie took a step forward. ‘Is Sam—?’

‘He’s all right. So’s Nan. Lucan’s outside in the carriage. He can explain better than I can.’

Charles looked at Isobel. “Bel—“

Isobel nodded, squeezed Mélanie’s hand, and went down the corridor to her parents’ box.

“I brought your carriage,” Trenor said as they descended the stairs. “I thought you’d want me to—“

“Yes.“ Charles clapped him on the shoulder. “You’ve done well.”The barouche was drawn up in front of the theatre. Randall sat on the box, hands easy on the reins though he shot them a look of concern.

Charles opened the carriage door. The spill of light from the theatre caught the bruise rising on Sam Lucan’s cheek and the dried blood below his nose. Charles handed Mélanie into the carriage and swung in after her as did Trenor. The carriage swayed as they pulled away from the pavement.

‘The bastard,’ Lucan said. ‘I’d like to rip his throat out.’

‘Raoul?’ Mélanie asked.

‘Whoever’s taken him.“ Lucan slammed his fist into his palm. ‘Nan and I went into hiding. We laid a false trail, we covered our tracks. I know the drill. I triple-checked the locks. I kept one ear pealed for anything out of the ordinary. But God help me I didn’t hear anything until they were in the inner room and had a pistol to Sarah’s head.’

‘Nan’s little girl?’ Mélanie said.

Lucan gave a curt nod.

“Who?” Charles asked.

“Four men. English. Londoners by the sound of it. They tied us up—Sarah, Nan, me. At another time I might have tried something desperate. But not with a pistol held on a child.”

“Of course not,” Mélanie said.

“They said if we cooperated they’d let us go. We weren’t the game they were after. I was trying to work out an escape plan if I could get my bonds loosened. I’d almost got my hands free when he arrived.”

“Raoul,” Mélanie said.

“They sent a note to Berkeley Square.“ Trenor took up the story. “Miss Dudley found it later. At the time we all thought O’Roarke had retired to bed. The note told him to come to a direction in Shepherd Market within half an hour and to come alone unless he wanted to see another of his agents dead.”

“He rapped at the door,” Lucan said. “He said he had a pistol, but he’d throw it down if they sent the three of us out.”

“And they did?” Charles asked.

“They refused at first, but O’Roarke said in that case we’d all have a long, cold night. Finally they sent Sarah out. O’Roarke held out longer, but when they cocked the gun on Nan he threw down his pistol and walked in. They hit him over the head as he stepped across the threshold and carried him out unconscious.”

“They left the three of you unhurt?” Charles said.

Lucan nodded. “I went to your house in Berkeley Square. I didn’t like leaving Nan and Sarah, but Nan insisted they wouldn’t come back tonight, and she’d know how to deal with them if they did. Trenor and Bet told me about Billy. Damn the bastards.’

The carriage pulled up before the King’s Arms in Shepherd Market. Lucan led them through the crowded common room of the tavern—where the air was thick with the nutty smell of ale, the rattle of dice, and voices raised with the uninhibited good cheer of a few pints—and out the back to an alley lit only by the meager moonlight. Down a few paces and he pulled an implement from his pocket and levered open the barred grate on a ground floor window. ‘Mind your heads,’ he said over his shoulder before he scrambled through.

It was pitch black inside, but they could hear Lucan’s footfalls and then three raps on what sounded like a door. ‘It’s me,’ he said.

A moment later a door was pulled open and Nan appeared the doorway, outlined by smoky lamplight. She held a pistol in one hand. A little girl of about six with curly dark ringlets clung to her skirt. ‘No trouble,’ she said. ‘It’s all right, Sarah, they’re friends.’

The room inside was a scene of chaos. A table was upended, a doll, a set of blocks, and a basket of clothes spilled over the floor, the shattered remnant of a glass sparkled in the lamplight.

‘Sam said not to touch anything until you saw it,’ Nan said.

‘I’m sorry, Miss Simcox,’ Charles said. ‘I wish we could have spared you this. How do you do, Sarah, my name is Charles.’

Sarah gave him a shy smile, pressed her face to Nan’s skirts, then peeped out at Charles again.

Nan stroked her daughter’s hair. ‘It’s O’Roarke I’m sorry for. Whatever else he’s done, the man has courage. And he’s loyal to his people. Don’t know what would have happened to us if he hadn’t shown up. What do you need?’

She lit another lamp and Charles and Mélanie poured over the scene before them. Scuff marks on the floorboards, strands of hair of varying shades, broken hemp still wrapped round the slats of the straight-backed chairs. But nothing to identify the four men or where they might have taken O’Roarke.

“If they’d wanted him dead—“ Trenor said.

“They may have taken him somewhere more convenient to accomplish it.“ Mélanie had removed her gloves to search. Her knuckles were white round the lamp she was holding.

“But it may not be the same people who attacked him last night, right?” Trenor said. “If one group is working for whomever was working with St. Juste and the other is working for whomever killed him—“

“Very true.“ Mélanie pushed her fingers into her hair. “I’m not thinking clearly.’

Charles set down his lamp. ‘I’m afraid there’s more bad news, Miss Simcox.“

Nan’s gaze flicked from Charles to Lucan. ‘Billy?’

‘I’m sorry, Nan.“ Lucan wrapped his arm round her while Charles explained what had happened, as gently as possible. Nan pressed her face into Lucan’s shoulder and gave one sharp sob, then reached for her daughter.

They offered to take Lucan, Nan, and Sarah back to Berkeley Square, but Lucan shook his head. “If they wanted more with me, they’d have taken me already.”

‘Take care of Bet,’ Nan said, her arms round Sarah.

‘I will,’ Trenor promised.

Charles helped Lucan reinforce the locks. Then he, Mélanie, and Trenor returned to Berkeley Square. They found Laura and Bet in the library. Roth had arrived in their absence to exchange information. Colin was also present, sitting on Laura’s lap, bolt upright and wide awake though it was getting on for eleven. He got up at his parents’ entrance and ran over to them.

“Laura said I could wait up for you.“ He stared up at them, face pale above his nightshirt. “I didn’t know. Truly.”

Mélanie knelt down. “Didn’t know what, sweetheart?“

“Mr. O’Roarke. What he meant to do.”

“None of us did,” Charles said.

“He came into my room tonight. I think he thought I was asleep, but I wasn’t, not quite. He stood looking down at me for the longest time. I almost said something to him, but I didn’t think he wanted me to.”

Charles felt the tremor that ran through his wife. “I expect you were right, Colin,” she said. “I think he just wanted to be sure you were all right. He’s very fond of you.”

“But I should have guessed.”

“I don’t see how you could have done at the time, darling. It’s very hard to predict what Mr. O’Roarke will do. And very hard to stop him from doing something once he makes his mind up.”

“I told you I saw him as well, Colin,” Laura said. “And I didn’t guess either.” Though her troubled gaze said that she too was telling herself she should have done.

Colin glanced at Laura, then looked gravely at Mélanie and then at Charles. He had intimate cause to know just how horrible events could be for a person who was abducted.

“Mr. O’Roarke can take very good care of himself,” Charles said.

Colin nodded. Mélanie hugged him and asked him if he could sleep. When he nodded and said “I’ll try”, Laura took him back up to his room. Trenor and Bet exchanged glances.

“We’d like to help,” Trenor said. “But I think we can help most at the moment by getting out of your way.”

Charles smiled at the younger man. “You add perception to your other abilities, Trenor. Thank you for everything you’ve done.”

Bet reached for Trenor’s hand. “Wake us if there’s anything we can do.”

“Miss Dudley and Miss Simcox explained about O’Roarke,” Roth said when Trenor and Bet had left the room. “What do you think they want with him?”

“To silence him,” Mélanie said in a voice as flat as hammered metal. She was plucking at the fringe on her shawl.

“Will you be all right, Mrs. Fraser?” Roth asked.

“Of course. ” She pressed the shawl smooth over her arm. “I’m concerned, but I’m hardly—“

“I was thinking of what O’Roarke may say under interrogation by whomever has him.”

Mélanie returned his gaze for a moment, her own wide and still. “If you want to ask me something, I think you’d better say it straight out, Mr. Roth.”

Charles started to speak, but Mélanie gripped his wrist.

“I think it’s time I knew what you know,’ Roth said. ‘At least as far as St. Juste is concerned.”

Mélanie’s fingers bit into Charles’s skin. “I tried to steal a paper from him once on Raoul O’Roarke’s orders. Later I worked with him on a mission for the Empress Josephine, involving her daughter Queen Hortense.”

“You hadn’t seen him this past month in London? You didn’t speak with him at the ball?”

“Will you believe me if I say no?”

Roth watched her in silence for a moment. “I may be a fool, Mrs. Fraser, but I’m inclined to do so. I imagine you had mixed feelings about my role in the investigation.”

“We did wonder if you might think one of us had killed St. Juste,” Mélanie said.

“I confess the thought crossed my mind. If he’d recognized you, if he’d threatened to expose you, tried to blackmail you. Attacked you.”

“Who’s to say what I might have done,” Mélanie said.

“Or what I might have done,” Charles added.

“Quite.“ Roth looked between them. “It’s still possible, I suppose. But sometimes one has to trust one’s instinct. And my instinct is that neither of you wielded the knife that killed Julien St. Juste.“ He settled back in his chair. “You still haven’t answered my original question. What might O’Roarke tell his interrogators about your past connection to him and to St. Juste?”

“He might reveal a great deal, but I don’t think he will. I’ve known him to withstand interrogation before.“ Mélanie released Charles’s hand and looked from him to Roth with one of those bright smiles she used to smooth over disaster. “Besides if whoever has Raoul wants to know about St. Juste, they’ll ask about him, not me.”

Charles was far from sanguine about O’Roarke’s interrogators and still had qualms about what Mélanie had revealed to Roth. But little was to be gained from dwelling on any of it at the moment. He got to his feet and went to the drinks trolley. “We need to catch you up on the developments on our end, Roth. Mel—”

“I’m fine, darling. And I think we need to tell Mr. O’Roarke all of it. From the beginning.”

He poured whisky for all of them and was relieved to see a little color return to his wife’s face as they told Roth about Hortense, the Dauphin, and the events of the evening.Roth, who had a knack for taking in information quickly and without unnecessary questions, sat still and sipped his whisky, though he did gasp at the mention of the Dauphin and let out an exclamation at the revelation of St. Juste’s identity. “God in heaven

. So St. Juste—Arthur Mallinson—was the rightful Earl Carfax?”

“Though liable to be tried for treason if he revealed his identity and claimed his heritage,’ Charles said. ‘Yes. Which gives a number of people, several of them my close friends, a whole new set of motives to have murdered him.”

Roth took a sip of whisky. ‘Do you believe Carfax’s theory that O’Roarke and St. Juste were plotting to extract the Dauphin?’

Mélanie twisted her glass between her hands. ‘I’d have sworn Raoul was telling the truth last night. But it wouldn’t be the first time he’s deceived me.’

“Any chance O’Roarke set up both the attack last night and tonight’s abduction to throw us off our guard?” Roth asked.

Charles, who had wondered something of the same since hearing of the abduction, cast a glance at his wife.

‘Of course there’s a chance,’ she said. ‘Or Raoul could have been plotting with St. Juste to extract the Dauphin and whoever abducted Raoul is the person who killed St. Juste.’

‘Or Carfax could be wrong,’ Charles said. ‘Or lying.’

Roth shifted in his chair. “I’ve been working on the list of Radical disturbances. I have some friends in that world. Far more than the Chief Magistrate would be happy with if truth be told. I bought a few rounds of drinks this evening. Apparently there are rumors that the same person orchestrated the violence at several of the incidents on the list.”

“Who?” Charles asked.

“No one seems to know. According to some versions it’s a Radical trying to help the cause along. But the more popular theory is that it’s a Government agent provocateur.”

‘In which case, Carfax could have been behind them, and St. Juste could have been trying to prove it.’

Roth leaned back in his chair. ‘You think St. Juste/Mallinson was behind Captain Harris’s death?”

‘Given that Billy Simcox who was working for St. Juste set up the fight that took Harris’s life it looks that way,’ Charles said. ‘Which suggests St. Juste wanted to step back into his old life. That fits with him wanting to recovering the incriminating papers Carfax about him. But he’d have had to plan to silence Carfax too.’

Mélanie took another sip of whisky. Her hand appeared steady, but she was holding the glass very carefully. ‘Raoul said St. Juste told him he looked across a London theatre a month since and for the first time knew what he most wanted.’

‘His heritage?’ Roth said.

‘It fits with something he said to me on our journey with Hortense. I didn’t really understand it at the time, but I think he already had a longing for what he’d lost.’

Charles drew a breath, but before he could speak the door opened to admit David, Simon, and Isobel.

“Father left his box in the middle of the second act,” David said without preamble. “He went into an anteroom with a man none of us recognized. It was shadowy in the corridor, and he had his head turned away. All we could tell was that he seemed to have a cane or walking stick. They came out during the interval, and we lost sight of him.”

“What’s happened to O’Roarke?” Simon asked. “Bel told us about Trenor coming to the theatre.”

Mélanie explained about their visit to Sam and Nan while Charles poured drinks for the new arrivals.

“You’ve spent quite a bit of time with Mr. O’Roarke lately, Simon,” she finished. “Did he say anything that might shed light on this?”

Simon shook his head. ‘If St. Juste—Arthur Mallinson—came to England to reclaim his heritage, it doesn’t explain what he was doing with the list of Radical disturbances. Or what the devil the Elsinore League have to do with the whole business.”

“The fact that he happens to have been born Arthur Mallinson doesn’t change that St. Juste was an agent for hire,” Charles said. “His services could still have been engaged by the Elsinore League or someone in the British Government or someone in the Government who happens to be a member of the Elsinore League.”

‘He could still have been hired by Father,’ David said.

‘He could,’ Charles agreed, stopping short of any mention of the Hortense Bonaparte, the Comte de Flahaut, or the Dauphin.

“And whoever hired him abducted Mr. O’Roarke?” Isobel asked.

“Perhaps. It’s also possible that whoever killed Arthur hired the men who killed Billy Simcox and attacked O’Roarke last night and abducted him tonight. Which would mean the reasons for Arthur’s murder go beyond his heritage. Unless one of you killed him and is holding O’Roarke to get information on our investigation.”

“I wish you wouldn’t say that so cheerfully, Charles,” Isobel said. “I could almost believe you weren’t serious, but I know perfectly well you are.”

“It’s not the first time David and I’ve been suspects,” Simon said. “Charles should be getting good at putting aside friendship. Though it would be ironic if one of us proved to be guilty this time after proving innocent the last.”

David turned to look at him. “You’re the only one of us this doesn’t give a stronger motive. Unless you’ve suddenly decided you want to see me Earl Carfax one day.”

“Do you want to be Earl Carfax?” Simon asked him.

David stared at his lover for a moment. “I haven’t thought I had any choice for years. I suppose— It hardly matters. I don’t have a choice once again.”

“Bel.“ Charles leaned toward her. “Did St. Juste say anything to you that you can put a meaning to in hindsight?”

Isobel frowned, then shook her head. “I’m sorry, Charles. I still can’t believe Gerard—St. Juste—was Arthur, and I didn’t— He seemed so completely who he was. Who he told me he was.”

“He had a knack for that,” Mélanie said.

“Whatever he was doing,” David said, “why—“

“Seduce me.“ Isobel tossed down a long swallow of whisky.

“Suppose he’d come to England do a job and was trying to decide whether or not to reclaim his heritage,” Simon said.

“You mean he was just using me to spy on his old life?” Isobel asked.

“For better or worse you are his family.”

Isobel pulled her shawl close about her shoulders. “What now?”

“We need to talk to Lady Pendarves,” Charles said. “To see if she saw anything in the garden. And to St. Ives and Pendarves to see if they know more about Arthur.”

“And Mr. O’Roarke?”

Charles glanced at his wife. He could feel the need for action radiating from her still form. “Our best chance of finding him is to discover what Arthur was doing in England and who knew about it.”

“You knew him, didn’t you?” Isobel said. “Mr. O’Roarke, I mean. When you were a child.”

“Yes.“ Charles set down his whisky glass. “He was a friend of the family.”

“I only met him once or twice,” David said. “But I remember he had an uncanny knack for knowing how to talk to children.”

“He has a talent for knowing how to talk to most people.“ Simon was watching Mélanie with an appraising gaze. “We should leave. You must be exhausted.”

“I think we’re beyond that,” Mélanie said, but the gathering broke up in any case. Isobel had her carriage and offered to drop Roth at his house and Simon and David at the Albany.

‘It would be easier,’ Charles said to Mélanie as he closed the front door behind their friends, ‘if more people were in possession of the same version of facts.’

Mélanie took a candle from the console table. ‘At least now Roth knows what we know.’

‘That was a risk.’

‘What in our life isn’t?’

He snapped the bolts shut on the door. “We can’t do anything until morning,”

“No,” she agreed.

They climbed the stairs to their bedchamber in silence. Mélanie crossed to her dressing table and began to unbutton her jet-beaded cuffs with a methodical precision that indicated intense effort.

“I know you want to be doing something,” Charles said, “but we barely got any sleep last night—“

“Don’t try to mother me, Charles. I’ve got by perfectly well without a mother since I was seven.”

“There’s a good chance O’Roarke’s still alive, Mel.”

She started on her second cuff. “It’s hardly the first time I’ve faced the possibility that Raoul might be dead. He knew it was dangerous or he wouldn’t have—”

“Said goodbye to Colin.”

She met his gaze across the room. “Yes.”

“You don’t have to pretend,” he said. “We’re supposed to be honest with each other now.”

She gave a smile that trembled about her eyes. “As honest as the other one can handle.”

“I can handle this.“ And yet he could not help but wonder at the host of memories lay behind the fear in his wife’s eyes. She and O’Roarke had shared a bed, but that, perhaps, had been the least of it. O’Roarke, she had once said, had given her a sense of purpose. He had taught her to fight and pick locks and maintain a cover story. They had strategized missions, decoded documents, shared morning coffee in Spanish mountain camps, confessed dreams and regrets over late-night glasses of wine.

He watched her, seeking clues to a part of her life he hadn’t known existed until two months ago. Yet the image that came to his mind was of himself as a nine-year-old boy, walking along a stream on his grandfather’s Irish estate with the tall man who was one of the few adults to always show him interest and understanding. He heard his own young voice asking But which side is right? King Henry and Prince Hal or the rebels? And O’Roarke replying, with a quick smile and a gaze that always challenged but never mocked, Good question. What do you think?

Mélanie pushed back her sheer net sleeve and touched the scar on the inside of her wrist. She’d told him she’d received it when she’d been masquerading as a peasant girl to get information from a group of Spanish bandits. “When I got this—I’d been stupid. I shouldn’t have been caught. I was over confident and I pushed things too far. But then that was always a risk.”

“O’Roarke got you out.”

‘Logically he should have left me there. I could have held out long enough for him to cover for any information I might have let slip. There’s even a chance I could have got away. Though looking back I doubt it. But he risked three other men getting me out. When I asked him if he was afraid I’d break, he said no he was afraid I’d hold out so long they’d kill me. I told him he was a fool, but I don’t think I’ve ever been so glad to see anyone in my life.“ She gripped her elbows. “If he’s alive, I need to find him, Charles. I owe it to him. I think I owe it to myself.”

“Of course,” Charles said.

The funny thing about honesty was that it had a way of ringing true, like sterling.

And like a silver dagger it could cut straight to the bone.