The Mask of Night

Pay particular attention to Talleyrand in Vienna. His skills at deception may be even greater than my own.

Lord Carfax to Charles Fraser

5 June 1814

Mélanie stumbled out of the house. Talleyrand and Carfax were behind her, followed by David, Flahaut, and Vickers dragging the two unconscious guards. By the light of the lamp Carfax had snatched up, she saw Simon, Addison, and Roth holding muskets on four more guards. Simon’s gaze went straight to David. She could have sworn she heard him sigh, though it was nonsensical that the sound would be audible over the hammering rain and tearing wind.

Roth came toward them and glanced at the unconscious guards. “This makes six accounted for. Lucan’s gone to round up the stragglers. The others are round the front.“ His gaze slid to Talleyrand and Flahaut.

“Jeremy Roth of Bow Street,” Mélanie said. “Prince Talleyrand and the Comte de Flahaut. Have you seen Charles? Or O’Roarke?”

Roth shook his head.

“Get everyone away from the house. I’ll find them.”

David caught her arm. “Stay here, Mélanie. I’ll go.”

“Thank you, David, but I can—“

“No time for arguing.“ Simon pushed past them.

But as he spoke, Charles and Raoul stumbled out of the house, followed by two other men. Charles was in his shirtsleeves, soaked through with something she feared was blood then realized was red wine. A scrape showed on his cheek and a bruise was rising on his temple. Raoul still had his coat on but had lost his cravat. He was favoring one leg and bleeding from a gash over his right eye.

She was suddenly able to breathe again, though she hadn’t been aware she’d stopped. If she’d been a girl like Lucinda she’d have run into Charles’s arms. As it was, she simply met his gaze for a moment in the swaying lamplight. His eyes glinted and his mouth lifted in a smile.

She looked at Raoul, then turned her gaze to the other two men. Oliver and— Lady St. Ives? Mélanie blinked, sure she must be seeing things, but it was undoubtedly she.

‘Oliver,’ Carfax said in a pleasant voice. ‘I wasn’t aware you were coming down here.’

‘It was a sudden decision. Lady St. Ives needed my escort.’

‘I see. And what—’

He broke off as Bet and Hortense came round the side of the house. Flahaut drew a strangled breath. Hortense went still, her gaze fastened on his face.

“Might I suggest we adjourn inside to sort matters out?” Charles said.

Talleyrand looked from Flahaut to Hortense. “Yes,” he said, “I think that would be best. Carfax, I fancy we could all do with a drink.”

The light from two Argand lamps and a trio of silver gilt candelabra reassured Charles that O’Roarke’s wound had not started bleeding again. At least O’Roarke was not dripping blood all over the crimson velvet upholstery and polished oak floor in the first-floor sitting room to which they had adjourned. The two of them were sitting on a sofa with Roth and Mélanie (who kept glancing between him and O’Roarke as though checking for injuries).

Carfax was pouring out sherry for the company. David was stirring the coals in the fireplace to a blaze. The firelight flickered over Trenor, Bet, Nan, and Gordon, seated on a second crimson velvet sofa, and Simon, Vickers, and Flahaut, perched on shield-back tapestry chairs.

Flahaut was attempting to stare straight ahead, but his gaze kept straying to Hortense, who sat on a settee beside Sylvie St. Ives. Oliver hovered behind the settee. Charles couldn’t tell if he was trying to protect Sylvie or guard her. He suspected Oliver didn’t know himself.

The supposed soldiers were gathered in the hall downstairs, guarded by Lucan. The two unconscious ones had come round. One had a sprained wrist, which Mélanie had bound with Simon’s cravat, but no permanent damage seemed to have been done. None of them had voiced accusations against Lady St. Ives. Yet.

Talleyrand surveyed the scene in the sitting room from a wing-back chair. Charles’s knew that gaze well, though he had never been able to determine whether it meant Talleyrand was bluffing or lying or risking all by telling the truth. “We owe you our thanks. Fraser. Mrs. Fraser.“ He nodded at the rest of the company.

Carfax set down the decanter. “Prince Talleyrand came to England to see me. As the matters we had to discuss were sensitive, we arranged to meet here. Given recent events, it seemed wise to have a guard.“

“I don’t understand what happened to the soldiers you arranged for.“ Vickers blinked, as though he could not get the events of the day into focus.

“I had a word with one of the replacements before we came upstairs,” Charles said. “According to him, the actual soldiers received a message from Lord Carfax countermanding their orders. Bearing your seal, sir.’

Carfax nodded. ‘St. Juste had evidently managed to get hold of it.’

Talleyrand eased his club foot out in front of him and glanced at Oliver and Sylvie St. Ives. “I don’t believe I quite caught what brought you here.”

Sylvie sat with her back straight and her ankles folded together, as though she wore an afternoon dress rather than a stained shirt and breeches. ‘My husband has a house nearby. I had to come down to discuss some repairs with our bailiff. I prevailed upon Mr. Lydgate to act as my escort.“ She cast a smile up at Oliver. Oliver’s face was a frozen mask, but he did not deny her. ‘We went for a ride. I confess that in the country, I sometimes prefer this attire to a riding habit. Mr. Lydgate and I were caught in the storm and thought we’d seek shelter at Spendlove Manor.’

‘We didn’t expect anyone to be about.“ Oliver looked Carfax squarely in the eye. ‘We were in the beech coppice when the supposed soldiers took us by surprise. We were both knocked unconscious. We came to in the cellars. They must have thrown us there as they did O’Roarke and Charles.”

Talleyrand flicked a glance at Carfax. “Yes,” he said, “I suppose they must.”

Sylvie St. Ives inclined her head toward Charles and O’Roarke. “I can’t tell you how grateful we are to you for getting us out.”

“It was the least we could do in the circumstances,” Charles said.

“I don’t understand.“ Nan raised a frowning gaze from the curved sofa arm. “Who the blo—who hired Billy and this St. Juste and the men downstairs? Who was trying to blow up the house?”

Carfax moved to an empty chair and touched his sherry glass to his lips. “We don’t know. I’m afraid we never will.”

“But you must—“

Bet laid a hand over her sister’s own and shook her head.

“The important thing is that the danger has been averted,” David said.

Gordon shot him a look. “I don’t see how you can be sure it has been, if you don’t know who was behind it.”

“I think,” said Carfax, “that we can safely say the moment of crisis has passed.”

There was little that those involved were willing to discuss, at least not in front of the entire company. Carfax offered them beds at Spendlove Manor, though with the proviso that there was no staff in residence. Mélanie was eager to get back to the children, as was Charles. After a brief debate over the merits of putting up at the White Hart the rest of the company decided to return to town as well.

Talleyrand crossed to Charles and Mélanie, leaning on his walking stick with aristocratic elegance. “Once again I am in your debt. The chance to see you both is one compensation for today’s unfortunate events.”

“M. Talleyrand.” Mélanie held out her hand. “I hope you left Doro well.”

Dorothée, who had become a close friend of Mélanie’s at the Congress of Vienna, was Talleyrand’s nephew’s wife, his hostess, and almost certainly his mistress. Talleyrand smiled as he bowed over Mélanie’s hand. “If Dorothée had known I would see you, she would have sent her regards.”

Mélanie returned his smile with a dazzling one of her own. “Do give her my love.”

Talleyrand inclined his head and turned his gaze to Charles. “I read the transcript of your speech about Spain in December. Once again I’m proud to have known you as a boy.”

“You’re too kind, Prince,” Charles said. He smiled at the man he’d known since he was five, keenly aware of everything Talleyrand knew about Mélanie and the havoc he could wreak on their lives.

As they descended the stairs, Sylvie touched Charles’s arm. ‘Carfax House. Tomorrow morning at ten. I promise you’ll have an explanation.’

‘Is that all you have to say?’

The torchlight flickered over her cool features. ‘For now, that’s all I can afford to say.’ Charles went to join Mélanie, but Vickers stopped him on the way. “See here, Fraser. I don’t know what brought you down here, and thank God you did come. And I don’t know what Gordon’s said to you. But—“

“You’re concerned for Lady Pendarves.”

Vickers met his gaze squarely. “Caroline’s terrified of scandal. And she gets upset easily. She was in a state at the Lydgates’ ball simply because she’d lost her damn earring. I don’t wish to see her hurt.”

“I don’t think anyone does, including her husband and Mr. Gordon. I certainly don’t see why anything to do with Lady Pendarves should have bearing on the investigation.”

“Thank you, Fraser.“ Vickers’s nod was as correct as ever, but his gaze turned unexpectedly bright. “That’s very decent of you.”

‘I don’t understand,’ Hortense said. ‘Are you saying Lady St. Ives set the explosives?’

Charles nodded. ‘Of that at least there is no doubt.’

Mélanie studied her husband across the barouche. His eyes were shadowed with the unanswered questions that lingered in the air. They were driving back to town with Raoul and Roth and had spent the first part of the journey exchanging information. An exchange that left them with more questions than answers.

‘So Lady St. Ives is the one who had me summon Lord Carfax and Flahaut down here?’ Hortense said.

Raoul exchanged a look with Charles. ‘It looks that way.’

‘Then presumably she was working with St. Juste,’ Roth said.

‘And Mr. Lydgate?’ Hortense asked. ‘He was working with St. Juste and Lady St. Ives?’

‘He was trying to stop Lady St. Ives in the end,’ Charles said, his voice carefully level. ‘But I’m not sure how much he knew, or how great a part he played.“

‘Not to mention that we still don’t know where the Dauphin is,’ Roth said. ‘Or what they wanted with him.’

They speculated for the remainder of the drive to London, but the talk only led them in circles. In Berkeley Square, the door was opened not by Michael but by Addison. He and Trenor and Bet had just arrived and were in the entry hall along with Blanca.

‘Blanca has news about Hapgood,’ he said.

Blanca frowned, taking in the torn, grimy clothes and scraped and bruised faces. “You’re not hurt?”

“And the danger has been averted,’ Mélanie said, ‘as I’m sure Addison explained.’

“How—“

“It’s a long story. I promise we’ll share it, but it might be best if we had your news first.”

“Dios, I almost forgot. It wasn’t Mr. Hapgood who betrayed the meeting the night before last, and it wasn’t Mr. Tanner or Mr. Gordon. Or you.“ She nodded at Raoul. ‘I must say I’m happier than I thought I’d be to find it wasn’t.’

‘Thank you,’ Raoul said. ‘Who was it?’

“I saw one of Mr. Hapgood’s other lodgers going into the building. A young woman. She looked…temeroso.”

“Nervous,” Addison said.

“Al pie de la letra. Almost as though she felt guilty. Which she did. As I learned when I spoke with her. She’s a singer and she was employed at the King’s Theatre, but she’s been without work for some weeks. The other lodger, Mr. Montford—Mr. St. Juste—had made advances to her.”

“Not surprising,” Raoul said.

“It was to get information, I think, but as far as I could make out she hadn’t told him anything. But then two days ago, a lady offered her money if she could tell her anything about Mr. Hapgood’s plans. So she managed to get a look at one of the notes Mr. Hapgood wrote setting up the meeting in Hyde Park. She kept saying, ‘It can’t be anything very serious, can it?’ A bit imbécil—who would pay for information that wasn’t serious? But I did feel sorry for her. That helps, doesn’t it?”

“Very much,” Raoul said. “I’ve grown quite fond of Hapgood. I didn’t like suspecting him.“

‘Who was the lady?’ Blanca asked. ‘St. Juste’s mistress?’

‘I’m not sure what she was to St. Juste,’ Charles said.

Laura came down the stairs. With her usual foresight, she had readied the house to receive the maximum number of overnight guests.

‘When you married an Englishman, I never thought there’d be a time I could be a guest in your home,’ Hortense murmured as Mélanie gave her a candle.

‘Then there are some compensations to all of this,’ Mélanie said.

Hortense nodded. Her eyes held the scars of the day, and of her meeting with Flahaut, but she smiled.

In the upstairs corridor, Bet turned and unexpectedly gave Mélanie a hug. “Thank you.”

Mélanie smoothed the younger girl’s hair. “We’re the ones who owe you thanks. “You’ve treated us— I’m glad you let me help.“

Bet squeezed Mélanie’s hands and ran down the corridor to where Trenor was waiting. They continued on, hands linked, like any pair of young lovers. Mélanie stared after them for a long moment.

Charles scanned her face when they went into their own bedchamber. “Worried?”

She lit the Argand lamp and watched the flame flare with comforting warmth in the glass chimney. “Wondering what will happen to them in five years.”

“Trenor told me he’s going to arrange lodgings for her. He’s shown a surprising amount of mettle. And he’s quite besotted with her.”

“Until he decides it’s time marry a sweet young débutante.”

“You don’t know that he will.”

“I know that gentlemen don’t marry ex-whores. Unless they don’t know the truth until after the wedding.”

Charles regarded her. The lamplight warmed his skin and sharpened the contrast between his white shirt and the blood-red splotches of wine. “That wouldn’t have stopped me from marrying you.”

“Marriage was the obvious solution to my predicament when you thought I was a gently bred young lady facing social ruin. Would the same solution have occurred to you if you’d known I’d been ruined long since?”

“Not if I’d known you were a French agent. As to what I’d have done if I’d been aware of other things— We’ll never know what we might either of us have done in different circumstances.”

She nodded and moved to her dressing table. Soreness screamed through her body. She began to pull the pins from her tangled hair.

Charles unfastened his cuffs. “You didn’t tell me about Tommy until we were too far from Spendlove Manor to search for him.”

She met his gaze in the looking glass. “Tommy would have been long gone before you had the explosives defused, darling.”

“Probably.”

“I made a judgment call. I don’t suppose you’re going to agree with every judgment call I make.”

Charles inclined his head. “Fair enough.”

“I still don’t understand Tommy’s motives, but if it wasn’t for him I probably wouldn’t have been able to get you and Raoul out.” She dropped a handful of pins into their porcelain box. Those last words, so baldly stated, made her throat go thick.

“And while I’d like to say O’Roarke and I could have got ourselves out of the cellar on our own, I’m not sure that’s the truth.“ He looked at her a moment. “Thank you.”

“It’s not as though you wouldn’t have done the same for me.”

“No. And I’m quite sure that goes for O’Roarke as well as me.”

For a moment she was afraid to move. It was more than just the reflection in the glass that made his gaze unreadable. She dragged her silver-backed brush through her hair. “So the Elsinore League are still active and have their own agenda which goes beyond debauchery. All of which is in the nature of confirmed suspicions more than new information.”

“Quite. But their exact agenda remains unclear. For the present. I don’t think we’ve heard the last of them.”

“Nor do I.“ She began to remove her pearl earrings, which had survived the chaos, though she must have checked a half dozen times to make sure she hadn’t lost either of them. An automatic gesture no matter now dire the circumstances. “I can’t help wondering—“ She broke off, staring at the luminous pearl in her palm.

“What?” said Charles.

“Nothing. Nothing conclusive. But there’s someone I need to speak with tomorrow.”