Elizabeth Thornton - [Special Branch 02] (18 page)

After all, he was a good-looking man in his thirties.
He never lacked for a pretty woman in his bed, but he never got attached to any of them. Oh, yes, there had to be a woman in it somewhere.

Richard stirred, threw down his pen and looked at Harper. “Well, Harper,” he said, “what do you think?”

Harper shrugged. “As you said, it’s a piddling affair.”

“I wonder.”

“You’ve changed your mind?”

“I don’t know. Maybe there are two cases here. But what really interests me is Harry. You know he’s an assassin, don’t you?”

“Is that what you think?”

“Everything points to it.” Richard leaned back in his chair and stretched his cramped muscles. “So even if there is no connection between the murdered footman and Mrs. Barrie, Special Branch has to become involved. I mean, we can’t let an assassin loose on England, now can we?”

Harper nodded slowly. He was thinking of another assassin and another case, and the havoc Nemo had caused. “So where do we go from here?”

“We go back to the beginning and start over. I want Johnny Rowland’s background investigated so I’ll know him as though he were my best friend. And let’s take another look at that guest list. Maybe he went to see Mrs. Barrie and maybe not. Send Landon and Lord Ivan in. They’ve got a light slate right now. I’ll put them onto it. But I won’t mention Mrs. Barrie’s name. Let’s see what they come up with. At this stage, I’ll investigate Mrs. Barrie myself.”

“I doubt,” said Harper, “if young Lochinvar could come up with his own name.”

Richard chuckled. Harper did not have a high opinion of Lord Ivan and always referred to him in private as young Lochinvar, after the dashing hero of Walter Scott’s ballad. Harper had no time for heroes, or would-be heroes.

“Well, this will be a test for him,” he said, “and if he fails the test, out he goes.”

Harper merely grunted.

Ten minutes later, when the conference was over and they were descending the stairs, Lord Ivan asked Landon why on earth their chief would take so much trouble over a footman’s murder.

Landon smiled pleasantly. In his opinion, Lord Ivan was as thick as a door, and the only reason he’d been allowed to transfer to Special Branch was because his father and Lord Liverpool were close friends. He didn’t think Lord Ivan would last long because he was in it for the glamor. He, Landon, knew better. It was hard work, and often as boring as hell.

“Because,” he said, “something must have come up, something the chief hasn’t told us about. Some information is too sensitive to share.”

“Then how can we know what we’re looking for?”

“We do as we’re told. We investigate Rowland and see if we can find a connection to one of the guests on Sackville’s list, only we do it more carefully this time around. Why the sigh?”

“No reason. No reason at all.”

“I know what it is,” said Landon with the same pleasant smile. “You thought you’d be unmasking traitors and uncovering conspiracies when you joined Special Branch.”

“Well, I suppose I did. I mean, it’s an open secret that the chief foiled a plot to assassinate Lord Liverpool last year, he and that gorilla who acts as his bodyguard.” He stopped speaking abruptly when Harper passed them on the landing and went on down the stairs.

“Good Lord,” said Lord Ivan. “I hope Harper didn’t hear that last remark.”

“I’d watch my tongue, if I were you,” said Landon. “Just remember, we have a code at Special Branch.”

Lord Ivan grinned. “I know, we take no prisoners, but it’s only a joke, isn’t it?”

“Let’s hope you never find out. Now, where were we? Oh, yes. When we get to Sackville’s house, you start with the servants and I’ll tackle Sackville.”

T
here are times when events take on the momentum of a torrential river, and there’s no swimming against the current
.

This was Gwyn’s thought as she looked around her opulent chamber and surveyed all the boxes that Jason had, like a thief in the night, stolen from her little house in Sutton Row. There was no need to unpack them, Jason told her, because they were leaving for Haddo in the morning, and the boxes containing her clothes and personal effects were going with them. All else would be stored here until it was safe to return.

He seemed to think she was in mortal danger. Not only had he returned her pistol, but he’d also made sure that she was never alone. At this very moment, he was next door in his dressing room packing his own things for the drive down to Haddo.

It seemed unreal; it seemed as though she’d stepped into someone else’s life. This couldn’t be happening to her. Her life was so ordinary and uneventful.

Jason had taken care of everything, he said, so she need not trouble her mind about her pupils, her neighbors, magistrates, or even poor Mrs. Jamieson
who had been deprived of Maddie’s services. All she had to do was concentrate on getting well. She’d slept for much of the time, and as she’d slept, all the decisions had been made for her. Maybe it was just as well. She really didn’t understand what was going on.

She looked at all the boxes on the floor and wondered what on earth Jason had found to pack in them. She didn’t have that many clothes, and now Jason would know it. It was so humiliating.

“That’s the third time I’ve heard you sigh.”

She looked up to see him watching her. It was absurd, but sudden tears filled her eyes. She’d caught the warmth and concern in his voice, and the worried expression on his face. She knew she was at a low ebb, but it was such a relief to have him on her side, helping her fight her battles again.

Her shoulders lifted. “I don’t seem to have the energy to do anything. I can’t even think straight.”

“May I join you?”

“Please do.”

He took the chair opposite hers, on the other side of the fireplace. “You’re too hard on yourself,” he said. “You’ve made remarkable progress.”

It was true, thought Jason. Only three days had passed since that cold-blooded attack on her. She should still be in her bed, yet she was up and dressed. She’d been pushing herself hard. She seemed to think that the world would end if she overslept for a few hours.

Gwyn’s world, he’d discovered, was her son. He had no quarrel with that. He didn’t want to take away from Gwyn’s world. He wanted to enlarge it.

But this was not the time to muddy the waters with unfinished business. It was not a lover Gwyn needed right now, but a friend.

He relaxed against the back of his chair. “What can’t you think straight about?”

“Everything. Nothing.” She shook her head. “Jason, what am I going to do with a pony when I’m settled in my own home again?”

The pony was a present from Jason to Mark, and she’d heard the whole story only that morning, when Mark burst into her room and roused her from sleep. It’s name was Bouncer, and Mark’s excitement could not be contained. She’d tried to curb Mark’s enthusiasm but, of course, it was too late. The deed was done. The others couldn’t understand her reluctance to accept the pony, and she couldn’t explain it to them. So, she’d taken the road of least resistance.

Jason said, “Isn’t it premature to be thinking of returning to your own home?”

“I wasn’t thinking of Sutton Row. I could find another house in another part of London, where no one knows me.”

His voice lost some of its warmth. “You’re not going to live alone until we find out what’s going on. I thought you understood that. As for the pony, it’s my present to Mark. I’ll see to its stabling. Does that set your mind at rest?”

Her shoulders lifted in another tiny shrug. Shrugs and sighs—that’s all she seemed capable of. She was beginning to loathe herself.

“It just seems so hopeless,” she said.

“It’s far from hopeless.” He linked his fingers and leaned toward her with arms braced on his thighs. “As I told you, we’re not working alone. I have a friend in Whitehall. He has agreed to help us. He says he knows you, Gwyn. His name is Richard Maitland.”

She thought for a moment and shook her head. “The name means nothing to me.”

“He met you in Portugal. He was a lieutenant then, wounded in action, and you nursed him back to health.”

“Oh.” Her brow wrinkled as she tried to place the
name. “There were so many young soldiers wounded in action. I’m sorry I don’t remember him.”

For some obscure reason, her answer pleased Jason. He smiled.

She frowned. “Well? What did he say?”

He looked straight into her eyes. “He says you’re lucky to be alive.”

That got her attention, and he went on to tell her as much of his conversation with Richard as was relevant to the case. For the most part, she heard him out in silence, occasionally asking questions. As he spoke, one thing became clear to her. Like Jason, Richard Maitland was convinced that she was the target of some sort of conspiracy.

When he stopped speaking, she put a hand to her throat and absently massaged it. “If you’re trying to frighten me,” she said, striving for lightness but sounding shaken, “you’ve succeeded.”

Though he smiled, he answered her seriously. “We’re wise to be frightened, Gwyn. Frightened people take precautions and that’s exactly what we’re going to do. That’s why you and Mark are going down to Haddo.”

When she made no protest, he went on, “It would help if we knew what portrait Harry was after. Think about it, Gwyn. Did something come into your possession recently, something you haven’t opened? Did someone write you a letter mentioning a portrait? Did you buy something or receive a present?”

“No!”

“There must be something.”

“But there isn’t anything. You packed my things. Did you find anything?”

He looked at her boxes. “I wouldn’t know because I don’t know what I’m looking for. However, it seems odd …”

When he stopped in mid-sentence, and continued
to stare at her boxes, she lost patience. “Tell me! What seems odd?”

His eyes lifted to meet hers, careful eyes, concealing his thoughts, and her heart began to beat in slow, rhythmic strokes. “I had expected,” he said, “to find mementoes of your husband. Richard and I went through your house as thoroughly as any housebreaker, and there was nothing: no portrait, no saber, no personal effects of any kind.”

“There is no mystery in that. I left them with my brother-in-law and his wife. It seemed easier than … It just seemed easier, that’s all.” She wanted to stop there, but he was waiting for her to elaborate, and any show of reluctance on her part would only make him suspicious.

She looked down at her clasped hands, gazing at the few freckles on them as though they were of compelling interest. “I’ve never told anyone about Nigel’s family. It didn’t seem … charitable to complain about them when they gave us a home after Nigel was wounded.” She looked up at him. “We didn’t get along, and soon after Nigel died, I packed my bags and started a new life in London.” She smiled faintly. “We’re not exactly on the best of terms. Nigel’s brother has all of Nigel’s personal effects. But one day, they’ll come to Mark. And that’s all I want to say on the subject.”

“I see.”

She heard a child’s laughter. Mark’s, she thought, and her eyes strayed to the open window. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and the air was sweet with the fresh scent of newly mown grass and narcissi. She didn’t know why she shivered.

She tired easily, but after lunch made the effort of going with the others to the paddock at the back of
the house to watch Mark perform on his pony. She saw, then, that Jason was in deadly earnest about keeping them safe. His groom and coachmen were never far away, and they were armed.

But it wasn’t the coachmen that held her attention; it was Mark. Though she herself had taken a tumble or two when she’d first learned to ride, it was a different thing watching her son take a tumble.

Her heart leaped to her mouth, then subsided when Mark picked himself up. Jason, Brandon, and Judith were unaffected. All they did was call out commands. Mark’s brow knit in concentration as he listened to them. When the groom helped Mark mount up, they all applauded, and Mark beamed. His mother returned his smile, but her smile was strained. Her hands curled around the fence post as the groom sent the pony into a trot.