Kasey Michaels - [Redgraves 02] (24 page)

“His rude awakening, ma’am?”

“Yes, and at the hands of a woman, just as in all the most cloying, overwrought tragedies. Leading him on a leash like a slavishly adoring puppy, but only to inflame her true target until he was consumed with jealousy and at last rescued her from the marriage mart. Your brother was crushed, and then embarrassingly incensed, I fear, very publicly declaring he was
finished
with all women, as they were nothing more than—I believe you can employ your imagination to picture the colorful list he spouted at White’s. It was, at the least, extensive. You didn’t know?”

The dowager countess propped herself more upright, so that she could reach her wineglass. “Oh, dear. I’m always speaking out of turn, aren’t I? But that was all so long ago, and easily forgotten when the next
scandale
wiped it from the
ton’s
minds, simple fools that they are. Shall we return to the matter at hand? My granddaughter. Where is she, by the way? Not that she would ever be the sort to tag along behind any man all the day long. No simpering, clinging miss, not my Kate.”

Simon’s earlier thoughts came slamming back to him.
A hater of women.
His brother? “She’s gone out riding,” he said absently. “About my brother—”

“Oh, you are the determined one, aren’t you? I assure you, I know no more than that, and I refuse to repeat idle gossip, as I much prefer choosing to begin it. The subject is closed. I imagine you and Kate will be butting heads on a regular basis. Good for you, and good for her. A marriage of equals is much to be preferred, most especially where Kate is involved, or else the poor husband would find himself dismayed within a fortnight, wondering where on earth his balls had gone scurrying off to without so much as a farewell.”

Simon nearly sprayed a mouthful of wine all over his waistcoat, except that a part of him didn’t really believe what he’d just heard; that sweet voice, that sweeter smile, those totally unacceptable words. “I...I beg your pardon?”

Trixie gave a languid wave of her hand. “Oh, don’t start doing that, or you’ll never have time for anything else. Kate has undoubtedly informed you by now. I’m a perfect disgrace, although I consider my free speech a considerable portion of my unique, not yet faded charms. Lord knows everyone listens when I speak, for fear they’ll miss a choice nugget they can whisper behind their hands at someone’s dinner table the following evening.”

Simon smiled. “She did indicate you rather enjoyed yourself.”

“As I enjoy society’s foibles so much, it seems only fair to give them an occasional bit of scandal or two as a return for my pleasure. Out riding, you said. And yet you’re here. Were you naughty?”

“Do you consider it another part of your charm, this ability of yours to make someone’s head spin? I can barely keep up.”

“Yes, you can,” Trixie said, and suddenly those wide, blue eyes weren’t quite so innocent. “I know all about you, my lord Singleton. I have, over the years, cultivated and maintained some quite valuable resources, although I won’t put you to the blush by disclosing my methods. My eldest grandson believes me beyond redemption, not that he turned his back on recently asking my help, since learning about the Society. Imagine my shock, dearest boy, to hear those words again after all these years.
The Society.
Now picture me figuratively on my knees before you, begging your help. For Kate, if not for me.”

Simon put down his wineglass. Obviously he needed to listen to every word this woman said, measure every inflection. “I’m flattered, my lady. Go on.”

“I have every intention of doing so. You wouldn’t be here if I didn’t approve, or within a thousand leagues of anything to do with my family, most especially my granddaughter. Your brother was Bird, wasn’t he? No, no, don’t bother to agree or disagree. I saw the name in Turner Collier’s journal when it was brought to me, and knew it couldn’t be anyone but Holbrook, poor lovesick bastard. Not that I told anyone, dear me, no. He had to have been convinced they would come for him—the reason doesn’t concern me—and chose to rob them of their fun. Good choice. Look at Collier and his whore wife. They didn’t get too far, did they, and their end was less than pleasant.”

She shrugged her elegant shoulders. “Cleopatra chose the asp, chose her own end. When the unthinkable becomes the inevitable, one should be allowed to select one’s own poison. Your brother was very brave, having seen the inevitable, just as he had been selfishly greedy to succumb to the base allure of the Society. And yet, if we could see our fate before we act, imagine how dull the world would be.”

The dowager countess took another sip of wine. Simon was surprised to see how steady her hand was, how cool and unruffled she appeared. They could as easily have been discussing the weather.

“You’re looking less shocked now. Good. Again, I’m certain my dear grandchildren have told you all about me. All they believe they know about me, all I choose to let them know. You want my granddaughter, and I want you to have her. But as it’s said, one hand washes the other. I did something for you, and now you’re going to do something for me. The Society taught me that, at least.”

“So you say, ma’am,” Simon bit out, feeling suddenly angry.

“Oh, so rigid, so formal.
Ma’am.
Since we’re to be family, I’ll call you Simon, and you, of course, will please me by falling into the family habit of addressing me, of thinking of me, as the delightfully
outré
Trixie, and not the woman you see before you now. That’s how it must be. I’m nobody’s victim, Simon, and haven’t been in a very long time.”

“Ma’am... Trixie? Are you about to blackmail me? Kate, for some favor I perform for you?”

“Ah, wonderful. I knew you were quick. Spencer quite dotes on you.”

She’s spoken to Perceval? The prime minister was one of her carefully cultivated sources? The woman was correct; he didn’t want to think about that.

“Yes, I’ve spoken with Spencer, among others. But do pay attention, for now I’m speaking with you. The journals, Simon. You were sent to find them, and dearest Valentine was conveniently called away so that you could, as Kate would have been similarly summoned, if she had taken an instant dislike to you. Yes, all my doing, all my spies, all my schemes. I’m a clever woman, Simon Ravenbill. And you are a clever boy. Have you located them? And the bible, as well?”

Simon hesitated. She had the power to have Val summoned to London, just to clear the path for him?

She put down her wineglass. This time her hand shook slightly. “Silence is as good as an admission. You have. I had put my faith in you, having no other choice, frankly. And now you will destroy them for me. Oh, don’t frown. Not all of them. I’ve already told my family I’d burned all I’d found after my husband’s death—a whopping-great crammer I was forced to invent in an instant. But they had no reason to doubt me, and I had no thought they’d still go searching, send Kate hunting for what they believed no longer existed, just to keep her occupied and out of trouble. I should have said I’d found Barry’s journals, as well, but some lies aren’t as brilliant as others. But no matter what, they cannot be found now, those of my husband, and those written by my son. Do we understand each other?”

Simon felt sure he did. “I think so, yes. If I refuse?”

“You won’t. You’ve a lovely line to your jacket, Simon, my compliments to your tailor. Although I believe it could only improve with the removal of the journals marring its fit. Yes, I noticed when you so politely bent over my hand, but needed your confirmation to be truly certain. You understand my anxiety, as you feel the same protectiveness for your brother. That’s only human nature, isn’t it—to protect those we love. To be entirely clear, we’re speaking of the journals from the beginning, up to the time of my son’s death. They all must be destroyed, and the bible along with them. Are we agreed?”

God. She’s terrified. And having seen what I’ve just seen, how can I possibly refuse her? But I’ll be damned if I’ll trust anyone here at the Manor, not even Dearborn.
“We’re agreed. However, I’ve failed to locate the bible.”

Trixie’s head snapped back, as if she’d been slapped. “No, no, that won’t do. The bible must be found and destroyed. If my grandsons can’t locate the Society through the journals alone, they’re not the men I raised. The bible goes back to the beginning. To the
beginning,
Simon. Do you know when it began? With my husband, the most vile, perverted man to ever walk this earth. Now do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am, I do. I truly do. I’ll need your Mr. Borders, whom I understand traveled here with you. I assume you trust him?”

“There comes a time, even in a life such as mine, when it becomes necessary to trust somebody. Richard is the first man in a long time I’ve allowed myself to believe in. You’re the second. Gentlemen in deed as well as word. Tell me, where are they? I searched for years without success.”

Simon told her, leaving out the facts about how the panel was accessed, and that Kate had been with him.

“The so-called dower house? A secret panel? But I searched for them there, in that hellish place my husband considered his private retreat. For years I searched with no success. I wonder how Barry discovered them, unless one of my husband’s nasty little coven of ghouls directed him to them. There are several I could point to, but luckily for them, they’re all dead.”

“It’s all there, ma’am—” He could not bring himself to address her as Trixie, not at the moment. “The journals. The, um...the altar and the rest.”

Trixie had picked up her wineglass once more, only to have it fall from her hand, to shatter on the floor. Suddenly she looked every day of her age, and probably more, her complexion white beneath her rouged cheeks. “No. No, that can’t be. Don’t lie to me, Simon. We have an agreement. I’ll have the truth or nothing.”

“But that is the truth, ma’am. Most sincerely begging your pardon, I’m certain you’ve been there, although you haven’t directly told me you have. How couldn’t you know?”

Trixie pressed her palm to her forehead, and when she spoke, she seemed to be speaking to herself. “That old bastard. That damnable old bastard! To the very end, he wouldn’t tell me. His
legacy.
His cursed delusions.
Royal?
Royal
bastard.
”

Simon leaned forward. “Descended from the royal Stuart,” he said softly, hoping she’d tell him more.

Trixie snorted; she actually snorted. “The royal Stuart and some roundheeled chambermaid. Charles could have poured all his royal blood into a thimble, and even that would have been polluted.” Her shoulders stiffened, and she turned those penetrating blue eyes on Simon. “How did you know?”

“The Royal tartan painted into the portraits, the missing coats of arms in the mausoleum.”

“I never did get around to replacing those crests, did I? How uncharacteristically sloppy of me. It took me
hours
to dig them out of the granite. Spencer didn’t exaggerate when he said you were up to the mark on all suits. Do my grandchildren know? Did you boast of your genius to them?”

“I’m afraid so, yes. Remember, ma’am, we may have to dig through many uncomfortable truths, but we’re doing it to uncover and destroy a treasonous plot.”

“Yes, yes, of course. All for the Crown and England, and all that rubbish. You’ll have to pardon me for selfishly considering my family first, but pardon me or not, that’s how it’s going to be, understood? Might I trouble you for another glass of wine? I need to think about this for a moment. All of it.”

Simon did as she asked, and then sat down once more, struggling to keep his silence, as he had a dozen or more questions in his mind, burning to be asked.

“I find the table has turned, Simon, and now I am at your mercy, and needs must trust your discretion. Are we again agreed?”

“We are. What we need, if we’re to be denied the bible, lies far from here, more probably somewhere in London. What happened here is the past, and has little bearing on what’s occurring now, other than to begin to understand how the Society thinks and acts. We’re convinced Turner Collier, in his role of Keeper during your son’s time with the Society, somehow kept the bible current even after your son’s death. It’s probably why he was murdered, but we don’t know how much, if anything, he told his murderers before he died. Which is why we’re here.”

Again, it was as if Trixie were speaking to herself.

“If Collier remained the Keeper, I doubt he told them the truth, or at least not all of it. If he knew he couldn’t keep the bible safe, he would have destroyed it. I can only hope he had the time.”

She seemed to snap herself back to her surroundings. “Collier was always a bugger for the rules. Born with a conscientious stick up his back, for all his devil-dabbling and fornication with anything that would lie still long enough, and I do mean anything, or anyone. Barry boasted about it to me when he explained he
owned
Collier, body and soul. After all, the Spartans believed it gave them strength, didn’t they? My son was a master of self-serving expediency. A waste of effort on my part, ridding him of his father’s influence, wasn’t it? Then again, I’m still here, aren’t I, even flourishing, in my way. There is that to consider. There always has to be a winner, and for that, there must be losers.”

Simon said nothing. The entire conversation thus far had been otherworldly, as if he was listening to a bizarre, rambling soliloquy at Covent Garden. Will Shakespeare didn’t have a patch on Beatrix Redgrave when it came to convoluted family tragedies.

“You really don’t shock easily, do you?” Trixie took a long drink of wine. “I suppose you’re the one person I can tell this, if only in exchange for the destruction of the bible. We were always brought in via the tunnel. Opium administered by force, blindfolds, closed coaches, and then being led through the tunnel to the hell beyond. Charles was always waiting for us, robed and masked, standing there like some demonic Colossus of Rhodes, ordering us to our places.”

He had to say something. The dowager countess appeared near collapse. “Ma’am, I don’t need to know all of this, truly.”