Song for Sophia (30 page)

Sophia blinked at being called
Miss Duncombe
when she had been Lady Devon for months now. She could see Aunt Louisa was about to elaborate and nearly stopped her, loath to hear what dreadful deeds hung over Wilhelm’s head.

“You might as well know it all.” She sighed and shook her head as she settled back in the chair. “When Wilhelm inherited the title, he retired from the army with the rank of lieutenant-general. A promotion instigated by his friend Lord Courtenay and the Secretary of State for War to protect Wilhelm from pending court charges. The rumors still are … fanciful, but you are one among the very few souls who know that Wilhelm acted as a spy and assassin in the Russian war.”

Aunt Louisa leaned in, speared Sophia with a look of challenge, and half-whispered, “The Russian War was a disaster. Many British officers and politicians defected or took bribes from the Russians and Turks. Secrets were sold and strategy divulged. Battles were lost in Crimea, Russia, Turkey, across the Balkans for the Navy — sabotage and disaster everywhere. Hundreds, even thousands of English lives, understand?” Her voice wavered, but her stern expression returned as she swallowed.

“Something had to be done, and only a man of rank could have infiltrated the high-society conspiracy. Lord Courtenay, an officer in the covert operation, called Wilhelm from the battlefield and recruited him for his ability to memorize texts — a courier who carried no incriminating documents. To the eyes of the world, Wilhelm cavorted with undesirable characters; spent long hours in their houses, at their disgusting parties, inside gentlemen’s clubs of the sort we cannot speak of. Foul debauchery, by all appearances, to gain the confidence of traitorous men.”

Sophia remembered the rumors about Wilhelm’s supposed homosexuality, that he favored outrageous “unnatural proclivities.” Such as what? Animals? Blood? The occult and pagan? Well-bred ladies were not supposed to know of such things, but Sophia had traveled most of the civilized world, and little of it remained a mystery to her.

Wilhelm’s daring bedroom
proclivities
included a touch of rough play and a taste for mild pain, such as a welt from her fingernails dragging down his back. Normal for a healthy, enthusiastic male. However, he had the appearance of a man capable of all kinds of lechery; even she was often put off by his …
darkness
. The right word for a fearsome and secretive man?

Aunt Louisa straightened in her chair and shook a finger at Sophia. “I do not mind saying he did what he had to do. For England. For her sons, who would have otherwise suffered at the hands of their bumbling superiors. Britain won that war, mind you, and no thanks to — ” She paused, supposedly noticing she had been about to rant on politics, as Sophia hoped she would, but Aunt Louisa calmed instead. Sophia didn’t dare interrupt.

“It was a chaotic time. Betrayals, double and triple upon layers. A treacherous game of secrets and power, and Wilhelm became caught in the middle. He believes a number of his orders may have issued from traitors who infiltrated the war office in London. He cannot assure himself every life he took was guilty.”

She dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief and cleared her throat. “No one likes to contemplate the business of an assassin, none considers the cost on the soul who must carry out black deeds. I came to Rougemont when he inherited. I saw how the war had changed him. I heard him screaming at night, destroying the furniture in fits of rage. He was not himself. At first I believed him insane and feared for his fate. He talked endlessly of
ghosts
, said they haunted him. I heard him arguing and shouting at them.”

Aunt Louisa’s voice held steady as she dabbed away tears. “I came to understand he sees the faces of the slain. You know he remembers everything, every detail, because of his gift.
Hundreds
, he said. Can you imagine reliving the deaths of each? You would go out of your mind too. Anyone with less strength would have succumbed.”

Sophia liked Aunt Louisa’s term,
gift
. Much better than
illness
. Because Wilhelm was neither ill nor insane. He simply had the mind of a genius, nearly beyond the mortal world.

“There were complaints from ambassadors, widows and fathers. By their accounting, Wilhelm was wild, licentious, a dangerous scoundrel. The blackest of rumors besmirched his name. There was an effort to charge him on counts of murder, insanity, and — lord help me — sodomy.”

Sophia racked her brain, trying to remember anything of the scandal, but she would have been abroad from 1853 to 1856, between Greece and India where news of Crimea came from England’s opponents. Sophia had been seventeen with her head full of books and music when the war started, too young to pay much heed. Wilhelm would have been only a few years older at the time, early in his twenties. Her heart pinched, imagining him a brilliant scholarly youth full of promise, just beginning to discover the world. How tragic it must have been to compare the shadow-eyed half-demon he had become. Aunt Louisa was right — he had to be protected now at all costs.

“A collaboration of accusers gathered much fervor in the papers, and to this day I have no idea how it was put down so swiftly. I suspect Lord Courtenay played a part, but neither he nor Wilhelm would breathe a word about it. Martin seems to know, but he would not say either, the impertinent lout. I only caught whisperings of a name I had heard a few times before, when Wilhelm corresponded with his superiors in London:
The Brotherhood of the Falcon
. Whatever the deuce that is.”

Sophia nearly coughed, shocked at hearing Aunt Louisa curse. “So, if Chauncey were to resurrect the old scandal, he could complicate matters.”

Aunt Louisa huffed. “To put it mildly. You know as well as I that Wilhelm is the brightest among us, but it would not be difficult to argue his insanity. They could strip his title and lock him away.”

She rapped her fan on the arm of the chair, contemplating. “He is Archduke Franz Karl of Austria’s son, and everybody my age knows it. Richard Montegue claimed him, a harmless boon for a second son. He favors the look of his Cavendish mother. So when Roderick died, not much fuss was made over Wilhelm inheriting, since royal bastards may hold rank. But will that prevail in court? I think not. Not against a determined, persuasive opponent.”

Sophia groaned. “My father has the devil’s own gilded tongue. And no scruples to speak of.”

“I know that. Wilhelm will fight until he is bankrupt or dead.”

“And I know that,” Sophia answered as smoothly as Aunt Louisa had, when in truth she wanted to shout,
How in hell do you think I could take it for granted?
“Well, what should I do? When Chauncey sends instructions I must go without alerting Wilhelm.” Good, she managed the words without choking.

Aunt Louisa snapped her fingers. “Nothing frightens away a man faster than an ill mother. Tell him you received news that Lady Chauncey is stricken with … . oh, something not contagious or he will forbid you to leave. Say I offered to escort you, then go on about how demanding his duties at Rougemont are. That should work on him.”

Sophia nodded, thinking it through. Wilhelm would be so pleased at the appearance of Aunt Louisa’s benevolence toward his wife, he would probably concede on the hope of their cultivating a motherly friendship.

“But can you convince him? One slight hint of falsehood, and he will know. Uncanny, his way.”

“I learned deception from the best. He will believe me.” To prove her point, Sophia discussed the rest of her plans without betraying a flicker of emotion.

If she succeeded, she would return to Rougemont in a few weeks, reporting that Lady Chauncey had finally recovered while Wilhelm would wonder who had put Sophia’s father in the ground.

Once she shut the door to her dressing room, Sophia collapsed and wept, allowing a few minutes to indulge her fear and sorrow before she wiped her face and went on as though nothing at all bothered her. She was quite good at that.

Chapter 23

In Which Sophia Is Kidnapped

“Martin, fetch Philip. Tell him to meet me at the stables. And signal O’Grady’s men — the east company. Then gather the women together and guard them.” At Martin’s puzzled expression, Wilhelm prompted impatiently, “Make something up! Lock them in the cellar if you must.”

Wilhelm turned to watch out the window again, studying the chaotic flock of birds fleeing from the east side of the property where the gate should be. Such an assortment of fowl did not travel together, and their pattern in the sky resembled a handful of tossed seeds rather than a flight pattern. It meant every bird perched in the cluster of trees below had been startled.

Ridiculous, how obvious LeRoy’s invasion. Wilhelm had learned the hard way to keep a small private army camped around the perimeter, and today the precaution would pay off.

When he felt certain he knew which path the intruders took, Wilhelm turned on his heel and jogged for the stables. Thor would finally quench his thirst for skirmish. The offspring of the black Arabian Wilhelm had ridden through the Crimean battlefields, Thor was born to charge and trample. He might yet earn his heart’s desire.

The groomsmen leapt to action at Wilhelm’s command, helping him fasten the buckles while he calmed the stallion. A bloodthirsty smile quirked Wilhelm’s mouth. Chauncey had done precisely what he expected. With every avenue of funding reputable and otherwise cut off, Chauncey resorted to attempting a blatant kidnapping, on Wilhelm’s highly defensible land —
the scaffold
. Wilhelm was a painful 450,000 quid lighter, but he now owned even Lord Chauncey’s underwear, as Sophia jested —
the noose
. All he had to do now was call in the debt —
the trapdoor
— and Chauncey was hung.

Good, Philip had come quickly. “Throw on a saddle and ride out with me — No! Not Sadie.” Wilhelm paused to point at a chestnut Arabian gelding, and Philip nodded. “Did you stow a pistol?”

“Two,” Philip called back, already cinching the harness.

“LeRoy’s mob came over the east gate. O’Grady will cut off their retreat. We flank the north and south sides and close in. Take the others prisoner, but if you get a clear shot at LeRoy, take it.”

They rode over the field then split to form the opposing sides of a vise. After this battle, Chauncey would have no shield to hide behind. The old bastard must come out and greet the devil himself.

• • •

Sophia painted on a smile and resisted wringing her hands. The moment Martin asked her to placate the inspector waiting in the first floor drawing room, she had a sinking feeling in her stomach. Martin had behaved even more anxiously, as though he asked her to come despite his better judgment. That could only bode ill.

She strode through the doors wearing a pleasant expression. “I am sorry to have kept you waiting … .”

“Jenks. Robert Jenks. Of the London Metropolitan Police. Assistant commissioner — ” The grandfather clock interrupted, chiming ten o’clock. “Specialist Crimes Directorate.” He stood and brushed the front of his coat and sketched a jerky bow. “Lady Devon.”

He smelled like London; coal smoke, soggy mold, and the septic odor of the Thames permanently absorbed in his wool coat. Probably inked into his skin. A reminder that she did not miss the city. “You have come a long way.”

Anger flashed across his expression before he schooled it. “Longer, actually. A bloomin’ madcap — pardon me, your ladyship — from York to Hampshire, and finally here.”

Her heart jolted at his mention of Yorkshire, Lowdry’s county, and Hampshire, Chauncey’s seat where Eastleigh lay situated. Could be a coincidence.

She ordered tea service and invited Mr. Jenks to sit. That he didn’t decline tea and settled in the chair meant he intended to stay a while. She tried not to sigh.

“I am eager to hear what dire matter has wrested you from the
square mile
jurisdiction.”

Again, a flicker of hatred in his eyes. She observed his gestures closely, scrutinizing his behavior to identify what unsettled her so deeply. Something failed to add up.

“Yes, dire indeed. If not for the corruption of county magistrates, I would be sitting in my London office, minding my own
jurisdiction
.”

“Lord Devon serves as county magistrate.” If Mr. Jenks meant to include her husband in his accusation of corruption, he would find himself looking at the back door sooner than he could ask for his hat.

“I refer to the magistrates I consulted regarding a missing persons case. Each was uncooperative-like, something I found queer. Incidentally, Lady Devon, until recently I had another such case open for a Miss Duncombe, who mysteriously disappeared from Eastleigh, also in Hampshire.” The beady look of his eyes reminded her of a rat. He meant to say he knew her identity, but so what?

She gave him a bored, polite smile. “As you can see, inspector, I am not missing at all. In fact, I knew where I was all along.”

There!
Yes, Mr. Jenks hated her. Whatever for? Certainly they had never met.

“How may I assist you, Mr. Jenks? You mentioned a missing person.”

“Sir Bernard Vorlay, of Winchester, Hampshire.”

Bless her years of practicing bland expressions. “Hmm. Oh yes. He visited here, months ago. One of Lord Devon’s army acquaintances, I recall.”

“And where did Sir Vorlay go after his visit?”

“How would I know? I suggest asking his valet, or his staff at home.”

“But he was never seen or heard from again after his stay at Rougemont.”

She volunteered no reaction.

“Do you know why that is, my lady?”

She furrowed her brows, giving his question the absurd look it deserved. “Why, no. I haven’t the faintest idea. I was not acquainted with Sir Vorlay.”

“But what did you observe of him?”

Other than his tendency to be a bawdy, greedy, traitorous rapist?
“Not much. He was one of a dozen guests.”

Jenks leaned forward and tented his fingertips under his chin, as though he found the conversation exciting. “I have reports that there was some sort of altercation. Did you witness any trouble?”