The Devlin Diary (33 page)

“Dr. Strathern, the mark on Sir Henry’s body wasn’t a cross. It’s a
T
. And the one on my father’s body was a
P
. It’s a word, or the beginning of one. P-O-T-I.” The answer seems obvious now. “
Potio.
It’s Latin for poison.”

Edward nods, agreeing with her deduction, then cocks his head, perplexed. “But if the killer is trying to obscure the truth, why would he reveal the method of the princess’s murder?”

“Someone who could commit these heinous acts cannot be of sound mind,” Hannah points out. “And, I’m beginning to believe, is not a man.”

“Not a man?” Edward scoffs.

“Madame Severin,” Hannah says. “When I first began treating Louise de Keroualle, she was strangely fearful of the mademoiselle being poisoned.”

“She had good reason to be fearful. She’d already seen one mistress die.”

“But she tasted my medicines herself, as if she were familiar with poisons.” Hannah pauses as she recalls a darker memory. “I thought it was the laudanum that made me faint at the dance, but I have not experienced anything like that before or since. I remember that the wine tasted strangely bitter—”

“You think she poisoned your wine?” Edward asks.

“I don’t know for certain, but she had ample opportunity.” Hannah shakes her head. “I knew from the moment I met her that she was not to be trusted, that there was something menacing about her. And you yourself said that a woman was seen at Sir Granville’s last night.”

“An accomplice, perhaps, but not the killer. If you had seen the violence done to my uncle’s body, you would not believe that it was carried out by a woman.”

“You’re going against your own precepts of philosophy,” Hannah reminds him. “A woman called on Sir Granville, and then he was found dead. I think we should at least entertain the notion that a woman could be the murderer. I would not put anything past Madame Severin.”

“But how can we possibly prove it?” Edward asks.

“I can think of only one course. The only person who may have the answers we seek is Lord Arlington.”

“But you yourself said it would be dangerous to confront him.”

“But if we do not, we may never know the truth.”

“I agree with Hannah,” Dr. Sydenham says. “You must speak to him. And it occurs to me that there is yet another reason for proceeding. There are five letters in
potio,
five fingers on one hand. I think this killer means to strike once more.”

“But to accuse Lord Arlington of conspiring to conceal the murder of the king’s sister? We might never see the light of day again,” Edward says.

“I think there may be a way to approach him,” Dr. Sydenham says, eyeing Dr. Briscoe’s report. “Keep in mind, however, that you’ll still be putting yourselves at great risk.”

“S
IR
G
RANVILLE’S BEEN
murdered?” Arlington’s stony gaze shifts from Edward to Hannah and back again.

“Last night,” Edward grimly informs him. “In his bed.”

They convene in the secretary of state’s baronial chambers. It’s the epitome of luxurious officialdom, with gleaming mahogany walls and French carpets as thick as sheep’s wool yet silken to the touch. Except for the light cast by the two candles the clerk brought in, the room is draped in shadow. The smoldering remnants of a fire glow red in the huge hearth.

Hannah watches the minister closely for his reaction. Even artful dissemblers such as Arlington cannot disguise their every emotion. Beneath his impassive veneer she detects suspicion, doubt, even fear. She’s certain that he knew nothing of Sir Granville’s demise before now, but she suspects that the news does not come as a complete shock to him.

“My father, Mr. Osborne, Sir Henry, and now Sir Granville,” Hannah says. “What do you imagine all these men had in common, Lord Arlington?”

“I’m sure I do not know,” he replies indifferently. He straightens
the velvet collar of his embroidered dressing gown; with the palm of his hand he rights his wig, haphazardly donned as he entered the room. “I’m saddened to hear about your uncle, Dr. Strathern, but neither of you has any business bothering me at this hour of the night. It’s only out of my respect for the deceased that I have been prevailed upon to leave the sanctity of my privy quarters and meet with you. And now it’s time to say good night.” He takes a step toward the door to his private rooms only to find Edward blocking his progress. To procure entrée to the minister, Dr. Strathern has already threatened Arlington’s clerk with bodily harm, and he has no qualms about using a similar sort of intimidation on the secretary of state, foolhardy though it may be.

“All of those men were present at the Palace of Saint-Cloud the night that Princess Henriette-Anne died,” Edward says. “As you were yourself.”

“And how would you know that?” The minister’s lips press together as if he’s just tasted something sour.

“I was there, too.”

Arlington looks back and forth between them once more, as if trying to discern precisely what they know or, perhaps, what is wise to tell them. “One word”—his head jerks toward the door to the clerk’s office—“and you’ll both be taken from here and thrown in the Tower.”

“We’re aware of that, sir,” Edward says. “Why not allow us a few minutes of your time first?”

Arlington’s head tilts skeptically. “What good will it do me?”

“It might very well save your life.”

The minister remains wary, as if he doesn’t really care to know what they have to tell him but decides he must listen. Whether his choice is based upon self-interest or political expedience Hannah can’t determine. “All right, then,” he says crossly. With his thumbnail he scratches a notch into one of the candles a half inch below the flame. “You have until the candle burns down to there.”

Hannah glances at Edward, who nods for her to take the lead. “The Princess Henriette-Anne was poisoned,” she begins, “and someone is killing those who know the secret of how she died.”

“You think that the king’s sister was murdered?” Arlington’s voice
is inflected with just the right amount of haughty disbelief. If Hannah didn’t know that the minister knew otherwise, she might be shamed by his disdain. But she knows the truth, and she will not let him deny it.

“We’ve seen my father’s report on the princess’s postmortem.”

“That’s not possible—I destroyed it myself.”

“He made a copy before presenting it to you. Dr. Strathern and I have both seen it. There’s no mistaking his hand, or what it implies.”

“Where is this report?”

“In a safe place.”

“And what did you imagine you would do with it?”

“All we ask, Lord Arlington, is that you tell us what happened so that we may discover the true identity of this fiend and bring him to justice,” Edward says.

“And if I choose not to tell you anything?”

“If you do not help us, we’ll take my father’s report to the king,” Hannah adds. It was Dr. Sydenham’s idea to use the report as leverage.

Arlington crosses his arms over his chest and huffs with annoyance. “You think you’ve got me over a barrel, don’t you?”

From the sarcasm in his voice and the condescending smirk on his face, Hannah knows that their threat hasn’t had the effect they’d hoped for. Edward notices it too and appears equally uneasy. Perhaps Arlington doesn’t fully understand the peril he’s facing. “You concealed the murder of the king’s sister,” Hannah says. “Surely that’s treason.”

“It would be, if you were correct in your assumption that I concealed it from him.”

“The king knows?”

Arlington doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to—his rejoinder is evident in his eyes.

“Why would the king not speak out against his own sister’s murder?” Hannah asks.

“It is not yours to question why the king acts as he does. I suggest you abandon your inquiry. No good will come of it.”

“But this killer may strike again,” Edward cautions. “Even you could be in danger, Lord Arlington—as is anyone who knows the truth of the manner in which the princess died.” Arlington still looks skeptical,
but Edward’s exhortations appear to have struck a chord. He presses further. “Do you have any notion of who may be responsible for these terrible crimes?”

Arlington sighs heavily. “No,” he replies, his voice threaded with worry and fatigue. Hannah suspects that for the first time tonight the minister is responding with candor. “So far our own investigations have come to naught.”

“Your own investigations?” Hannah says. “You too have been seeking the killer?”

“Do you imagine the king cares not when his loyal subjects are mercilessly slaughtered? Of course we have been trying to uncover the identity of this knave.” He looks at them sharply. “Don’t tell me—you already have someone particular in mind.”

“Yes, we do,” Hannah says carefully. “We believe that Madame Severin—”

“Madame Severin!” Arlington scoffs. “You can’t possibly imagine—”

“Lord Arlington, please bear with me. Madame Severin was close to the princess, perhaps closer than anyone else. I am certain she has knowledge of poisons, and therefore had not only the opportunity but the means. She had a sad history in France, of which you are probably aware. Perhaps she desired to quit the princess’s household for England but the princess would not give her leave.” Hannah thinks back to the dance and Madame Severin’s strange behavior. “I fully believe she is capable of carrying out these attacks.”

“Do you?” he asks dryly.

Hannah looks to Edward for confirmation and nods. “Last night, a woman called at Sir Granville’s—a woman dressed in black.”

“And this is what you base your conjectures on?”

“In part, yes.” How can she explain that she intuitively knows that Madame Severin is guilty of something?

He arches a brow. “It’s an imaginative tale.”

“There is more than my imagination at work here.”

“I happen to know for a fact that she did not murder Sir Granville.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Arlington glances down and shakes his head, sighing. When he looks back at them, there’s a spark of anger in his eyes. “Because she was here,” he says without breaking his gaze. “With me. All night.” He waits for them to comprehend the full meaning of his words.

A guarded glance at Edward tells Hannah that he is as astonished as she. Twice now the minister has surprised them.

“Stay here,” Arlington commands. He crosses the room and disappears through the door to his privy chambers.

“What’s going to happen now?” Edward asks.

“I have no idea,” Hannah replies. “But I suspect he will never forgive us for forcing his hand like this.”

“Might he be lying about Madame Severin?”

“I don’t think so. Indeed, the first night I came to Whitehall I suspected something between them, but they conceal their alliance well with their bickering.”

They don’t have to wait long for confirmation. Arlington returns with Madame Severin on his arm. From across the room Hannah can barely distinguish her form, cloaked as it is in black, a shadow among shadows, one that’s alive with the whispering rustle of silk skirts. Steadily the indistinct pale oval of her face grows closer, larger, sharper. Both the minister and his mistress look discomfited, as if they have just had a row; and in Madame Severin’s expression Hannah detects a petulant anger. But then it’s no surprise that the mistress of the bedchamber is not pleased to see her.

“Madame Severin is not to blame for your father’s death, Mrs. Devlin, or that of your uncle, Dr. Strathern. Quite the contrary—we are worried that whoever killed them may set his sights on her too.” He turns to his mistress. “Madame?”

“I still say that telling them this is unnecessary,” she says vehemently.

“And I say it is,” he replies calmly but with no less conviction. His subsequent glance says it all—he is the king’s counselor, not she.

“Do you know the truth of what happened that night?” Edward asks.

Madame Severin pensively looks away; clearly the recollection is
painful for her. Candlelight softly flickers on the precise and elegant planes of her face. The candle has burned well past the mark that Arlington made upon it.

“First,” Madame Severin begins, “you must know that Henriette-Anne was very unhappy in her marriage. The duc never loved her, as he could never love any woman. He flaunted his male favorites in front of her, in front of the entire court. Not only he but they treated her scandalously. The duc was jealous of the princess’s intimacy with his brother King Louis and sought to keep her his servant and slave. He had relations with her only to produce heirs; what should have been an act of love was instead an act of violence he used to control her. Before she was to go to Dover to be reunited with her brother, your king, the duc forced himself on her with the sole purpose of making her with child so that she would not be allowed to travel.

“She had only just realized her condition when King Louis granted her leave to visit the brother she had not seen in ten years. I was her sole confidante, and I helped her to conceal it. She felt unwell during the entire trip. King Charles asked Dr. Briscoe to attend to her, but the princess was careful to hide her pregnancy even from him. When we returned home, she vowed never to have another of the duc’s children. She asked me to procure for her those remedies that would bring on the terms.”

Madame Severin falls silent. She dabs at her eyes with a handkerchief; within its gossamer silk folds a tiny glint of silver sparkles as the candlelight catches a jeweled band on her finger. In spite of her efforts, two shining, crystalline tears slowly roll down her cheeks. Hannah finds herself captivated by them, and moved by a sympathy for Madame Severin that she would never have imagined she could feel.

“You gave this medicine to her?” Hannah asks.

“No. I did as she asked, but I hid it from her. I was afraid of what might happen to us if the duc or the king found out. We argued fiercely, and I thought that I had convinced her to carry the child despite her feelings for her husband. But she discovered where I hid the medicine and unwittingly took a deadly dose. Only a few hours later she was in
unbearable agony, and the doctors could do nothing to save her.” She looks at Edward. “As you well know.”

So the Princess Henriette-Anne had taken her own life. Self-murder is a mortal sin, and the souls of those who commit it are believed to burn in Hell for eternity. The stigma of it would forever darken her name.

“Now you know why the king should like the truth of his sister’s death kept secret,” Arlington says. “He will not allow her memory to be tarnished by scandal. You have been told this in the strictest confidence. If you reveal what you have learnt to another living soul you will end up in the Tower, make no mistake.”

“But Madame Severin’s account begs a question, Lord Arlington,” Edward says. “If my uncle and the others were not killed to conceal the murder of the princess, then why, in fact, were they killed?”

“I have no idea. But even if I knew, Dr. Strathern, I would not be obliged to tell you.”

“But we are determined to bring this man to justice,” Edward says.

“You would do well to remember that there’s only one justice in this country, and that’s the king’s justice.”

“You could at least tell us who else is privy to this secret,” Hannah says. “Perhaps they will have the knowledge we seek.”

Arlington glances at Madame Severin as if seeking her opinion, or perhaps approval. Her tears have dried, and her face is once again set in an attitude of self-regarding hauteur. The minister appears to mull over Hannah’s request and come to a decision. “There’s only one other I am certain of,” he tells them. “Ralph Montagu.”

“Montagu!” Edward nearly spits out the name. “Of course, he was in Paris at that time. And where might we find him?”

“I thought that perhaps Mrs. Devlin would know,” Arlington replies in an insinuating tone, one eyebrow raised.

“How dare you.” Edward lunges at the minister.

Hannah grabs his arm. “Edward, please.” She addresses Arlington. “I have not seen Mr. Montagu since the night of the king’s dance. Do you not know where he is?”

“I have not seen or heard from him since his return from Paris last
week. I assume he’s holed up with some doxy in the rooms he keeps near Newgate Market. Or perhaps he’s been dispatched like the others.” He eyes them suspiciously.

“You can’t imagine that we have anything to do with it,” Edward says.

“I have not made up my mind about anything, Dr. Strathern. But I do expect that both of you will stop meddling in this matter. The king has asked the Duke of York to oversee an inquiry into the murders.” Arlington sighs and scowls. “Which I’m sure he will do, in those rare moments when he is not occupied with his new mistress, Jane Constable.”

“Jane Constable?” Hannah repeats, unable to conceal her surprise. She looks at Madame Severin, whose composed expression changes not a whit. “Since when—”