The Duke's Men [1] What the Duke Desires (24 page)

She remembered what he’d said about being lied to by his family.
This
was what he’d meant. “Perhaps they didn’t know that the kidnapper was your great-uncle.”

“They had to know.” Max served himself some food. “It took me years to piece together
the whole tale, but apparently my great-uncle Nigel, a dashing naval captain, was
rather wild. He and Father were only ten years apart, so they used to go drinking
together whenever Uncle Nigel was on leave, before Father married. Or so I was able
to make out from things Father said and
stories I heard from other family members. It rather surprised me. Father never seemed
the wild type.”

Max picked at a hot roll. “And apparently Father’s wild days didn’t last long. A couple
of years after marrying Mother, Father quarreled bitterly with Uncle Nigel one night.
I can only assume that Father refused to be his companion in sin anymore. Whatever
provoked it, my great-uncle went back to his ship and wouldn’t have anything more
to do with the family.”

He stared blankly forward as if looking into the past. “They heard nothing from him
for five years. Then the Peace of Amiens came, and the war between France and England
ceased. Uncle Nigel, who was in his early forties by then, requested and was granted
retirement. He came to Marsbury House wanting to make amends, but I gather it didn’t
go well. A few days later, he disappeared . . . and so did Peter.”

Lisette frowned as she poured tea for her and Max. “Then it was obvious who took him.
If your parents knew that, why couldn’t they find your brother?”

“He left no word with the navy or anyone else of where he was going. My parents assumed
he was in England somewhere. They sent investigators across the country, but my great-uncle
and brother had vanished. Father would have sent men to the Continent, too, but by
then the war had resumed, and no one could travel from England to France.”

“Why didn’t the authorities attempt to find him?” Vidocq asked.

“They, too, tried, but their hands were somewhat
tied. My parents inexplicably refused to let them speak about my great-uncle to the
press.” A faint hint of disgust entered his voice. “I think Father was mortified at
the idea of a member of his family doing such a thing. And I suspect he always hoped
that my great-uncle would just bring Peter home one day, when Uncle Nigel got tired
of caring for a child.”

“So your great-uncle raised Peter in Gheel?” Lisette asked as she served herself some
ragout.

“We don’t think so, but I never heard where he was before that.” Max ate a moment
in silence. “You have to understand—when the fire happened, no one knew of their connection
to us. Uncle Nigel told everyone Peter was his son and never mentioned his relations,
of course. He and Peter even went by their real names. But it was Belgium during the
war—who would associate Peter Cale with the missing heir to the English Duke of Lyons,
especially thirteen years after the kidnapping?”

He dragged in a heavy breath. “Fortunately, after the fire, someone had the foresight
to save the ring my uncle was wearing, or later they wouldn’t even have been able
to identify for certain who he’d been.”

Lisette shuddered to think that Max might have gone his whole life never knowing what
happened. “How did your family even learn about the fire?”

“The deaths were eventually reported in the Paris papers, which was noticed by the
investigator Father had hired shortly after Napoleon’s exile to Elba. The man wrote
to my father. While we were en route to
Paris, the investigator went to Gheel to see what he could learn. Of course, by the
time he got there, the bodies had long been buried. He questioned the residents and
brought the ring back for my father.”

Max gave a long sigh. “He did learn that my great-uncle had a lawyer in Paris, and
apparently my father spoke to the man, but the attorney had been entirely unaware
of my uncle’s perfidy. Or so I was told.”

“Did your investigator discover anything in Gheel about why your great-uncle kidnapped
your brother?” Vidocq asked.

“No. No one knew anything about that.”

“The rift between your father and your great-uncle must have provoked it,” Lisette
put in. “Clearly your great-uncle did it to get back at your father.”

“That’s one explanation,” Max said tightly. “Although kidnapping Father’s heir seems
rather extreme. And he couldn’t have done it for money either, since at the time he
was far down the line in terms of heirs. I was second in line, so why not kidnap me,
too? It’s never made any sense to me.”

Vidocq cut his roast beef into precise squares. “Your uncle might initially have acted
impulsively. The way you’ve described him points to a man who rarely thinks ahead.
But once the deed was done and his temper cooled, he found himself in a quandary.
If he returned your brother, he would face a possible trial as a kidnapper, perhaps
even execution. Perhaps he just decided to raise the boy himself to avoid the consequences
of returning him.”

“I suppose,” Max said. “Then there’s always my mother’s explanation—that he was simply
insane. The investigator did determine that Uncle Nigel was in Gheel for that reason.
And having read some about the place, I know that they allow their madmen to live
peaceably with a family who is hired to look after them. I suppose since Peter was
believed to be his son, he lived with them, too.”

“Madness
will
cause people to do strange things.” Vidocq steadied his gaze on Max. “As you well
know, Your Grace.”

Before Lisette could wonder at that, Max scowled at Vidocq. “I don’t see how any of
this helps us find Bonnaud.”

“You still haven’t said why you’re looking for him.” Vidocq drank some wine. “What
has Tristan got to do with your family troubles?”

“Tristan sent the duke a note implying that Peter might be alive,” Lisette explained.
“He said a friend of his had Peter’s handkerchief. And given that Tristan was recently
in that part of Belgium, it might even be true.”

Max eyed her askance. “Or
because
he was in that part of Belgium, he heard the full tale of my brother’s death and
decided to capitalize on it. When we determined that Peter was dead, we said no more
to the press than that he died in a fire on the Continent. That was the official story,
and that’s the story your brother knew years ago when I met him.”

Broadening his gaze to include Vidocq, he added, “You said he went to Belgium in pursuit
of a forger.
Well, perhaps he struck a deal with the man and convinced him to produce the copy
of the handkerchief in exchange for Bonnaud’s agreeing to let him go.”

Before Lisette could protest that outrageous supposition, Vidocq said, “Tristan would
never do that. He is a man of character.”

“For a horse thief,” Max snapped. When Vidocq shot her a surprised glance, Max added,
“Yes, I know all about his criminal past. Rathmoor sent someone to follow us, which
is why Lisette had to tell me about it—so we could take measures to evade the man.”

“Then you know why Tristan stole that horse,” Vidocq countered. “To save his family.
I do not blame him for that.”

“Obviously, since you hired him,” Max muttered.

“I hired him because he was clever and willing to learn. I saw potential. And I was
right about him, too. He’s very good at what he does.”

“What he does is act as an agent for the secret police, which requires some degree
of deception. Perhaps he thought it was time he used his talents for his own good.
And with a forger in his power—”

“You claimed that the handkerchief couldn’t be copied,” Lisette said hotly.

“Bonnaud doesn’t know that,” Max pointed out. “He might have thought it possible.
We never saw the end result, did we?”

“If Tristan was so convinced he could deceive you with an elaborate fraud,” she answered,
“then why didn’t he show up in London?”

Vidocq snorted. “Because Tristan would never go to London.”

“That’s what
I
said!” Lisette glared at Max. “But he won’t listen to me. I keep telling him it makes
no sense. Tristan simply wouldn’t risk getting caught.”

Max shot her a dark glance. “But a man would hazard much for a chance at a ducal fortune.
If he and the forger were in it together—”

“For all you know,” she shot back, “the forger kidnapped him and forged the note.”

“Then how did the forger know of my previous connection to your brother? If the forger
is involved, they have to be in it together.” Max sat back to cross his arms over
his chest. “
Your
theory is the one that doesn’t make sense.”

Vidocq muttered a curse under his breath. “You might as well be married, given how
you two quarrel. Would one of you explain all your nonsense about Tristan being in
London?”

Max took out the note and the rubbing of the handkerchief that Tristan had sent, then
tossed them across the table to Vidocq. “I got this from Bonnaud a few days ago. That’s
what sent us traveling here in search of him. He summoned me to meet with him and
then didn’t show up.”

His curiosity obviously roused, Vidocq took out a pair of spectacles to examine the
note more closely. Without a word, he left the room, only to return moments later
with another sheet of paper. Shoving aside his plate, he laid Tristan’s note beside
the other
sheet, which Lisette could see held Tristan’s signature, too.

As Lisette ate a pastry and Max began to pick apart a chicken leg, Vidocq glanced
back and forth between the sheets repeatedly. Finally he announced, “I can say for
certain that the note isn’t forged. Tristan did write it.”

“Yes, but where was it sent from?” Max growled. “Was he actually in London? And where
did he disappear to after he wrote it?”

“It’s very strange,” Vidocq remarked. “This bit about not trusting his messenger—he’s
being evasive.”

“I could figure that out myself,” Max grumbled.

Vidocq smelled the note and rubbed the paper between his fingers.

“I don’t think the paper will up and announce where it’s been,” Max said dryly.

Lisette kicked him under the table. When his gaze snapped to her, she said, “Let Vidocq
work. This is his forte. He made his fortune developing tamperproof paper for banks.”

“And paper
can
tell you where it’s been,” Vidocq added with a sharp glance at Lisette. “I would
say from the uneven texture that this paper has been someplace where it absorbed moisture
over time.”

“At sea, perhaps?” Lisette said.

“Perhaps.” Next Vidocq examined the rubbing of the handkerchief. “And this is an actual
rubbing, not some artist’s rendition. The paper is raised in the right places.”

Max blinked. “It didn’t occur to me that an artist could create a rubbing.”

“A forger would certainly be able to fool the eye. But fooling the hand would be virtually
impossible.” Vidocq removed his spectacles. “If the two of you can remain in Paris
today, I will go to the Sûreté and see what they can tell me about Tristan’s mission.
At least I can learn if Tristan reported having found the forger. Then we can rule
out the possibility that he is working with the man. His superior might even know
exactly where Tristan was headed next.”

“I wanted to speak to the chief of the Sûreté first myself, but she wouldn’t let me,”
Max said with a nod at Lisette.

“Because you wanted to get Tristan dismissed!” Lisette countered. “You admitted it!”

“The chief wouldn’t have told you anything, anyway,” Vidocq said smoothly. “You’re
an English duke. He would have flattered you and promised to look into the matter,
and then, as Lisette says, he would have dismissed Tristan without a hearing. The
man is an arse.”

“A
stupid
arse,” Lisette muttered. “He’s taking his best agent for granted.”

“The man doesn’t recognize brilliance, or even mere competence,” Vidocq said. “He
cares only whether the rules are followed. And Tristan always cared more about results
than the methods required to get them.”

“So if this chief doesn’t appreciate ‘brilliance,’ ” Max
said with the faintest sneer, “how will you get him to tell you the information you
need?”

“Certainly not by consulting him. Better to keep him out of it entirely.” Vidocq gave
his sly smile. “I have connections, others I can talk to. Don’t worry—I’ll know everything
the Sûreté knows about Tristan by nightfall.”

“That will give us time to have a more thorough look at Tristan’s house,” Lisette
said. “We might find something there to tell us who this friend of his is. The one
he thinks is Peter.”

Max nodded. “It’s worth a try.”

“And it will give His Grace a chance to tell you all the parts of the story he’s left
out about his family,” Vidocq said, his gaze on Max.

The color drained from Max’s face. “Thank you for reminding me, Vidocq.” Max stared
grimly into his cup of tea. “Aren’t you supposed to be going somewhere?”

Vidocq rose. “If you have not told her by the time I return, I will tell her myself.”

“I understand.” Max drew himself up. “It doesn’t matter if she knows anyway,” he added
in a tone that told Lisette that it mattered very much to him. “She was bound to learn
of it eventually.”

“Very well. Then I’m off to the Sûreté. The two of you should finish your
déjeuner.
You are welcome to stay as long as you like, either here or at Tristan’s rooms. Ask
my servants for whatever you need, ‘Mr. Kale.’ They will be happy to attend you. They
know Lisette well.”

He walked over to brush a kiss to Lisette’s forehead, then murmured in French, “Careful,
my angel. You’re playing a dangerous game with this duke.”

She leaned up to whisper in his ear, “He’s not as bad as you seem to think.”

Vidocq looked skeptical but didn’t answer. He merely tipped his head to Max and left.

She returned to her breakfast, all too aware of Max’s gaze on her as she bit into
a pear. He wasn’t eating. Instead, he sat there drinking tea and tearing the remainder
of his roll into crumbs.