“I never meant for anyone to actually harm him,” Mr. Anders exclaimed.
Monsieur Sepic clicked his tongue and shook his head. “Non, non. You see for yourselves, mes amis, that this man is desperate to escape the noose. He has—how do you say?—invented this confederate to throw suspicion from himself. He hopes that you will believe him, a nobleman’s son, rather than the poor peasant that he accuses. Non. I do not believe it.”
“Mr. Anders,” Lord Vitor said, “would you recognize the men from that night if they were brought here?”
Mr. Anders shook his head. “I wouldn’t.”
“Monsieur Brazil, has anyone from the village come to the chateau seeking audience with Mr. Anders?”
The butler said, “Non, monseigneur. No one.”
“An assassin would not seek payment in a household under investigation,” the mayor said with a snap of his fingers. “It would be imbecilic.”
“No more imbecilic than murdering an Englishman for a few coins within a mile from the village in which one has lived one’s entire life,” Lord Vitor said.
“Exactement. This Englishman shall be tried and found guilty,” the mayor insisted.
Mr. Anders’s shoulders slumped. Ravenna’s stomach hurt. She had no doubt that his boast in the village pub had fallen on ears long inured to the foolish arrogance of the gentlemen that visited Chevriot. It meant nothing. To amuse herself and Lord Vitor she had goaded the mayor, and now an innocent man would hang for it.
Lord Vitor was looking at her, his brow drawn.
“But . . .” the mayor said, raising a finger into the air. “To be thorough, I shall investigate his story. I will return when I have determined that it is all lies. Par conséquent, your highness, if you will spare two men-at-arms I will take the prisoner into custody.”
“Monsieur Sepic,” Lord Vitor said. “If it pleases his royal highness, Mr. Anders may remain here in the prince’s custody while you investigate the circumstances in the village. In that way, if you do discover an assassin, your jail will be available for the murderer’s incarceration.”
The mayor stroked his moustaches, then nodded. “Oui. Peut-être this will be useful. My deputy will interview the men Monsieur Anders encountered that night. But it will not be long,” he said with a confident smile, then pinned Mr. Anders with a hard stare. “Monsieur, prepare to meet your day of reckoning. Father!” he called to the monk. “That man will wish to confess before he hangs.” With a neat bow to Prince Sebastiao, he departed.
Everybody started talking. With a gesture, the prince summoned his guards. Head hanging, Mr. Anders left the room between them. The bishop wobbled out in pursuit of his niece.
Ravenna hurried up the steps to Lord Vitor. “You do not believe he is responsible, do you?” she said.
“Not any more than you do.”
“The note in Mr. Walsh’s pocket remains unexplained.”
“My thought, as well.”
“It could have been there before he arrived at Chevriot. An old note concerning a former assignation.”
“Perhaps.” He sheathed his sword. “You mustn’t take the blame for Sepic’s idiocy.”
He knew her worries, like a friend she had known for years rather than days. “But I am in fact to blame,” she said.
“Wise men are never to blame for the mistakes of fools.”
“I am not, of course, a man.”
“Rather, a woman with notions of rationality.” He looked down the stairs. Lord Case stood there, close beside Arielle. The French girl’s eyes shone.
“Will you allow him to pursue the duel?” Ravenna said.
“His battles are his own affair. But he has already won the prize he seeks. Perhaps he will relent.”
“What Mr. Anders said about Miss Abraccia . . .” she heard tumble from her lips. “He seemed to believe that she had . . .”
Midnight eyes upon her, he waited.
“That she had a tendre for you,” she finished.
“Mm.”
“Did you believe that?”
His brow dipped in pique. “How should I know one way or the other?”
“Then, you did not . . . That is to say, you haven’t—”
“I haven’t seduced her in all the many hours I’ve had available when I was not examining a dead body, fishing you from a river, searching for hidden mountain paths, and making certain a damned mongrel doesn’t destroy every one of my shoes? No, I haven’t. Was that what you were thinking when you asked me where I was before I heard Miss Feathers scream this morning?”
“Oh. I . . .”
He instantly looked contrite. “Forgive me. I should not have spoken to you so.”
“I encouraged it.”
A crease appeared at the corner of his mouth. “That does seem to be a habit of yours.”
“What shall we do now?”
His attention dipped to her lips. “Do?”
She liked it. Him looking at her lips. Despite the hot tangles in her stomach or even because of them. She liked it too much. “What shall we do while Monsieur Sepic searches for the nonexistent assassin?”
Slowly his gaze rose to her eyes. “We wait.”
THE WAIT PROVED interminable, but there were costumes to be sorted, a set to be struck, a prince to be consoled over the ruination of his play, and whispering gossip to be enjoyed. Everyone stayed busy. Several of the gentlemen retired to the billiards room, but the prince said he could not bear frivolity at present: one of his guests had murdered a stranger in his house and his play had been halted mid-act. His party was an unmitigated disaster. Instead he sat with Lady Whitebarrow and her daughters, but with dull eyes and such a listless manner that Ravenna suspected he did it as an act of punishment upon himself.
Juliana Abraccia recovered sufficiently to appear for luncheon, though she merely pushed the food around on her plate before transferring it to her uncle’s.
For her part, Arielle beamed. Sunshine tripped from beneath her modestly lowered lashes and a sweet smile graced her lips. She had not set down her petite since Father Denis returned it, and it sat on her lap throughout luncheon. At her side, Lord Case seemed not to mind it, which Ravenna had to admire.
After lunch she examined Marie and found her hale. Martin Anders had clearly cared well for her. Ravenna’s guilt for placing him in danger swelled. She slipped away to the kitchen in search of a bone for the pugs and a crust of bread for the rescued captive.
Ann Feathers found her there in a corner, cutting ligament to separate a bone from the remnants of a calf’s carcass.
“Monsieur Brazil said that he saw you coming down here.” She peered in wonderment at the rows of gleaming copper pots, dried herbs and meats hanging from hooks, and the cook, maid, and footmen hurrying about as they prepared dinner. Her gaze alighted upon Ravenna’s hands. “Dear me, Ravenna. You are so adventuresome.”
“It’s true. I am vastly adventuresome.” Neither Sir Beverley nor Petti had told anyone that she was perfectly comfortable with kitchens or any other place servants went in large houses. Only Lord Vitor knew, and it seemed he hadn’t shared that information either.
“I . . .” Ann’s round eyes glittered with moisture. “I admire him so greatly, Ravenna.”
Ravenna set down the knife. “The prince?”
Ann nodded, tiny little jerks of her head. “He is such a good man,” she said softly, fervently. “I have . . . I have heard that in his past he was somewhat . . . wild. But I have not seen it. He never does wrong, always wishes everyone to be happy, and he speaks so highly of others.”