“You’re not familiar with such a gem?”
“I am not, no. But then, as I said, my brother is the family’s amateur lapidary. He might have heard of such a piece. Unfortunately, he’s in the country at the moment.” Hope nodded to the butler, who moved to open the front door.
“When was the last time you saw Eisler?”
“Good heavens, I’m not certain I can answer that. It’s been some time, though; that I do know.”
“Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to kill him?”
Thomas Hope’s rubbery lips twisted. “Russell Yates, from what the papers tell us. Dreadfully bad ton, that man. I always thought he’d make a sorry end.”
The butler stood, wooden, beside the still open door. A wind had kicked up, sending a loose handbill down the street and carrying the sharp, biting promise of more rain.
“They haven’t hanged him yet,” said Sebastian.
“No, but they will soon enough.”
A man’s ringing laughter sounded on the footpath outside, his voice cultured but tinged with a vague Irish lilt as he said, “The devil fly away with you, Tyson! I tell you, the horse is sound—as sound as the Bank of England.”
Another man answered, his tones those of Hereford and Eton rather than Irish, and so familiar that Sebastian found himself stiffening.
“This is supposed to reassure me, is it?”
Sebastian could see him now. Tall and broad shouldered, the man filled the doorway. He was half-turned, still looking back at the unseen Irishman on the footpath below him. In his mid-twenties, he wore the typical rig of a town beau: dark blue, carefully tailored coat by Schultz, boots by Hobbs, hat by Lock. But his powerful build and military bearing told their own story. He turned, still smiling as he reached the top step. Then his gaze fell on Sebastian, and the laughter died on his lips.
“Ah, how fortuitous,” said Hope. “Devlin, do allow me to introduce Lieutenant Matt Tyson and my wife’s young cousin, Blair Beresford.”
Tyson’s clear gray eyes met Sebastian’s. His hair was chestnut brown, his cheeks strong boned, his jaw square and marked by a rakish scar across his chin that enhanced rather than detracted from his rugged good looks.
“The lieutenant and I have met,” said Sebastian evenly.
“Excellent, excellent,” said Hope, beaming and utterly oblivious to the powerful undercurrents of animosity that crackled between the two men.
Tyson’s companion—considerably younger and fairer—took off his hat and shook Sebastian’s hand with boyish enthusiasm. From the looks of things, Louisa’s Irish cousin couldn’t have been more than twenty or twenty-two, with a head of soft golden curls, merry blue eyes, and the face of an angel. “Devlin?” said Blair Beresford. “Oh, by Jove. This is an honor, my lord, an honor indeed. Did you know Matt in the Peninsula, then?” He glanced laughingly at his friend. “And here Matt never told me.”
“Our acquaintance was . . . brief,” said Tyson, a muscle bunching along his powerful jaw.
Sebastian was aware of Tom, waiting with the curricle below, his slight form motionless as he stood at the grays’ heads, his face a mask as his gaze traveled from one man to the other.
“Gentlemen,” said Sebastian, tipping his hat.
Without looking back, he descended the stairs to vault up to the curricle’s high seat and gather his reins. “Let ’em go,” he told Tom.
The grays sprang forward, the boy scrambling to take his perch at the rear of the carriage. “You know that cove from somewhere?” Tom asked as Sebastian sent the grays dashing up the street at a shocking pace. “The big one, I mean.”
“Spain. He was with the 114th Foot, although from the looks of things, he’s sold out.”
“’Peared to me ’e weren’t exactly pleased to see you,” observed Tom. “In fact, I’d say ’e weren’t weery pleased to see you atall.”
“Perhaps that’s because the last time he saw me, I was sitting on his court-martial board.”
“What ’ad ’e done?”
“According to the decision of my fellow officers, nothing. He was found innocent. But he was accused of robbing and killing a young Spanish woman and her two children.”
Chapter 14
H
e’d been avoiding it all day. But the time had come, Sebastian knew, to visit the Tower Hill surgery of his old friend Paul Gibson.