Jarvis smoothed the folds of his cravat, his gaze on his reflection in the mirror. “The gentleman in question arrived at the scene nearly an hour after the shooting occurred and, upon observing the commotion, quietly left. He declined to step forward because he has no information of merit to add and because it is of the utmost importance that the Prince not be seen to be involved in anything of this nature.”
“And does the Prince know, I wonder, that the gem in question was once the French Blue?”
“As it happens, he does. Indeed, the item he ordered designed for it was to be an emblem of the Golden Fleece.”
“But he isn’t a member of any of the Orders of the Golden Fleece.”
“He is confident that he soon shall be.” Jarvis turned from the mirror. “I fail to understand your continuing interest in this affair. The authorities have determined some deranged ex-soldier murdered Daniel Eisler. I understand he was seen actually watching the house.”
“Jud Foy was watching the house, yes. But I don’t think he killed Eisler.”
A faint smile curled Jarvis’s full lips. “So certain?”
Sebastian studied the big man’s half-averted profile. He could not shake the suspicion that behind this subtle play and counterplay of arrest, imminent hanging, and sudden release lurked Jarvis’s long vendetta against Russell Yates and Kat Boleyn. He said, “And does the Prince know that the diamond he covets was once in the possession of his own wife?”
“That he does not know.”
“Yet you do?”
Jarvis turned, his face set in bland lines. “Seventeen years ago, His Royal Highness took an unfortunate, instant dislike to his bride. That dislike has since solidified into an aversion—”
“Actually, I think I’d be more inclined to call it an irrational but powerful loathing colored by a petty lust for revenge.”
“—and a determination,” continued Jarvis, ignoring the interjection, “to be rid of his wife. Such a step would, however, be disastrous for the stability of the realm and the future of the monarchy.”
“Hence the need to conceal from the Prince the entire history of the stone?” said Sebastian. “If my memory serves me correctly, the Prince Regent was named executor of Brunswick’s estate, which means that Princess Caroline technically should have handed over to her husband’s keeping any of the old Duke’s jewels in her possession. Obviously she did not do so.”
“Caroline may be stupid, but she’s not that stupid,” said Jarvis. “Fortunately, she at least stopped short of publicly accusing Prinny of playing fast and loose with her father’s estate.”
“Unlike her brother, the current Duke.”
“Just so.”
Sebastian said, “I think Daniel Eisler knew the circuitous route the stone had taken to come into Hope’s possession and was using that knowledge to apply pressure on the Princess in order to obtain something from her that he wanted. You wouldn’t happen to know what that was, would you?”
“No.”
Sebastian studied the big man’s complacent, aquiline countenance. “I don’t believe you.”
Jarvis possessed a startlingly winsome smile he could use with devastating effect to charm and cajole the unwary and the credulous. He flashed that smile now, a sparkle of genuine amusement lighting his steel gray eyes. “Would I lie to you?”
“Yes.”
The sound of Jarvis’s laughter followed Sebastian down the stairs and out of the house.
Chapter 50
“I
don’t know how I can ever properly thank you,” said Yates.
The two men were walking along the Serpentine in Hyde Park, the evening sun glittering on the breeze-ruffled expanse of water, the long grass and frost-nipped leaves of the nearby stand of oaks and walnuts drenched with a rich golden light. Sebastian noticed Yates kept lifting his face to the setting sun and breathing deeply of the crisp fresh air, as if savoring every subtle nuance of his new freedom.
Sebastian said, “You actually don’t have much to thank me for, as it turns out. I had nothing to do with the authorities’ decision to set you free. That was all Jud Foy’s doing—however inadvertent that may have been.”
“They’re saying he killed Daniel Eisler.”
“It’s always possible.”
Yates glanced over at him. “But you don’t believe it?”
“No, I don’t.”
“So how do you explain the pouch of diamonds they’re saying was found in his possession?”
“Easy enough to plant evidence on a man’s dead body, thus casting suspicion in his direction. He’s not exactly able to defend himself against the accusation, now, is he?”
“No. But . . . why bother? The authorities were already convinced they had the killer—me—in custody.”
“You don’t find his death rather convenient, given the timing of the decision to set you free?”
Yates glanced over at him, a troubled expression drawing his brows together. “And will you still continue looking for the killer?”
Sebastian paused to watch a duck lift off the surface of the canal, wings beating the soft evening air, its quack echoing across the water. After a moment, he said, “I wish I could believe it’s all over. But I don’t.”
Yates drew up beside him, his gaze, like Sebastian’s, on the duck’s awkward flight. He said, “Kat doesn’t trust Jarvis.”
Sebastian shook his head and blew out a long, heavy breath. “Neither do I.”