“So certain?”
Vaundreuil turned toward the window, his gaze on the workmen, who were now loading a pile of bandboxes into the wagon. “Am I certain? No, I suppose not,” he said after a moment. “There’s no denying that Jarvis plays a deep game—a deep and dangerous game. It’s reached the point I don’t trust anyone anymore.” He gave a humorless huff of laughter. “And pray don’t bother to point out the irony of my saying that because, believe me, I see it. The only person with nothing to be ashamed of in all this is Madeline. And I want her safely out of it.”
“When does your ship sail?”
“At ten this evening.”
“Then if you’ll take my advice, you will get your daughter aboard quickly and stay in your cabin until the ship has cleared Greenwich.”
The sound of a woman’s footsteps on the stairs drew Vaundreuil’s gaze to the entrance passage. “But why would anyone want to harm my daughter? Who would do such a thing?”
Madame Madeline Quesnel appeared at the entrance to the coffee room. She wore a black wool carriage gown and carried a traveling reticule in her hand. Her gaze went from her father to Sebastian.
Sebastian said, “When the destinies of nations are at stake, some men will stop at nothing.” Some men, and some women. He swept her a bow and smiled. “Have a safe voyage, madame.”
Chapter 55
The last of the light was leaching from the sky when Charles, Lord Jarvis, crossed the forecourt of Carlton House toward his waiting carriage.
He was feeling mildly pleased with the recent progression of events. There would be no peace negotiations with the impudent upstart, Napoléon; that avaricious little opportunist, Vaundreuil, was at that very moment scurrying toward home with his tail between his legs. The war in Europe would continue to its proper end, with a triumphant host of British troops marching down the Champs-élysées and the forces of radicalism utterly crushed. Not for a century or more would any nation rise up to threaten Britain’s global dominance, nor would any populace again dare to overthrow their betters and proclaim the rights of the vulgar masses.
He paused while a footman hastened to open his carriage door and let down the steps. Settling comfortably on the plush seat, Jarvis was spreading the carriage robe across his lap when the door opened again and Viscount Devlin leapt up to take the seat opposite.
“Mind if I ride along?”
“Actually, yes.”
The Viscount smiled. “I won’t stay long. I take it you’ve heard that Monsieur Harmond Vaundreuil is leaving London?”
“I have.”
“Was that your doing?”
“Not entirely.”
“But you did send someone to follow his daughter.”
Jarvis leaned back in his seat and simply raised his eyebrows.
Devlin said, “Vaundreuil thinks you killed Pelletan and Foucher.”
“Harmond Vaundreuil is a venal, foolish man. Why would I bother to indulge in such ghoulish theatrics when I already had the head of the delegation on my payroll?”
“Perhaps Pelletan and Foucher threatened to expose Vaundreuil to Paris.”
“Ah. In that case they most definitely would have needed to be eliminated. However, to my knowledge, Foucher at least remained blithely ignorant of Vaundreuil’s treasonous activities. And as you know, my knowledge is quite extensive.”
Devlin stared out the carriage window at a ragged young crossing sweep leaping out of their way. “You told me once that you had a man watching the Gifford Arms the night Pelletan was killed.”
“Yes.”
“Tell me again what he saw.”
Jarvis sighed. “Really, Devlin; this obsession of yours is becoming rather tiresome.”
“Humor me.”
“Very well. Let’s see . . . An unidentified man and a veiled woman arrived by carriage; for reasons doubtless understood better by you than by my informer, Pelletan elected to speak with them outside the inn rather than inside. The exchange was heated, but since my agent unfortunately lacks your acute hearing, the subject of that conversation remains unknown.”
“And then what happened?”
“The man and woman returned to their carriage, leaving Pelletan on the pavement in something of a passion. He was still standing there when Alexandrie Sauvage arrived. They also quarreled. Pelletan then returned to the inn and came out again wearing a greatcoat and gloves, after which he and Sauvage went off in a hackney.”
Jarvis was aware of Devlin sitting forward, his lips parted.
“What?” asked Jarvis, looking at him with disfavor.
“And the man and first woman? You said they returned to their carriage. When did they drive away?”
“Immediately after Pelletan and his sister left in a hackney.”
“You’re certain?”