When Gods Die

Chapter 39

“It’s a strange ability some have,” said Paul Gibson when Sebastian met him later that day for a pint of ale at a pub not far from the Tower. “It’s as if they somehow revise their memories of unpleasant or uncomplimentary incidents until they come up with something more self-flattering, or at least more palatable. In a sense you could say they aren’t exactly being untruthful when they lie, because they honestly believe their own twisted version of an event. Memories of particularly horrifying episodes can simply be wiped away completely.”

Sebastian leaned his shoulders back against the old wooden partition, one hand cradled around his drink where it rested on the table’s worn surface. “It’s a good thing the Prince was in Brighton that day. Otherwise I’d be inclined to wonder if he hadn’t simply wiped away the unpleasant memory of murdering Lady Anglessey.”

“At least the discovery of the dagger’s origins tells you the murderer must have been someone close to the Prince.”

“Not necessarily. Those cases aren’t kept locked. Hundreds of people could have had access to that room.”

“Perhaps. But I can’t see someone like Bevan Ellsworth prowling around Carlton House.”

“No. But his good friend Fabian Fitzfrederick could certainly have taken it.”

Gibson frowned. “Is he good friends with Fabian Fitzfrederick?”

“It would appear so.”

“But…why would a son of the Duke of York want to bring down the Hanovers?”

Sebastian leaned forward. “Prinny has created a lot of discontent. Perhaps there are two different forces at work here—one aimed at bringing down the Hanovers, and another simply interested in replacing the Regent with his brother, York.”

Gibson paused with his pint raised halfway to his lips. “Princess Charlotte stands next in line before York.”

“Yes. But Princess Charlotte’s own father regularly calls her mother a whore. Charlotte might well be put aside. It’s happened before.”

Gibson took a long, thoughtful swallow of his ale. “Have you considered the possibility that the person who killed Guinevere Anglessey might not be the same person or persons as set up that nasty little charade in the Pavilion?”

“Yes.” Sebastian shifted his weight to thrust his legs out straight. “I keep thinking that if I could just understand why she went to the Norfolk Arms in Smithfield, then it would all begin to make sense.”

“It does seem an unlikely place for a lover’s assignation,” said Gibson.

Sebastian shook his head. “I don’t think it was a lover’s assignation.”

The tramp of marching feet filled the air as part of the garrison from the Tower paraded past. His face solemn, Gibson turned his head to watch the men filling the street, the sun gleaming on their musket barrels. “I’ve been hearing a lot of grumbling about this fete the Prince has set for Thursday. Not just about the cost—which I gather is considerable. But it is rather unseemly, is it not, for a prince to celebrate his accession to the Regency when that elevation was necessitated by his father’s madness? I hear his mother and sisters are refusing to go.”

Sebastian, too, watched the soldiers. They looked so young, some little more than boys. “I doubt they’ll be missed. It’s been announced that no woman lower in rank than an Earl’s daughter will be allowed to attend, which has naturally set every excluded but ambitious lady in London scrambling to be made an exception. They’ll never keep the guest list down to two thousand.”

“When does the Prince return to Brighton?”

“The day after the fete.” Sebastian stared thoughtfully at the passing ranks of red-coated soldiers. “Think about this: if you were to organize a coup, when would you plan to stage it?”

Gibson’s gaze met Sebastian’s. “For a time when the Prince was out of London.”

“Exactly,” said Sebastian, and drained his ale.