When Gods Die

Chapter 63

Sebastian limped across the black-and-white marble floor of his entry hall, his boots squishing foul-smelling water with each step. His cravat and hat were gone, his breeches and coat ripped and smeared with malodorous muck. His valet would likely succumb to a fit of the vapors at the sight of him.

Morey hovered near the door, careful not to approach too near.

“Send Sedlow to me right away,” said Sebastian, moving toward the stairs.

“I regret to have to inform your lordship that Sedlow resigned his post this afternoon,” said the majordomo in a wooden voice.

Sebastian paused, then gave a soft laugh. “Of course. I’ll have to make do with one of the footmen. I need a hot bath. Quickly.”

“Yes, my lord.” Morey gave a stately bow and withdrew.

SEBASTIAN, having bathed, was slathering an herb-rich ointment from the apothecary’s onto his various cuts and scrapes when Tom knocked at his dressing room door.

“I got what you wanted on that Lady Quinlan,” said the boy, giving Andrew the footman a puzzled look.

“Yes?” said Sebastian, not turning around.

“She ’ad a scientific demonstration at her ’ouse on Wednesday last—some gent with a bunch of glass tubes full of queer-colored liquids that foamed and smoked. The downstairs maid said she was afeared they’d blow the place sky-high before they was done. ’Er ladyship was there all afternoon. She even ’elped mix the chemicals ’erself.”

Tom paused, his nose wrinkling. “What is that smell?”

“The sewers,” said Sebastian, pulling a fine shirt over his head.

Tom accepted this without comment. “You don’t look surprised,” the boy said, sounding rather disappointed.

“No. I already know who killed Guinevere Anglessey.”

SEBASTIAN ARRIVED AT CURZON STREET to find Audley House standing dark and quiet in the moonlight. Wearing the elegant knee breeches and long-tailed coat of evening dress, he climbed the shallow steps to the front door and found it unlatched. He hesitated a moment, listening to the stillness. Then he pushed the heavy door open and went inside.

Stepping into the darkened hall, he followed the faint flicker of candlelight that showed from the back of the house. The light came from the library, where a single candelabra had been lit upon the mantelpiece. The Chevalier stood beside it, his back to the door as he worked, assembling papers from the desk.

“Your servants seem to have disappeared,” said Sebastian, leaning against the doorjamb.

At the sound of Sebastian’s voice, the Chevalier started violently. He swung around, his pale face drawn and tense. “My mother dismissed them all this afternoon.”

“Going away, are you?”

Varden turned back to the desk. “I am, yes.”

“The Earl of Portland is dead.”

“Good,” said Varden, shoving the papers into a satchel that lay open upon the desk.

Sebastian pushed away from the door and walked into the room. “He didn’t kill her.”

“I know.”

Sebastian went to stand before the empty fireplace, his gaze on the flickering candle flames reflected in the mirror above the mantel. “Tell me about the Savoy letter.”

“How much do you know?”

“About the plan to oust the Regent? Not much. What concerns me now is what happened to Guinevere Anglessey. How did she end up with the letter?”

He thought for a moment that the Chevalier didn’t mean to answer. Then the man turned away from the desk, his hands coming up to press flat against his face, his chest rising as he sucked in a deep breath. “The Saturday before she died, we met at an inn near Richmond.”

“I see.”

Varden let his hands fall, scrubbing them across his face. “I know what you’re thinking, but it wasn’t like that. Once she’d conceived the child, we met only as friends. She said anything else would be disloyal to Anglessey. We spent that Saturday wandering through the park, then ordered tea in a private parlor at the local inn. I’d been out late the night before, and what with all the fresh air and the exercise, I fell asleep in the chair. I’d taken off my coat and tossed it aside.” His lips quirked up into a soft smile that faded almost instantly. “Guin was always so tidy. She picked up the coat, meaning to straighten it. The letter simply fell out of the pocket.”

“She read it?”

“Yes. It wasn’t like her, to do something like that. I think she must have been suspicious of some of the things she knew I’d been doing lately. When she saw the Savoy seal—well, she simply couldn’t resist.”

“She confronted you?”

Varden nodded. “When I awoke.”

He went to stand beside the library’s long table, one hand fiddling with the tumble of books scattered across the gleaming wood. “She was horrified at the thought of what we were planning to do. I still don’t understand it. She never had anything but disdain for the house of Hanover. There was even a family legend that some great-great-grandmother of hers had once been mistress to James the Second. But all she could talk about was the miseries of war we’d be visiting on the people—and the danger to me, of course. I tried to make her see that getting rid of the Prince Regent was the only thing that could save England—keep it from going down the same path of violent revolution as the French.”

“She didn’t believe it?”

“No.” He let out his breath in a long sigh, as if he’d been holding it for a lifetime. “I’ll never forget the way she looked at me. As if I were a stranger. Someone she’d never seen before.”

“Why did she take the letter?” Sebastian asked softly.

“I honestly don’t think she meant to. She’d thrown it away from her when we were arguing, as if it were some vile thing she couldn’t bear to touch. The only thing I can figure is it must have fallen into the folds of her cloak. She didn’t put the cloak on when she left—just snatched it up and ran out. I didn’t realize the letter was missing until after she had gone.”

“Surely you didn’t think she would betray you?”

“No. But when I tried to contact her, she refused to see me. I had to practically accost her in the street one morning when she was on her way to ride in the park. She swore she’d destroyed the letter as soon as she discovered she still had it.” He paused, his throat working as he swallowed. “And then she told me she never wanted to see me again.”

Sebastian studied the young man’s taut profile. “But when you told your mother the letter had been destroyed, she didn’t believe you?”

His face contorted with pain. “No.”

“And so your mother wrote Guinevere a note in your hand, asking her to bring the letter to Smithfield. Only, Guinevere didn’t bring the letter. She couldn’t, because she’d already destroyed it. But your mother killed her, anyway.”

“Yes,” said Varden in a torn whisper. “She said she couldn’t allow Guinevere to live. Not with what she knew.”

“When did you put it all together?”

“This afternoon. When I saw the note and you told me about the necklace. I came home and confronted her. She didn’t even try to deny it. She said she’d done it for me.” He dragged in a ragged breath that shuddered his chest. “God help me. She did it for me.”

“Your father was related to the House of Savoy?”

Varden swung his head to look at Sebastian through narrowed eyes. “Yes, although not to the Stuarts. How did you know?”

“Something you said to me once, about impoverished royal relatives. What did they promise you in return for your support? A rich wife?”

A faint touch of color stained the ridges of his high cheekbones. “Yes.”

“No wonder Guinevere never wanted to see you again.”

“Well, what the devil was I supposed to do?” demanded Varden, pushing away from the window. “Spend the rest of my life in poverty, waiting for Anglessey to die? The man could live another twenty or thirty years.”

“Or he could be dead before the end of the summer.”

Varden’s head jerked back as if he’d been slapped. “She never told me that. The first I knew of it was from you.” He let out a low, harsh laugh. “Do you know what she said to me the last time I saw her? She said she was glad her father had refused to let her marry me. She said…she said she’d loved me all her life, but now she realized that the boy she’d loved had grown up to be less of a man than the husband she’d married.”

The silence of the house seemed to stretch around them, thick and ominous.

“Your mother,” said Sebastian, “where is she?”

“Upstairs.”

Sebastian turned toward the door, then paused to look back at the man who still stood beside the desk, one fist clenched around the handles of the satchel. “This conspiracy against the Prince…who else was involved besides Portland?”

“I don’t know. Portland was the contact between Savoy and the others. He kept their identities secret.”

Sebastian nodded. It might be a lie, but he doubted it. Men in positions of power were typically very, very careful about committing themselves to treason. “What will you do?”

Varden twitched one shoulder. “Go to the Continent.”

“To Savoy?”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps I’ll go to France. Make my peace with Napoléon.” He cast Sebastian a penetrating look from beneath dark, heavy brows. “You don’t feel it incumbent upon you to attempt to stop me?”

“No. But others will doubtless feel differently.” Sebastian turned again toward the stairs. “I suggest you lose no time in reaching the coast.”