C Harris - When maidens mourn

Jarvis closed his snuffbox. `Of course it was I.'

`And you had Philippe Arceneaux shot?'

`I won't deny I took advantage of his death to shut down the inconvenient investigation into the Tennysons murders. But did I order him killed? No.'

`The inconvenient investigation? Bloody hell. Inconvenient for whom?'

`The Crown, obviously.'

`Not to mention you and this bloody Glastonbury Cross scheme of yours.'

When Jarvis remained silent, Devlin said, `How the devil did you convince Childe to lend his credibility to such a trick?'

`Mr. Childe has certain somewhat aberrant tastes that he would prefer others not know about.'

`How aberrant?'

Jarvis tucked his snuffbox back into his pocket. `Nothing he can't indulge at the Lambs Pen.'

`And did Gabrielle Tennyson know about Childe's aberrations?'

`Possibly.'

`So how do you know Childe didn't kill the Tennysons?'

`I don't. Hence the decision to shut down the investigation. It wouldn't do to have this murder be seen as linked in any way to the Palace.' Jarvis straightened his cuffs. `It's over, Devlin; a murderer has been identified and punished with his own death.'

Devlin nodded to the dead man before them. `Doesn't exactly look over to me.'

`You don't know this attack was in any way related to the Tennyson case. The authorities are satisfied. The populace has already breathed a collective sigh of relief. Let it rest.'

Devlin's lip curled. `And allow the real murderer to go free? Let those boys parents up in Lincolnshire live the rest of their lives without ever knowing what happened to their children? Let Arceneaux's grieving parents in Saint-Malo believe their son a child killer?'

`Life is seldom tidy.'

`This isn't untidy. This is an abomination.' He swung toward the door.

Jarvis said, `You're forgetting your body.'

`Someone from Bow Street should be here for it soon.' Devlin paused to look back at him. `I'm curious. What exactly made Hero think you killed Gabrielle Tennyson?'

Jarvis gave the Viscount a slow, nasty smile. `Ask her.'

Rather than return directly to Brook Street, Sebastian first went in search of Mr. Bevin Childe.

The Cheese, in a small cul-de-sac known as Wine Office Court, off Fleet Street, was a venerable old eating establishment popular with antiquaries and barristers from the nearby Temple. A low-voiced conversation with a stout waiter sent Sebastian up a narrow set of stairs to a smoky room with a low, planked ceiling, where he found Childe eating a Rotherham steak in solitary splendor at a table near the bank of heavy-timbered windows.

The antiquary had a slice of beef halfway to his open mouth when he looked up, saw Sebastian coming toward him, and dropped his fork with a clatter.

`Good evening,' said Sebastian, slipping into the opposite high-backed settee. `I was surprised when your man told me I might find you here. It's my understanding you typically spend Fridays at Gough Hall.'

The antiquary closed his mouth. `My schedule this week has been upset.'

`How distressing for you.'

`It is, yes. You've no notion.' Very slowly, the antiquary retrieved his fork, took a bite of steak, and swallowed, hard. `I...' He choked, cleared his throat, and tried again. `I had hoped I'd explained everything to your wife's satisfaction yesterday at the museum.'

Sebastian kept his face quietly composed, although in truth he didn't know what the bloody hell the man was talking about.

`You're quite certain you left nothing out?'

`No, no; nothing.'

Sebastian signaled the waiter for a tankard of bitter. `Tell me again how Miss Tennyson discovered the cross was a forgery.'

Childe threw a quick, nervous glance around, then leaned forward, his voice dropping. `It was the merest chance, actually. She had made arrangements to drive out to Gough Hall on Friday to see the cross. I'd been expecting her early in the day, but as time wore on and she never arrived, I'd quite given up looking for her. Then the craftsman who'd manufactured the cross showed up.' Childe's plump face flushed with indignation.

`The scoundrel had the unmitigated gall to come offering to make other artifacts. I was in the stables telling him precisely what I thought of his suggestion when I turned and saw her standing there. She... I'm afraid she heard quite enough to grasp the truth of the situation.'

`How did she know Jarvis was involved?'

Childe's tongue flicked out nervously to wet his lips.

`I told her. She was threatening to expose the entire scheme, you see. So I warned her that she had no idea who or what she was dealing with.'

`The knowledge didn't intimidate her?'

`Unfortunately, no. If anything, it only enraged her all the more.'

Sebastian let his gaze drift over the stout man's sweat-sheened face. `Who do you think killed her?'

Childe tittered.

`You find the question amusing?'

Childe cut another bite of his steak. `Under the circumstances? Yes.'

`It's a sincere question.'

He paused in his cutting to hunch forward and lower his voice.

`In truth?'

`Yes.'

The antiquary threw another of his quick looks around. `Jarvis. I think Lord Jarvis killed her or rather, had her killed.'

`That's interesting. Because you see, he rather thinks you might have done it.'

Childe's eyes bulged. `You can't be serious. I could never have killed her. I loved her! I've loved her from the moment I first saw her. Good God, I was willing to marry her despite knowing only too well about the family's fits.

Sebastian stared at him. `About the what?'

Childe pressed his napkin to his lips. `It's not something they like to talk about, I know. And while it's true I've never seen any indication that either Hildeyard or Gabrielle suffered from the affliction, there's no doubt it's rife in the rest of the family. Their great-grandfather had it, you know. And I understand the little boys' father - that Reverend up in Lincolnshire - suffers from it dreadfully.'

Sebastian stared at the man across the table from him. `What the devil are you talking about? What kind of fits?'

Childe blinked at him owlishly. `Why, the falling sickness, of course. It's why Miss Tennyson always insisted she would never marry. Even though she showed no sign of it herself, she feared that she could somehow pass it on to any children she might have. She called it the family curse. It quite enraged d'Eyncourt, I can tell you.'

`D'Eyncourt? Why?'

`Because while he ll deny it until he's blue in the face, the truth is that he suffers from it himself although nothing to the extent of his brother. When we were up at Cambridge, he half killed some sizar who said he had it.' Childe paused, then said it again, as if the implications had only just occurred to him. `He half killed him.'

Sebastian found Hero at the library table, one of Gabrielle Tennyson's notebooks spread open before her.

The pose appeared relaxed. But he could practically see the tension thrumming in every line of her being. She looked up when he paused in the doorway, a faint flush touching her cheeks. He was aware of a new sense of constraint between them, a wariness that hadn't been there before. But he couldn't think of anything to say to ease the tension between them.

She said it for him. `We haven't handled this situation well, have we? Or perhaps I should say, I have not.'

He came to pull out the chair opposite her and sit down. The raw anger he'd felt, before, along the Thames, had leached out of him, leaving him unexpectedly drained and weighed down by a heaviness he recognized now as sadness.

He let his gaze drift over the tightly held lines of her face.

`I'd go with we.'

She said stiffly, `I might regret the situation, but I can't regret my decision.'