Banquet of Lies (17 page)

The blood had drained from Edgars’ face when he’d seen it.

Now that Jonathan had had time to think of it—and he’d thought about it a little too much—how Edgars imagined that he’d tumbled his cook in a garden without getting any grass stains on himself was an interesting puzzle.

He’d spent yesterday with his estate manager, a long-standing appointment he couldn’t change, and had found his thoughts turning the problem over, trying to solve it, all too often.

Those thoughts had recently been replaced by the feel of her against him, the touch of her lips. The sensation of her glove on his cheek, and the look in her eyes before she’d run to the kitchen door.

He drew in a deep, long breath. Began to move around the room to distract himself.

One thing Edgars
had
done was remind him that he did have a trail to follow where his cook was concerned. The celebrated Georges Bisset himself had written her reference letter. And if the drunk and disorderly Wittaker would let Jonathan speak with Bisset, he would see what he could find out about her.

“My lord, Lord Durnham invites you to join him in the library.” Durnham’s butler was at the door, and Jonathan turned away from the window and followed him down the hall.

He’d been to Durnham’s house a few times before, back when Gerald was still alive and had been one of Durnham’s close friends.

The place, especially the library, looked a little different. There were subtle changes, touches of elegance and taste where it had once been merely utilitarian.

Durnham was seated in one of several chairs cozily arranged around the warm, friendly glow of the fireplace, and he stood when Jonathan came in. “I should have sent you a note the day before yesterday, or yesterday at least, Aldridge. I’m sorry I didn’t. There was so much happening I forgot about it.”

“A note about Dervish, you mean?” Jonathan sat opposite him on an old leather armchair that was more comfortable than it looked.

Durnham nodded. “I’ve taken over some of the projects he’s working on while he’s away.”

“You obviously have strong evidence that Miss Barrington is in Lapland, then?”

Durnham steepled his fingers under his chin. “Not really. Frobisher stressed it was only a rumor he’d heard, that it wasn’t confirmed, but Dervish wants it to be true so badly, there was no stopping him.”

“He wants the letter?”

Durnham tapped his fingers together, his eyes sharp and intelligent above them. “Dervish owes a debt to Giselle Barrington’s mother. He’s been uncomfortable with the favors we’ve called on Barrington to grant us over the years, because he’s always been aware Giselle was with her father, and we were asking him to put them both in danger. Barrington’s death has hit him hard. He feels guilty and responsible.”

“He was walking the streets looking for Miss Barrington the day before yesterday,” Jonathan said. “I expect having a destination and some hope of finding her is a relief to him.”

“Dervish’s butler said you paid a visit.” Durnham quirked his lips.

Jonathan grinned. “Ratted on me, did he?” He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “I actually considered punching him to get into that study.”

“He conveyed the impression that he thought you were going to. I think he feels lucky not to have a broken nose.” Durnham leaned forward. “What were you after?”

“A note I saw someone drop off at Dervish’s the night before last. I was coming to see him about Barrington’s lawyer and watched the note being delivered. When the messenger slipped away, a thug popped up out of nowhere and followed him.”

Jonathan never knew he had such a talent for lying.

Perhaps it was because he was sufficiently motivated. And because most of his story was true. There was no way he was going to admit to knowing who the messenger had been, though.

“I followed them both but lost them in the back alleys. I returned to Dervish’s house to warn him he was being watched, and to make sure he understood the note was important, only to find out he wasn’t even there. Hadn’t even been there when the note was delivered.”

“That’s very interesting.” Durnham lost his amused look and frowned. “I suppose his butler has already sent the note on
to him, so all we can do is wait until Dervish lets us know what it says. And I think I’ll have Dervish’s house watched.”

“Not with Foreign Office men,” Jonathan said sharply.

“No.” Durnham shook his head. “I don’t trust anyone there, either, not until we know who killed Barrington. My wife has connections we can use. Very discreet watchers.”

“Your wife?” Jonathan looked at him in astonishment. Lady Durnham had previously been Miss Charlotte Raven, ward of Lady Howe and a great society catch.

“Yes.” Durnham didn’t explain any further. “Now, you wanted to see Dervish about Barrington’s lawyer. Anything I can help with?”

“There is.” Jonathan thought back to his meeting with Mr. Greenway. “The break-in meant something to the lawyer. He reacted immediately. But Dervish told me not to let him know Barrington was dead, and I felt that if I could have told him, he might have been more open with me. There may be some instructions in place from Barrington that could help us.

“And aside from that, Greenway sent the letters the burglar seems to have been after to Barrington’s address in Stockholm, so if possible, Thornton or Dervish himself needs to fetch them, see if there is any clue amongst them as to where Miss Barrington could be.”

“I’ll visit Greenway myself and tell him the circumstances of Barrington’s death, and the need to keep it quiet for now. If Barrington set up a safe house for his daughter, or if Greenway has any idea where she is and it’s not in Lapland, we need to know.”

“You don’t think she
is
in Lapland, do you?” Jonathan stood, his voice soft.

Durnham hesitated. “I want to. But she’s a young woman alone in a foreign country. I don’t think she could have gotten far, and if
we
haven’t found her, I can only imagine it’s because she’s nowhere to be found.”

“Not all young women are helpless society misses,” a woman said from the doorway. The cool, low voice definitely did not belong to a helpless society miss. Jonathan turned and bowed as Lady Durnham walked into the room. She was as beautiful, as untouchable, as an ice princess. It was how he’d always seen her before. But when she looked at Durnham, he realized he’d been mistaken. There was liquid heat in her gaze.

“Daniel told me about Giselle Barrington’s upbringing, and she sounds as if she could be quite resourceful if the occasion arose.”

It took Jonathan a moment to realize she was talking about Dervish, when she’d said “Daniel.” He hadn’t realized Dervish was on quite such intimate terms with the Durnham household.

Lady Durnham reached them and smiled at him, and it was such a warm, open smile, he wondered how he’d ever thought her cold. “Good morning, Lord Aldridge.”

She cast another quick look at her husband. “There is someone from the Foreign Office waiting for you. I told Jeffreys I’d deliver the message, and that he could send him through. A Mr. Frobisher.”

Jonathan recognized the name of the helpful informant who’d sent Dervish off to Sweden half-cocked. He looked expectantly at the doorway.

A man stepped through it, beautifully turned out, with a nervous tension about him. His eyes flicked a round the room, as if assessing its value.

Frobisher was also angry, although he tried to hide it. His step was a touch too stiff, and his lips tightened at the sight of Jonathan, then curled up into a sneer at Lady Durnham.

“You’ve just come from the consulate in Sweden, Mr. Frobisher?” Lady Durnham watched him with the cool look Jonathan was used to seeing at society balls.

“I arrived back yesterday morning.” Frobisher’s smile was forced. He turned to Durnham, a muscle jumping under his eye. “I have the document you asked for, my lord.” He didn’t offer the document up and turned his back slightly to Lady Durnham, excluding her from their circle.

Durnham’s eyes narrowed and Lady Durnham stepped to his side. She smiled that summer smile at Jonathan again. “Perhaps you can walk me to the door, Lord Aldridge? I must be going, I’m afraid. I have a busy day.” She gave Frobisher a nod, let her husband take her gloved hand and kiss it.

“Come straight back if you don’t mind, Aldridge,” Durnham said, and Jonathan noticed Frobisher tensed at that. He didn’t want this interview, and he certainly didn’t want it in front of an audience.

Jonathan held out his arm to Lady Durnham, and she slipped hers through it. She was elegant and as sharp as a
blade. As they walked from the room, Jonathan suddenly didn’t doubt she had unusual contacts who could watch houses and not be seen. He wouldn’t have liked to get on the wrong side of her.

As they stepped into the hall, she gave him a sudden grin that seemed more like that of a guttersnipe than a lady of the ton. “That Frobisher is too far north for me. What about you?” She pitched her voice low.

Jonathan’s jaw dropped. Then he snapped it closed. “He’s a file, all right.”

Her eyes lit with laughter, although the rest of her face remained as serene and calm as ever. “You know your slang, my lord.”

“I was in the army.” He lifted his shoulders. “Rubbed shoulders with my men long enough to pick some up.”

“I meant to ask you to dinner some time ago, but the months have run away with me, and, well, we’ve only been married for four months.” She slowed as they came to the door. “Would you like to join us one evening?”

“I would love to come to dinner.” Jonathan had the sense of receiving a rare invitation, and of being offered a camaraderie that was very selectively extended.

“Would Friday suit?” Already dressed for outdoors, she took a cloak down from a rack.

“Friday does suit.” He looked back at the library. “Why did you take against Frobisher so quickly?”

She looked at him in surprise. “First impressions are usually the right ones. He doesn’t like women, and he definitely
doesn’t like having one around when business is discussed.”

Her gaze followed his to the library. “Never trust a women-hater, Lord Aldridge. There is something wrong with a person who hates half the human race.” She paused. “That, and he looked over the library with a thief’s eyes. I’ve known enough thieves to recognize one when I see one.”

The butler appeared and opened the door, and Jonathan gave a bow as she swept out to a coach waiting for her, too surprised to respond.

“Charlotte get off all right?” Durnham asked as Jonathan walked back into the library. He and Frobisher were still standing near his desk.

“Yes.” He came toward them and wondered why Durnham hadn’t invited Frobisher to sit.

His rudeness to Lady Durnham might have had something to do with it.

“Frobisher was just telling me how things stand in Stockholm.” At last Durnham motioned to the seats. Frobisher chose a hard wooden chair and sat on the very edge of it.

“Were you there when Sir Barrington’s body was discovered?” Jonathan asked.

Frobisher stiffened. “Yes.”

Jonathan saw Durnham frown, but kept his own face blank. “Terrible business,” he said conversationally.

“Terrible.” Frobisher answered, quite without emotion, but there was something Jonathan sensed—some sharp edge that played in the set of his mouth. “Always bad when a British national is killed on foreign soil.”

Jonathan had the feeling he was talking about the red tape and paperwork, rather than the tragic loss of life.

Frobisher raised his head when both Jonathan and Durnham kept silent. “Your report, sir. I rather expected Lord Dervish to be the one to request it.” He put a hand inside his jacket and pulled out a piece of folded paper.

Durnham took it, his eyebrows rising. “Not much to it, Frobisher.”

“I told Lord Dervish there was barely anything to go on. That’s all I have. Will Lord Dervish require a copy, as well?”

“Lord Dervish is on his way to Stockholm,” Durnham said shortly. He unfolded the paper and read the contents. “Based on the rumor you told him you’d heard.”

Frobisher’s face went white. “Lord Dervish has gone to Sweden based on
this
, sir?”

It was the first genuine emotion Jonathan had seen in him since he curled his lip at the sight of Lady Durnham.

“Yes.” Durnham smiled at him. “But don’t worry, he knew there wasn’t much hard evidence. I don’t think I realized how very little there was, though.” He tapped the paper against his thigh. “Tell me about this, Frobisher. This informant who told you he’d seen Miss Barrington in one of the smaller towns north of Stockholm—did he say how she was traveling?”

“By coach, he said. He saw her when the coachman stopped to feed and water the horses at an inn.”

“How did he know it was her?”

“That’s why I told Lord Dervish it was unconfirmed, sir. The informant
didn’t
know it was her. We were asking if
anyone had seen a young Englishwoman, and he said he thought the woman he saw spoke English, and that she was heading north. Because Barrington and his daughter had recently come from Lapland, it’s possible it was her.”

“Yes.” Durnham leaned back. “It’s possible. You trust this informant?”

Frobisher shrugged. “As much as I trust any of them.”

There was nothing to say to that. They’d all used informants before, and Jonathan knew how untrustworthy they could be.

“Very well, thank you, Frobisher.” Durnham stood, and Frobisher stumbled to his feet.

“May I ask, sir, why you wanted the report now, with Lord Dervish already gone?” He still looked shocked to his core at the consequences of his information.

“I asked for it the day before yesterday, before Dervish left. If you only received my request today, it’s because the message was delayed, or you weren’t in to get it.”

Frobisher’s eyes narrowed at that, and Jonathan wondered which poor clerk was going to suffer for it. There was a mercilessness to Frobisher. A look he’d seen countless times in the give-and-take of violence on the battlefield.

Frobisher took his leave curtly, with none of the fawning some junior Foreign Office diplomats might indulge in with Durnham. Jonathan should have liked him better for it, but he couldn’t.