Her Saving Grace (27 page)

Once washed
, she pulled her hair back into a bun and pinned it in place, then chose a bib-front day dress, which was easy to fasten without the aid of a lady’s maid, and then made her way down to breakfast.

The Copleys usually ate breakfast soon after rising but it seemed that given Damaris and Nate’s night time escapades, not to mention their hous
eguests, they had chosen to keep town hours, as when Damaris entered the breakfast room at ten o’clock, she saw that Isabelle, Matthew and Annabelle were just sitting down to eat.

Matthew poured her a cup of tea and Nate joined them minutes later.

“Did everything go well?” Isabelle asked, for the whole family was aware of what had happened last night, even if the servants were not.

“Very well,” Damaris answered, though her tone implied that it wasn’t happy news that they had discovered.

Isabelle didn’t ask anything further, knowing that the Howards might join them at any moment.

Damaris didn’t
participate in the conversation, especially once Christopher and Hortense joined them and afterwards, she and Nate headed into the study.

The morning room in Copley Hall faced south, so that it had a lot of natural light. The study was at the front of the house, facing north, therefore very few people came through this part of the house in the morning and afternoon. The hardwood floor in the entrance hall also meant that the footsteps of anyone approaching the study could be heard in advance, especially with the door left open, so they felt able to talk freely there.

“How are you?” Nate asked once they were alone, holding his arms open for an embrace but leaving the choice to her.

She happily fell into his arms.

“I’m all right, I think. I was rather stunned last night but I seem to be assimilating our discoveries better this morning.”

“Have you had any thoughts on how to proceed?” he asked her.

“Some.” She pulled out of the embrace but took his hand as they headed to the chairs by the fireplace. “Nothing helpful however. You?”

“I had a few ideas on laying a trap.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.
Do you remember the Cato Street Conspiracy last year?”

“I can't say I do. I haven’t regularly read a newspaper for a while now.”

“Their plan was to kill the cabinet members while they were at a dinner party but the plot was thwarted. The main witness for the trial was considered unreliable, so two co-conspirators were convinced to testify against their friends and in return, the charges against them were dropped.”

“So you are suggesting that we get one of the traitors to turn on the others?”

“Exactly. The punishment for high treason is brutal, not just death; those convicted are hung, drawn and quartered, which is a fate that most people would do anything to avoid.”

“I’m not sure if I want any of the conspirators to be freed.”

“And I’m not certain we could stop them from being prosecuted, wartime treason is especially serious. I believe it might be possible however, to secure mercy for them, so that their sentences are commuted to life imprisonment, transportation or exile.”

“Who would we need to see to secure mercy for them?”
she asked.

“
We need to talk to the judge who is presiding over the next Court of Assize, the same person we need to talk to about getting a sentence of transportation for Mrs Murray.”

It struck her as odd that on the one hand, they were trying to impose a harsher sentence
than might be expected on an abortionist and at the same time, requesting leniency for a traitor.

“How do we find out who the judge will be?” she asked.

“The Court Clerk should know and will be able to tell us when the Assizes are next in town. If it’s some time away, we’ll have to find out the judge’s schedule and pay him a visit.”

“We’ll need something in writing before we can lay the trap.”

“Yes and we should also be prepared to wait.”

“Wait? Why?”

“Because the judge might not feel comfortable offering leniency to someone accused of high treason, he may want to discuss it with other judges or Parliament before agreeing and if that’s the case, Lord knows how long that will take.”

“But if the wait is too long, Christopher will have returned to France.”

“I know,” he answered, his expression grave. “Obviously I’ll extend their invitation here for as long as necessary and we’ll ask Lord Melchin to delay settling the estate for as long as possible. In the meantime, I suggest we be very generous with our house guests.”

“Generous?”

“Your brother seems very determined to get the money from your father’s estate as soon as possible, and he was most put out when he discovered the money was to be split three ways. He could just be greedy but on the other hand, he may need the money. If that is the case and he’s getting free room and board here, as well as the use of horses, new gowns for his wife, meals with the best families and trips to the theatre, he’ll be much more inclined to extend his stay.”

“How could he be poor?” she asked
incredulously. “There were fourteen paintings on father’s list, which means Christopher probably sold
at least
fourteen forged paintings to the French, for around two thousand pounds each! And for all we know, that could have been the lowest payment he received; some of the paintings on Father’s list are much better known, therefore probably worth more and used to cover even larger payments.”

“
But we don’t know how many people took a cut of that money. We know that Smyth received a share and so far, we suspect that five people are or were involved in the conspiracy, which divided equally would mean four hundred pounds each. If, as I suspect, there are more people involved, especially wealthy men, then your brother’s share might have been only one or two hundred.”

Damaris sat and digested his words. She didn’t like the idea that her brother had made a fortune from a scheme that had got her father killed but for some reason, she also didn’t like the idea that he might have made a pittance either, as if that somehow devalued her father’s life. She decided not to think about it for the moment,
as neither answer would bring her any peace.

“A
ssuming that we can get leniency for one of the traitors, how do we trick them into revealing their guilt?”

“The specifics I haven’t quite worked out yet but basically, we make someone that we know is involved, believe that your father found concrete evidence before his death. They will then try to retrieve that evidence and when they do, we’ll be waiting.”

“What kind of evidence?”

“The first thought I had, was making them believe that the coded list of paintings was found in a book in his library, perhaps your fat
her’s favourite book. When the Will is read, we can ask Melchin to specifically mention that your father bequeathed certain books to you, one of which will be the book we left the list of paintings in. If Christopher is guilty, he’ll start to worry about what might be in the other books and wonder why those books specifically, were left to you. He or one of his conspirators will try to retrieve the books before you can and we’ll be waiting to arrest them.”

She had to admit that while it might need some tweaking here and there, it was a sound idea. There would be time for that later however.

“What do you think?” he asked, seeming keen for her opinion.

“I think it’s a good idea but rathe
r than finding out who the Assizes judge is, we should go to London and talk to Arthur Wellesley.”

“The
Duke of Wellington?”

“Yes. He was very kind to me
after William died and he is a Member of Parliament now. He also masterminded our victory against the French and even if he can't personally grant leniency to a traitor, his words will carry a lot of weight with the people who can. I’m sure he could even get an audience with King George if necessary.”

“And we will need to go to London to speak with Melchin and orchestrate our plot. We
may have to remain in town for a day or two, as we wait for an answer, so we will be missed.”

“I’m sure we can find a good excuse. Perhaps you have friends in t
own for the Season? Or Eliza Franklin will cover for us; we could say that we are spending a weekend with her.”

“She lives less than ten miles away,” he reminded her.

“Oh, yes.” She hadn’t thought of that.

“Why don’t you write to Wellington and leave me to excuse our absence?”

“Write to him? I thought we were going to see him?”

“We will, but it’s poor form to turn up on someone’s doorstep without letting them know. I realise
Parliament is in session but there could be any number of reasons why he isn’t there, and a wasted journey does no one any good.”

That could take days, she realised. “Perhaps it would be better to explain everything in a letter? He can send whatever authorisation we need.”

Nathaniel looked sceptical.

“What is it?” she demanded.

“I just think that in a situation like this, a personal plea will be better received.”

“He’s not a fool, Nate, he won’t do as I want because I play to my feminine wiles.”

“Feminine wiles?” He smiled, seemingly amused by her statement.

Feeling mocked, her anger got the better of her. “Just because I don’t bat my eyel
ashes and play up to the image of a weak female, doesn’t mean I couldn’t, and you have no right to judge me when you have only known me a matter of days.”

She stormed from the room and
as tears of humiliation stung her eyes, she ran to the only place that she wanted to be, the nursery.

She may not enjoy the limitations of being a woman but that didn’t mean that she couldn’t be feminine. She had thought that Nate understood her but his laughing at her just proved that she couldn’t trust him
, anymore than any other man.

Nathaniel dashed a hand through his hair, wondering how things had deteriorated so quickly. He hadn’t even laughed, only her assumption that by meeting in person, she could somehow use
her femininity.

She was beautiful and he had no doubt that she could bewitch a man, were she so inclined, however it was the idea that the Duke would be susceptible to such a ploy that amused him. He didn’t know the man personally but he had been given to believe that Wellington was a strategist, and it was his cool logi
c which had won the Napoleonic Wars.

In many ways
Wellington probably had a lot in common with Damaris, and he could no more be manipulated by a pretty woman, than she could by a handsome man.

Even although
she had twisted him around her little finger, clearly he didn’t have the same effect on her.

He realised that
was a rather resentful and unkind thought but sometimes, he despaired of her ever returning his affections.

He was being too hard on her though. He had gone into this with his eyes open, knowing that she was damaged, that she had trouble trusting and even more difficulty showing affection. Given that they were also investigating her father’s death and that her brother showed every sign of being involved, if not responsible, he should be glad that she had come to trust him at all, let alone telling him last night that she cared for him.

And in an odd sort of logic, the fact that his words had hurt her at all showed that she had taken him into her heart, at least in a small way. If it weren’t for the fact that he had hurt her, no matter how unintentionally, he would be pleased by that knowledge.

He knew that she didn’t enjoy appearing vulnerable, so he decided to give her a little time to cool down before seeking her out to apologise.

In the meantime he sought out his mother to keep her apprised of recent events, then he fetched their copy of the Lanford Times, intending to study the advertisements and look for a production or event that might excuse a trip to London.

Once he had found something suitable, and roped his sister in to act as c
haperone, he sought Damaris out. She had taken Ella out into the gardens and the girl seemed to have found a cat, probably a ratter from one of the local farms, and was chasing it through the herb garden; although the cat appeared more inclined to tease the child than having a genuine desire to flee.

Damaris stiffened when she saw him but no longer looked angry, nonetheless, he approached with caution.

“I’m sorry,” he offered as his opening gambit.

“No, I’m sorry. You were probably right.”

He hated the doubt he saw in her eyes.

“I meant no slight,” he assured her. “I know full well how beguiling you are, for you have me firmly under your spell. My comment was on the likely reaction of Wellington although since you know him better than I, perhaps I should have kept my thoughts to myself.”

“No, it’s my fault. I’m a little overwrought at the moment but I shouldn’t have shouted at you; that was unforgivable.”

“It was not unforgivable,” he chuckled, “but I do believe that we are now arguing over who gets to apologise.”

“Yes, that does seem a little ridiculous.” She smiled. “Sorry.”

He was about to assure her that she had nothing to apologise for, when he realised that she had been teasing. He laughed as he held his hand out and when she placed hers in his, he raised it to his lips and kissed her knuckles.

He would have liked to kiss her properly, show her exactly how far under her spell she had him but alas, they were visible from the house and he would not risk her reputation like that. Instead, he placed her hand on his elbow as they followed Ella.

“I believe I have contrived a reason for us to visit London.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, there is a performance of Hamlet for the
next two weeks at the Piccadilly Theatre. The advertisement says it is unedited which if memory serves, would make the performance four hours long and while I may not know them well, I cannot see your brother being interested in such a long play. Just in case however, while we are away, Mother is arranging a dinner party for Lanford’s brightest and best, which I’m sure will be far more to their liking.”

She nodded her approval. “Should your knack for deception worry me?”

“Oh, I think your sharp mind could soon find any inconsistencies, but we must just give thanks that your eldest brother does not seem to have the same powers of reasoning.”

***

The Copleys had a modest, three bay, three storey townhouse in London, just off Grosvenor Street. Until his father’s death, the family had spent every summer in London, enjoying the Season. With his new duties as Justice of the Peace however, Nathaniel hadn’t wanted to commit himself this year, although they had arranged to spend the last two weeks of June in London.

They had waited five days before venturing to London, first waiting for a response from the Duke of Wellington, then wa
iting for the Wednesday. Since Parliament broke early that day, Wellington had invited them to dine with him on the Wednesday night. They thought it best not to arrive any earlier, in case they had to wait a day or two for a response.

Nathaniel had worried that the wait would upset Damaris, especially since she had been chomping at the bit from
the start to find her father’s killer, but while she was a little agitated by not having any other leads to pursue, she was far more calm than he had expected.

She spent part of each day reading through her father’s papers, her detective
s findings and her own notes, but then she spent the rest of the day with Ella, Nate, his family or when she had to, her brother.

Given
that she had a distinct lack of artifice, he was surprised that she could be so civil to her brother but she assured him that she had plenty of practice reining in her emotions around her brothers and mother.

She also spent a few hours in the music room, practising on the pianoforte. She wouldn’t allow anyone to listen to her but he had paused outside the door a few times, and could detect nothing wrong with her playing. Nonetheless, he didn’t p
ress her to play publically, nor would he until her brother was gone.

Christopher and Hortense seemed
quite at home at Copley Hall and thanks to the hospitality that they had received, in no hurry to leave. Thanks to the rather lavish dinner party that Isabelle had planned, they also declined the invitation to accompany Nathan, Damaris and Annabelle to London.

When the time came for them to leave,
Damaris almost seemed reluctant, unwilling to leave Ella even although she was in good hands. Nathaniel thought it a good sign, that perhaps she was coming to terms with her losses, and her changing priorities were a sign that she was starting to move forward with her life.

They and the servants arrived in the afternoon and
were able to settle into the house before changing for dinner.

Wellington’
s home was a five bay red brick building located on Hyde Park Corner. Called Apsley House after the family who built it, the Duke had bought and renovated it, using some of the £700,000 that Parliament had awarded him for his victory at Waterloo.

He greeted Damaris warmly, with a kiss on her cheek and after introductions were made, guided
his three guests to the Striped Drawing room for an apéritif.

“I’m sorry that Kitty couldn’t join us,” Wellington told
Damaris. “She much prefers to stay with the children at Stratfield Saye, she says the air is better there.”

It was well known that the Duke didn’t much like his wife so even alth
ough Nathaniel didn’t know the Duke, he saw the story for the untruth it was.

“
I’m sorry to miss her. Please, send her my best wishes the next time you write.”

“I will,” the Duke
assured Damaris, taking a seat now that everyone had a drink.

He offered his condolences for her father, whom he had been friendly with, then they made small talk through dinner.

Although conversation remained light and Wellington maintained a good-humoured attitude, Nathaniel thought he caught many small glimpses of his politic mind at work.

When th
ey retired to the drawing room after the meal, Wellington dismissed the servants.

“Your letter was rather cryptic, my dear, and I confess
you have me quite intrigued.” Wellington said to Damaris. He swirled the brandy in his glass as he spoke, taking an occasional sip. “So, what is it that I can do for you?”

Ordering events to make as much sense as possible,
Damaris explained the situation with her father’s murder investigation; the two other murders, the sale of fake paintings and her suspicions that her father had been killed because he had discovered the conspiracy. She explained that while they didn’t have proof, they had three suspects and she explained the evidence they had, showing him the receipt they had taken from the art dealer, and explaining why the other men were suspects.

Finally she described how they wanted to entrap one of the traitors
into revealing his guilt, then bribe, cajole and threaten him into revealing the names of his fellow conspirators, in exchange for leniency.

Wellington grew more and more solemn as her story progressed and when she had finished, he took a long sip of his brandy and sat quietly.

“Is mercy something that you would help us secure?” Damaris asked, unable to stand the silence.

Nathaniel had to admire Wellington’s insc
rutability, he gave little away but Nate felt for Damaris. She was highly strung at the best of times, but confessing her own brother’s betrayal seemed especially difficult.

He could see that his sister, Annabelle, was also shocked by the revelations, since he had only explained things in very broad terms to his family, but she did her best to remain silent and not pass judgement on Christopher Howard.

“There has been talk of a high level conspiracy to sell secrets to the French for years,” Wellington finally admitted. “Your father’s position in the War Office, combined with his disappearance in the middle of the war, had many believing that he was the traitor and that he had fled to avoid capture.”

Damaris gasped and
Nathaniel reached over and took her hand, trying to comfort her. He had heard those rumours, who in Lanford hadn’t? But he had prayed that they never reached Damaris’ ears. She clearly idolised her father and knowing that many believed him a traitor had to hurt.

“Of course, knowing that he
never left his home town changes things somewhat,” the Duke added, trying to appease Damaris.

Nate couldn’
t help but think that Wellington’s dispassionate response to the new allegations wasn’t going to bode well for them.

“We lo
st a lot of good men in the war,” he continued.

“I know,” Damaris reminded him, although it was highly unlikely that Wellington had forgotten the death of his cousin.

“If these accusations are true and we were betrayed, I’m not inclined to offer anyone leniency.”

“The war has been over for six years now and they haven’t been caught,” Nathaniel interjected himself into the conversation. “Surely allowing one to live so tha
t we might capture the others, is preferable to allowing them all to escape justice?”

“And we’re not suggesting that they are set free,
” Damaris added. “Only that one is not sentenced to die. And if that isn’t possible, that he receive a clean death, rather than being hung, drawn and quartered.”

“Death is
death, and the mode of taking his life matters little to the condemned man, surely?”

“I think to a condemned man, it is
all
that matters,” she argued.

“There are other ways to persuade a man to talk,” Wellington said darkly.

“Then why haven’t you employed them to date?” she demanded.

Nate squeezed her hand, trying to remind her that they wanted Wellington’s cooperation
, and perhaps antagonism wasn’t their best course of action.

“B
ecause our best suspect was your father, and one cannot interrogate a dead man.”

She blanched but Nathaniel wasn’t sure if it was because he had truly believed her father guilty, or because she had realised that
interrogate was a euphemism for torture. Until now it hadn’t occurred to him that those accused of High Treason could be held without evidence and confessions forced out of them. To be honest, that felt like an old practice and if it happened these days, it was kept rather quiet. But a traitor was still a traitor and after a dozen years of war with France, many would be inclined to overlook the cruel methods that might be employed.

Still, as much as Damaris disliked her brother and even although he might be responsible for their father’s murder, she would likely not support the use of such methods.

“I’m sorry, my dear.” Wellington put his glass down and leaned forward, his congenial façade back in place. “I realise that this whole situation must be very difficult for you.”