If I Fall (24 page)

But both men were on him too quickly for any excuses.

“So it was your plan to attack Lord Fieldstone that night at the theatre?” Sir Marcus asked. “Missed him when he left early and had to revise your plan?”

“No!” Jack cried.

“But you said—”

“I’ve never attacked Lord Fieldstone! Or planned to! I thought the man died of a heart seizure.”

The Blue Raven again looked at Sir Marcus. “Well, his heart likely seized when he realized his throat had a gaping hole slashed in it.”

“What my brother means is,” Marcus interrupted, “the story was … massaged. To keep public panic from erupting.”

“He’s your brother?” Jack asked dazedly.

“Did he not introduce himself properly? Tsk-tsk, Byrne.” Marcus replied with a smile.

“He said he was…” Jack’s voice trailed off.

“I’m retired,” Byrne Worth shrugged, his cane rolling steadily between his hands.

As the brothers Worth each gave a small chuckle, enjoying their private joke, Jack thought it might be prudent to take stock of his surroundings.

They seemed to be in a basement of some kind, the moistness of the air and the stones of the wall told him they likely weren’t too far from the docks. No windows, but there was a set of stairs. That was all he could see in the light of the single lantern. His shoulder, having broken his fall, felt like a dozen knives were being stabbed in and out of his wounded flesh.

So. He was in a basement. By the docks. Hurt but not incapacitated. And Sir Marcus Worth, head of the powerful Security Section and now likely de facto head of the War Department, had a brother, who during the Peninsular War acted as the anonymous agent of the Crown known as the Blue Raven.

And they were interrogating him.

“How did you know I was…” he began, unsure of how to phrase his query.

“How did we know that you have been the man running around dressed up as the Blue Raven, foiling rapes and robberies in dark alleys and seducing the Golden Lady in theatre cupboards?” Sir Marcus asked.

“It sounds strange when you put it like that,” he grumbled back.

The corner of Sir Marcus’s mouth turned up. “Miss Forrester told us.” At Jack’s shocked expression, he continued. “Well, she told my wife. And she didn’t give us your name, as she doesn’t know that it’s you, after all. But she did tell us all about meeting the Blue Raven at the opera, the night Lord Fieldstone died. And about the moustache.”

“Knowing a fair bit about assuming disguises, we checked with local theatres and wig shops, to see if anyone purchased a false moustache in the week or so previous to the opera.” He looked at Jack pityingly. “A naval officer purchasing a false moustache tends to stand out in people’s memory. After that, it really wasn’t that difficult to track you down.”

Jack blew out a breath, exasperated. It seemed the one bit of disguise he had invested in to hide himself from Sarah’s discerning eye was the piece that gave him away.

“Of course, we didn’t really know until today,” Marcus continued. “Byrne was following you for days.”

“He was?” Jack asked, surprised.

Byrne Worth cocked his head to one side. “You didn’t notice, ever? Not even when you left Somerset House today? I could have sworn you found me out.”

The man he had almost run into. Hunched, aged, with the cane. He had been still when everyone else was moving or talking. He was not looking at Jack, but his posture had been so tense, in hindsight Jack could see he had been … paying attention.

“I did,” Jack began slowly. “But I didn’t think…”

“Of course not. And that’s what allowed me to follow you for hours.” Byrne smiled. “That and your blessedly slow pace,” he added, indicating his cane.

However, before Jack could say anything in his own defense,
there was a knock at the door (or at least Jack assumed there was a door) at the top of the stairs.

The brothers looked at each other again—the conversations they were able to have without speech mystified him—and Marcus gave Jack a quick nod.

“Excuse me, would you? Won’t be but a moment.”

And with that, Sir Marcus took the stairs two at a time, due more to his long gait than any urgency.

Leaving Jack alone with the obviously more dangerous element.

Who was staring at him the way a snake in the grass watched its prey.

Just stare him down,
Jack told himself, trying to will himself into leveling the playing field.
Just keep calm
.

“Don’t do it,” his captor advised calmly.

“Don’t do what?”

“Scream for help,” he replied.

“Well, there would be little point.” Jack remarked. As Byrne raised a quizzical brow, Jack continued. “If Sir Marcus is comfortable enough moving about … wherever we are, the structure is likely under his control. Add to that, I can’t hear a thing beyond this room; therefore, I doubt anyone could hear in.”

Byrne blinked a moment. And then, in the most chillingly possible way, smiled at Jack.

“A very coolheaded assessment. You’re doing better than expected, you realize. Most people, when locked in a basement with the Blue Raven, end up blubbering.”

“Maybe we can save that for later,” Jack quipped, his levity earning a half smile from Byrne, but no reprieve from his intense stare. “Mr. Worth, I apologize. I didn’t mean to step on your toes. Dressing up as the…” Jack cleared his throat, and started again. “I didn’t even think you were alive any longer.”

“A common misconception. And it’s
Sir
Byrne Worth.” Byrne replied, his eyes never leaving Jack’s. Then he cocked his head to one side. “Why did you do it?”

Jack took a deep breath, kept his gaze on his interrogator, who was in half shadow.

“For her.”

“For Miss Forrester?” Byrne asked. “She’s fashionable enough to warrant a little foolishness from some young idiots,
but somehow I don’t think such stupidity comes naturally to you.”

“I can’t explain it,” Jack blew out a rush of air. “I thought it would be a way to … return her to herself.”

And so he told the tale. Of how Sarah had undergone marked changes in manner, and how they had fought. He told him of how she used to delight in Blue Raven stories and how he had rationalized that if anything would bring her back to herself, it would be this.

As Byrne listened to Jack’s tale, he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair.

Finally, when Jack had let the tale trail off, Byrne sat forward again, bringing his face back into the light.

He was laughing.

“My boy, that is the biggest pile of bullshit I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s the truth—” Jack began, but was cut off with a sharp movement of Byrne’s hand.

“No. The truth is, Sarah Forrester got under your skin. And you couldn’t stand it. So you devised a way to get under hers.”

As Jack tried to rationalize his intentions, he became increasingly aware of a series of random, pitiful sounds emanating from his mouth. “But … I … Wait, that’s … No…” Until finally his brain came back to him and he managed to form a complete sentence.

“Perhaps we can revisit the issue of Lord Fieldstone? I didn’t kill the man, I swear.” Jack blurted. “I wouldn’t even know how.”

“It’s not that difficult,” Byrne replied, cool. “I think you could have figured it out.”

“Er … Yes, but why?” Jack argued. “Why on earth would I have done such a thing? I met the man precisely once in my life, and had no notion of ever seeing him again.”

“Yes, why?” Byrne drawled. “Perhaps we should enlighten the lieutenant on just what he’s stumbled into.”

“I’d be happy to,” came Marcus’s voice from the top of the stairs.

“How much do you know about Burma?” Sir Marcus asked. His affect was casual, but his intentions far from it.

But Jack knew barely anything about Burma. And that is what he told them.

“I know fuck all about Burma,” Jack replied sharply.

“I see your sailor is coming through,” Byrne said laughing. But Marcus’s face was impassive.

“I think you know more than that,” Sir Marcus replied quietly as he took a chair out of the shadows and sat directly in front of Jack. “In fact, you’re the one who alerted us to the Comte de Le Bon’s seeming lack of knowledge of the area.”

“This is about the Comte?” Jack asked, becoming increasingly bewildered.

“We’ll come back to him. Again I ask, what do you know about Burma?”

“I know what I’ve studied in maps.” Jack sighed. “We spent several years in the Indies, but never made port in Burma.”

“Of course you didn’t. British India and Burma aren’t exactly on the best of terms.” Sir Marcus said genially. “I know little more than you, of course, but it seems that England is about to learn a great deal.”

And then, Sir Marcus continued with a story of such global proportions that Jack had to acknowledge that, yes, indeed, he was in way over his head.

Burma and British India were no friends, that was a well-documented fact. The reason for this was that Burma liked to acquire new territory as much as Britain did, but differed on one material point. In whatever territory the Burmese conquered, such as Assam and Manipur, they took the occupants as slaves. When said occupants fled across the border to the sanctuary of Bengal or any of the East Indian states, Burma invaded, to “recover their property.” The governor of India was annoyed by this. But even as he offered truce after truce, Burma persisted in pushing the boundaries of their kingdom, especially in the direction of British India.

In other words, they were spoiling for a fight.

“But the governor-general of India, is not inclined to give it to them. So we keep negotiating for peace resolutions, and they keep defying them.” Sir Marcus lectured. “The head of the War Department receives constant updates and missives about the state of affairs in all corners of the British Empire, including those corners adjacent to Burma.”

“As one would assume,” Jack replied slowly.

“On Fieldstone’s desk, when he died, were reports of heightened conflicts in Burma … extremely heightened, more bombastic and alarming than we had previously seen until now.” He paused in his speech. “Do you follow so far?”

Jack blinked once. “I still don’t know what this has to do with Lord Fieldstone … or me.”

“Lord Fieldstone is … er, was the head of the War Department.” Marcus intoned.

“Yes, I’m aware.”

Finally Byrne sat forward, his drawl cutting to the point. “The knife he was killed with was left behind. It was a
dha
.”

“A
dha
.” Jackson repeated, and suddenly, everything made sense. Why he was being lectured on Burmese history, and why
he
of all people was sitting here, tied to chair. A
dha
was a sword. But more specifically, it was a sword from the Indies. Jack had seen numerous
dha
in the shops whenever they docked in Bombay or the island of Shapuree. They varied by length and ornamentation depending on the region they hailed from, but if he had to guess, the sword found in Lord Fieldstone’s office drenched in his blood was a Burmese
dha
.

“And you hid this from the public,” Jackson concluded.

“For as long as we can,” Marcus replied. “I do not think it can be forever. Servants in the Fieldstone house saw him, as well as his wife and son.”

Silence fell as the words were absorbed. Then Marcus filled it. “There is more.”

“I should bloody well hope so,” Jack replied earning a small smile from Byrne.

“A week before Fieldstone died, he sent me on a mission. To France, to investigate the Comte de Le Bon.” Marcus’s face became hard with the memory. “Why, he would not say, only that he wanted to make certain the man’s origins were as he said in his long-winded stories.”

“And are they?”

“As far as I could learn about his early life in France, yes.” Marcus shrugged. “But that was before he was grown and had become best friends with a Burmese aristocrat.”

Realization dawned. “And you think they had something to do with this.”

“It is too large a coincidence. My primary theory is that Lord Fieldstone’s murder connects to the Comte and Mr. Ashin Pha somehow.”

Jackson would have rubbed his chin in contemplation, if he was not still tied to a chair.

“And your secondary theory is … that I am an insane man who runs around dressed up as the Blue Raven, kissing girls in cupboards and murdering men in their homes, and since I’ve spent the last few years in the East Indies, I could very possibly have a
dha
.”

Sir Marcus shot his brother another look, this one decidedly bemused.

“I do, by the bye, have a
dha
. Purchased it from a tourist shop in Bombay. But I’m fairly certain it is securely locked away in my room at the Forresters.”

“And we’d very much like to see it,” Sir Marcus said. “For purposes of ruling you out, of course.”

“Happily, I’ll take you to it right now if you’d untie me.” Jackson bantered back, much to the amusement of Byrne. “But I can rule myself out right now, if you’d prefer.”

“How?”

“First of all, I am neither insane, nor do I have a motive for killing the poor man.”

“Don’t you?” Byrne leaned in again, making himself known, as if they could have forgotten him. “If Lord Fieldstone’s true manner of death were to become known, bloody
dha
and all, how quickly do you think Britain declares war on Burma?”