The Mayfair Affair (43 page)

Louisa's footman drew himself up to his full six feet two inches. "Her ladyship has already retired, sir."

"This is an emergency." Malcolm pushed past the footman into the marble-tiled entrance hall.

For a moment he thought the footman might actually try to tackle him, but instead the man drew a strangled breath. "Mr. Rannoch—"

Malcolm was already halfway up the first flight of stairs by the time the footman got the two words out. He didn't pause on the first-floor landing, but immediately started up the next flight. He had just reached the second-floor landing when a gunshot cut the air.

He was at the door of Louisa's bedchamber before his brain registered what he had heard.
He hadn't seen his mother right after she killed herself. He'd been at Oxford. But he'd imagined the scene many times. The sickly-sweet smell of fresh blood. The sulfurous sting of a recently fired pistol. The blood spattered on the wall, pooled about her, dripping on the floor.

Very like the scene he saw when he shouldered open the door of Louisa's bedchamber.

Louisa was slumped over her dressing table, the pistol still in her hand. Despite the gaping wound in her head, Malcolm went to her side at once and felt for a pulse. Her skin was still warm, but he could feel no blood beating in her veins. Her eyes had the fixed glassiness of a light that has been put out. He snatched a gilded hand mirror from the dressing table and held it to her mouth. Nothing misted the glass.

Footsteps pounded on the landing. Malcolm spun round to meet the horrified gaze of the footman he had shouldered past. Another footman and a young woman in a blue-striped gown stood just behind.

"Madam!" The young woman, who must be Louisa's maid, screamed and started forwards.

Malcolm moved to intercept her. "There's nothing you can do for her. Are the children asleep upstairs?"

The woman gave a jerky nod. The blood had drained from her face, but her gaze had the focus of one who was good in a crisis. Malcolm touched her arm, the way he would an agent he was sending on a mission. "Tell the nurse to make sure they stay in the nursery." He turned to the two footmen. "There's been a terrible accident. Send for Lord Carfax and Lord Worsley at once. I just left Lord Carfax at Carfax House and Lord Worsley should be at the Albany, but track them down if you need to. Tell them it's urgent." He looked from the footmen to Louisa's maid. "And keep the rest of the staff off this floor."

It was the maid who nodded and shepherded the two footmen from the room. She had a good head on her shoulders. She'd make sure they summoned Carfax and David. Malcolm closed the door behind them, drew a hard breath, and turned back to Louisa's body. It was only then that he saw the sealed paper tucked into a corner of the looking glass. It was spattered with blood, but his name was still legible in Louisa's careful script. Mouth dry, he reached for it and slit it open.

My dear Malcolm,

If you are reading this I am probably dead. So in a way none of this matters. But I find I need someone to know the truth. I suspect you'd have figured it out in any case. You may have done so already. I fear one of my worst mistakes was to underestimate you. Odd, given that I've known you longer than so many of the people caught up in this sorry tale.

But you might not be able to work out the whole of it without me. And I seem to have enough shreds of conscience left not to want someone else to pay for my crimes. I know your need to seek justice (I've heard my father bewail it often enough). But I trust you will consider the feelings of those I leave behind when you decide what to do with this.

I loved Jack Tarrington. I love Jack Tarrington and will continue to do so with my dying breath. No one has ever meant as much to me—not my parents, not my sisters and brother. Not my children. Certainly not my husband. I know what you must be thinking about Jack, I know what a fool you probably consider me. But I don't think anyone but me really understood him. He'd been hurt so much. Is it any wonder that he sought comfort and escape?

I know you're thinking he continued to seek them after he met me, and of course it's true. But what we had was different. I think I understood him in a way other women didn't. I never had any illusions that I could heal him. And God knows he understood me as no one has before or since. I've never felt so alive as I did with him. Whatever came after, I'll always be grateful for that. And for what we had. I don't know that he'd have been faithful if he hadn't had to leave England. But I am sure what's between us would have lasted.

I was surprised when I heard he'd married. Not because he'd been with another woman—he wasn't the sort to stay celibate. But because I didn't think he'd marry. That's when I realized the woman must be with child. Odd if I hadn't already been married to Craven, Jack would have had to marry me. Oh, he's George's father. Someone needs to know in case George ever works it out for himself or someone threatens to tell him. Father knows. But I'm not sure I can trust Father to put George's interests first.

In any case, I'm not quite besotted enough to think Jack would have married me if only I'd been free. But I do think he'd have done so once I was with child. Instead Father had to pay Craven to acknowledge George as his, and Jack was packed off to India.

It hurt, hearing he'd taken a wife. So much more tangible than a mistress. I was torn between wanting to learn everything I could about them and not being able to bear it. I told myself he'd come back to England eventually. He had to, he was his father's heir. And married or not we'd find each again. Oh, it was a risk with Craven. But Jack wasn't one to shy away from risk. Quite the reverse.

And then I got word that he was dead. I can still remember the exact moment. Craven poked his head into the breakfast parlor waving the
Times
to tell me. Then he went off whistling down the hall. I heard the sound ringing in my ears. I couldn't make sense of the words. The next thing I knew I was sick all over the Wedgwood breakfast set my mother gave us when we married. The pain of learning he was married was nothing compared to learning he was dead.

I hadn't seen him in almost five years. You'd think that would have made it easier. But every instant I drew breath I was aware that he no longer shared the earth with me.

From the first, I was sure there was something odd about it. Jack was too vital to die in a mere accident. The only thing that kept me sane was trying to learn the truth. Jack couldn't risk writing to me. But I knew he'd been in communication with Lily Duval. Oh, yes, he told me about her. Her son is just a bit older than George.

That was the first time I knew I'd need help. I'm not like Suzanne, able to pick locks and don disguises. But I am my father's daughter. And not so naive as he seems to flatter himself his daughters are. I knew the sort of men he must have working for him. I'd seen Billy once when he came to Carfax House. It only required riffling through Father's papers to figure out how to contact him.

Billy broke into Lilly Duval's house and stole Jack's letters. Did you think it was Trenchard who did that? I imagine he'd have liked to have them if he'd known their contents. Not that they revealed everything. But they did tell me that Jack had learned something about his father in the weeks before he died. I knew I needed to learn more about Trenchard. There seemed an obvious way to do so.

Does that shock you more than my tumbling into an affair with Trenchard out of boredom and desperation? Or less? It was surprisingly easy to snag his attention. Perhaps I underestimated my charms. Or overestimated Trenchard's scruples. I'm sorry for what it did to Mary, but it's not as though Trenchard meant a great deal to her. The worst was that I wasn't able to discover anything from Trenchard in the course of the affair. When he ended things I wasn't sure what to do next. I had Billy watching Lily Duval because she was one of my remaining links to Jack. I'd begun to despair of ever learning the truth, when Billy told me Lily had summoned James. They met in a coffeehouse—perhaps she didn't want to talk to him at home with her son. In any case, Billy managed to overhear their conversation. And then I knew. Not only Trenchard but Craven. The man I married.

I never had a great deal of respect for either of them. Despite Father's attempts to shield us, I've been enough of his world to learn some harsh truths about what people are capable of. But for a man to do that to his own child— I haven't been the best of mothers, but I couldn't imagine even contemplating doing what he did. Every feeling revolts. What it cost me to realize how intimate I'd been with two men who'd done what they did— I won't embarrass us both by going into details, but you will understand how I felt. That's why I'm writing to you. They had to pay for their crimes.

Oh, yes, I thought about telling Father, as I'm sure you're thinking I should have done. But do you really imagine Father would have wanted justice for Jack? Father had little sympathy for Jack. He didn't think much of Trenchard and Craven, but they were his sons-in-law. Any scandal involving them would reflect upon the family. And on Father himself. He'd have tried to shield me from any scandal. But he wouldn't have turned Trenchard and Craven over to the law. Or exacted retribution on his own. At best he'd have used what he knew to bend Trenchard and Craven to his will.

They deserved worse. Jack deserved for them to suffer worse.

But I could have gone to Bow Street, you'll say. It would have been my word against that of my husband and brother-in-law. They'd have claimed I was an hysterical woman who couldn't get over the death of her lover. Craven might have used it as proof to get me locked away in an asylum. And if I'd gone to David? Or to you, which is much the same thing? You'd have listened, I give you that. You might have investigated on your own. But much as I admire you, Malcolm, I don't think you're ruthless enough to be a match for Trenchard. You might have learned enough to convince yourself of his guilt. But to convince the world? I need only look to Lord Dewhurst to see how that would have played out.

No, the only way for Trenchard and my husband to pay for their crimes was for me to see to it myself. You see, I really do listen to Father at times. He always says if one really wants a job done right, one has to take care of it oneself.

Shocked? They deserve to hang for their crimes after suffering the humiliation of a trial. Oh, I forget you don't believe in killing criminals. But even you must grant that if anyone deserved it they did.

But it wasn't my place to exact retribution, is that what you'll say? Tell me my father has never taken justice—or whatever his version of justice is—into his own hands. Tell me that you never have done. And if you deny you ever have, tell me what you'd do if someone murdered Suzanne and you had no recourse to the law.

I wanted to confront Trenchard. I needed to get confirmation from his lips. It was easier than I expected. Than I feared. When I came through the secret passage, at first he thought I wanted to renew our affair. When I turned the conversation to Jack, when I laid out my case, it was almost as though he enjoyed confirming my suspicions. Oh, he didn't come right out and say it—he was too clever for that. But he complimented me on my resourcefulness. He said he could admire a man who was ruthless enough to do what I accused him of.

He was pouring us drinks and expanding on how it took a great man to see beyond petty familial ties when I pulled the trigger.

I fled. I confess I was in shock. I knew he wasn't dead, but it never occurred to me someone would get to him before he died. God, if he had recovered—

But he didn't. And I knew I couldn't count on myself to manage the business with Craven. I was too shaky. Or, you're thinking, I couldn't bear to kill my children's father? That might have been an element of it, but I don't think it was a strong element. And remember, in point of fact he's not the father of all my children. It was more that I was afraid I'd bungle it. And I knew I couldn't kill Craven at home.

So I employed Billy. I'm betraying him by saying that, but Billy was well paid, and he can look after himself. I expect you'd like me to say the guilt hit me when I learned Craven was dead, and my quest was over. But I can't tell you what a relief it was. To know Jack was avenged. And to know I no longer had to face Craven in my life. Across the breakfast table. At the other end of our dining table. In my bed, God help me, though that had become rare. I felt I could breathe for the first time in years.

But I knew you were investigating. I wanted you to prove Miss Dudley innocent, but I was afraid of what else you might uncover. I didn't realize Mary knew I'd been Trenchard's mistress. She always did have a way of poking her nose where she didn't belong. Though I suppose Mary would claim this concerned her. In any case, once I was connected to both Craven and Trenchard I had a horrible feeling it was only a matter of time. I sent Billy to your house tonight to see what he could discover about the state of your investigation. A desperate move, but I have few moves left. When Billy didn't return as planned to report to me, I knew something had gone wrong. I don't think Billy would talk, but once you worked out that it wasn't Father who was paying him this time—-

I don't think I could bear prison. Not that I think Father would let it come to that. I'm not sure what he'd do. Pack me off somewhere. Frame someone else. Or even arrange a convenient accident for me. He's not as bad as Trenchard, but he could see it as taking justice into his own hands. After all, I'm his daughter. I think like him.