And but for this, were active to no end:
Fixed like a plant on his peculiar spot,
To draw nutrition, propagate, and rot;
Or, meteor-like, flame lawless through the void,
Destroying others, by himself destroyed.
II. ii.
Hester was greeted at the door by Lord Hawkhurst’s servants with open astonishment. The footman ran immediately to fetch the steward, Robert Shaw. After telling Mr. Shaw enough about her abduction to convince him that a message should be sent to Hawkhurst House at once, Hester begged to be served some breakfast in her chamber and to be left alone to sleep until she recovered from her ordeal. She begged them not to send for Mr. Henry until she asked.
She made certain that St. Mars was not in her room before she allowed the footman to enter to fill her ewer and basin with water. Then she waited nervously for the food and chocolate to arrive, locked the door after the servant who brought them, and hastened to look behind the secret door.
St. Mars had shown her where to find the mechanism, a particular piece of carving in the elaborate paneling, which operated a spring in the wall. She turned the piece, which resembled a pineapple from the Indies, and the door in the wall sprang open.
St. Mars looked up from where he was sitting on the top step, but not before Hester caught a glimpse of the angry spot on the back of his head. The sight of his injury chased every self-conscious thought from her mind.
She hurried to help him. “Oh, your poor head! You must permit to me wash the blood off, so I can see how serious it is underneath.”
In the ensuing bustle, while she washed the tender knot, examined his cut, helped him off with his shirt and boots, and tucked him into bed, she had no leisure to think of the impropriety of his being in her chamber or to wonder what he thought of it, himself. She suspected that he thought nothing of it at all, for it was clear that St. Mars needed rest. His head still hurt, though she was hopeful that he would mend enough to ride that night, and that a week or so would render him as good as new.
He was so exhausted that he never spoke. She wondered if he was even aware that it was she who had ministered to him. She would have sent for Philippe, but he was in London with Harrowby, his new master. Then, we she moved near the bolster to draw the bed curtains, St. Mars surprised her by taking hold of her hand. With his eyes closed, and still not saying a word, he drew it to his lips and pressed a kiss on the back of it, before yielding to the swoon that he had fought all night.
*
When Hester woke from a deep sleep in the window seat, she found St. Mars sitting on the edge of her bed, dressed to go, with his blue cloak thrown over his shoulders, his heels propped on the side of the bed frame, and his elbows resting on his thighs. He smiled teasingly at her, and the intimacies they had shared that morning rushed back to warm her cheeks.
“I would have wakened you and offered to give up your bed, if you had not been sleeping so peacefully.”
Righting herself, and wondering just how long he’d been observing her in her disordered state—and how
bad
it was—Hester replied, as calmly as she could, “I was perfectly comfortable, my lord.” Making an effort to tidy her hair, she asked him how his head felt, and he assured her that it would do for now.
“I still don’t know what prompted Lord Lovett to abduct you.” His tone was serious. “I assume you discovered some kind of proof and confronted him with it.”
Hester grimaced. “I did not confront him on purpose, my lord.”
She explained about finding the bloodstain on her gown, and told how Lord Lovett had walked in upon her when she was writing a letter to Mr. Brown.
This last piece of information seemed to shake him. Looking grim, he said, “We can be thankful that he did not decide to kill you right then, what with the danger you posed. Especially when he had already disposed of two of his friends. I suppose he wanted to be certain of his escape from England before he giving up his hostage. But he must have done it sometime, for you would be equally dangerous to him in France.”
“How so, my lord?” Hester did not want to tell him about Lord Lovett’s proposition, for it could have been a lie. She somehow believed that he had been speaking the truth for once, at least as it had appeared to him, then. But she would never be certain, and she could not think of any reason that St. Mars should believe it.
“I still cannot comprehend why he killed Sir Humphrey,” she continued. “And he refused to tell me.”
St. Mars looked abashed. “Forgive me, Mrs. Kean. If I had not been in such a miserable condition last night, I should have told you immediately. I discovered it quite by accident when I came across Colonel Potter’s body. I knew, then, that Lord Lovett must have killed both men, but I could not believe that he would have murdered Sir Humphrey simply for being indiscreet. Not when he always had been, and no one confided anything incriminating to him.
“No, the secret Lord Lovett wanted to hide had to be something of a much more dangerous nature. I was musing over what that might be, when someone in the street made a remark about the mob that had menaced Mr. Walpole at his house in Arlington Street. Then, I recalled that Sir Humphrey had mentioned seeing Lord Lovett in Arlington Street on the evening that your cousin expected to meet him at Lady Oglethorpe’s house. And that his excuse for not coming there had been very different.”
“Yes!” Hester said, excitedly. “He told Sir Humphrey that he would be on a relative’s business in Kensington. I remember that he was not very happy to have Sir Humphrey blurt it out, but at the time, I thought that he had been visiting a paramour. That was the impression he gave us.”
Hester recalled how he had noticed her watching him, immediately after Sir Humphrey’s revelation. She could not doubt that it was at that very moment that Lord Lovett had decided that his friend must be killed, and that he had spotted her as the one person present who might stumble upon the true significance of Arlington Street. That night, too, had marked the first instance of his using flattery to win her trust.
She related most of this to St. Mars, leaving out the personal details. She did not think she would ever get over the shame of her willingness to receive Lord Lovett’s compliments.
Since I woke a while ago,” St. Mars said, “I have been thinking more about his motives If we are correct, and he did offer information about the Jacobites to Mr. Walpole and the Committee of Secrecy, he must have done it after Walpole’s announcement that arrests would follow their report. He must have believed that the Pretender’s cause was lost, and that, if he wanted to advance himself, he would have to change to the other side.”
“Before the announcement, he had become almost dangerously outspoken against King George, so the change was very sudden. I suspect, you are correct, my lord. Mr. Walpole’s speech certainly sent many people into a fright—perfectly innocent people, like your cousin Harrowby, for instance.
His
reaction would not have been precisely the same as Lord Lovett’s, but I can see how the threats and the secrecy, the locking of the White Chamber’s doors, and the announcement that some Jacobites had already been taken might have persuaded him to change sides before it was too late.”
“Especially if he had been involved with the cause very long,” St. Mars said wryly. “He must have known how poorly organized it is—or was. And, being clever, he would have been aware of its lack of leadership.”
“Oh, Lord Lovett is
very
clever.” Hester could not stop herself from uttering this bitter outburst. “He is very proud of his intelligence. He values it above everything, even other people’s lives.”
She saw that St. Mars was regarding her with a mixture of concern and another unpleasant emotion. She could not tell, but it seemed almost like anger.
An uncomfortable silence fell between them. Hester wished that she had bit her tongue before allowing her sense of injury to show. She could only imagine what St. Mars must be thinking, especially since earlier in their investigation she had refused even to consider Lord Lovett as a suspect. And, since St. Mars’s thoughts were likely to be worse than the truth, and she knew that his courtesy would never permit him to ask, she decided to offer a partial explanation.
“When Lord Lovett abducted me,” she said, at last, “he told me that he had always feared I should be the one to discover the truth. And, because of this, he took great pains to gain my friendship by flattering my intellect. I am only annoyed with myself for letting vanity—for I
was
very flattered—for letting my vanity deceive me.”
She could see from his doubting expression that St. Mars was only partly reassured by her statement. He did not press her, though, but looking at his watch, said that he ought to be going or else Tom would be in a fret.
As he got up to take his leave, Hester hurried to stand, too. She saw that St. Mars had recovered his balance and should be ready to ride.
She stopped him as he moved to open the secret door. “But what will happen to Lord Lovett, my lord? Regardless of how he deceived me, I cannot bear the thought that Sir Humphrey’s murderer will go unpunished.”
He grinned. “You can rest assured that Lord Lovett will soon be regretting those murders, Mrs. Kean. I have a solution that should satisfy us both.”
“You mean to follow him to France?”
“Yes, but don’t worry. The punishment I’ve planned for him will not cost me the least bit of trouble. I have failed to catch him two times already and will not leave the third to chance.”
He clearly did not wish to tell her exactly what he had in mind, and she was willing to let the subject drop in favour of one that was far more important to her.
“And then what, my lord? Will you stay in France or do you mean to return?”
The last time she had asked him this question, he had not been able to reply with anything definite, and her question had obviously disturbed him.
This time, he answered her cheerfully enough, “I have a few journeys to make, but I expect to be back before the end of the summer. I shall count on seeing you then.”
He made her a sweeping bow and stepped through the door. As he started down, he seemed to recall something and turned back to lean one hand on the door frame above his head.
“I have not thanked you for the use of your bed,” he said. “The next time you invite me into it, I shall hope to be a more entertaining guest. Goodbye, Mrs. Kean.”
It took Hester more than a few seconds to digest these words, and by the time she had—and had gasped—St. Mars was gone. Her mind spun, trying to discern another meaning for them, but she could only think of one.
“He could not have meant that,” she told herself, as she closed and locked the secret door. It was impossible, especially since he must have seen her sleeping with her mouth gaping open. For all she knew, she might even have snored! He must have meant something else entirely.
But, turn the phrases over in her mind, as she did the rest of that night, and for many weeks thereafter, she could not, for the life of her, think of what it was.
* * * *
In the Palace of St. Germain, high above Paris, the court of James Francis Stuart carried on without his presence. This was the home that had been given to his father, James II of England and James VI of Scotland, when the English had driven him out. King Louis XIV, himself, had welcomed his Catholic cousin on the terrace of St. Germain and, greeting him with the embrace of a brother, had given him the country palace which had served the French kings before the construction of Versailles.
More than twenty years later, the French had been forced to expel his son, the Pretender, in their peace with England, but he could not house his courtiers in Bar. So they remained here, living off a pension that belonged to James’s mother, Mary of Modena, the former Queen of England. With nothing much to do, they intrigued, while waiting to hear that the English were ready for their true sovereign to return.
* * * *
Lord Lovett arrived at St. Germain only days after the news that the Duke of Ormonde had escaped arrest in England and taken refuge in Paris with his patron, Lord Bolingbroke. The failure of the rising had cast a pall over the court, particularly the Queen, but it provided Lord Lovett with a perfect excuse. Everyone assumed immediately that he had fled the threat of his own arrest, and he was warmly welcomed by the Queen, who promised to do what she could to maintain him.
The court was not as much to his liking as he had expected it, however, since the Queen’s strict devotion to her religion put a serious damper on amusements. The poverty of the court was distressing, but its pious tone was scarcely tolerable. Lord Lovett decided that he would remain just as long as required to secure an income, before seeking greater pleasure at Versailles. The Earl of Stair, the English ambassador, would be there, and he might be willing to arrange an exchange of money for secrets.
* * * *
A fortnight later, he was leaving a game of cards, where he had neatly managed to increase his wealth, when he found Madame de Mézières at his elbow.
He bowed immediately to hide a sudden nervousness. This was the first he had seen Eleanor since coming to St. Germain, and, of late, he had wondered about the danger she might pose. Mrs. Kean could have told Lady Oglethorpe that he had murdered her friends. Whether Lady Fury would believe her or not, he did not know. Standing before her daughter now, however, he thanked the sense of caution, which had prevented him from divulging his reason for murdering Sir Humphrey to Mrs. Kean. Without that piece of the puzzle, it would be only her word against his, and no matter how clever she was, he defied her to out-connive him.
After the first exchange of pleasantries, she said, “I have a friend who wishes to be made known to you, my lord. May I present the
Vicomte de St. Mars?”
She turned and a young gentleman stepped forward. As they completed their bows, Lord Lovett had a faint sensation that he had met this gentleman before. He studied the young man’s aquiline features, fair colouring, and athletic grace, and the impression grew stronger, though he could not recall where they had met.