Chapter Nineteen
Parnham raised his head from the pages torn from the countess’s book scattered over his desk. “We learn nothing of Forney from this.”
They had learned much from the notes made by the countess, however, about the house in Seven Dials where they were to meet to discuss their future plans, her strategy to use Crutchet for her own ends, and details about the top-loading rifle Moreau had used to shoot Irvine and how it was brought to Liverpool from America. An American gunsmith had built the gun from the stolen plans of a man called Hall.
The gun was then smuggled aboard a boat to London where Dawes unloaded the crate. Moreau, the best marksman in Napoleon’s army, planned to use the gun to assassinate the Regent and politicians. Lady Forney’s personal vendetta to kidnap Guy’s baby had thankfully been foiled. However, none of this told them when and where Moreau would strike.
Strathairn eased his tense shoulders. “What news from agents up north?”
“Nothing. The man’s gone to ground.” Parnham said. “The Regent is ill with pleurisy. He’s not expected to make an appearance for at least another week. The next official function that draws both royalty and politicians together is the regent’s patronage of Vauxhall Gardens Grand Gala. It’s a perfect venue for him to strike under the cover of a fireworks display. The regent is determined to appear before the people. He is anxious to give a show of strength as he fears Princess Caroline, who remains popular here, will return to England.” He paused. “The only other possible occasion would be the wedding of the Marquess of Harrington, but I shouldn’t think—”
“What?” Strathairn jumped to his feet. “Sibella’s sister, Maria’s wedding to Lord Harrington? Who’s invited?”
Parnham scratched his head. “The Duke is a favorite of King George, but the king won’t be there, of course. St. Paul’s Cathedral will draw quite a crowd with members of the ton and the regent attending, and possibly Viscount Sidmouth and Lord Castlereagh as well.”
“We must take precautions,” Strathairn said uneasily.
“The prince is well guarded and won’t take kindly to us making an unnecessary fuss. His relationship with the people is bad enough. We’ll throw all our resources at the gala.” Parnham folded his arms. “Vauxhall Gardens has been advertised. Moreau will know of it.”
“Still,” Strathairn said thoughtfully, “with that gun, he could pick off the prince and several others right in front of the cathedral. He may even get inside.”
Parnham’s brows lowered. “The difficulty we have is that the prince never takes attempts on his life seriously. He will insist on attending, and the rest of the guests can hardly cry off.”
“We could throw a net around the whole place and seal off all the roads,” Strathairn said. “Check every carriage before it reaches the cathedral.”
“How can I justify the expense of both venues when this madman might have decided his cover is blown and has gone back to France?”
“If Moreau turns up, I can get him,” Strathairn said forcefully. “Don’t you see? He may have both affairs in his sights. If he fails to strike at the wedding, he will try again at the gala, and maybe with some success.”
“It will be on your head if all this expense is for naught,” Parnham said. “We can hardly bring in the army. I don’t know how I’m going to explain this to the home office.”
“Let it be on my head.” Strathairn pushed back his chair and stood. “If you don’t need me for the following week or so, I’ll take a sojourn to the country.”
Parnham’s brows flew up. “Yorkshire?”
“Kent. I’ll alert the Brandreths. And I think a visit to advise the Duke of Lamplugh and his son is politic.”
“I will send word. Better perhaps to handle this in person if you’re down that way,” Parnham said, drumming his fingers on his desk. “No sense in alarming them too much. Assure them that St. Paul’s will be made secure. Tell them we have no concrete proof there will be any danger.” He leaned back. “I can’t say I like you being caught up in this, though. You have a personal interest in getting this man, which is never good—one can lose one’s perspective. And this Moreau might be after you.”
Strathairn grinned. “I didn’t know you cared, Parnham.”
Parnham gave a wry smile. “I just don’t want to have to go to the trouble of replacing you.”
Strathairn left the building. He had a more personal interest than Parnham realized. There was a lot riding on the success of this mission. The safety of Sibella and her family, revenge for Nesbit’s death, and, if he was honest, the desire to have people respect and honor the work he did instead of viewing him with doubt in their eyes. He rubbed his neck. If he was wrong, he would come under serious censure.
He doubted the Brandreths would change their plans. Well, he would be there to take care of Sibella, whether Coombe liked it or not.
*
On Saturday, Sibella and Maria journeyed to Lamplugh Abbey, as the duke and duchess were now in residence. Relieved to be at last actively tackling her concerns, Sibella attempted to ignore her irrational disappointment at missing Strathairn’s visit to Brandreth Park.
Some hours later, the carriage traveled through a handsome park of chestnut, oak, and beech. “Lamplugh Abbey has a five-hundred-acre deer park,” Maria said, gazing out the window.
The massive roof of the abbey appeared against the backdrop of a tumultuous sky. Maria turned to Sibella. “Storm clouds. You can’t go in bad weather.”
“I have to Maria,” Sibella said through tight lips.
Maria sighed. “You will take a groom with you tomorrow?”
“I can’t trust any of the duke’s grooms to be discreet. Word is sure to reach him.”
“Then take Manley. You can trust him. He’s been with us forever.”
Involving their groom in her scheme didn’t seem wise, but Maria would fret if she didn’t. “I’ll consider it,” she said, as they drove past an ornamental water feature graced with a majestic stone fountain.
Their carriage stopped in front of the building where four large wagons stood, with grooms at the horses’ heads. Liveried footmen assisted a group of workmen as they carried crates up the steps and through the towering arched doorway. Some appeared to be very heavy.
A tall, slim figure emerged from the house. Harry came down the steps to greet them. He kissed them both on the cheek. “My parents have purchased all the statues and paintings in Italy,” he said, his brown eyes smiling.
Sibella laughed. “I can’t wait to see them.”
“Father is like a boy at Christmas opening the crates. Mother sends her love and her apologies. She is resting as she is exhausted after the trip and will join us at dinner.”
Harry led them through cavernous rooms filled with exquisite furniture, paintings, and tapestries to a huge echoing chamber where his father stalked about issuing orders to the workmen. More than a dozen paintings in gilt frames were lined up along the walls. Statues draped in white cloth stood around like ghosts.
The duke was an older version of Harry, tall and slim with greying brown hair. “My two favorite young women.” He strode over with a glint in his eye. “Not one of these paintings can rival your beauty.”
Maria stood on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek.
Sibella gave him her hand to kiss. “Your Grace, you spoil us with your compliments.”
“Impossible, my dear.” He swept an arm around to encompass his new acquisitions. “What do you think?”
Sibella wandered along the row of paintings. Many of the artists were unknown to her. Some depicted historical battles. Yet not all were Italian. She spotted a delicious dainty Fragonard among them. “They are magnificent, your Grace.”
“I’m glad you approve, my dear. Harry, ring the bell for tea. These ladies will be parched and require refreshment after their long trip.”
After tea, Sibella left Maria alone with Harry. She went to the bedchamber she was to share with her sister. Too fidgety to do more than flick through a magazine, she gave up and went to the window to gaze at the grounds. Tomorrow, she would ride through those woods that separated them from Coombe’s estate.
At dinner, Sibella entered the dining room on Harry’s arm. She had always been interested in decoration and approved of the furnishings in this elegant room. The carpets and curtains were of rose and gold, the walls papered in soft mint-green damask, the cornices picked out in gold leaf as was the elaborately carved ceiling, from which hung a magnificent Italian chandelier.
The duke apologized for not providing more company. “It must be just a family affair because the duchess is still a little fatigued.”
Some twenty dishes were laid out over the table, salmon at one end and a turbot at the other. Each was a masterpiece, the oyster sauce superb. Sibella sipped the delicious wine from grapes grown in sun-kissed Italian vineyards. Any other time she would enjoy the amusing and light-hearted conversation which took place. The duke carved the haunch of venison and the footmen served dishes on silver salvers. Maria looked beautiful in her gown of white silk and lilac net and seemed so much at home it gladdened Sibella’s heart. It was good they had come, she decided, as long as tomorrow’s escapade remained undiscovered.
The duchess spoke fondly of the Italian climate as plates of cheese and salad appeared, along with creams, a Ragout a la Francaise and pastries.
Sibella retired to the drawing room with the ladies, leaving Harry and his father to their port. The duchess, declaring herself refreshed from her rest, was keen to discuss the wedding with Maria.
The two men entered as Maria, with a shy glance at Harry, described her wedding gown made by the renown French couturiere, Madame Le Roy, to her future mother-in-law. While Harry attempted to overhear them, Sibella beat him at chess. He promptly demanded a return match. Fired up by masculine pride, he beat her soundly while Maria entertained them at the pianoforte. Her sister then joined them for a game of whist before they retired early, keeping country hours.
They picked up their candleholders. Harry dismissed the footman and escorted them up the carved oak staircase and along shadowy paneled corridors to their bedchamber.
Harry and Maria left Sibella at their bedchamber door. She said goodnight to Harry and as the door closed, Maria giggled. Harry must have stolen a kiss.
Sibella had just dismissed the maid when Maria reappeared with a blissful smile. She danced across the deep rose-pink carpet and perched on the edge of the bedcover of silk damask. Her expression grew somber. “Aren’t you afraid you might arrive tomorrow and find Lord Coombe still there?”
“Not much chance of it. He must make an early start for Bristol. He’ll be long gone by the time I arrive.”
Maria plucked at a gold tassel. “What will you tell his servants?”
“That I hoped to see him before he left. That my groom’s horse lost a shoe and had to return to the abbey.”
Maria rose and turned her back for Sibella to untie her stays. “You’re not taking Manley with you?”
Sibella’s fingers paused. “I can’t take the risk. Harry’s parents must never learn of it. Your wedding is to be a splendid affair. Every important personage in the government as well as royalty will be there.” She finished and stood back to study her sister. “Aren’t you nervous?”
“A little.” Maria wriggled out of her petticoat. “But I’m looking forward to it, the honeymoon especially.”
Sibella laughed. “I’m surprised you two have been able to wait.”
“Now we’re under the same roof it becomes more difficult, especially as all the footmen are engaged in helping with the new acquisitions. Tonight, we were quite alone, and Harry pulled me into an empty chamber.” She giggled. “He made me leave him there because he was…you know.”
Sibella raised her brows. “Now how would I know?”
Maria scoffed. “You don’t think you had the same effect on Strathairn when he kissed you in the garden?”
Sibella closed her eyes and gloried in the night they were alone in his house. Why hadn’t he made love to her? “I didn’t notice.”
Maria made a rude noise of dismissal. “What about Henry? He has kissed you, has he not?”
“My dear, Henry Coombe’s kisses are chaste!”
“That will change after you’re married.”
“I hope never to find out.” She drew off her dressing gown and retied the ribbon on her lawn nightgown. When she climbed into the massive carved four-poster, she uttered a heartfelt prayer to that effect as she warmed her feet near the foot warmer.
Maria donned her nightgown and joined Sibella in the bed, pulling the curtains closed against the draft. “Dearest, what if you can’t find anything there to aid your cause? What on earth will you do?”
A sob rose in Sibella’s throat. She hastily swallowed it down and huffed with frustration. “As soon as you are wed, I will end the engagement. Then I might as well spend the rest of my days shut away in the country!”