Chapter Twenty-Four
The next evening, Flynn dressed in evening clothes. He was to dine with the king. Barraclough would also be present.
As he passed Bellamy in the entry hall, his butler cleared his throat. “My lord. There are several letters awaiting your perusal.”
Flynn eyed the wad of invitations Bellamy held on a silver salver.
“I’ll read them, Bellamy, thank you.” Flynn consulted his pocket watch. “Pour me a brandy, will you? I’ll take it in the library.”
“Cold in there, milord. The chimney has begun to smoke, and I’m employing a sweep. The drawing room? I took the liberty of having a fire lit.”
“Well done.”
Flynn sat in a damask-upholstered chair by the fire and searched through the invitations. A soiree, a rout, a card party, and a ball. A slim missive caught his eye. One of his European acquaintances, perhaps, as it had come from Italy. Intrigued, he slit it open and unfolded the letter. His breath deserted him as he read.
Dear Kieran, it will give you a dreadful shock to hear from me. But I have not been well. Let’s not lie about it. I am dying. A day has not passed when I did not think of you, my handsome son. I have followed your career with great pride and eagerness.
I’d like you to know that I’ve lived a good life, part of it with Timothy Keneally, who died many years ago. I go to my God with only one thing on my conscience, that I deserted you. But had I remained, I would have died. As my life became so uncertain, I thought it better that you stay with your father, to grow up as you deserved, a well-educated gentleman. I don’t know if I was right or wrong. I hope you will understand and forgive me.
I desperately longed to see you and read everything written about you. You are a shining star on the world stage, Kieran. I am so very, very proud. At times, you came so close to where I live in Italy. I wanted to find you but feared your wrath and could not bear seeing disappointment in your eyes. The shame would have killed me. Please forgive me, my blessed son. Have a good life. I pray you will marry and have children of your own. Marry for love and cherish your wife. Then you might understand.
Remember me when you think of those early years, I pray with fondness.
Your loving Mama.
Her words stirred the embers of memory he had tried unsuccessfully to banish. His first thought was to go to her, but the letter was dated two months ago. Flynn sat staring into the fire as tears blurred his vision. It was over. He had often consciously, and perhaps unconsciously, searched for his mother’s face in the crowded streets of every city he visited. He gave a long, shuddering sigh and rose to send for his carriage. It was time to see the king.
At Carlton House, Flynn shifted uncomfortably on the sofa upholstered in blue satin with a pattern of fleur-de-lis. The Blue Velvet Room was used by the monarch as his private audience chamber. After the king banished friends and advisers, he and Flynn were left alone amid the sumptuous furnishings. Works by Dutch masters hung on walls paneled in dark-blue velvet with gilt plaster moldings, the cornices decorated with British naval and military triumphs.
Seated at his marquetry desk, the king held the diamond up in the golden light of the massive glass chandelier. “You’re a devilishly fine fellow, Montsimon. I knew you would serve me well.”
He didn’t appear to be surprised by the find. Flynn folded his arms and struggled to control his temper. He looked up at the ceiling painted in imitation of a sky. “Was Your Majesty aware that these men were robbers and not conspirators against the crown? That they had stolen the diamond?”
“Montsimon, I believe you are glowering. Impertinent fellow. I was not. Rumors abounded. The waters were muddied by those Spencean philanthropists meeting in Cato Street and plotting to blow up cabinet ministers. Liverpool plans to hang them with indecent haste while public opinion remains divided as some sympathy for them remains.
“Churton first heard that the diamond had resurfaced. He was attempting to infiltrate a game of thieves when the poor fellow was cut down. He died before he could tell me more.”
A swift sadness tightened Flynn’s throat. Poor old Churton.
His Majesty graced Flynn with a smug smile. “I chose you to continue this inquiry, Montsimon, because I trusted your discretion. A member of the Home Office or one of Sidmouth’s men could not be relied upon. Caroline returns soon to England, and I don’t intend to supply her with further ammunition to use against me. For now, this diamond must remain a secret.” He eyed Flynn. “Can I count on you?”
“You can of course, Your Majesty.”
“The diamond was always to be mine,” he said, turning the gem again in his fingers. “It was part of the marriage settlement. Caroline kept it from me and sold it to pay her debts to spite me.”
Flynn wouldn’t be surprised if crown property was mixed in with family heirlooms and the king’s own personal property. “Who bought the diamond from the queen?”
King George turned the jewel around in his hands, setting off an array of colorful flashes. “If I knew that, this exquisite gem would’ve been in my possession much sooner. I can’t wait to show it to Lady Conyngham.”
Flynn was sure the king’s mistress, the shrewd Lady Conyngham, would approve of the jewel.
The king replaced the gem in its box and closed the lid with a decisive snap, he then put it in a drawer and locked it. He leaned back and observed Flynn while tapping the gilt arms of his chair with plump fingers. The matter was at an end. “The assassination of the Duc de Berry and the Spanish Revolution has unhappy consequences for all of France as well as England,” he said with a frown.
“It has certainly destroyed the political balance kept by the royalists,” Flynn agreed.
“Castlereagh and the Foreign Office were effusive in their praise of you over that business with the French navy.”
With a sense of unease, Flynn bowed his head in acknowledgement. Did the king wish him to return to the Continent?
A footman entered. “Lord Barraclough has arrived, Your Majesty.”
“Show him in.”
King George questioned Barraclough while they enjoyed Château Lafite Rothschild, a superb vintage from France. “You bring us news of Crowthorne?”
“He has been seen in London with Percy Woodruff. Woodruff has since been interrogated by Bow Street but gave us no information about Crowthorne’s present whereabouts. It appears the baronet has slipped through our net, Your Majesty. His two cohorts, Goodrich and Wensley, however, were found dead with their throats cut at Goodrich’s house in Kent.”
“So Crowthorne did dispatch them,” Flynn said. It chilled him to realize how far Crowthorne would go.
Barraclough nodded. “They’d been dead for some weeks.”
“I’ve a fair idea who killed them. The cutthroat at Hazelton’s house.” Flynn leaned back, savoring the wine. “Crowthorne said he feared they’d lost their nerve. He was afraid they’d panic–give the game away.”
“Crowthorne never intended to share the proceeds from the sale of the diamond,” Barraclough said. “He always meant to sell it on the Continent, possibly after having a jeweler carve it up into smaller stones. If he sold the jewel in England and split the money, he would not have enough to settle his debts. Plus the sale would be traced back to him. We’ve learned that he’d set up a network of thieves in London, to steal from the ton, but failed when he came up against a rival east London gang. All his hopes then centered on the diamond.”
“No honor amongst thieves,” Flynn observed.
King George raised his glass with a jovial smile. “To you both, gentlemen. Your efforts shall be handsomely rewarded. Let Bow Street get the runners onto it. We must move on to matters of more importance.” He stood. “My chef has planned a superb dinner for us.”
Flynn left Carlton House later that evening decidedly uneasy. Crowthorne had proved to be more corrupt than any of them had guessed. It was quite possible he was hidden away somewhere in St. Giles with the last of his loyal band, where it was almost impossible to find him. And now that the king had the diamond, he was intent to let the matter drop.
Taking a hackney, Flynn tensed as disquieting thoughts raced through his mind. Barraclough’s network of spies had been called off. Crowthorne could still be in London. As the matter was to be hushed up, he wouldn’t discover the king possessed the diamond. He was like a rat trapped in a sewer and would be growing more desperate by the minute. Fear forced men to take terrible risks. To Crowthorne’s thinking, Althea must still represent his best chance of getting his hands on the diamond, as her husband had it in his possession when he died. A shiver went down Flynn’s spine. While Crowthorne continued to evade the runners, she was in danger.
Flynn needed to take Althea somewhere safe. But where?
By the time he reached home, he knew what he would do.
*
When Mrs. Grimshaw left, Althea sat pensively stroking Jet. She had intended to reproach her but changed her mind when she discovered Brookwood’s lover to be a sad, lonely woman, who despite everything, stirred Althea’s compassion. While she couldn’t like her or approve of her, the lady was remarkably honest. She’d expressed deep regret at not sending Althea the diamond. She certainly would not have kept it had she known.
“I’m sure you hate me, Lady Brookwood,” she said, straightening her narrow shoulders. “I’ve given you every reason to.”
“I don’t, Mrs. Grimshaw.” Hate was too strong a word for what Althea felt. If not her, than some other woman would have warmed her husband’s bed. And at least, he left her alone most of the time. “It’s all in the past now.”
Mrs. Grimshaw stood. “I shan’t overstay my visit. I’m retiring to the country to live with my sister in a few days. London has become too expensive.”
Althea stood. “I quite agree.”
As she walked to the door, Mrs. Grimshaw turned. “Your memories of Brookwood will be sad ones. Perhaps it might help if I tell you what your husband confided in me. He felt unworthy of you.”
Surprised by this woman’s boldness, Althea listened with bewilderment. “I’m afraid I don’t understand,” she said, wishing the woman gone. “Perhaps you misunderstood him.”
“You are a desirable woman, Lady Brookwood,” Mrs. Grimshaw said. “You drew attention from other men wherever you went. Brookwood found that…difficult.”
“Thank you for telling me,” Althea said, hot with resentment and humiliation. Brookwood had always said he’d bought her from her father and she’d been a poor purchase.
“You’ve been more gracious than I expected or deserved.”
Althea held out her hand. “Enjoy your new home. Good day.”
When the door closed, Althea sank into a chair and broke into wild sobbing. The force of her emotions shocked her until it occurred to her that she’d cried little since the worst time of her life. When she’d lost the baby. If Brookwood’s heir had lived, would things have been different?
The cat jumped into her lap and tapped her face with its paw. She sniffed and blotted her tears with her handkerchief, giving a watery smile. “It’s all right, Jet. We’re all right now.”