‘And do you share that view of the situation, Jonathan?’
‘It seems the most probable explanation. There was one odd thing – Poyntz had blood upon his neck-cloth and when I looked closer, I found two small cuts upon his throat. Nothing but scratches, in truth.’
‘But there is the possibility that someone killed Poyntz to prevent him talking to you.’
‘It cannot be discounted, yet …’
‘Who knows what kind of amusements our friend was enjoying with his lady before the excitement became too much for him?’ murmured Lord Hartworth, finishing the line of thought for him.
‘Aye, damn him!’
The earl once more turned his head to study his son’s grim countenance, but he chose not to pursue the matter. They walked on in silence until the viscount was ready to speak.
‘I suppose Thurleigh is still in favour at court?’
‘Even more than that. He is now a regular visitor at Leicester House. He has the princess’s favour and the trust of her son, and at the same time the King will hear nothing against him. He sees him as some sort of mediator – believes he is trying to bring about a closer understanding between the monarch and his heir. Pelham is furious, for he sees his own position as first minister in jeopardy if Thurleigh continues to gain influence in both courts.’
‘Do you believe he is trying to reconcile the Princess of Wales with the King?’ asked the viscount.
The earl did not answer immediately.
‘I have studied Guy Morellon for a long time,’ he said at last, ‘and I have no doubt that he is up to some mischief. It’s my belief that he still hopes to bring down the House of Hanover. Doubtless, rather than reconciling the King and his daughter-in-law, he is nurturing her feelings of ill-usage, in order to assist his own plans. You will recall that at the beginning of this year the Privy Council met to investigate allegations that the young Prince’s sub-governor, Andrew Stone, was a Jacobite. It was nothing more than a malicious scandal spread about to discredit the man – perhaps there would have been some truth in it if the finger had pointed at my Lord Thurleigh. In any event, the Princess of Wales does not trust Stone, or for that matter the boy’s governor, Waldegrave, and I understand that she has more than once requested that Thurleigh be given the post.’
‘He is treading a very delicate line,’ mused Davenham frowning. ‘Can it be that he has abandoned hopes of a Stuart revival, and is securing his position with the young Prince?’
Lord Hartworth shrugged.
‘It is undoubtedly true that he gains favour with the boy through his mother: the prince is very young and impressionable, certainly. However, that does not tell us why Thurleigh sent Poyntz to see the Stuart in Rome.’
Davenham shook his head.
‘There’s some deep game afoot, I’ve no doubt of it, sir, but I would be happier had I spoken at length to Poyntz.’
‘Since that is no longer possible, what will be your next move?’
The viscount laughed harshly.
‘At the present time to forget all about this damned affair!’ Realizing the earl was regarding him with raised brows, he continued: ‘Your pardon, sir, but gathering evidence to accuse a man of treason is not a task I enjoy. I agreed to talk to Poyntz for you, since I chanced to be going to Paris at a time when you knew him to be there, but I was not aware that you required me to carry on with the investigations.’
‘My dear boy, you can hardly leave the matter as it stands. There is sufficient evidence against Thurleigh to make one suspicious, you will agree, but nothing yet that would convict him of treason – and I want him brought to justice.’
Davenham glanced curiously at his father.
‘I wish you would tell me why it is that you have such an aversion to the marquis.’
‘My own devotion to the King, naturally.’
‘Pray do not try to fob me off, sir!’ retorted Davenham, ‘at some point in the dark and distant past Thurleigh has crossed you. What was it, a woman?’
The earl looked pained. He said quietly: ‘I wish you would get it out of your head that every quarrel arises from an
affaire du coeur
. No, this is a much simpler matter. Murder.’
‘Pray continue, sir.’
‘There is little to tell. Some years ago it came to my notice that a gentleman of my acquaintance had been killed in a duel with my lord Thurleigh.’
‘That is not murder, sir.’
‘I am aware of that, my son. Under normal circumstances, I would have mourned my friend’s passing, and left the matter there, but circumstances were very far from normal. My friend was a peaceful man, a scholar, in fact, with little interest and even less skill in the art of
duello
. The fact that he could be persuaded to fight at all argues great provocation, and when I learned the identity of his opponent and that the duel was conducted in the tap-room of a country inn, my suspicions were aroused. I made enquiries, but had little success. Thurleigh’s associates could not be brought to speak of the matter, and when I travelled to the inn where the event took place I found that the landlord had already quit the area, and since the marquis is Lord-Lieutenant of that particular county, I could find no-one willing to talk to me.’
‘I agree, sir, it sounds most suspicious. Have you no idea why Thurleigh should wish to murder the fellow?’
‘No, none. As I have told you, the man was a scholar. He had no interest in affairs of state, or struggles for power. Indeed, the last I heard of him before he was killed he was living quite retired.’
‘Had he no family?’
‘Yes. A wife and one child, a daughter. My enquiries concerning their welfare met with no success. The cottage what was their home is now a ruin; apparently it was burned down soon after the death of my friend, and his family have vanished.’
‘Done to death by the villain of this tale, I shouldn’t wonder.’
‘Or fled for their lives.’
‘I never did like Thurleigh,’ remarked the viscount, ‘but I always considered him eccentric rather than dangerous.’
‘You should not underestimate the man,’ the earl told him. ‘He is very clever: there is nothing to connect him with any plot against the monarchy, yet I
know
he was responsible for at least two of them – for example, were you aware that Charles Stuart was smuggled into England a few years ago, to be received into the Anglican Church? And doubtless, Thurleigh has had a hand in other plots, too.’
‘But if you have had so little success in catching him, why do you suppose that I will do better?’
‘Because, my son, time is running out for the Stuart cause. James is growing old, his son Henry is now a Cardinal in the Church of Rome and Charles is drinking himself into his grave. Thurleigh must know that if his plans are to succeed, an attempt will need to be made soon. Thus he sent Poyntz to Rome. What he will not have foreseen, I trust, is that his followers are not so eager for the game. You said yourself that Poyntz was ready to give it all up. If Thurleigh cannot rely on his minions, he will be forced to show his hand.’ Lord Hartworth gave a slight cough. ‘Much as I would like to deal with Thurleigh, my advanced years make me too slow for such work.’
‘And you would like me to complete the task?’
‘I would like him brought to trial.’
‘Then I think I had best see out George Rowsell,’ said the viscount, pensively. ‘He was always a good friend to Poyntz. If there was another plot afoot, you may be sure Rowsell will know of it. I must persuade him to tell me.’
Lord Hartworth smiled faintly. ‘You make it sound a very simple task, Jonathan.’
‘You may be sure it will not be that, sir.’
‘But you will succeed, my son, I have no doubt of it,’ purred the earl as they reached the steps of Hartworth House. ‘You have all the tenacity of a terrier.’
Davenham grinned. ‘Another hereditary trait, sir?’
My lord cast a reproachful look at his son. ‘Useful as a terrier may be, my dear boy, it is scarcely a
noble
beast’
‘Then I am indeed a sad disappointment to my family,’ remarked the viscount as he followed his parent into the house.
‘Pray do not let it concern you,’ replied the earl kindly. ‘You have barely reached your thirtieth year. There is time yet for change.’
The huge rotunda at Ranelagh was crowded when George Rowsell arrived. A heavy shower of rain had forced the revellers to abandon the pleasure gardens with the Venetian canal and the pagoda, and take shelter indoors. Mr Rowsell advanced into the throng, his sandy brows drawn together, for he was unable at first to spot any acquaintance, then a group of gentlemen descended upon him, hailing him with good-natured raillery.
‘Never expected to see you here, Rowsell,’ called a young gentleman in a peacock-blue coat, ‘I didn’t think this sort of thing was your line. Bad night tonight, too,’ he continued, shaking his head. ‘No masquerade, and with Vauxhall now closed for the winter, there’s a deal too many people here.’
‘We’re for going back to Town,’ put in another gentleman. ‘Come with us, Rowsell?’
‘No, I thank you. I am come to meet someone.’
‘Not another beauty, sir. ‘Fore Gad, you change your women as I change my coat, I swear it!’
‘Have you not heard?’ laughed another, ‘this one is different. Rowsell thinks himself in love with this lady. Ain’t that so, sir?’
‘Careful, man,’ someone warned him. ‘Rowsell has been known to call a fellow out for such remarks.’
But Rowsell was not attending to their banter. He had spotted a familiar face a short distance away and with the briefest of farewells he left the gentlemen to their own devices and fought his way through the crowd until he came up with his quarry.
‘Madame de Sange – your servant!’ He pressed her hand to his lips.
‘Mr Rowsell.’ She smiled warmly at him. ‘You are acquainted with Lord and Lady Hare? They were kind enough to befriend me when they learned I was a stranger to London.’
‘What? Oh – yes, of course.’ He sketched a bow to the lady and gentleman but his eyes returned immediately to Madame de Sange. ‘Your servant, my lady – Lord Hare. Madame, may I offer you my arm?’
Elinor hesitated, glancing uncertainly at Lady Hare, who nodded at her.
‘Go along, child, there is no reason why you should not give Mr Rowsell the pleasure of your company.’
With a smile, Elinor put her fingers lightly upon Mr Rowsell’s sleeve and allowed him to lead her away through the crowd. The gentleman immediately began to speak.
‘When we last met in Town – was it only three days ago? It seems like a lifetime! You were putting up at an hotel, but they told me today you have moved out. Are you now staying with Lady Hare?’
‘No, Mr Rowsell, I have hired a villa at Knight’s Bridge.’
‘Surely you will not live there alone!’
‘No, sir, I have a companion with me.’ She gave a soft laugh. ‘You look disapproving, sir. I am used to running my own establishment, you know.’
‘Of course. Forgive me, Madame. I did not mean to censure you. I am merely concerned for you – but there, I have no right –’ He broke off, then confided, ‘I was anxious that you might not come here tonight, and when I saw the crowds, I felt sure I should never find you.’
‘When we last met, I gave you my assurance that I would look out for you, sir.’
‘After we had danced but twice together!’ he cried. ‘Why, ‘tis the sort of polite reply anyone might make. How could I be sure you were in earnest?’
‘So you doubt my word,’ she murmured.
Rowsell stopped and pulled her round to face him.
‘How could I believe you would favour me, when every man in the room was vying for your attention?’
‘Not every man, sir,’ Elinor teased him, but her smile was not unkind and he relaxed visibly.
‘I believe the rain has ceased,’ he observed. ‘Would you care to stroll through the gardens, ma’am? If we keep to the gravel paths, I think we may find it is not too wet underfoot.’
‘Yes, I should like that, sir, I thank you.’
The gentleman smiled happily and proceeded to spend a very agreeable hour escorting Elinor about the gardens. At eleven o’clock he escorted her back to the rotunda, to join Lord and Lady Hare who were waiting patiently for them. He took his leave and strode off, flushing slightly under the knowing smile of Lady Hare, who lost no time in congratulating Elinor upon her conquest.
‘If ever I saw a young man head over heels in love it is Mr Rowsell!’ she exclaimed. ‘You have bewitched him, child.’
Elinor smiled, but brushed aside my lady’s teasing, preferring to sit quietly in her corner of the coach as they sped back to town. She too was well pleased with the evening.
* * * *
Two days later George Rowsell found himself riding out of London to the small village of Knight’s Bridge. Madame de Sange’s villa was set well away from the main highway, and lay at the end of a long, leafy lane. Upon his arrival, Mr Rowsell was informed that Madame was busy out of doors. A servant directed him to the secluded rose garden. The plants were sheltered upon three sides by a high stone wall and the ground sloped away to the south, giving a view of the open pasture and parkland beyond the villa’s grounds. He spotted the lady immediately. She was turned slightly away from him, engaged in collecting the few late roses that remained unblemished upon the bushes. Rowsell stopped, admiring the picture and after a few moments the lady looked up, as if aware of his gaze.
‘Mr Rowsell!’ she smiled at him, ‘do you like roses, sir? There are some particularly fine specimens in this garden, although it has been allowed to run wild for some time, I believe. I have set the gardener to work clearing the weeds but perhaps I should take on another man, the grounds are far too much work for one. In any event, I fear we shall not see this garden at its best until next summer.’
‘It can only be at its best when you are in it, Madame.’
‘How gallant of you to say so. Who knows where I shall be this time next year? Shall I pick a rose for your coat?’ She snipped off a beautiful yellow bloom, but after a glance at the gentleman’s face she placed it gently in her basket with the others, saying. ‘No, that will not do. I suspect from those sandy brows of yours that your hair is a very fiery colour. Do you always powder it so white, sir?’