River Of Fire (50 page)

Thinking this a good time to get the answer to another question, he asked, "At the time of Lady Seaton's death, who was Sir Anthony's mistress? I heard a rumor that he was very serious about the woman— perhaps to the point where he might consider ending his marriage. If he wished, he could have divorced Helen over her affair with Hampton."

"He would never, ever have done that," Lavinia said firmly. "And certainly not for that creature he was bedding then. She probably spread the rumor herself from vanity, since she had a husband and couldn't have married even if Anthony did get a divorce."

"The woman was?" Kenneth prompted.

Lavinia hesitated, then shrugged. "Your stepmother."

He felt only a small jolt of surprise. Hermione's portrait had been painted by Sir Anthony about then, she was beautiful, and wanton. He hoped his father hadn't known. "Now that she's a widow, does she have designs on Sir Anthony?"

"He ended the affair at the time of Helen's death and has had nothing to do with Hermione again," Lavinia said with obvious satisfaction. "Helen would have been so pleased. Your stepmother is exactly the sort of creature Helen was concerned about." She grinned. "Hermione is about to get her comeuppance. I have it from a reliable source that she's going to marry Lord Fydon, very quietly since she's still in mourning. He's enormously rich, but absolutely loathsome. She is going to regret this."

So, Kenneth thought, Hermione had decided not to pin her hopes on the Duke of Ashburton; after all, a rich earl in the hand was worth two dukes in the bush. "I hope your source is right. I assumed Hermione would never remarry because it would cost her too much. Under the terms of my father's will, everything but her widow's jointure will revert to the estate if she takes another husband. That means the London house and a number of government consoles that are in trust will come to me."

"Oh, she'll marry Fydon. Not only is he very, very rich, but the Fydon jewels are stunning, and Hermione is in desperate need of jewels." Lavinia's eyes twinkled. "I don't know how you managed that, but you have my congratulations."

"I did nothing," he assured her before returning to the early subject. "Are there any women who might be dangerous to Sir Anthony because of unrequited love?"

Lavinia shook her head. "His affairs were always light and friendly, and I speak as one who has watched very carefully over the years. There are no crazed Caroline Lambs in his life."

"Perhaps the daybook at Ravensbeck will have some clues," Kenneth said pessimistically.

"
A
better source of information might be Helen's diaries."

He sat bolt upright. "She kept a journal? I had no idea."

"I'm not sure that Anthony and Rebecca knew. Helen kept them more to record feelings and impressions than events."

"Where are they?"

"I have them," Lavinia said calmly. "At the same time she told me to look after Anthony, Helen said that if she died I must burn her diaries. I wonder if she had a premonition."

"But you didn't burn them?" Kenneth said hopefully.

"No." Lavinia hesitated. "Having them is a connection with Helen. To burn them would sever another link. Yet I haven't had the courage to read them, either. It would be too painful."

"Let me see them. Perhaps I can find some clue as to who might have set the fire tonight."

"It's worth a try." Lavinia got to her feet. "I'm sure that you're an excellent investigator, though you've not had an easy time with this situation."

Kenneth regarded her warily, wondering how much she had guessed. "You're an alarming woman, Lavinia."

She gave a seraphic smile. "I merely watch the world around me. Good night, Captain." Then she slipped out the door.

Kenneth's mind was whirling as he took off his sooty clothing. If Hermione remarried, his personal fortunes were saved. Finally he would be in a position to take a wife.

But first he must find the villain who might have killed Helen and was now threatening Sir Anthony. He uttered a silent prayer that Helen's diaries would provide the necessary clue. Perhaps saving her father would soften Rebecca's anger.

Yet in his heart he knew that wouldn't be enough. It would be easier to find a murderer than to heal a broken trust.

In the morning light, the studio looked even worse than the night before. Kenneth stopped on the way down to breakfast and found Sir Anthony already there, surveying the damage.

"This makes my blood run cold," the older man muttered. "What if it had happened while I had the Waterloo pictures here? I could have lost the best work I've ever done."

"But you didn't, thank God." Kenneth looked around the room assessingly. Besides new plaster, paint, and furnishings, most of the floorboards would have to be replaced. "It could have been much worse. If the incendiary device had landed in your bedroom, you and Lady Claxton might not have escaped alive."

"Believe me, I've thought of that," Sir Anthony said grimly. "How can we find the villain who did this?"

"I don't know. A Bow Street Runner could be engaged, but such a crime leaves few clues. It will be almost impossible to investigate if the Runner doesn't have an idea where to start looking. Do you know of any deadly enemies?"

"Of course not," Sir Anthony said irritably. "The trouble is the ones I
don't
know of. A man in my position can easily cause an unintentional slight. Perhaps I made a derogatory remark about a bad painting at the exhibition, someone reported it to the artist, and the fellow is out for revenge. Painters are an unstable lot."

"
I
take your point. If you can think of any possibilities, let me know." Kenneth studied the charred rubble. "What pictures were lost?"

"Portraits in various stages of completion. The most significant was the second Strathmore and Markland painting. The Marklands' version had already been delivered. I shall have to redo the one for the Strathmores." He rattled off the names of the other four clients. "Send letters to each of them about the delay. They'll have to come in for more sittings. Obviously I can't work here. I suppose the salon will do."

Kenneth opened the scorched doors that led to the salon. "There's quite a bit of smoke damage here, and last night I noticed water damage in the drawing room below." An idea struck him, one that might take Sir Anthony out of harm's way. "Why not go to the Lake District now instead of waiting until your usual departure date? The damage can be repaired over the summer."

Sir Anthony's expression brightened. "An excellent idea. You can stay in London until the rebuilding arrangements have been made, then join us there."

Kenneth hesitated, not liking the idea of Sir Anthony going off without his protection. On the other hand, the enemy was obviously here in London, and probably would be for a while. Kenneth could get the rebuilding started and be on his way north in less than a week. "Very good, sir. If packing is begun right away, you could leave day after tomorrow."

"Give the orders."

Kenneth nodded and went downstairs. In the front hall, he met Lord Frazier, George Hampton, and other friends of Sir Anthony who had heard of the fire. He studied the faces, looking for hints of satisfaction or disappointment, but saw only curiosity and concern. As he went for breakfast, he wondered if any of them would leave to summer in the Lake District sooner than originally planned.

For the next day and a half, Seaton House was in an
uproar
of packing. By the time the carriages and baggage wagon rumbled away, Kenneth felt as if he had organized the whole Peninsular army for a major crosscountry march.

As the carriage that carried the family pulled away from the house, he had a sudden, horrific memory of the last time he had seen Maria alive. He had felt deep foreboding about her departure, but she had laughed at his fears and ridden away.

Logically, he knew there was no comparison. Maria had been a known guerrilla traveling through a war-torn land; Rebecca was journeying with her family along modern roads. Moreover, she would be safer away from London and her father's enemy. Yet even knowing that, the departure triggered irrational fear. Perhaps because he and Rebecca were emotionally estranged, he didn't want to let her out of his sight.

"Excuse me, my lord, are you unwell?"

It was Minton speaking, his brow furrowed. The butler would stay in the city all summer to supervise the rebuilding and the small staff that would remain in the house.

Kenneth took a deep breath. "Only sorry to see Miss Seaton leaving."

Minton relaxed. "The impatience of young love. Don't worry, my lord. You shall be with her again in a few days."

As Kenneth went back into the house, he told himself to stop brooding. Rebecca would be fine. With luck, she might even decide that absence made the heart grow fonder.

Yet his foreboding persisted while he visited the London fabric and furniture warehouses. It was a tiring business, but he did find furnishings that should suit Sir Anthony.

Much of the evening was spent dealing with Sir Anthony's correspondence. It was late before he could look at the diaries Lavinia had quietly given him that morning. He hesitated before opening the first of the thick volumes. Helen Seaton might not have wanted her words read. But neither would she have wanted her husband to be killed, nor her own death to go unpunished.

He skimmed the earliest diary to get some sense of what she considered worthy of recording. As Lavinia had said, it was a series of reflections and opinions, often undated. But Helen Seaton's voice came through with warmth and wit.

The diary started when she was seventeen and had recently lost both her parents to a virulent fever. After her mourning ended, her guardian sent her to London for presentation. She was a great success, "
despite my
dreadful red hair
."

His eye was caught by Lord Bowden's name. The next few pages sketched out the story of her engagement and elopement.

Marcus Seaton, Lord Bowden's heir, has offered marriage. I accepted, for I like him better than my other beaux. In fact, I think I am in love, though not quite sure since the state is unfamiliar to me. But Marcus is adoring and charming and intelligent. I quite like being adored. He and I shall do very well. Next week we will travel to his family seat in the Lake District to meet other relatives and see my future home.

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