Koscuisko threw up his hands. „There’s nothing more to know,“ he said, a faint
wail in his voice. „No one on the Tryg was expecting the Princess’s ship to vanish –
you can believe I made sure of that – and nobody aboard has the slightest idea of
where she’s gone.“
„We must assume,“ Wessex said reasonably, „that she’s gone somewhere. And if
it were any place in the least desirable, we would have heard by now.“
„Which leaves France,“ Koscuisko said glumly.
„Which probably means France,“ Wessex agreed. „We daren’t put off telling
Prince Christian that we’ve lost his sister – we have to assume he’s heard already –
so Widowmaker and I are bound for Copenhagen now. I’ll sniff around the Danish
court and see if anyone knows more than he should.“
„I’ll go with you,“ Koscuisko offered instantly.
„No,“ Wessex said firmly. „You’re bound for England. Prince Jamie’s got
himself entangled with Ripon’s girl, and you’ve got to pry her away from him.“
„Me?“ Koscuisko said blankly. Then he smiled. „Well, it’s worth a try. Is she
pretty?“
„More than you deserve, my son. So make yourself beautiful and be on your
way.“
„Her Grace the Duchess of Wessex!“ the bewigged footman shouted as Sarah
reached the top of the stairs.
The Earl’s ballroom occupied the second floor of his townhouse, three stories
above the London streets. Sarah could not help comparing the room with that at
Mooncoign, and wondering if the differences between the two betokened differences
in character as well.
Mooncoign’s ballroom was lavish – everything gilded and grand, meant to be
impressive. But Brookstone (Ripon’s townhouse was named for one of his
secondary titles, Viscount Brookstone) was meant to overwhelm – not with itself
alone, but with the consequence of the family that had caused it to be built. The
Highclere arms were repeated everywhere, like trophies of captured enemies, and the
mirrors reflected the Waterford chandeliers into an infinity of heartless dazzle that
struck the eyes like a thrown challenge.
Sarah had meant to come early, hoping to get Meriel off in a corner where she
could quiz the girl about her true plans, but the crush of carriages in the street had
delayed Sarah’s arrival until well after ten. The ballroom was already filled with
people, and in the arctic glitter of the crystal and mirrors, Sarah could see neither
Meriel nor Prince Jamie. Perhaps the Prince had not come, which would be ideal –
„Your Grace, how pleasant it is to have you Join us.“ The Earl of Ripon
materialized at her elbow.
„Yes, isn’t it?“ Sarah shot back, biting down an even more caustic reply. She
wondered if Ripon really believed in the success of his scheme to make Prince
James a puppet king upon a shadow throne, and if the man had for one moment
stopped to count the cost.
„And your husband?“ Ripon pursued. „The Duke?“ As if Sarah might have
forgotten who it was she’d married barely more than a month before.
Sarah tightened her grip on her fan. „My husband does not care for your
company,“ she said boldly. She might as well send all her bridges blazing to heaven
upon this one occasion; her attempts to personate a pattern-card of virtue had
brought her nothing but failures, so perhaps the opposite would serve her better.
„Alas.“ Ripon did not seem especially devastated by this observation. „Perhaps
we can persuade you, at least, to a better opinion of us.“
I doubt it, Sarah thought, but this at least she did not say aloud. Instead she
allowed Ripon to lead her along the edge of the ballroom floor and into another
room, where he procured her a glass of iced champagne punch and bowed himself
off, leaving her in peace. With a duplicity that surprised even its owner, Sarah spent
the next half an hour dissembling to her fellow guests and promising dances she did
not intend to dance before setting off in search of Lady Meriel. Ripon had outdone
himself – half the Upper Ten Thousand, it seemed, had crowded into these rooms
tonight.
A quick scouting of the rooms flung open to the entertainment satisfied Sarah that
her quarry was not anywhere present, but it was inconceivable that Lady Meriel
should be absent from the ball being given to establish her in Society. It was barely
possible that Meriel was still in her rooms; Sarah set out to discover the actuality.
She was able to make her way out of the ballroom without difficulty, but once on
the floor below, Sarah was adrift in a strange house with no idea where Meriel’s
rooms lay. She shrugged philosophically, pulling her crepe shawl higher about her
bare shoulders. She must search until she found it – it was unlikely, with everyone
attending the ball on the floor above, that she’d startle anyone but the servants, and
eccentricities in the Quality were only to be expected. A few vails, liberally
bestowed, should ensure that Ripon did not hear of this excursion. Toward the back
of the house, she found another staircase and began to climb.
The first few doors she opened on the third floor led only into darkened
bedrooms and parlors – none of them showing any signs of extensive occupation –
and Sarah began to think her idea a particularly shatterwitted one when she turned the
corner and saw light leaking from beneath a closed door. Perhaps Meriel was within.
But she could hardly walk up to the door and knock, Sarah realized. What reason
would she give?
She’d just realized the ill-conceived nature of her mission when the door she had
been contemplating swung open abruptly.
„There’s no one there,“ the Earl of Ripon prophesied.
„I know there’s no one there!“ Geoffrey Highclere snarled. „Just your mewling
catspaw of a niece, a houseful of servants, five hundred guests – “ A courier from
France…. „ With an effort, Geoffrey reined in his temper. There was no sense in
alienating his so-helpful brother, especially since the original plan to entangle the
Prince of Wales had been Ripon’s idea.
But Geoffrey’s French masters had battened upon it, particularly that white spider
Talleyrand, secret master of France, and suddenly it was Geoffrey’s business to
make sure his brother’s plot achieved its full flower – without, of course, letting
Ripon know who took so much interest in it. Because Ripon was loyal to England,
after his fashion – and any power that Ripon tore loose from the Crown he meant to
bestow only upon Ripon.
But when a thing was struck loose from its moorings and floated freely, it might
end up anywhere at all….
„You worry too much, Geoffrey,“ his brother rumbled. „Meriel is weeping in her
abigail’s arms after the lesson you gave her earlier, and everyone else is at the ball.
As I should be – Wessex’s Duchess has favored us with her presence, and it would
not do to neglect her.“
„Wessex!“ Geoffrey all but hissed. The courier had brought word from
Geoffrey’s French masters that Wessex was becoming a dangerous annoyance – the
man, Geoffrey had discovered, was more than he seemed. „He meddles in our plans
at every turn.“
„How can he?“ Ripon asked reasonably. „Wessex has gone to the country once
more.“
„He has not gone to the country,“ Geoffrey said. „He has gone to Denmark –
Princess Stephanie has vanished; her ship did not reach landfall in the Orkney
Islands.“
„What?“ Ripon was thunderstruck. „When you told me you had urgent news, I
thought it was to do with our cause.“
Tour cause, dear brother, Geoffrey amended mentally.
„And so it is. Do you think France uninterested in any matter that could make
England once more her natural ally against a sea of inhuman creatures and heretics?“
Geoffrey said smoothly. „And so she has acted to aid us: Princess Stephanie will
never reach Edinburgh.“
The rumors of the Danish Princess’s disappearance were already drifting from the
Palace like smoke, and the courier had brought Geoffrey confirmation of them –
though it was possible, his informant had told him, that the account of Princess
Stephanie’s disappearance was merely a Banbury tale ta explain why the Duke of
Wessex was traveling to the continent in such unseemly haste.
„Vanished!“ Ripon smiled. „Then we have more time to make sure of the Prince.
You need not have been so harsh with Meriel this evening at all.“
„We may not have so much time as you think,“ Geoffrey said slowly. He
hesitated over how much to tell his brother, drew a deep breath, and called upon all
his powers of inventive diplomacy.
„My… sources believe that Wessex’s real mission has nothing to do with
Princess Stephanie. That it is only a convenient excuse for those who know that the
Duke is King Henry’s agent. It is believed in fact that Wessex is on the trail of Louis
XVII. It seems that the Young King may be alive, and if he is, Wessex means to
bring the boy to England and set up an opposition government.“
Ripon mulled this over while Geoffrey wondered if his brother would take the
bait.
„It is possible,“ the Earl said. „Did not Wessex’s father go to France to rescue
the child – and fail? Or – wait! Did he fail? If the old Duke were able to spirit the
boy into hiding with a loyal Royalist family…“
„Then the son could stand ready to complete what the father could not,“
Geoffrey said. „And once the Young King is in English hands, Imperial France will
be seen as weak enough to defeat. England will never sue for a separate peace…“
„And our cause is doomed.“ Ripon frowned. „Wessex must be stopped.“
„He isn’t here – brother – to be stopped,“ Geoffrey pointed out. „How do you
propose to neutralize him?“
„I have a plan that might amuse you, Geoffrey,“ the Earl said. „It will involve
travel upon the Continent….“
Sarah retreated around the corner just as the door opened, and her common sense
asserted itself in a mighty surge. If she wished to present herself as the voice of
Reason, skulking around the hallways of other people’s houses was not the way to
do it.
She was very glad to have made such a decision when she heard Geoffrey
Highclere’s mocking drawl. He had undoubtedly chosen this occasion to present his
brother with yet another selection of his duns, for all the world knew that Mr.
Highclere’s pockets were emphatically to let.
As for where Meriel was, a perfectly reasonable explanation presented itself upon
reflection. The girl did not yet have much experience of Society, and was in the
midst of conducting .a scandalous romance. What was more likely than an attack of
nerves was delaying her appearance? The reasonable thing to do was to return to the
dance floor and take the opportunity to ask Lord Ripon about it when she saw him
again.
But Reason was not to be her ally – this night or any other – Sarah reflected
irritatedly several hours later.
Her dressing-table was lit by one lone candle, and she. sat before her mirror in a
grey watered-silk combing-coat lavished with ecru lace, still damp from the ablutions
that had removed the makeup from her face. She had sent Knoyle to bed as soon as
the abigail had unlaced her dress and unpinned the jewels from her hair, and it had
taken the better part of an hour after that for Sarah to finish preparing herself for
bed.
She inspected her reflection in the mirror critically. Neither an intriguer nor the
society leader King Henry had wanted her to be; she had not managed so much as a
private word with Lady Meriel all evening, and seen much to dismay her.
For Prince Jamie seemed more man simply dazzled by Meriel’s beauty. The
young Prince seemed dangerously – foolishly – recklessly – besotted with Meriel.
And Meriel was playing him as if she were a damsel in a courtly romance, requiring
outrageous and public proofs of his devotion.
If Wessex had still been here, Sarah would have swallowed her pride and gone to
him – this disaster was too large a tiling for her to stand upon her hurt pride if there
were any help she could seek. But Wessex was gone away, and she did not know if
anyone knew how to reach him.
Sighing, Sarah set down her hairbrush. If the Marchioness of Roxbury had
possessed numerous allies, plain Sarah Cunningham had none. Which meant that
though she was filled with a sense of responsibility for the impending ruin of the
Danish treaty, she was completely powerless to affect matters –
No! I will not accept that! Meriel had been Sarah’s friend, and there must be
some way still to reach her.
Perhaps tomorrow Sarah could discover what it was.