Treachery at Lancaster Gate (30 page)

“Do you?” Jack insisted as soon as the door was closed.

“Pardon?” she asked innocently.

“Do you like Godfrey Duncannon?” he repeated.

“Not very much,” she admitted.

“Why? I want to know.”

“I haven't got a sensible answer. I think he's—cold.”

“That's a sensible answer. Does Cecily love him?”

Emily shrugged. She always did that with great elegance.

“I don't know. I think she once did.” She did not add anything, but he knew she was thinking that that could happen to anyone, and probably did to many. The danger had brushed by them too, just months ago: the drifting apart, the taking for granted, the small faults becoming more important, the loss of laughter, the protests remembered rather than forgiven.

Did Jack forget that Emily, like Cecily Duncannon, had brought the money to the marriage? Most of the time. When he remembered it, it was with a sense of obligation, the need to live up to it. Did Godfrey feel the same?

Did Emily ever wonder how much the money was Jack's reason, and the love a well-played act? It wasn't! But did he make sure enough that she knew that?

“You should go and see her,” he said. “Please do. And find a way to say how sorry I am about all of this.”

“Thank you.” She smiled at him suddenly. “I didn't want to argue with you about it.”

“But you would have done?” he said with a smile, to rob the words of any sting.

She smiled even more sweetly. “Yes.”

She had not asked him how the case coming to trial would affect his future. It could be another failure, tying his name to one more man of importance who had come to a spectacular crisis in his career, albeit not of his own fault. Was it bad luck? Or Jack's misjudgment? Should he give thought to some other career where his skills were better employed? For now, he would say nothing. He smiled back at Emily, and tried to ease himself into a more comfortable position. He was fortunate to be so little injured. He could easily have been killed in that alley. If the shot had been only a few inches further to the right…It was time to think rather more deeply.

E
MILY WENT TO THE
Duncannon house with considerable misgiving. She had no idea whether Cecily would receive her or not. She had brought a note to leave if she was refused entrance. There was so little to say that it seemed rather ridiculous, but friendship required that she not take the easy escape of claiming that she did not know what to say. There were all kinds of tragedies for which there were no adequate words, nothing that healed the pain. But one did not leave people alone, regardless.

It was a cold morning with a bitter wind from the east that cut through woolen coats and even fur collars, as if it were straight off the North Sea, which it probably was. She was relieved when the door was opened. A blank-faced butler took a moment to recognize her, and then pulled the door wide and stepped backward to invite her in.

“Mrs. Duncannon is in the morning room, ma'am,” he said gravely. The pallor of his face suggested that he knew they were on the eve of tragedy. “If you will excuse me a moment, I will see if she is well enough to receive you.” Without waiting for Emily's reply, he closed the front door and walked smartly across the wide hallway and knocked on one of the doors. A moment later he returned to take Emily into the morning room where Cecily Duncannon was waiting.

“Emily. How kind of you…” Cecily began, then faltered into an awkward silence. She looked ravaged, her skin pale, dark rings around her eyes as if she were bruised. She seemed beaten physically as well as emotionally. All her old vitality was gone. Perhaps that had been nervous energy anyway, bringing nothing more than the strength needed to keep the pains of reality just beyond reach. Emily had not understood it at the time, but now it seemed so clear. Cecily had known for a while now that this day, or a day like it, was always going to come. What courage it must have taken to seize the time before, and live it to the full. Were it Emily's own son, Edward, could she have found the strength to do that?

She walked over to Cecily and took both her hands, holding them gently, as if they too would bruise at a touch.

“If you would rather have privacy, please let me know. Don't pretend for anyone else's sake,” she said gently. “But if you prefer not to be alone, then I am here for as long as you wish.”

The tears spilled over Cecily's cheeks and blinking was no help, no disguise. She took a shuddering breath, waiting a moment until she was sufficiently composed to speak.

“Thank you. I…I think I would like you to stay, a little while. Our barrister, Sir Robert Cardew, is in the study with Godfrey. I have no idea what they will do, but Godfrey says Sir Robert is the very best, not just articulate, and of course brilliant with the law, but wise. He will know what will be best for Alexander, in the long term.”

Emily felt a ripple of alarm, cold and frightening. There was no “long term” for Alexander. Did Cecily not know that? She must! Emily had seen it in her face, in her eyes, in unguarded moments. It had been there, and then gone again, mastered by good manners and duty.

Maybe Godfrey really meant the long term for himself. Was that an unworthy thought? If it were Edward in such terrible trouble, would Emily be able to think of Jack, in the long term? And of Evangeline, an innocent inheritor of the stigma that would attach itself to the family?

“Of course,” she said quietly. “You must take whatever advice you think wisest.”

At that moment the door opened and Godfrey Duncannon came in, followed immediately by a man of not dissimilar appearance. He was not quite as tall, but had thick, perfectly barbered iron-gray hair and was immaculately dressed. They both stopped when they saw Emily.

A flash of anger crossed Godfrey's face but he masked it quickly.

“Good morning, Mrs. Radley,” he said coolly. He introduced Sir Robert Cardew, explaining that Emily was a friend of Cecily, who had no doubt come to offer her sympathies and was about to leave.

“I am sure you will appreciate that we are grateful for your concern, but we have urgent family business to discuss.” He turned to Cecily and the shadow of annoyance was back in his face. Or perhaps it was a disguise for fear. Men such as he would never admit to being afraid; they could not afford to. Enemies and rivals understood fear, and used it. Emily felt a moment's intense pity for him. Perhaps Cecily was too hurt to be any use, any support at all for him in this. Alexander was his only son also!

She bit back the response she had wanted to make.

“Of course,” she agreed, and then turned to Cecily. “If there is anything I can do, please let me know. Perhaps there are letters to write, errands you wish, or simply to go somewhere with company.”

“Thank you,” Cecily said quickly. “But there is no need to leave now. You have barely arrived…”

“Cecily!” There was sharpness in Godfrey's voice that was unmistakable.

Cecily stared back at him, terror in her eyes.

It was Cardew who intervened. “Mrs. Duncannon, we have discussed the situation thoroughly and reached what I can assure you is the best plan of action. There is a very good chance that we may be able to prove beyond reasonable doubt that Alexander is not fully responsible for his actions. If we succeed, he will be placed in a secure asylum where he will be well treated, and if your husband deems it wise, you will be able to visit him from time to time.” He smiled at her; but it seemed more out of kindness than encouragement. “I will do everything I can to see that that is the nature of the trial. I advise you to consider allowing your husband to attend the actual trial in your place. It would be bound to distress you.”

Cecily stared at him with distinct chill. “Thank you for your concern, Sir Robert, but I will attend. I imagine Mrs. Radley will accompany me, to make sure I do not attract attention by fainting at an unsuitable moment.” She was standing close enough to Emily to touch her arm lightly, and for Emily to return the pressure.

Cardew looked taken aback, and then uncomfortable. He glanced at Godfrey.

“We will see,” Godfrey said firmly. “Thank you very much.” He reached for the bell to summon the butler to show Cardew out.

As soon as he was gone Godfrey looked at Emily.

“You will excuse us.” It was an order, and only just the right side of abruptness.

“Of course.” Emily was reluctant to leave. She knew by the way Cecily gripped her arm that she did not wish to be left, but in the face of such a clear dismissal she could hardly remain.

The situation was broken by the return of the butler looking distinctly uncomfortable. He hesitated awkwardly.

“Mrs. Radley is leaving,” Godfrey told him.

“Sir, Lord Narraway has arrived and insists upon speaking with you. He…he encountered Sir Robert Cardew on the doorstep, sir.”

“For God's sake! What does he want?” Godfrey snapped. He was exasperated, but he knew he could not afford to offend Narraway, who was now a figure of immeasurable importance in the House of Lords—immeasurable literally, because no one knew for certain exactly what secrets he had been privy to when he had been head of Special Branch, only that some of them were deemed to be very dark indeed.

“To speak with you, sir,” the butler replied unhappily.

Godfrey straightened his shoulders, and considered for a moment, without looking at either Emily or his wife. “Show him in,” he said curtly.

Cecily looked puzzled, but Emily knew, in an instant of complete understanding, that Godfrey presumed Narraway would not say anything of a personal nature with the two women present. Emily had a strong feeling that he was mistaken.

Narraway came in. He was, as Cardew had been, immaculately dressed, but he was slenderer, and an inch or two shorter. However, there was an air of confidence in him, of controlled energy, that made him dominate the room.

“Good morning,” he said politely, including both women in his glance. He did not seem at all surprised to find Emily there. “I apologize for calling unannounced. I understand it is inconvenient, but it is necessary. I am sure that Sir Robert Cardew has told you that Josiah Abercorn is going to lead the prosecution in the opening trial of your son.”

“Of course,” Godfrey snapped. “I cannot imagine you have come here to tell me something of so little concern to you.” His manner was ice cold.

Cecily seemed frozen, hanging onto Emily's arm as if for actual, physical support.

“Of course not,” Narraway agreed. “What you will be unaware of, since it has only been agreed this morning, is that I am going to represent Mr. Alexander Duncannon—”

“No, sir, you are not!” Godfrey was furious. “I don't give a damn who you are, or were. I have engaged Sir Robert Cardew to defend my son. There is nothing further to be said. Good day.”

Narraway raised his eyebrows very slightly. “It is your son who is on trial, Mr. Duncannon. He is of age, and may engage anyone he chooses to represent him. He has chosen me.”

Godfrey was white to the lips. “He is of unsound mind, as you well know. He is not competent to choose who will represent him. You are not even a lawyer. How dare you misrepresent yourself in this manner? It is despicable. Get out of my house, sir, before I have you thrown out!”

For a moment Emily was afraid the passion, the fear, and the rage were going to descend into violence.

Narraway smiled, although it was perhaps more a baring of his teeth.

“I am as licensed to practice law as Mr. Abercorn is. But you must do as you think appropriate, Mr. Duncannon. I am informing you as a courtesy. It is fortunate that Mrs. Radley is a witness to it, although of course I have lodged the necessary papers.”

“I shall not pay you a penny!” Godfrey replied grimly. “Mrs. Radley is also a witness to that. You may call on any others you wish. You will only make a spectacle of yourself. I cannot imagine what you hope to gain by this, but I promise you, it will be nothing.”

“I do not require payment, Mr. Duncannon. Not everything is done for money, at least not by all of us. I have not and shall not ask you for anything whatever. I am defending Alexander, with his consent, because I believe I can bring to pass a certain justice that Sir Robert Cardew cannot. I do not require your consent in this. I am telling you because you have the right to know, not to interfere. Good day, sir. Mrs. Duncannon. Emily, perhaps it would be a good time for you to take your leave also.” With a very slight bow of his head to Cecily, he turned and walked out into the hall.

Godfrey used an expletive he would not normally have used in front of women.

Cecily said absolutely nothing.

Emily squeezed her arm very gently, then turned also and went after Narraway.

She caught up with him on the front doorstep where he had hesitated, apparently waiting for her. She did not bother with niceties. The wind was bitterly cold and both their carriages were waiting at the curb, horses restless.

“What are you doing?” she demanded. A year ago she would have held him in too much awe to have been so abrupt, but since he had married Vespasia she had seen a far more human and vulnerable side to him, to her great liking. “Can you really help Alexander?”

“He is beyond anyone's help,” he said with startling gentleness. “He will not live a great deal longer. But I believe I can do as he wishes, and save his reputation both as a man of sanity and of loyalty to his friend, who was innocent of the crime for which he was hanged. Then Alexander will not have given his life for nothing.”

She nodded, emotion overwhelming her. “Please let me know if I can help.”

“You can be with Cecily Duncannon,” he replied. “It will be hard for her, and I doubt her husband will be of much comfort.”

The contract had not been signed, and perhaps now it never would be. There was nothing any of them could do about it, and she found that she did not care enough to make an issue of it. It must be won or lost on its own merits.