Who Speaks for the Damned (Sebastian St. Cyr #15) - C. S. Harris Page 0,100

who’d once made his daughter’s hats.

The killing of Nicholas Hayes had been impulsive, a product of rage and seething impotence. But the murders of Adele Bowers and Irvine Pennington were deliberate and planned. After a night’s agitated reflection, Brownbeck must have cold-bloodedly decided on the need to quickly silence the two people he knew could tie him to the gardens that night. And then he’d set about doing it.

And Seaforth? Why kill Seaforth? Had the Earl threatened Brownbeck in some way?

Still pondering that question, Sebastian handed the reins to his tiger. “Walk them, will you? I’ve no idea how long I’ll be.”

“Aye, gov’nor,” said Tom, scrambling forward to the seat.

Sebastian hopped down and was turning toward the Forbeses’ town house when he noticed Lady Forbes herself standing alone at the railing surrounding the square’s central basin. The day was cool and overcast, with a blustery wind that ruffled the gray surface of the water and tugged at the green ribbons of her ladyship’s fashionable straw hat. She was watching him, and Sebastian changed direction to walk toward her.

“Sir Lindsey isn’t here,” she said as he drew nearer. She was wearing a stylish muslin walking dress with an elegant hunter green spencer, and looked every inch like what she was—the daughter of one very rich man and the wife of another. And between them, those two rich, supremely selfish men had made her life miserable.

“Actually,” said Sebastian, pausing beside her, “I’ve come to see you.”

She turned her face away to stare off across the vast expanse of ornamental water. “You’ve figured it out, have you?”

Sebastian studied her beautiful, pale, carefully composed features. “Have you?”

She gave a faint laugh that held no real amusement. “I’ll admit I’ve been frightfully thick about a few things. But a bit of calm reflection made it all rather clear.”

“You know your abigail was informing on you to your father?”

“I didn’t. But I know now. She burst into tears when I confronted her with it. Swore she’d done it for my own good, and then cried even harder when I dismissed her without a character reference.” She paused, her features hardening. “Given everything that’s flowed from what she did, she’s lucky I didn’t murder her. I honestly think I could have, in that moment.” She swung her head to look at Sebastian, and he saw the raw fury and everlasting grief in her eyes. “Does that shock you?”

“No.” He stared across the water to where a pigeon was preening itself atop the head of the equestrian statue of William III in the center of the basin. “Have you seen your father?”

She shook her head. “I went there—to Bloomsbury—meaning to confront him about it all. But it seems he’s missing. The servants say he went out last night and never came back. I’d be inclined to believe he’s simply given them orders to put me off, except that they were obviously quite frightened and unsure as to what to do next.”

“Have you told Sir Lindsey?”

“That Father is missing?” She gave another of those strange, ragged laughs. “That would be rather difficult, given that Sir Lindsey also seems to have disappeared.”

“You’re serious?”

“Very. He went out last night as well, and hasn’t been seen since. According to Simmons—that’s our butler—he sent one of the footmen for a hackney, which is most unusual. You must know that hackney carriages are quite beneath the touch of Sir Lindsey Forbes.”

“And you’ve no idea at all where he’s gone?”

“None.”

“Have the authorities been informed?”

“Not to my knowledge. You know what servants are like. We train them to ignore all our eccentricities and reprehensible behavior, don’t we? So how could they dare go to the authorities when their master might walk in at any moment and be furious with them for causing such a stir?”

Sebastian was thinking, What about you? when she said, “He can be rather nasty when he’s put out, you know—Sir Lindsey, I mean.”

And he understood.

She looked away again, blinking rapidly enough now that Sebastian realized just how great was this woman’s struggle to hold back her tears. “Was Forbes a part of it, do you think? Killing Nicholas, I mean. And Seaforth as well?”

“I honestly don’t know.”

She was silent for a moment. Then she said, her voice quieter, “Have you found the little boy yet? Nicholas’s child?”

“No. Although we have seen him—or I should say we’ve seen her, because we’ve discovered the child is a girl. She’s the reason Nicholas came back to London—because he was dying of consumption, and he was