Who Speaks for the Damned (Sebastian St. Cyr #15) - C. S. Harris Page 0,29
years.”
“Thank you for agreeing to see me,” said Hero, watching her.
Lady Forbes carefully poured the measure of tea into a larger container, then glanced over at her. “You say that as if you thought I might not.”
“I take it you know why I’m here?”
“I can guess. I’ve heard Lord Devlin is looking into the murder of Nicholas Hayes, and your presence here suggests he’s discovered that Nicholas and I once . . . knew each other.”
“Did you know Hayes had returned to London?”
“No.” The denial came quick and decisive.
“Do you have any idea why he came back?”
“No. How could I?” She turned to select another jar from one of the shelves, her voice airy and calm and everything Hero knew she was not. “Does Lord Devlin have any idea as to who might have killed him?”
“Not yet.” Hero hesitated a moment, but she could think of no delicate way to phrase it and so simply said bluntly, “Do you think his return could have been motivated by revenge?”
Lady Forbes froze with her arms extended over her head, then slowly lifted the jar she’d been reaching for from the shelf and turned. “What do you mean?”
“Could he have come back here to kill someone?”
She was silent for a moment, obviously giving the idea—or at least her response to it—some thought. “No. Nicholas wasn’t like that.”
“Twenty years ago, perhaps not. But a brutal life can change people. I notice you don’t say you can’t think of anyone he might have had reason to kill.”
Lady Forbes’s face hardened unexpectedly. “Who wouldn’t be tempted to kill the man who destroyed his life?”
“You mean the Count de Compans?”
“Yes.”
“You’re suggesting Hayes didn’t actually kill the Count’s wife?”
“Of course he didn’t.”
“How can you be so certain?”
“Because I know him.” She paused, then said more softly, “Knew him.”
The sound of the entry door opening floated up from below, followed by a man’s crisp voice asking something Hero didn’t catch and the butler’s murmured reply.
Hero said, “Can you think of any other reason he would risk coming back to England?”
Kate Forbes shook her head as approaching footsteps sounded on the stairs. The anxious fear in her eyes was unmistakable. “No. It makes no sense. But please—”
She broke off as Sir Lindsey Forbes appeared in the open doorway. “Ah, there you are, my dear. I was—” He gave a faint start, as if only becoming aware of Hero’s presence even though she knew he must surely have learned of it from his butler. “I do beg your pardon, Lady Devlin. Am I interrupting?”
He was a good-looking man, probably in his late forties or early fifties, with thick, prematurely silver hair, dark eyebrows, and a strong chin. The fourth son of a Devonshire reverend, he had joined the East India Company as a simple cadet at the tender age of sixteen and distinguished himself in the campaign against Hyder Ali on the Malabar Coast. After that, he’d risen quickly to become quartermaster general of the Bombay Army. It was the kind of position that enabled a man to accumulate an extraordinary fortune in a short time, if he was ruthless enough—and from everything Hero had heard, Forbes was more than ruthless. Under his stewardship, the company had forced the area’s farmers to shift from growing grain to the production of opium. When a famine hit, close to a million people starved to death. But whenever the topic came up, Forbes would simply shrug and say India was overpopulated anyway. As far as Hero was concerned, that sentiment told her all she needed to know about the man.
“I saw your father at this morning’s reception for the Allied Sovereigns at the Bank of England,” he told Hero with a smile.
“Was the Bank on today’s schedule of events?” said Hero pleasantly. He had the soft blue eyes and ageless, angelic face of a choirboy, and it was all so disconcertingly misleading that she found it chilling.
“It was—along with a banquet this afternoon and a visit to the Opera this evening. Do you and Devlin attend?”
“Probably not.”
“It should be entertaining. There’s a rumor the Princess of Wales plans to put in an appearance. Needless to say, the Regent is in a pother over the possibility. If he could have his way, I suspect he’d have her locked up for the rest of the Allied Sovereigns’ visit.”
“Well, he’s managed to bar his wife from Court and from all official receptions and banquets. But I doubt he’ll succeed in keeping her from the Opera.”