Who Speaks for the Damned (Sebastian St. Cyr #15) - C. S. Harris Page 0,45
because I wouldn’t put it past you to follow me to my dinner engagement and harangue me there.”
Sebastian closed the door behind the valet and leaned back against it. “Acute of you.”
The Earl reached for a pair of formal black breeches and pulled them on. “What do you want now?”
“I was wondering why you didn’t tell me Crispin Hayes killed himself.”
“I thought I did.”
“No. You told me he drowned.”
Seaforth buttoned the breeches, then smoothed on white silk stockings and pushed his feet into diamond-buckled shoes. “I suppose some people do fall into the Thames and drown by accident, but there can’t be many.”
“So why did he kill himself?”
Seaforth selected one of the neatly pressed cravats laid ready by his valet and turned toward the mirror. “I really don’t know, although I always assumed it was a matter of unrequited love.”
“Crispin Hayes was in love? With whom?”
Seaforth carefully wound the length of extraordinarily wide linen around his neck. “Chantal de LaRivière, of course.” His gaze met Sebastian’s in the mirror, and he laughed. “You really don’t know much about those days, do you?”
“Obviously not. Care to enlighten me?”
“It’s not a complicated story. The Countess was an extraordinarily beautiful woman, and Crispin fell madly, hopelessly in love with her.”
“You’re saying Crispin and Nicholas were in love with the same woman?”
“That’s right.” Seaforth kept his gaze on his reflection in the mirror as he tied the cravat. “To tell the truth, I’ve sometimes wondered if perhaps Crispin’s death wasn’t actually a suicide.”
“Meaning . . . what?”
“Well, given what we now know about Nicholas, I wouldn’t be surprised if he simply pushed his brother off the bridge in a fit of jealousy. Would you?”
Watching this smirking, condescending man calmly tie his cravat in the dressing room of the house that had come to him only through his betrayal of his cousin, Sebastian felt a wave of revulsion so intense that it was a struggle to keep his voice even. “You’re suggesting Nicholas had a reason to be jealous of his brother? Why? Did the Countess favor Crispin?”
“That I wouldn’t know.”
Sebastian studied the other man’s self-satisfied, smug face. “Are you familiar with a man named Titus Poole?”
Seaforth kept his gaze on his reflection in the mirror as he smoothed the folds of his cravat. “Poole? No, sorry; never heard of him. Why do you ask?”
“I understand he was once a rather famous Bow Street Runner, although he now works privately as a thieftaker.”
“Oh?” Seaforth swung away from the mirror to reach for his white silk waistcoat. “I’m afraid I don’t keep up with such people. What has he to do with anything?”
“He was seen following Nicholas shortly before he was murdered, and it’s been suggested that someone had hired the man. You don’t know anything about that?”
Seaforth tried to tuck his chin against his chest so he could see to work the waistcoat’s buttons, but given the exorbitant width of his cravat, it wasn’t easy. “No, of course not. How could I?”
“You didn’t hire him?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” He reached for his coat. “Are we about finished here? I promised my wife I’d look in on the nursery for a few minutes before we leave.”
“Of course,” said Sebastian. He turned toward the door, but paused with his hand on the knob. “Just one more thing. I’ve been wondering, was Crispin planning to buy a pair of colors like his brother and his friend Hamish McHenry?”
“Crispin? Hardly. He was never army mad like Nicholas.”
“Oh? So what did he do?”
“I really don’t recall. Why?”
“Just curious,” said Sebastian, and let himself out.
Chapter 28
T he evening breeze billowing in through the Brook Street house’s open windows was warm and dry and smelled strongly of horse droppings.
Jules Calhoun sat in one of the chairs beside the library’s cold hearth, his hands clasped between his spread knees and his head bowed. He’d been out most of the afternoon searching for Ji in the back alleys and crowded courts around the Red Lion, and he looked hot, tired, and uncharacteristically disheveled. “I don’t know why I didn’t say Crispin Hayes had killed himself,” said the valet in answer to Sebastian’s question. “I guess it didn’t seem relevant.”
“Is it possible that Nicholas Hayes killed his own brother?”
Calhoun’s head came up. “Good Lord, no. Crispin defied the old Earl by continuing to visit Nicholas after their father disowned him. Anyone who saw the brothers together could tell how close they were. Nicholas was devastated when Crispin died.”
“I’ve seen people devastated by the death of someone