hats, and throwing flower petals.
It took Sebastian some time to push his way through the crowd to the center of the bridge, where a lean, trim man in Hessians and a military-cut coat was standing beside the stone balustrade, his gaze on the spectacle below.
“You’re Hamish McHenry?” said Sebastian, walking up to him.
The man turned, his eyes widening in surprise. “I am. Who are you?”
“Devlin. My wife tells me you came to see me yesterday.”
“I did, yes. But . . . how did you know to find me here?”
“Your mother.”
“Ah.” McHenry’s eyes creased with what might have been a smile as he turned to look out over the flotilla of barges. “It’s a grand sight, you must admit.”
“That it is.”
He kept his gaze on the river. “Did your wife tell you I was a friend of Crispin Hayes?”
“She did. She also said you never believed Nicholas killed Chantal de LaRivière.”
A roar went up along the bridge and adjoining banks as the barge of the Czar of Russia and his sister came into view below, for the Duchess was a great favorite with the crowds. McHenry watched for a moment as the Duchess waved and smiled for her admirers. Sebastian had the impression he was choosing his words carefully. “Let me put it this way: I never believed it happened the way LaRivière claimed.”
“Why not?”
The Scotsman brought up one closed fist to tap against his lips in the manner of a man considering his response . . . or perhaps regretting what he has already said. “It’s difficult to explain, actually.”
“Is it because you knew Nicholas?” suggested Sebastian. “Or because you knew Chantal de LaRivière?”
McHenry threw him a quick glance, then returned his gaze to the pageantry on the river. “Both, I suppose.”
“What do you think happened?”
“Honestly? I think Nicholas went storming over there in a rage and got into a fight with LaRivière. Only, somehow or another, Chantal was the one who ended up dead.”
“You don’t believe Nicholas went there to rape her?”
“Good God, no. He was furious with her.”
Sebastian watched the barge of the Ordinance Board shoot out from beneath the bridge, the oars of its liveried watermen throwing up cascades of water that glimmered like sheets of diamonds in the bright sunlight. “Anger and rape aren’t necessarily mutually exclusive. Most people think men rape because they’re overwhelmed by desire or uncontrolled lust. But from what I’ve seen, I’d say it’s most often a tool of hate and punishment, or maybe a frustrated desire for control.”
McHenry shook his head. “Nicholas wasn’t like that. If the Count de Compans had accused him of walking in the door and simply shooting Chantal, I might have been able to believe it. But rape? No.”
“Why was Nicholas so furious with her?”
McHenry was silent for a moment, the wind off the river ruffling his fair hair and flapping the tails of his coat. “Because he blamed her for Crispin’s suicide.”
“I’ve heard that Crispin Hayes was in love with Chantal. Is that true?”
“Oh yes. Desperately.”
“So what makes you think Nicholas blamed her for his brother’s death?”
“I know he did. Nicholas came to see me that day—the day after Crispin died.”
“To tell you his brother’s body had been found?”
“Not exactly. He was looking for answers. He said that right before he killed himself, Crispin had come to see him at that wretched inn where Nicholas was staying.” McHenry paused, his face held tight. “The weather was horrible that night, with a howling wind and an endless hard rain like something you’d see in the tropics. Nicholas said Crispin was wild, saying all kinds of crazy things, most of which made no sense. But one of the things Crispin said was something to the effect that ‘Hamish tried to warn me, but I didn’t listen.’”
“Warn him about what?”
McHenry pressed his lips together and said nothing.
“Did you warn him that Chantal de LaRivière was”—Sebastian paused, searching for the right word, and finally settled on—“a coquette? That she’d been working her wiles on you too?”
A flare of surprise crossed the man’s face. He turned to stare out over the river and after a moment gave a short, sharp nod.
“I take it Crispin didn’t believe what you said about Chantal?”
“Not when I told him, no. He was furious with me for saying something like that about the woman he loved.”
“So what happened to change his mind? It must have been rather drastic for the man to decide to kill himself over it.”
McHenry let out a long, painful breath. “I honestly