Who Speaks for the Damned (Sebastian St. Cyr #15) - C. S. Harris Page 0,57
addressing those issues directly.
He said instead, “How well do you know the Earl of Seaforth?”
“Seaforth? Well enough. Why do you ask?”
“Did you know his cousin Nicholas? Eighteen years ago, I mean.”
“Goodness gracious, no. Why would I? By all reports the fellow was an incorrigible rogue. I really don’t see why—”
“Are you familiar with a man named Titus Poole?”
Forbes’s expression remained completely under his control, his face bland and pale in the wind-tossed moonlight. But Sebastian knew he was considering denying it. Knew too when Forbes realized such a denial could potentially be a mistake. “The company has used the fellow a time or two to retrieve stolen property. Why do you ask?”
“Because he was seen following Nicholas Hayes several days before he died, and it’s been suggested someone might have hired him to kill Hayes.”
“I don’t see why you think that might have anything to do with me.”
“Really? You don’t?”
Forbes brought up one hand to stab the air between them with a pointed finger as he carefully enunciated each word. “You. Be. Careful.”
“Just one more question,” said Sebastian as the man started to leave again.
“What now?” The tone was one of annoyed exasperation, of a busy, important man humoring an irritating imposition.
Sebastian drew Nicholas Hayes’s strange bronze disk from his pocket and held it out in the palm of his hand. “Do you have any idea what this is?”
Forbes gave the piece a quick, dismissive glance. “It looks like it’s from those Turkish baths in Portman Square. Why do you ask? What has it to do with anything?”
“Perhaps nothing,” said Sebastian, and closed his fist around the token.
* * *
Sebastian was working his way toward where he could see the Count de Compans near the ballroom entrance when the Prince Regent’s powerful cousin stepped in front of him.
“What are you doing here?” demanded Jarvis.
Sebastian met his father-in-law’s hard stare. “I was invited.”
“You never come to these things.”
Sebastian glanced over to where the French Count had paused to greet some acquaintance. “I do on occasion.”
Jarvis followed Sebastian’s gaze, his gray eyes narrowing. “I want you to leave Compans alone.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean, Why? The man is currently acting as the representative of the King of France. These royal visits and all the pomp and celebration surrounding them are not intended simply to flatter the vanity of the Prince Regent, you know. They are serving a very real and critical purpose, and that is to solidify for the future a network of vitally important alliances. Our current alliances may have prevailed against Napoléon, but they are nevertheless fragile and vulnerable. Do you have any idea of the havoc you would wreak by casting an ominous cloud of suspicion over one of the pivotal men involved in reconstructing the old order?”
“You’re suggesting the fate of the world rests on my not pursuing whoever is responsible for sinking a sickle into Nicholas Hayes’s back?”
Jarvis’s lower lip curled. “No one cares who killed Nicholas Hayes. If the authorities had managed to get their hands on the scoundrel, he’d have been hanged as fast as they could tie a rope around his neck.”
“Undoubtedly. So did you never wonder why whoever killed him didn’t use that option as the easiest means of dispatching the man?”
“No. Nor have I any intention of wasting my time ruminating on such sordid matters. The war may be over, but the peace is only beginning and it’s delicate. If you want to go chasing after some sickle-wielding madman, then do so, by all means. But leave Gilbert-Christophe de LaRivière out of it.”
“I’ll be certain to give your preferences in the matter all the respect they deserve,” said Sebastian, turning toward the door.
Jarvis put out a hand, stopping him. “I’m serious.”
Sebastian studied his father-in-law’s angry, set face. “So am I.”
Jarvis let his hand fall. “As you wish. You’ve been warned.” He turned and walked away.
Sebastian glanced again toward the ballroom entrance.
The Count de Compans was gone.
Chapter 35
I ’m beginning to suspect that Nicholas Hayes came back to England to kill all four of them,” said Hero as their carriage rolled through the dimly lit streets of Mayfair toward home. “Seaforth, Compans, Brownbeck, and Forbes. And I can’t say I’d blame him if he had.”
Sebastian looked over at her and smiled. “To be honest, neither would I.”
She fell silent, her gaze on the dark shops flashing past. Sebastian watched the light from the swaying carriage lamps limn her cheek with a soft golden glow, and knew what she was thinking. Reaching out, he took