not hurt to sound Montcliffe out on a little of it.
‘What do you know of Randolph Clements?’
‘His wife, Henrietta, died in the fire at Ravenshill Chapel. It was rumoured you had something to do with that, but it was never proven.’
‘I think Clements killed his wife.’
‘And walked away?’
‘Unconvicted. Mr Friar here is one of his American cousins.’
‘You think he was involved, too?’
‘Odds are that he is here in London for a reason.’
‘He is single and wealthy. He wants a wife. Many might say that is enough of a reason. Who slapped him before you turned up?’
‘Miss Adelaide Ashfield.’
‘And she is...?’
Gabriel swallowed hard. ‘Penbury’s niece and one of this Season’s débutantes.’
‘The woman in gold?’ Montcliffe began to smile. ‘God, you have an interest in this lady.’
‘No.’ He made the word sound as definite as he could.
‘Yet you just avenged her for an insult, I am presuming? Such an action indicates more than mere indifference.’
Gabriel had forgotten about Daniel Wylde’s quick mind. He could also see the wheels of curiosity turning in sharp eyes.
‘You never told me about happened in the bloody chapel? Some say it was you who lit the fire.’
‘No, I can’t even remember how it started. I know I did try to save her, but then...’ He stopped, searching for a glimpse into recall and failing.
‘You couldn’t?’
‘I didn’t love Henrietta Clements in the way she wanted me to.’
There was silence, the guilt of it all howling around the edges of Gabriel’s sanity like a cold wind blowing relentlessly from the north. He had had liaisons with women all of his adult life, unrequited political connections, and this was the result. His penance. His atonement. The resulting impotence was only deserved and proper. A God-given punishment so very close to the cause of all his destruction—he could not deny it.
If he had been alone he might have hit something, but he wasn’t. As it was he held his hands into the side of his thighs in tight fists. The nail on his right forefinger broke into the skin of his thumb.
‘Perhaps I hurt your sister in the same way?’ Daniel offered the explanation.
‘Pardon?’ With all his other thoughts Gabriel could not quite work out exactly what was meant.
‘Charlotte. I didn’t love her enough, either, and we ruined each other. Same thing you are talking of, isn’t it?’
The minutes of quiet multiplied.
‘But then Amethyst taught me about the honesty of love.’
God, Gabriel thought, and what I would not give for a wife like that. Empty loneliness curled into the corners of hope. He had never felt close to anyone and now it would never again be possible.
For a second he almost hated the other’s joy. It was what happened when you were down on your luck. You became surrounded by those who were not. Even his sister, for all her poor choices in life, had written to say that she had met a wealthy and cultured man in Edinburgh with whom she could see a future.
‘Come to Montcliffe, Gabe. Some country air might be just what you need. Amethyst is almost eight months along in her pregnancy so she does not come to London any more, preferring the quiet of Montcliffe.’ Daniel Wylde was watching him closely. ‘She would be pleased to have you there and so would I.’
Thanking him for the offer, Gabriel replied that he would certainly think about it and then he left.
* * *
He actually spent the night thinking of Adelaide Ashfield. Her smile. Her blue eyes. The quiet lisp in her words. Friar was a threat to her in some way he could not as yet fathom. Gabriel knew that he was. He returned his attention to the notes spread across the table in front of him—maps, drawings and timings—as he searched for a pattern.
Clements was there somewhere in the middle of the puzzle though he had been careful to cover his tracks. His cousin George Friar told others that he had arrived in England a month or so before Henrietta had died, on the clipper Vigilant travelling between Baltimore and London. But when he had tracked down the passenger list for that particular voyage his name had not been upon it. Why would he lie about such a thing? Had he lied about who he was as well?
Frank Richardson had visited Friar and Clements, too. He had stayed over at the Whitehorse Tavern with John Goode, his cousin.
Four of them now. Gabriel knew there were six, because Henrietta Clements had told him so. She had been so angry she could barely talk when she had come to him at Ravenshill, that much he did remember.
‘My husband is here,’ she had said simply. ‘Right behind me, and I know for certain his political allegiances lie with France and Napoleon’s hopes. Take me away to the Americas, Gabriel. I have an aunt who lives there. In Boston. We could be free to begin again...together, for I have money I can access and much in the way of jewellery.’ Her arms came around him even as he tried to move away.
Then there was blankness, an empty space of time without memory. He had been trying to fill in the details ever since, but the only true and residing certainty he’d kept was the pain.
The knock at the door was expected, but still he stood to one side of the jamb and called out, ‘Who is it?’
‘Archie McCrombie, sir.’ The reply was firm.
Sliding the latch downwards, Gabriel ushered the small red-haired man inside, the cold air of evening blowing in with him and his coat lifting in the wind.
‘Friar is residing at Beaumont Street, where he has spent most of the last week enjoying the charms of Mrs Fitzgerald’s girls. I left Ben there to make certain he stays put.’
‘Did he meet anyone else?’
‘Frank Richardson, my lord. I did not recognise the others who came and went. Someone tailed me as I left, but I shook him off. Tall he was and well dressed. He does not seem to fit in around this side of town. He was armed, too, I would bet my life on the fact.’
‘Expecting trouble, then, or about to cause it?’
‘Both, I would say, sir. I’d have circled back and tailed him, my lord, if I wasnna meeting you.’
‘No, you did well. Give them some rope to hang themselves; we don’t just want one fish, we want all six of them.’
‘Yes, sir.’
After McCrombie left, Gabriel stood and walked to the window. It was raining outside and grey and the cold enveloped him, his life worn down into a
