When Gods Die

Opening a chest near the largest wardrobe, he found himself looking at tiny caps decorated with delicate tucking and lace, nestled amid stacks of carefully folded miniature gowns and white flannel blankets embroidered with birds and flowers. His chest aching with a strange catch, he searched it quickly and gently closed the lid.

Returning to the bedchamber, he stood in the center of the rug, his thoughtful gaze taking in the sun-filled room. On the mantel above the empty hearth, Guinevere had kept a collection of seashells casually arranged beside an ormolu clock. Mementos from her childhood in Wales?

Intrigued, he was walking over to study them when a flash of white from the rear of the cold grate caught his eye. Crouching down beside the hearth, he reached back to free it from the grate and found himself holding a tightly wadded sheet of paper.

Straightening, he uncrumpled the paper and smoothed it out upon the flat top of the marble mantel. It was a short note, written in a bold masculine hand.

Beloved,

I must see you again. Please, please let me explain. Meet me Wednesday afternoon at the Norfolk Arms in Giltspur Street, in Smithfield, and bring the letter. Please don’t fail me.

The signature was scrawled but still legible.

Varden.

Chapter 56

It took some time, but Sebastian eventually tracked the Chevalier de Varden to White’s in St. James’s.

“There ’e is, gov’nor,” said Tom, jumping down from his perch to run to the chestnuts’ heads.

The Chevalier was descending the club’s front steps in the company of another young buck when Sebastian drew in the curricle close to the footpath. “If I might have a word with you, sir?” he called.

The Chevalier exchanged a few pleasantries with his companion, then strolled over to the curricle’s side. “What is it, my lord?” The smile that accompanied the words was pleasant enough, but his eyes were guarded and wary.

Sebastian returned the smile. “Drive with me a ways, won’t you? There’s something I’d like you to see.”

The Chevalier hesitated, then shrugged and bounded up beside him.

“Stand away from their heads,” called Sebastian, bending his hand to give the horses the office to start.

“What is it?” Varden asked as Tom scrambled back up to his perch.

“I was wondering what you might make of this.” Without taking his eyes from the road, Sebastian drew the crumpled note from his pocket and held it out.

He was aware of Varden’s breath quickening as he took the note and read it through. His hand tightened around the paper, his face fierce when he looked up to meet Sebastian’s quizzical gaze. “Where did you get this?”

“It was behind the grate in Lady Anglessey’s bedchamber.”

“But…I don’t understand.” He thumped the back of one hand against the crumpled page, his voice tight with anger. “I didn’t write this.”

“That isn’t your handwriting?”

“No.” Varden shook his head, as much in confusion as in denial. “It looks like it, but it’s not. I tell you, I didn’t write it.”

If it was a lie, it was a very good one. Yet Sebastian had known people who could lie with such ease and apparent sincerity that it would never occur to the unwary to suspect them. Kat could lie like that. It was a gift that served her well on the stage.

“Would you say the writing is similar enough that it could have deceived Lady Anglessey?” Sebastian asked, reserving judgment.

Varden read through the note again. “It must have done so, obviously. This hotel—the Norfolk Arms. Is that where she went? The afternoon she died?”

Sebastian nodded. “And the letter she was supposed to bring with her?”

“I have no idea,” said Varden, meeting Sebastian’s gaze and holding it unblinkingly.

This time Sebastian thought, That line was delivered less well, my friend. Turning the curricle in through the gates to Hyde Park, he said aloud, “Tell me again about your quarrel.”

A faint flush darkened the Chevalier’s lean cheeks. “What more is there to say? She wanted to leave—”

“No,” said Sebastian, anger putting a tight edge on his voice. “That’s pitching it too rum by half. Anglessey is dying, and his wife knew it. She had no reason to leave him and every reason not to.”

Sebastian thought for a moment that Varden meant to brazen it out. Then he pursed his lips and expelled his breath in an audible gust, as if he’d been holding it. “All right. I admit I made that up.”

“The quarrel,” pressed Sebastian. “What was it about?”

Varden set his jaw. “What happened that night was between Guin and me. It has nothing to do with her death.”

“This note suggests otherwise.”

“I tell you, it has nothing to do with her death.”

“So certain?”

“Yes!”