Page 75 of Who Cries for the Lost

“No. Nothing.” She studied him in silence for a moment, her face difficult to read. “But that’s not why you’re here, is it? Has something happened to Paul?”

Sebastian shook his head. “He’s fine. But I had an interesting conversation earlier today with Lord Jarvis.”

“That sounds ominous.” She brushed past him to turn down St. Martin’s Lane, toward the river. “And what did the King’s oh-so-powerful cousin have to say that brings you here to me? It can’t be good.”

Sebastian fell into step beside her. “He tells me someone you loved died on Cabrera. Is that true?”

She looked over at him, her forehead creasing with what looked like a puzzled frown. “It is, yes. I don’t know how he knew, or what difference it makes, but my cousin Celine died there. Why do you ask?”

“Because Miles Sedgewick was involved in the British decision to force the Spaniards to abrogate their treaty with France and send the prisoners to the island. Technically his role was that of a go-between, carrying messages from the Wellesleys to Admiral Collingwood and back. But I’m told he wasn’t simply a messenger—that he advocated quite forcefully to prevent the transfer of the prisoners back to France.” Sebastian paused, then said, “It’s been suggested that’s why he was killed.”

She drew up sharply and turned to face him. “Because of Cabrera?”

“Yes.”

“And now you’re back to thinking that maybe I’m the one who killed him, are you?”

“You don’t find it odd how everything somehow keeps circling back to you?”

“Does it? And precisely how am I supposed to have manhandled him down to the Thames? Or are you thinking your good friend Paul Gibson helped me?” She half swung away from him, one hand coming up to her forehead. “I can’t believe this.”

Sebastian kept his gaze hard on her half-averted face. “Did you know of Sedgewick’s involvement in the decision to send the French prisoners to Cabrera?”

“For God’s sake, no! You think I would have married him if I had known?”

“You could have found out later.”

She shook her head, her lip curling. “Mon Dieu.”

“You say your cousin Celine died there? I didn’t realize women were sent to Cabrera, too.”

“You know how many women move with an army—not only laundresses, canteen women, and prostitutes, but also the wives of officers and the men.”

“And we sent them to Cabrera?”

“Of course. There were children, too. I don’t think any of them survived.” She was silent for a moment, her face stark as she stared out over the wretched street. “I’m told the first few years were the worst, like something out of hell. No shelter, almost no water, and frequently no food. There were times when they resorted to cannibalism.” She glanced over at him. “Did you know that?”

“No.”

“It’s horrible even to think about, but who can blame them? The fault lies not with those forced to do such a thing to survive but with everyone who sent them there in the first place.”

“How long did your cousin Celine survive?”

“Not long. She gave birth to twins on the ship out from Cádiz. Her husband died about a month after they reached the island—he was giving her his rations so that she could feed the babies. But they both died anyway, and after that, she threw herself off the cliffs into the sea.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, although it struck him as a damned useless thing to say.

She stared back at him. “Are you? Ten or twenty years from now, who will even remember them, let alone cry for them? Certainly not the British or the Spaniards who sent them there. And the French? The Bourbons see anyone who fought for Napoléon—even the conscripts—as traitors, while those who support Napoléon would rather it all be forgotten lest he be faulted for failing to rescue them.”

“Those who lost loved ones there will remember,” said Sebastian. “They will remember, and they will cry for them. And someone could even be killing for them.”

“You genuinely believe that?”

“Let’s just say I see it as a possibility.” He watched the Frenchwoman’s tightly controlled features very carefully. “Do you know of anyone else here in London who lost loved ones on Cabrera?”

She huffed a disbelieving laugh. “You think I would tell you if I did? So that Bow Street can hang them instead of me?”

“Whoever is killing these men is not entirely sane. You do realize that, don’t you?”

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