Page 49 of Who Cries for the Lost

Sebastian decided to let it go. “I’m told Miles Sedgewick played a role, mainly as a go-between for the Wellesley brothers and Collingwood.”

“You’re suggesting that’s why he was killed? But why would someone go after a mere messenger?”

“Because Collingwood is already dead, and men like Castlereagh and Wellington are essentially beyond reach, perhaps?”

“And the two headless bodies that have been pulled from the Thames? How do they fit into it?”

“I don’t know that they do.”

“God preserve us,” muttered Hendon.

The two men sat in silence for a time, Hendon sucking on his pipe and Sebastian nursing his drink. Then Sebastian said, “Any news from Belgium?”

“Not yet. But it’s coming.”

Sebastian emptied his cognac and set the glass aside. “So tell me this: What happened to the men from Cabrera? The few who survived, I mean.”

Hendon kept his gaze on his pipe. “After Napoléon was exiled to Elba, they were loaded onto ships from the French Royal Navy and taken to Marseilles. At first the Bourbons locked them up, intending to send them into exile in Corsica.”

“Are you serious?”

Hendon nodded. “Except when word of it leaked out, the people of Marseilles stormed the barracks where they were being held and released them. After all, these were their brothers, fathers, sons, and husbands. At that point the Bourbons gave up and let them go. Most are so wrecked both physically and mentally by what they went through that they’ll probably be invalids the rest of their lives and die young. But I’ve no doubt some of them found their way to rejoin Napoléon’s army and are at this very moment marching against us in Belgium.” He paused. “If I wanted revenge, I suspect that’s what I’d do if I were one of them. Not come here to London to lop the heads off a few men who surely played only an incidental role in what was done to me.” Hendon looked over at Sebastian. “Wouldn’t you?”

“If I were still sane. Except... how sane do you think anyone would be after spending five years in hell?”

Hendon met his gaze and held it. “Probably not very.”

Chapter 30

How have I never heard of any of this?” said Hero later that night as they sat beside the fire in their room, Hero curled up in the armchair with Sebastian leaning back against her chair and sipping a glass of Burgundy at her feet.

“Who’s going to talk about it?” he said. “I suspect even the men responsible for it aren’t proud of it—although I’ve no doubt they long ago found a way to justify it to themselves. There’s a certain kind of man who can justify almost anything.”

She was silent for a moment, and he knew she was thinking of her own father. Then she said, “If McPherson is right—if this is all in revenge for what happened at Cabrera—how do you think the killer learned of the role Sedgewick played?”

Sebastian watched the flames lick at the coal on the hearth. “I don’t know; that’s a good point. The truth is, Cabrera could have absolutely nothing to do with what happened to any of those men. I mean, why castrate Sedgewick? Why cut off the other two men’s heads? If the killer simply didn’t want them identified, why not bury the bodies someplace where they’d never be found?”

She leaned forward to put her hands on his shoulders and massage his neck. “It’s still possible the last two killings have absolutely nothing to do with what happened to Sedgewick. Yes, the bodies were mutilated, but in a dissimilar way. No one cut off Sedgewick’s head, hands, or feet. Just his privates—which strikes me as a very different thing.”

He blew out his breath in a long sigh. “There’s no denying that what happened to Sedgewick does suggest a more sexual motive to his killing.”

She reached for his wineglass, took a sip, then handed it back to him. “I thought I might try talking to Eloisa again tomorrow. I keep thinking about what that poor governess, Phoebe Cox, told you about Sedgewick’s marriage.”

“You think Eloisa and her reverend might have decided to make her wish that Miles die a reality?”

“I can see a woman whose husband seduced their governess under her own roof being so furious as to shoot off her husband’s face and castrate him.”

He swung around to look at her. “Even someone like Eloisa?”

“Yes.”

“Interesting.”

“And she would have had her good friend the Reverend dispose of the body for her afterward.”

“I didn’t realize you disliked her that much.”

“I don’t. I actually feel sorry for her, in a way. But excessively religious people tend to make me nervous. All too often, they’re the kind who can massacre every Muslim in Jerusalem and burn witches at Smithfield and toss the heads of suspected werewolves into the Thames, then have a good dinner and go to bed to sleep the sound sleep of the proudly righteous.” She reached for his wine again. “If you like, I could also ask her about Cabrera. She might know something.”

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