Page 38 of What Cannot Be Said

“What I think,” said Hendon with a low growl, “is that you should leave such matters to Bow Street.”

“They’re the ones who asked for my help.”

Hendon growled again, louder this time.

“Enough about that,” said Sebastian. “Tell me what’s to be done with Napoléon.”

“Ah. Well, at the moment, the ship carrying him is being transferred to Plymouth. But after that? It’s still up in the air.”

“Any chance he’ll be allowed to buy a tidy estate in Devon or Cornwall and settle down to the life of a country gentleman?”

“Not bloody likely. Prinny’s all for turning him over to the Bourbons to be boiled in oil, but hopefully wiser heads will prevail.”

“So you’re in agreement with Jarvis?”

“In this, yes. Marie-Thérèse and Artois are nasty, vindictive fools. And while the French King himself is neither nasty nor a fool, he’s too weak and lazy to stand against his niece and brother. Between the two of them they’re going to unleash a vengeful bloodbath on France—worse even than what King Ferdinand has been doing in Spain.”

“Of course they will, and it’s not going to end well. We might have succeeded in restoring that ugly, repressive collection of Continental monarchs to their thrones for now, but we’re not going to be able to keep them there forever. Their people will eventually rise up to get rid of them again—whether it takes fifteen or a hundred and fifty years.”

“Nonsense,” said Hendon. “We’ve spent twenty-odd years and more lives than I like to think about to reach this point, but it’s been worth it. Europe is more stable now than it’s ever been.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Hendon swung around in his saddle to stare at Sebastian, for the Earl was well aware of his heir’s political philosophies. “Do you?”

Sebastian met Hendon’s hard stare. “Of course I do. You think I want to see Simon marching off to war in another twenty years to save the Bourbons again?”

“Hopefully, Simon will have more regard for what is due his position as a future Earl of Hendon than to do any such thing. But I wouldn’t put it past this next lad to be as army mad as you always were. When exactly is he due? December?”

“Early November. But this one is going to be my girl, remember?”

At that, Hendon simply shook his head and smiled.

?An hour later, Sebastian and Hero were about to rise from their breakfast table when a messenger arrived from Lord Salinger. The liveried footman who delivered it was breathing hard, his face glazed with sweat and flushed, as if he had run the entire distance from Down Street.

“Bloody hell,” whispered Sebastian as he broke the missive’s seal and read through it.

“What is it?” asked Hero, watching him.

Sebastian looked up. “Someone attacked Percy and Arabella.”

Chapter 24

Sebastian found the children’s father pacing back and forth before the empty hearth in his library, his features grim and his hands clenched at his sides.

“Thank God you’ve come,” said Salinger, turning as the butler ushered Sebastian into the room.

“I trust you’ve sent word to Bow Street?” said Sebastian.

“Yes, yes; in fact, they’ve only just left. But I’ve been thinking about what you said: how Laura and Emma’s killer might worry the children know something that could identify him—something that would lead him to target the children next. God help me, if only I’d listened!”

“Can you tell me exactly what happened this morning?” Sebastian said calmly.

Salinger swiped a hand down over his face, sucked in a deep, steadying breath, and nodded. “Miss Oakley—that’s the children’s governess—typically takes them for a walk in the park every morning before breakfast. But she wasn’t feeling well today, so she sent the children with Arabella’s abigail, a girl named Cassy. They hadn’t been in the park long at all when some blackguard jumped out and grabbed Percy. I get the impression he was trying to drag the boy off with him, except Percy bit and scratched and kicked him, and Arabella and the abigail started screaming, so in the end the fellow let Percy go and ran away.”

“You were lucky.”

Salinger swallowed hard. “I know. But it does sound as if the killer has reason to believe that Percy might have seen something—or possibly heard something—that could identify him. Something that Percy might not have thought to mention at the inquest because he didn’t realize it was important.” He looked at Sebastian with wild, haunted eyes. “Will you talk to him now? Talk to them both?”

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