Page 58 of What Cannot Be Said

“Except that Basil Rhodes is no murderer.”

“Then he—and Jarvis—should have nothing to worry about, wouldn’t you say?”

Victoria leaned forward to touch Hero’s hand where it rested on the arm of her chair. “And now I’ve offended you,” she said sweetly. “I do beg your pardon; it was not my intention. But I thought I should warn you that Jarvis will not allow anything or anyone to harm the monarchy—especially not at such a critical moment in our history. The transition from war footing to a peacetime economy over the next few years is going to put a tremendous strain on the nation. We’ve already seen riots in response to the new Corn Laws, and it’s inevitable that things will get worse before they get better.”

“Yes,” said Hero, “starvation does have a tendency to make people cranky.” She rose to her feet. “Well, thank you for bringing me your concerns, Cousin. And do be sure to give Jarvis my love. Shall I ring for Morey to see you out?”

Hero gave the bellpull a sharper tug than she’d intended. She pressed Victoria’s hands again, smiled sweetly as she mouthed all the polite platitudes, and waited until she heard the front door close behind her cousin. Then she slammed her fist, hard, into the back of the leather chair beside her.

Chapter 35

Do you think Jarvis sent her?” Sebastian asked later, when he and Hero sat at the wrought iron table on their back terrace while the boys tossed a small ball back and forth. The day was mellowing toward evening, the sky a surprisingly clear blue, the air filled with the distant clip-clop of horses’ hooves, the rattle of carriage wheels, and the hum of the bees buzzing around an old red climbing rose at the base of the garden.

Hero frowned. “I was in a rage at first, thinking he must surely have done so. But then I realized... Jarvis knows me better than that.” She was silent for a moment, watching Simon laugh as he missed the ball and ran to pick it up. “I’d like to think Victoria meant well—although I frankly find it hard to believe she could be so inept. Did she truly think I would be so frightened of what Jarvis might do that I would try to convince you to leave Rhodes alone? And even if I were such a ninny, what makes her think you would listen?”

Sebastian chose his words carefully. “Victoria is a very astute woman. If I had to guess, I’d say her purpose in coming here was something else entirely—except I’m not devious enough to figure out what that purpose is.”

Hero looked over at him. “She is devious, isn’t she? It’s not that I’m irrationally prejudiced against her?”

Sebastian smiled and reached out to take her hand in his. “I have never known anyone less likely to fall victim to irrational prejudice.”

She laughed softly. Then the amusement faded. “I don’t know about that. One could certainly accuse me of being prejudiced against Sir Ivo, although I’m not convinced that in his case it’s irrational.”

“Laura never said anything to you that might suggest she knew he had a mistress?”

“No. But then, as I said, we didn’t typically speak of such things. I considered her my friend and I had tremendous respect for her, but I don’t recall our ever discussing anything that was in any way personal or private.”

Hero was silent for a moment, watching Simon seize the ball and throw it awkwardly back to Patrick. “I’ve been thinking about trying to speak to Thisbe,” she said. “I often used to meet her and Emma walking with either Laura or their governess in Grosvenor Square, so Thisbe knows me as one of her mother’s friends—as does Miss Braithwaite, the governess. Unless Sir Ivo has specifically instructed the woman to keep Thisbe away from me, I don’t imagine she would object if I were to contrive to run into them and stopped to speak with the child. I believe they take a walk in either Hyde Park or the square nearly every morning... or at least they did.”

Sebastian said, “If someone had just murdered my wife and elder daughter in Richmond Park—and then attacked my wife’s niece and nephew in Hyde Park—I think I’d be inclined to rule out any casual walks for my younger daughter for the foreseeable future. Not without a couple of armed footmen in tow.”

“Perhaps. Except Grosvenor Square is a private garden surrounded by high iron railings, not a public park. I can see Sir Ivo perhaps thinking she would be safe there.”

“Perhaps,” said Sebastian, pushing to his feet as Patrick’s wild throw sent the ball sailing hopelessly deep into the shrubbery, and both boys laughed. “At any rate, it’s worth a try.”

Friday, 28 July

The next morning dawned warm but cloudy, with a soft breeze that ruffled the leafy branches of the scattered plane trees in Grosvenor Square and carried with it the smell of coming rain. Dressed in a plain muslin gown topped by a sky blue spencer and blue kid half boots, Hero walked the square’s gravel paths. The gardens had been laid out in a naturalistic style in the previous century by John Alston, with broad areas of close-cropped turf interspersed with scattered clumps of shrubbery and stands of trees. As a child, Hero had grown up playing in nearby Berkeley Square, so she supposed it was inevitable that now, as she walked the winding gravel paths looking for a little girl who had just lost her mother, Hero found her thoughts drifting to her own mother.

They had come here so often throughout Hero’s growing-up years: Hero, her brother, David, and their mother, Annabelle. Those memories were a warm, happy glow that shone to Hero from out of the past, a treasure trove of cherished vignettes, of simple pleasures and wondrous discoveries, of balmy summer picnics and frosty snowball fights and endless laughter. So much laugher. It had now been nearly two years since Lady Jarvis’s death, and yet Hero still found herself blinking back a sudden sting of tears. “Oh, Mama,” she whispered softly, then swallowed hard and kept walking.

After another half hour, she had about come to the conclusion that Sir Ivo must indeed have called a halt to Thisbe’s walks, when she spotted the little girl and her governess near the mound at the square’s western corner. Subtly shifting her direction, Hero walked toward them.

The governess, Miss Braithwaite, was a tall, thin woman somewhere in her thirties, with a long bony face and fading blond hair she wore pulled back in a tight bun. She had been Sir Ivo’s choice, and Hero knew Laura had worried that, although gently bred and well educated, the woman was not particularly wise or kindhearted.

Walking beside the governess, Thisbe looked wan and crushed. A sturdy little girl with light brown hair and a round face, she was normally cheerful and exuberant and full of boundless energy and enthusiasm.

There was no sign of that child now.

“Good morning, Thisbe,” said Hero with an encouraging smile as she came up to them. “How are you? You do remember me, don’t you? And, Miss Braithwaite, I hope you are well?”

The governess smiled with shy pleasure. “Oh, yes, Lady Devlin. Thank you ever so much.”

At the sound of Hero’s voice, Thisbe’s head came up. But her desolate expression lightened only slightly, and her voice was colorless as she answered mechanically, “Good morning, Lady Devlin. How are you?”

“All alone, as you can see. Simon’s nurse thinks he might have a cold coming on, so I’ve left the boys at home this morning. I wonder, would you be so kind as to walk with me a ways, Thisbe?” Hero glanced over at the child’s governess. “That is, if it’s all right with you, Miss Braithwaite?”

“Oh, yes; of course, my lady.” Bowing her head, the governess dropped back some steps, allowing Thisbe to walk on ahead beside her late mother’s good friend.

---