Page 61 of What Angels Fear

Tom looked up in surprise. “You mean, they like the French?”

“Hardly. But they question the Tories’ motives for continuing the war. War is costly. It leads to high taxes and government loans taken out at high interest, which is good for the large landowners and merchants who are lending to the government, but not so good for the common people, like farmers and tradesmen and day workers. If the Whigs come to power, we’ll very likely see a peace treaty with France.”

Tom nodded, his eyes bright with understanding. “So what you thinkin’? That this Lord Frederick’s been playin’ some underhanded game with the French, and ’e offed them two women because they threatened to squeal on ’im?”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps it’s simply in someone’s best interest to make it appear that way.”

“Meanin’ the Tories,” said Tom.

The boy was surprisingly quick. Sebastian nodded. “That’s right.”

“Your da’s a Tory, ain’t ’e? Chancellor o’ the Somethingeranother?”

Sebastian glanced sideways at his young friend. “Who told you that?”

“Miss Kat.”

“Ah.”

They were nearing the Recital Rooms on Ryder Street. Faint strains of a violin could be heard, barely discernible above the rattle of carriage wheels and the clip-clop of horses’ hooves. Leaning forward, Sebastian rapped on the front panel, then settled his hat low over his eyes and wound his scarf carefully about his lower face as the jarvey cut in close to the curb and pulled up in the shadowy netherworld between two streetlamps.

Sebastian stood in the shadows and watched the bejeweled, perfumed crowd of men and women descend the front steps of Compton’s Recital Rooms.

Even in this rarified collection of expensively dressed gentlefolk, Lord Frederick stood out, a handsome, urbane figure in flawless white linen and an inimitably cut coat. Laughing and talking amongst themselves, the small, self-absorbed group had just reached the footpath and turned toward the Mall, probably intending to sup at Richard’s, when Sebastian stepped forward, a dark figure half-hidden in shadow. “Lord Frederick?”

Lord Frederick turned. “Yes?”

“I was wondering if’n I might have a word with you, my lord?”

A shade of annoyance passed over the other man’s amicable features. “Not now, my good man. But you may come see me tomorrow, if you like.”

“If’n that’s the way you wants it,” said Sebastian, settling his hat even lower. “I was thinkin’ maybe you’d prefer a more private conversation, considering what I got to say. But I could come by your house in the mornin’, if’n you don’t mind your family findin’ out about your dealings with Rachel Y—”

Lord Frederick took a quick step forward, his breath hissing out a warning as he threw a glance back over his shoulder, as if to make certain his friends hadn’t heard. “For God’s sake, keep your voice down.”

Sebastian simply stared back at the man expectantly.

Lord Frederick hesitated, then said curtly, “Excuse me one moment.” Turning toward his friends, he said with a wide smile, “Go on without me. I’ll catch up with you later.” His smile faded the instant he swung back to Sebastian. “Who are you? What do you want?”

Sebastian shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his greatcoat, and rocked back and forth on his heels. “Well, you see, we found your name in Miss York’s appointment book—you do know Miss Rachel York, the one who was murdered Tuesday last in Westminster? We were wondering if you could tell us what it was doing there.”

Lord Frederick had an admirable control over his features. Not a flicker of either surprise or consternation showed in his smooth, amiable face. “You’re from Bow Street, I assume? I’m sorry, but my acquaintance with Miss York was entirely superficial. I really don’t see how I could possibly be of assistance to you.”

Sebastian sighed. “I was afraid you’d say somethin’ like that. The thing is, you can talk with me straight here and now, all nice and friendly. Or we can have our little chat down at Bow Street.”

“You’re bluffing. You wouldn’t dare.”

Sebastian met the other man’s gaze, and held it.

Lord Frederick looked away first. Pursing his lips, he blew out his breath in a long sigh, then gave a shaky laugh. “Very well. Miss York and I were having a little liaison. You know how these things are.”

“You mean, you was having sex with her.”

Lord Frederick laughed again, weakly. “Crudely put, but essentially accurate, yes.”

“And that’s all there was to it?”

“What more is there to such affairs?”

---