The O'Roarke Affair, page 17
"People always liked Papa." Frederica put a hand to her mouth. "I can't really believe he's gone. I suppose it will settle in. It will have to." She glanced round her sitting room as though it were a foreign country and gestured to the blue and gold striped chairs by the fireplace. "Do sit down. It's kind of you to come. I know it's a bit awkward now to see us."
"Why on earth should it be awkward?"
"I mean with Percy being the cousin of—"
"Oh, stuff." Cordelia seated herself and smoothed the French gray gros-de-Naples of her skirt. "I see Johnny and Violet all the time, and Violet was George's sister. Though I quite understand it might be difficult for you to see me."
"Don't be silly, darling." Frederica sank into a chair beside Cordelia. "Especially not now. But Colonel Davenport must—"
"Oh, Harry doesn't mind in the least. He's the first to say we have to confront the past and move forwards."
Frederica's fair brows rose. "He sounds remarkable."
"He is. I only wish I'd appreciated it properly sooner."
Frederica scanned her face. "You investigate crimes. With the Rannochs. I heard they were looking into this. Mama said she was pleased. Is that why you're here?"
"Not entirely. I'd have wanted to offer my sympathies. But Harry and I did see the Rannochs last night."
Frederica nodded. "People are bound to ask questions and I'd rather talk to you than others. But I don't think I can tell you anything. Percy and I only just got back from Paris. That's why we weren't at the musicale. We hadn't seen Mama and Papa much since our return. And before we went abroad Papa was abroad himself. He was always away a great deal, and more than ever lately."
"Freddie." Cordelia hesitated. "I don't quite know how to say this. But we've had a report that Percy was heard quarreling with the duke only three nights ago."
Frederica's back straightened. "From whom?"
"I'm afraid I can't say. But I thought you'd rather talk about it to me. Was I wrong?"
"No. But why on earth—"
"You think they did quarrel?"
"I can't be sure. But I think it's possible. We dined at Bamford House three nights ago." Frederica pressed her hands over the dull black fabric of her skirt. "Cordy, your marriage seems happy now, but it can't be a shock to you that couples don't always share everything."
"Certainly not. Harry and I are happy, but we certainly don't share everything."
The door opened on her words. Percy Rawdon stepped into the room, then hesitated on the threshold. "Cordy."
Cordelia met his gaze. He was heavier than she remembered, but his curling dark hair and blue eyes were the same, as was his general air of self-satisfaction. "It's been a long time, Percy. I'm sorry it took tragedy to bring us back together."
"Terrible business. If—"
"Percy." Frederica's voice was sharp. "Did you quarrel with Papa the night we dined at Bamford House?"
"What?"
"Oh, don't deny it. You were overheard."
Percy's gaze snapped to Cordelia. "That's why you're here."
Frederica's gaze swung to her husband. "Better she's here than a Bow Street officer."
Percy stalked across the room, poured himself a brandy, downed half the contents. "It's a family matter. You should appreciate that, Cordy."
"Unfortunately, it stopped being a family matter when the duke was murdered," Cordelia said.
"You can't think this has anything to do with his being murdered. That was obviously the act of some deranged lunatic."
"Whoever was behind it, I don't think they were deranged. There was obviously a great deal of careful planning involved."
"But it wasn't anything to do with us."
"When someone is murdered, everything about them becomes important. You don't know what detail could lead to another detail."
"You're an expert on it now?"
"Not really. But I have learnt a lot from the Rannochs. And Jeremy Roth."
"The upstart runner who married Fanny Dacre-Hammond's daughter?" Percy demanded.
"He is married to Judith. But more important, he's a brilliant investigator."
"Percy," Frederica said. "You're not answering."
Percy slammed his glass down, spattering brandy, refilled it, downed another swallow. "Do you have any idea how expensive it is to live in these circles? Not just the London house, the country one, the shooting box, school fees, the race horses. Frederica's dressmaker alone—"
"Don't put this on me," Frederica said. "I have a perfectly good allowance."
"Not to cover everything for all of us."
"As a matter of fact, I do know," Cordelia said. "My father was horribly in debt. For all the reasons you describe. But more because of gaming."
"Mmm," Frederica said, gaze on her husband.
"All right." Percy picked up his brandy and took a more measured sip. "A fellow has to keep up appearances. The crowd I run with has dipped deep since university."
Frederica was staring at her husband. "You asked Papa for money?"
"Well, who else was I supposed to go to? You know my family haven't a feather to fly with."
"You asked him again?"
"Damn it, he's your father. He should want his daughter and grandchildren taken care of."
"Did he refuse?"
"Yes. Well, not precisely. He said he'd pay the boys' school fees and any of your bills I forwarded. But he wouldn't give me another 'carte blanche', as he called it, and he wouldn't pay any more gaming debts. As if he didn't know those are the debts one can't get out of paying. The rest we could put off. As long as needed, really."
"How charming for people you owe money to," Cordelia said.
Percy shot her a look. More surprised than annoyed. It was, she supposed, not the way she should talk to get him to confide more. Regrettably.
"So that's why you quarreled," Frederica said. "Because Papa wouldn't pay your debts." She stared at her husband, horror gathering in her gaze. "And now he's gone—"
"No." Percy clunked down his glass and took a quick step towards her. "It wasn't like that. He did refuse to cover my debts, but that wasn't when we quarreled. I mean, that wasn't the worst quarrel. The one three nights ago. I still had hope that night. I went to talk to him when we arrived for dinner. I was waiting in the library and the door to his study was ajar. So I went in. I mean, I knew that's where he'd go, so it seemed I might as well wait for him there."
"Percy." Frederica regarded her husband like one opening a wall and discovering rot has gone further than they had thought. "You went through Papa's papers."
"No. I mean, the truth is he keeps better liquor in the study. I went in to pour myself a drink. I told myself it was the least he owed me. And damn it, there were papers lying about on his desk. Didn't seem any harm in wandering over and taking a look. Can't believe he left such things just lying about."
"Nor can I," Cordelia said. "The duke was a skilled agent. If you were able to find anything in his desk, I can't believe picked locks weren't involved. I never knew you were so enterprising, Percy."
"Oh, well. One learns a bit, after all. Don't mean to brag, that is—" Percy broke off, perhaps aware of just how much she'd tricked him into saying. He moved back to the drinks table and picked up his brandy. "In any case, that's when I stumbled across Sophie."
"Sophie?" Frederica said.
"Papers about a Sophie. He's been paying money to her for years. Since 1815, at least. Regularly. He has money set aside for her. I mean, hardly a shock the old boy has a mistress—sorry, Freddie."
"Oh, for god's sake, Percy. It's hardly a shock you have a mistress. Next you'll be saying it's a shock I have a lover."
Percy stared at her. Even Cordelia was startled. Not at the words, but at Frederica's uttering them. She was more interesting than Cordy had realized.
"We're rather beyond pretending," Frederica said. "And Cordelia's scarcely in a position to cast aspersions."
Cordelia reached for her tea. "Very true."
Percy stared at his wife a moment longer, as though she'd transformed into another person, then reached for his brandy. "But obviously Bamford was at pains to keep this Sophie a secret. So when he came in at last, it seemed worth a try."
"What did?" Frederica asked.
"Seeing if he was willing to pay up, to keep the secret of this Sophie, of course."
"Of course," Cordelia said. "Why didn't our minds go there at once? And was he?"
Percy frowned into his brandy. "Well, at first he lost his temper. Called me all sorts of foul names. I actually thought he might plant me a facer. That must be when we were overheard. But then he told me not to breathe a word of this. And that we'd work something out."
"So he gave you the money?" Frederica said in a voice stripped of color.
"Not then, but I was quite sure he was going to." Percy took a drink of brandy and smiled at them with confidence. "So you see I'd have had no reason to hurt your father. He was going to help me."
"Quite, Percy." Frederica, who had hardly seemed to have illusions about her husband, regarded him as a particularly loathsome form of insect.
Percy's brows drew together again. "In fact, now he's gone I'm in the deuce of a mess. I don't suppose St. Ives—"
"Oh for god's sake, Percy," Frederica said. "St. Ives has enough to deal with. Don't you dare make things worse."
Percy clunked his glass down. "This is your life too. Your expenses. Your gowns and the house and your pin money."
"My pin money comes from my portion. I'll talk to Mama when she's had a bit of time. I'm sure she'll cover the boys' school fees and give me something for the housekeeping. But your debts are your problem."
"I'm your husband."
"Don't remind me."
Percy reached for his glass. "This Sophie must be important. St. Ives is going to have to deal with her now if she makes trouble. Which she might, if her money stops coming in. St. Ives won't want a scandal as he settles into the dukedom. I wonder—"
Frederica pushed herself to her feet. "Don't. You. Dare."
Percy returned her gaze for long moment. Frederica didn't give way. Percy turned on his heel and stalked out of the room.
Frederica strode to the table, poured two more brandies, and held one out to Cordelia. "I imagine you could do with this. I know I could."
Cordelia accepted the glass. "I'm so sorry."
Frederica took a drink of brandy. "I knew my husband was a beast and a boor. I just didn't know how much of one. What on earth was I thinking when I tied myself to him?"
"What are any of us thinking at eighteen or nineteen or twenty? I certainly wasn't thinking when I married Harry. I'm fortunate in how it turned out."
"I don't trust him." Frederica took a drink of brandy. "I don't trust anything he says."
"I can't say I'm inclined to, but I'm not sure he'd have made the Sophie story up. Had you ever heard of her?"
"Had I ever heard of a mistress of my father's?"
"Well, I knew about a few of my father's. One hears the servants gossiping."
"I've been out of the house for years. Of course, I'm hardly surprised that Papa—and really, why would it be such a secret? I can't imagine Mama would care very much. It would hardly be a scandal if talk got out about him."
"Perhaps he was worried about Sophie. Perhaps she has a reputation to be damaged."
"I suppose that's possible. But if she's married, why was he supporting her?"
"Not every married woman is comfortably situated."
Frederica frowned over the rim of her brandy glass. "Yes, but do you think her husband knows? No, I take that back. After what we just witnessed, I suspect Percy would be all too ready to take money from a lover of mine. Although you'd think in that case Papa and this Sophie would have been less concerned about being discovered. And Papa must have been concerned indeed if he was ready to pay Percy off to protect the secret of his payments to Sophie."
"There could be other reasons for the payments than that she was his mistress."
Frederica returned to her chair, her face thoughtful. "Someone had Papa killed. I know he was shot, so it isn't just that he was caught in a bad situation. I've been assuming it was something to do with politics. Or all the other things he's involved in that are associated with politics, that no one in the family seems to think I know about. Which is silly. You don't have to actually be dabbling in espionage like Rosy and Sylvie to recognize that it's going on under your nose. But I realize now that we don't know that it's that at all. It could be something personal. It could be people we know."
"Given the life your family lead, it could be political and be people you know."
"That's true. But not—"
"I've learnt enough to know one can't be sure of anything in an investigation," Cordelia said. "Or anyone. But I'm not sure Percy would have the ability to have organized the explosion."
Frederica choked on her brandy. "An excellent point. Percy would have a difficult time organizing his cravats. Not that it would ever occur to him to try. I'm not sure how comforting it is that my husband's idiocy may be the best argument against his having murdered my father, but I suppose it is something." She took another sip of brandy. "Do you remember how handsome he was in his Horse Guards uniform?"
"Yes, but having known him since childhood, I don't think I appreciated it."
"To think I fancied myself in love over that. And we accuse gentlemen of being caught by a pretty face. I can't claim Mama or Papa pushed me into it. In fact, Papa asked me if I wanted to wait, as I'd only really known Percy for a season. Papa was quite kind." Frederica hunched her shoulders and folded her arms across her chest. "I suppose I didn't know Papa very well. I mean, one doesn't really know one's parents, does one? Knowing them better seems a rather ghastly prospect."
Cordelia took a sip of brandy. It had been her father's favorite drink. "Well, some people know their parents better than others. I hope my children grow up knowing me. Flaws and all."
"That's an odd way of putting it. I wouldn't have said that about my children. But I suppose—" Frederica stared down at the black bombazine of her skirt, as though surprised to find herself wearing it. "I'm beginning to think I didn't appreciate Papa enough. He always seemed so busy, and yet he did take time to talk to us. He'd ask what we were doing, and want to discuss it. And I'd roll my eyes and want to get on with playing dolls or finishing a watercolor or planning a new gown."
"That's being young."
"Still." She shook her head. "It seems different knowing I'll never see him again."
"There are all sorts of things I never said to my father. You'd think it would make me do better with my mother, but I don't know that it has."
Frederica looked at her. "You're being very kind, Cordy. I know you came here to make inquiries."
"Not just for that."
"I don't think I ever properly appreciated you."
Cordelia smiled. "I'm thinking the same."
Frederica returned the smile. "That's something out of this whole wretched business." She smoothed the black lace on her cuff. "I'm sorry, Cordy."
"For what?"
"For not being more of a support—not being any kind of support at all—when you were going through everything you did."
"You have your position to think of."
"Yes, but what was I really worrying about? I'm a duke's daughter. I was comfortably married, as far as position goes, however uncomfortable a husband Percy is. My daughters were babies. Years before I had to worry about bringing them out. I could have afforded to be kind. I rather think Papa would have been kind. And Mama."
"Your mother invited me to one of her soirées. That was kind."
"I remember. I'm afraid I was surprised she'd done so."
"You needn't apologize. You didn't owe me anything."
"All of this does make one think about people differently. Papa's gone, and suddenly there's so much more I want to know about him. I wish I paid more attention sooner." She reached for her glass, took a sip, and stared into it. "I can't say I really knew my father. And yet I'm quite sure he was a far better man than the man I married."
CHAPTER 31
1802
London
Frances Dacre-Hammond put a hand to her mouth to stifle a yawn. "Sorry, it's not you. I didn't get home until after four. Hetty St. Ives's party was surprisingly lively. I must say, she's a very accomplished hostess. Between that and St. Ives's diplomatic skills, they've quite carved out a place for themselves. Not that they needed to as the heirs to ducal coronets." Frances frowned over her chocolate. "In fact, so many dukes and duchesses don't seem to try."
Raoul smiled. "You have a way with words, Fanny."
"One gets used to observing. Hetty and St. Ives seem to have settled into a comfortable arrangement. I don't think it was ever a love match, but whatever they're up to, they're discreet. And believe me, I had my eye out last night. London needs some new scandal." She sat back on the chaise-longue, gold-rimmed cup cradled in her hand. "Talking of observing, you look a bit haggard. How are you, my dear?"
"I don't have your eternal youth, but I'm surviving. I'm not sure I should expect much more."
"Have you seen Bella?"
He reached for his cup and turned it in his hand. "I thought she was in Scotland."
"She's back. Two nights ago. She didn't write to tell you?"
He took a drink of tea. Hot and astringent. He missed tea sometimes on the Continent. "She doesn't apprise me of all her movements."
"Have you seen Malcolm?"
"I came back for Speech Day."
"It's tomorrow, isn't it?"
"Do you want to come with me?"
"I don't want to spoil it."
"As if you could spoil anything for me."
"I wasn't thinking of you, I was thinking of Malcolm. You don't have a lot of time alone."
"I don't know that that matters to Malcolm."
"Of course it does. He may not know the precise nature of his connection to you, but you've always been special to him. I may not be the most discerning parent, but I do understand that."
