The Mask of Night by Tracy Grant Read Free Book Online

is on his way here. He may be outside even now.” Charles pictured Roth joining Mélanie in the garden and mentally called himself seven kinds of fool. He’d told Oliver to ask for Roth because Roth was an honest man with a keen understanding, which God knew could not be said of all Bow Street Runners. But he’d have thought twice if he’d known he and Mélanie were going to be drawn into the matter.
    On the other hand, knowing Roth, the investigation would proceed whether he and Mélanie were in Scotland or London or Timbuktu. Though his first instinct had been to escape, it was already too late for escape. If he helped investigate, he might have some hope of controlling the information.
    "We can keep Bow Street out of it," Castlereagh said. "The Chief Magistrate answers to the Home Secretary. I'll have a word with the Lord Sidmouth."
    "That won't stop the talk,” Charles said. “Word's going to get out that a man was killed here tonight. If Bow Street aren't seen to be investigating, it will draw the wrong sort of attention to the matter. We’ll do better to involve them.”
    Carfax and Castlereagh exchanged a look. Whatever their differences, Charles realized, the two men had played him brilliantly. “ We’ll do better?” Carfax echoed.
    Charles swallowed. Regret, anger, and alarm sat bitter on his tongue. Along with the seductive tang of danger. "I'll work with Roth.”
    "You'll bring us what you learn?" Carfax asked in the same level, reasonable tone Charles had heard him use to order the assassination of a double agent.
    "We'll bring you what we learn," Charles said.
    As cold as the garden had been, it was only now that he felt chilled to the bone.
     

     
    Mélanie straightened up from St. Juste’s body. She’d have to wait for Charles or Jeremy Roth to lift him out of the water, but at least she’d established there were no papers hidden inside his bloodstained tunic. She didn’t know whether to be sorry or relieved.
    A rustle of silk sounded in the shadows. Slippers pattered against the flagstones, followed by a shocked gasp. " Sacrebleu ,” Hortense said, her voice rough with shock. “Is he—?”
    Mélanie whirled round and caught her friend’s wrist. "Did you know Julien St. Juste was at the ball?"
    "Of course not.” Hortense jerked away from her grip.
    "There's no 'of course' about any of this, chérie . I'll do everything in my power to help you, but you have to tell me the truth."
    Hortense stared at St. Juste’s body and gave a raw laugh, one step short of hysteria. "You always used to say there are as many versions of the truth as there are people telling it."
    "I need your version. Without embellishment. We haven't time for games."
    "Oh, Mélanie. You know what a woeful game-player I am.” In her pale, shocked face, Hortense's eyes were free of guile. "I had no notion Julien St. Juste was anywhere near England. I swear to you. On the heads of my children. If I had known, I'd have never—” She put her hand to her mouth. "Oh, God, Mélanie, it's all going to come out now. Everything I’ve tried so hard to conceal—"
    "You don't know that."
    "I'm being punished—"
    "That's absurd.” Mélanie gripped Hortense's shoulders. "You have to keep your wits about you, chérie . For both our sakes. For your children's sakes.’
    Hortense swallowed, hands pressed over her jeweled stomacher. "Mélanie. Did you know St. Juste was here tonight?
    "Good God no. I didn't even know he was in England."
    "But he could have been here to see you. You used to work with him—"
    "So did a number of other people, several of whom were no doubt at the ball tonight. To Julien St. Juste I was always the girl he outwitted on her first mission.” The wind sent dry leaves scuttering across the water. Mélanie pulled Hortense into the concealing shadows of the elm tree. "What's happening in the ballroom?"
    "The host—Mr. Lydgate, isn't it?—made a speech explaining there’d been an accident. He's asking everyone