By the time we got back to Grenville's house it was early afternoon and the sky had got even heavier, promising a spring storm in the not-too-distant future. No sooner were Willoughby and I out of the cab than he was whisked away by Humphrey to be stitched up and bandaged again. He limped away awkwardly, shooting a thin-lipped smile over his shoulder as he pressed his hand to his side.
I hovered in Grenville's study for a quarter of an hour on my own while he oversaw Willoughby's treatment, but was grateful when he strode back into the room and wasted no time in showing me to a comfy chair and ringing for tea.
'Thank you for bringing him back here so quickly, Miss Wentworth,' he said, handing me a steaming cup.
I took it and held it close to my chest, somehow feeling totally at a loss. It wasn't a life-threatening injury – Willoughby would be on his feet again the moment Humphrey was done and, knowing him, would be back to his normal level of activity within the day.
But it had been a long time since someone I cared about sat bleeding under my fingers.
The realisation that that's what was happening in my head washed over me like ice, and I raised the cup to my lips with shaking hands.
'It was my fault.'
Grenville frowned, 'how so?'
'They knew we were coming. Paulette surprised us and they fought. Someone I know told them that I was alive, and they must have worked out that Willoughby was double-crossing them from there.'
The Prime Minister regarded me for a long moment, tapping his long fingers against the handle of his cup.
I looked away, feeling like a science experiment that had caused a mess over his otherwise pristine desk.
'Did you know that this person would betray you to them?'
My eyes flashed back, startled, 'of course not! I would never – '
'Then it wasn't your fault.' He smiled gently and sipped at his tea. 'I know you are used to being in control of your surroundings, Miss Wentworth. But you cannot know everything, and you cannot blame yourself for the informed and independent decisions of others.'
My mouth opened, then closed again.
Grenville helped himself to a biscuit and refilled his cup, his ease at the situation flooding over me. My eyes tingled and I blinked rapidly, clearing my throat and gulping down the tea. 'We found the contract. Willoughby said you'd be able to use it to confront the Prince.'
He took the paper in careful hands and smoothed it out over his desk, running the pad of his thumb over the tear my dagger had made. A crease formed between his eyebrows.
'Well, well. Lynton eh?'
'What do you think?' I asked hurriedly. He pursed his lips and read the contract through again, then sat back in his chair and read it once more.
'It's a detailed bargain he's striking, that's for certain.'
I could hear the hesitation in his voice, 'but you think there's something wrong with it?'
He laid the paper back on the desk and laced his fingers together, 'not with the contract, per se. But I'm surprised Lynton is as involved as all this. I've known him for years and he always struck me more as a yes-man for His Royal Highness. I would not have thought incriminating contracts of treason really his style.'
I exhaled loudly and set my cup firmly back in its saucer. 'I didn't think so either, but Willoughby's pretty convinced.'
Grenville smiled indulgently, 'he does like a neat solution, that boy.'
My mouth opened to continue but we were interrupted by the door to the study flying open and Princess Augusta swept in in a mass of silk and jewellery and righteous anger. She sank into the chair that Grenville quickly procured and leant her cane against the desk.
'Good afternoon, Miss Wentworth,' she nodded solemnly to me. 'You're looking better, if I may say so.'
'Thank you, Your Highness.'
Grenville presented her with a teacup and a succinct version of the day's events and findings. The Princess frowned at the mention of Willoughby's injuries, but her sympathy was swiftly replaced by a simmering rage when the contract was placed in front of her.
'Lord Lynton?' she raged. 'The Duke of Devonshire?'
'I'm afraid so, Your Highness,' Grenville said.
She almost shimmered with anger, gripping the head of her cane with a glittering claw. 'And the Duchess of Devonshire is a lady of my daughter's court, is she not?'
My heart thudded, 'yes, Sarah. But she has nothing to do with this, she's been a huge help to me during my investigation and of great comfort to the Princess.'
'Are we really to expect that she had all the access and influence in my daughter's life and was not passing it on to her husband?'
'Of course not!' I stopped and tried desperately to lower my voice, to calm my tone, to remember that I was speaking to royalty. 'They haven't been married long, they rarely spend any time together. She is loyal to the Princess completely, Your Highness. She barely cares about Lynton at all.'
Augusta wasn't convinced. She pursed her lips and turned her attention back to Grenville, leaving me reeling in panic. I knew this discovery would put Sarah at political and financial risk, would most likely leave her to a disgraced banishment from society and a forced requisition of her wealth and home. But I had not considered that she may be implicated as an accessory to Lynton's treasonous actions.
This was all spiralling so far out of control.
I was about to grill Grenville on what would happen to Sarah when the door opened and Willoughby limped in, freshly dressed in clean clothes and looking flushed with new life. His hair was damp and swept back over his forehead, giving full view of the recently-scabbed cuts on his temple and cheekbone and lip. He had been forced to forego a waistcoat or jacket but even under the billowing white of his clean shirt, I could see his movements were stiff and cautious.
He bowed deeply to Augusta, a hand still pressed to his side, 'Your Highness, please forgive my dress, I assure you I would never present myself in such shameful informality unless I was medically required.'
She smiled and waved a hand at him to rise. He shot me a wary smile and, when I didn't return it, frowned and pulled a chair next to mine, lowering himself slowly into it.
'Are you alright?'
I was not. 'How are you feeling?'
He shrugged, 'Humphrey is a dab hand with a needle, but it doesn't look like it was as deep as we thought it was. A couple of days going easy and I'll be right as rain.'
I nodded and bit my lip, staring at the space of shirt that covered the bandages.
'What's the matter?' His voice was low and gentle, slipping below the sharp and authoritative sound of Princess Augusta's conversation with Grenville.
I shook my head, 'nothing. I'm just glad you're alright.'
He held my gaze steadily, 'are you sure? Whatever it is, I'm sure we can help.'
How could I tell him it was all falling apart? How could I tell him that my carelessness with Mother Quinn had put our lives and plans at risk, and that she was still out there ready to cause more chaos in retribution for my betrayal? How could I explain how scared I was that by saving the life of Caroline I was putting the future safety and happiness of Sarah in jeopardy? And even after everything, after time and energy and blood and danger for both of us I still had a feeling that something wasn't right.
I pressed my lips together and shook my head. He eyed me for a moment longer before nodding, leaving me to my worry.
Augusta's voice brought us back to the matter at hand, 'what is your plan now, Grenville?'
Grenville pressed his hands flat against the desk. 'Regardless of whether the Duke was working of his own accord to orchestrate the assassination, or if he was working on behalf of His Royal Highness, this document does furnish us with useful evidence. I can take it to the other members on the board of the Delicate Investigation and use it to prove that there has been external interference by one of the involved parties. If there is reasonable enough evidence for the Prince Regent taking matters into his own hands, which there is, we can use it to force him to retract the accusation of adultery.'
'And then what?'
'Then we can begin the work of reconciling the couple.'
Augusta scoffed, 'I want a swift halt on the public mockery of her. I don't care how you go about it, but the Prince will take her back into her symbolic role as the future Queen, and the people must start treating her as such.'
Grenville nodded, 'I can organise that. With the contract in our possession, we can at least show him that government won't be privy to any instability within the royal family while the King is indisposed.'
'"Indisposed?"' she clasped her cane again. 'Let's not beat about the bush, Grenville, my brother is barking mad.'
'Quite. And it hardly does any good to Britain's national image if our King is insane and the Regent is trying to kill his wife.' Grenville sighed and rubbed a hand over his forehead, the first sign of weariness I'd ever seen from him. 'Especially with Napoleon about to kick up a fuss, we don't need a scandal of the Tudor variety in our court.'
I shifted in my chair and Grenville looked over, 'Miss Wentworth, I can see you have a lot on your mind. What are your thoughts?'
What were my thoughts? A bloody mess honestly, with ragged threads of theories and evidence running together in a ball so tightly knotted that it would take days to unpick. I glanced down at the contract and couldn't deny that something was wrong.
'I think it's a good plan, as unsatisfying as it may be for the Prince's wrongdoings to be swept under the rug like this.'
Augusta nodded sadly and opened her mouth to speak but I carried on, forcing the words out before I could second-guess myself. 'But I just can't shake the feeling that there's something we're missing.'
'Missing?' Grenville cocked his head.
'That contract is everything we need, I know.' I was tapping my fingers against my knee rapidly. Willoughby glanced down at them and I shoved my hands under my thighs and out of sight. 'But the idea of Lynton being behind this doesn't seem right.'
'It's his Seal,' Augusta said.
'Yes, but why? He's the Duke of Devonshire, why would he put his name to a treasonous document, when he could hire any number of people to keep it discreet?'
Grenville bowed his head in acknowledgement but now I was on a roll, 'and he doesn't have anything to gain by it. He's not married to her, she's not impacting his life any more than keeping his wife at her court, but he isn't barred from seeing Sarah, and she goes to Carlton House often enough. So, if he is working for the Prince Regent, which makes more sense, then why wasn't he at the meeting at Buckingham House during the Ball?' I flicked my hand between Willoughby and Grenville, 'both of you were there and met with the Prince and Beresford. If Lynton was the Prince's agent then shouldn't he have been there too?'
'And at Vauxhall he was very much not in control,' Willoughby murmured. 'Beresford and Paulette spent most of that evening intimidating him. Not the usual dynamic of mercenaries and their employer.'
I shot him a grateful look and he smiled back, shrugging one shoulder.
Grenville sat back and regarded the two of us, 'So what do you think is the truth?'
That was the sticking point – I had no idea. My head and gut were pointing in two vastly different directions. But the evidence pointed to Lynton, and was I only second-guessing myself because his potential role as the main player put Sarah's life and freedom was in danger?
I picked up the contract and glared down at the Seal. There was no denying it. No matter how many times I checked it, how often I wished it were different, it was the Devonshire Seal.
Running my thumb over it I felt every edge and scratch and divot in the wax. My skin ran over the deep gouges on either side of the insignia and I squinted at them. They were deep enough to be deliberate, like someone had taken a pin to the seal – perhaps to prize it off without cracking it?
Sighing, I put the contract back down and spread my hands, 'I have no idea. Something seems off, but I can't work out what it is.' I tried to push the image of Sarah out of my mind, 'and if this is our main source of evidence, we need to prioritise the Princess's life over trying to make the whole thing fit a comfortable narrative.'
Grenville nodded slowly, Augusta squared her shoulders, Willoughby shot me a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
Sarah was going to hate me.
'Caroline will want to see her daughter,' I added. 'If we're discussing terms of reconciliation, that will be her first demand. She'll want visitation rights to Rothwell House.'
'Of course,' Grenville noted it down. 'Anything else?'
Princess Augusta had many things to add, mainly ceremonial positions and customary actions. It all seemed cold and cutthroat, negotiating a woman's life without her in the room. As if any of the meaningless names or position of rank or multiple houses would mean anything to a woman whose only desire was to be able to spend time with her child.
After what seemed like hours debating the exact phrasing of official letters and the multitude of ways Lynton would be punished for his crime of treason – ranging from a threatening private meeting with Grenville all the way up to humiliating public execution – Humphrey knocked and enquired "if Her Royal Highness and Miss Wentworth would be staying to dinner."
'Thank you, most kind of you, but I have a previous engagement,' Augusta rose from her chair and took hold of her cane once more.
I felt her gaze fall on me, 'Miss Wentworth, would you walk me to my carriage?'
I blinked, but her tone brooked no questioning. I stood and hurriedly gathered my things. Grenville and Willoughby bowed to us and I glanced back as we headed for the door. Willoughby opened his mouth, poised to say something, and I almost stopped and waited. Then Grenville asked him a question and his attention was pulled away. By the time he looked back, I was already gone.
Princess Augusta's footsteps echoed down the wooden panelling of the hallway and I ran to catch up with her.
'You're conflicted, Miss Wentworth. Tell me the matter.'
I rubbed the back of my neck. At least she wasn't looking at me – I think I would have leapt from the nearest building if I had to admit fear for Sarah to the woman whose daughter's life was at risk from that very same family.
But she had the same steely eyes as Caroline and I somehow knew she'd see through any lie I could muster.
'Sarah Lynton is a close friend. I don't want her harmed by all of this.'
Augusta exhaled slowly as we reached the door and started buttoning her gloves with military precision. Humphrey held the door open for us and bowed deeply.
Once we got to the steps of the carriage she turned to me, 'I daresay you think me very mercenary; negotiating for punishments and the reputation of my daughter when she doesn't even know I'm in the country.'
I frowned but kept my mouth shut.
'It's a strange position we find ourselves in, Miss Wentworth. Both of us women – designed by God to marry and bear children and teach the next generation to be everything they are destined to be.'
This conversation was taking a vastly different path than I had expected.
'And yet, we have found ourselves responsible for things much greater than ourselves. Kingdoms rely on our decisions today, yours and mine.' She folded her hands together in the same manner I would imagine a king would, when waiting at the front of a cavalry. 'It would make me happier than anything to be able to prioritise Caroline's feelings. To hold her hand and ensure her that she's safe. But that cannot be the case while we are royalty, and while you are the Silver Sword. I will do what I can to protect your friend. But do not mistake me when I say she is far down my list of priorities, and if she is in any way involved, I will not hesitate to ruin her.'
Augusta climbed into the carriage and the footman closed the door with a snap. I stared at her through the window. Framed by the grey satin curtains, she was the image of power.
'Continue to protect your Princess, Miss Wentworth. You and I both know that Caroline's life is more important than her happiness, or that of the Duchess.'
Her cane rapped hard on the roof and she was off, trundling out of Grenville's courtyard and leaving me leaden where I stood.
It was beginning to get gloomy by the time I started my walk home. It would take me a couple of hours unless I flagged down a cab near Vauxhall. I hoped Caroline wouldn't be too put out – I'd firmly requested that she spend the day inside and in constant company while I was out, but after my disappearance the other day she'd been taking my direction with far more grace and far fewer arguments.
Would she be alright, once I was gone?
I stopped dead in my tracks, staring around me at the glowing lights of London, the twinkling of boats on the Thames, the silvery clouds dashing across the sky like fish scales.
I'd miss it.
I'd miss the hustle and bustle of it all. I'd miss the long walks in Richmond Park, the late breakfasts where I would prod a still sleep-addled Caroline into a light defence class. I'd miss the evenings around the fire, Caroline lamenting as Lady Bruce beat her at another round of whist and Sarah smiling indulgently while I sat cleaning my smallsword.
I would miss the people. I would miss Caroline with her fierce madness and her revolutionary determination to prove how much of a bother she really could be.
I'd miss Lady Bruce, with her reserved judgement and her steadfast loyalty. Her knowing glare and iron backbone.
I'd miss Sarah. With her kind eyes and warm laugh and easy acceptance of the world and her place in it. I'd miss swapping stories of disastrous missions with awkward dances and laughing fondly together into the dead of night at this whole bizarre, insane, dangerous, glorious situation. Perhaps I should invite her to Somerset with me when my task here was done. It wouldn't be much of a life for the ex-Duchess of Devonshire, but it would be safe and quiet, and a more dignified exit from society than the forced ousting that was surely coming.
I started walking again, cutting along the newly built walkway along the river. It was clean paving stones beneath my feet and a beautifully carved balustrade between me and the river. During the day it would be teeming with the wealthy, taking a turn along the river, or visiting the coffee houses and theatres along the way. A breeze had started up and I pulled my jacket closer.
I'd miss Willoughby.
What would happen to him now, I wondered? What would Grenville have him do now? Could he stay at court after all this was over? I couldn't imagine the parties and dinners and functions would interest him for long if there was nothing subversive and dangerous happening beneath the veneered surface. Perhaps Grenville would send him to Europe, to keep an eye on Napoleon and report back about any rumblings of war.
What if I never saw him again?
I huffed to myself, and sped up, shaking the thought out of my head.
A man was leaning against the wall up ahead of me, smoking a pipe and blocking the way up to the steps to Vauxhall Bridge.
Clearing my throat, I aimed for the side closest to the river, leaving him ample room.
He stepped back, glancing at me like I was the one with the nerve to be in his way.
'Scuse me, Sir,' I doffed my cap and stepped aside again, hoping he'd let it go.
He let out a chuckle, long and low and terrifying. The embers of his pipe glowed as he leant across my path and tapped the ashes into the river.
I stopped, my blood running cold.
He brought his pipe back to his lips and gripped it between grinning teeth.
Glancing quickly behind me, I cursed myself for not taking Princess Augusta up on her offer of a ride home. The walkway behind me was empty, and those steps in front of me led down from the bridge, so no passer-by would glimpse us over the shoulder-height wall.
I was alone.
A voice crackled from the shadows behind me and this time I wasn't surprised in the least.
'Nice evening for a stoll, don'cha think?' Mother Quinn said.
YOU ARE READING
A Matter Of Delicacy
Historical Fiction1806, England - When Katherine Wentworth, trained killer known as the Silver Sword, is called to the service of Princess Caroline in London she is apprehensive. Years of training and foreign missions means she has had little experience of society a...
