Mélanie hurried through the London streets. Neither she, nor Raoul or Harry, walking swiftly beside her, had voiced their fears, but they all knew. Malcolm was out alone, unaware of how great a threat his brother posed. Edgar, who had killed six years ago and tried to kill three days ago and was no doubt desperate. None of that proved Malcolm was in imminent danger, but none of them would be easy until they found him.
Malcolm had been going to see Carfax and then Glenister, so they headed to Glenister House first. They climbed the steps of the columned portico, where Mélanie well remembered waiting for the carriage after a ball, and rang the bell.
A footman in the Glenister livery answered immediately, but when Mélanie asked if her husband was there, he told her that Mr. Rannoch had just left.
For some reason, knowing Malcolm was close tightened her chest. She could feel quickening anxiety from Raoul and Harry. They descended the steps without speaking and started along Grosvenor Square. They were almost at Charles Street when a shot cut the air.
Cold terror closed Mélanie's throat. She ran without thinking, only vaguely aware of the pounding of Raoul and Harry running beside her. They rounded the corner. Two footman ran out of the Coburg Hotel. The acrid tang of a recently extinguished pistol hung in the air. In the glow of a street lamp, a man lay on the ground. Another man knelt over him. Mélanie saw the brown of the kneeling man's hair and the angle of his shoulders, and felt the breath rush from her lungs.
She started to run forwards, then checked herself, the spy's instincts taking over. Raoul's hand closed at her waist in warning. Her gaze went from Malcolm to the man on the ground, to the man holding the pistol, whose gleaming pale hair was unmistakable. Whatever else Julien St. Juste was, she didn't fear him. She ran forwards.
Malcolm looked up. His gaze locked on her own. She dropped down beside him, next to the man she knew was Edgar even before she took in his features. She reached out automatically to feel for a pulse. Malcolm shook his head. Edgar's skin was still warm but she could feel no pulse and his eyes were starting to cloud. A knife lay beside his hand.
Raoul and Harry had persuaded the footmen to go back into the hotel. Now they ran forwards. Raoul's gaze went to Malcolm as though memorizing every one of his features.
"I'm sorry." Julien walked up to the group. "I think one's supposed to say that when someone has a family member killed. But all things considered, I think you'd prefer Edgar was dead rather than Malcolm." He paused, his gaze on Malcolm. It had an odd tinge that might almost have been compassion. "He was going to kill you, Malcolm. I have no doubt of it."
"Nor do I." Malcolm reached out and closed his brother's eyes. "Your arrival was timely, St. Juste, though I can't begin to understand it."
Julien returned the pistol to the pocket of his greatcoat. "Kitty was worried about you and Edgar after her talk with you last night. She asked me to keep an eye on him."
"Kitty—" Malcolm stared at Julien. "You know her better than I realized."
"There are still a few pieces of the puzzle you don't have. But perhaps this isn't the place for explanations."
"No." Malcolm looked at Harry and Raoul.
Raoul's fingers rested on the back of Malcolm's neck for a moment. "We convinced the footmen there'd been an accident, but there was no danger and they could help most by keeping the guests from interfering with the investigation."
Malcolm nodded. "We need to get Roth."
"Right away," Harry said.
"You're the best of good fellows, Harry." Malcolm touched his friend's arm, then looked back at Julien. "St. Juste—"
"I'll stay," Julien said. "I have no problem taking responsibility for what I did."
Given Julien's efforts to keep himself mysterious, it was a rather extraordinary statement. Mélanie felt Raoul's surprise and saw the same on Malcolm's face.
"Thank you," Malcolm said.
Kitty curled her hands round a glass of whisky. Mélanie had sent for her. The others were all gathered with them in the Berkeley Square library, including Julien, who had lingered, quite unlike his usual practice, and Malcolm, who had just returned from breaking the news to Edgar's wife Lydia.
They had agreed with Roth to say Edgar had been attacked by thieves and shot in a struggle. They would have to discuss it with Annabel Larimer, but given her desire to protect Raimundo, Mélanie suspected she'd be happy to go along with the story and to leave the identity of her attacker a mystery.
"I sent for Lydia's elder sister," Malcolm said. "She's with Lydia now. It's naturally a great shock. Though not anything like the shock the truth would be." He pressed his hands over his eyes. The shock shadowed his own face, though in some ways, Mélanie thought, the greatest shock had been Kitty's revelations the previous night.
Mélanie, sitting beside him on the sofa, reached for his hand and gripped it tightly. He spared her a smile, brief and shadowed but heartening, then turned his gaze to Kitty. "I'm afraid you won't be able to make use of the Goshawk now, Kit."
"Somehow that doesn't seem remotely relevant just now." Kitty tucked a strand of hair into the knot at the nape of her neck. "I think Julien and I owe all of you an explanation."
"I wouldn't say you owe any of us anything," Malcolm said, "but I confess I'm curious. Am I right that St. Juste is the one who told you Annabel Larimer had knowledge about the Goshawk?"
"He really was calling himself Francisco Gerard," Kitty said. "But I did work out what his real name was."
Mélanie turned to Julien. He was sitting on a straight-backed chair on his own, but not isolated from the group. "You went to South America after Waterloo," she said.
"Seemed as good a place as any. My French allies weren't going to be in a position to hire me for a while, and I wanted to get away from Carfax. It's a beautiful country, but naturally I wanted occupation. It was good to see Kitty again. We'd met during the war."
"Which of you decided to come back from the Argentine first?" Malcolm asked.
"Oh, Julien did," Kitty said. "Over a year before I did. Trust me, there was no connection to my deciding to come back."
"The League were looking for me," Julien said. "And I decided Carfax had to be dealt with. But I have very agreeable memories of working with Kitty."
"If you call being constantly prepared to be stabbed in the back working together, then yes, it was quite agreeable," Kitty said. "You know you left me with quite a tangle to clean up when you disappeared in the midst of the business with Jorge Lorano and the missing gold."
"Nothing you couldn't handle, I'm sure. I've seen your abilities in action."
Kitty gave a faint smile, then took a drink of whisky, her face going serious. "After last night, I was concerned about Malcolm and Edgar coming into conflict." She didn't elaborate on the reasons, for those not aware of last night's revelations, and no one asked questions. "Julien had let me know he was in London, so I sent for him and asked him to keep an eye on Edgar."
"He left home tonight and went to Glenister House," Julien said. "I think he must have got word that you were there, Rannoch."
"I think he's been having me followed," Malcolm said. "I started to suspect someone was tailing me earlier today. When I went to see Carfax and then Glenister, he must have decided I was piecing things together. Or soon would. And I think Edgar probably wasn't sorry for an excuse for a confrontation with me."
"How long do you think he was working for the League?" Cordelia asked. They had told Kitty about the League. Given how involved she was, she needed to know, and given her connection to Julien, she was probably going to find out in any case, assuming she hadn't known already.
"Since about the time Arabella died, according to Glenister," Malcolm said. "Which fits with my sense of him."
"Alistair made use of people." Frances was sitting bolt upright on the settee beside Archie, hugging her elbows. "I don't know why it never occurred to me that he'd try to make use of Edgar."
"Or to me." Malcolm's fingers tightened round Mélanie's hand.
Cordelia pushed her fingers into her loosened hair. "So, Glenister is an ally now?"
"I'm not sure I'd go that far," Malcolm said. "But I do think he was telling me the truth tonight. And he's grateful to us for protecting his secrets."
"We still don't know how the League meant to make use of those secrets," Mélanie said.
"No," Raoul agreed. "They have a long game in play."
"Undoubtedly." Archie's attention had been on Frances since the news of Edgar's death, but now his focus shifted to Raoul. "I begin to think that Pomfret was right, that someone from the outside is trying to take over the League and consolidate power. But I'm damned if I can work out who."
"Gelly needs to know about Edgar as soon as possible. Before she learns of it from someone else." Malcolm looked at Julien.
"I'll tell her." Julien's face was unwontedly serious. "She should talk to you soon, but that will take a bit of time to arrange. I'll make sure she hears the news in private as quickly as possible."
Malcolm met Julien's gaze for a long moment. "Thank you."
Julien nodded. "I'm not a substitute for you, but it's my responsibility in any case."
Valentin ushered Roth into the room a few moments later. He had gone to speak with Bow Street's chief magistrate.
"Sir Nathaniel's accepted the story," he said, taking a glass of whisky from Mélanie and dropping into a chair. "I'll go with you tomorrow to speak with Mrs. Larimer, but from what you say, I imagine she'll agree as well."
"Thank you, Jeremy," Frances said.
Jeremy looked at Frances with the gaze of one who knows nothing he can say will assuage the hurt. He must be accustomed to this situation, but Mélanie doubted it got any easier. "My condolences, ma'am. I don't think anyone has anything to gain by publishing the truth at this point. And it would raise a number of questions." He cast a glance at Julien, as though not sure if he were an ally or a coiled snake that had invaded the library.
"As I said, I'm perfectly willing to offer whatever information you need," Julien said, in a remarkably equable voice. "I make no pretense to claim this for all of my past actions, but in this particular case there can be no question that what I did was justified. All in all, I think you're better off without an inquiry, though."
"Carfax will certainly prefer it," Malcolm said. "In fact, if we tried to publicize the truth he'd almost certainly shut the story down."
Julien's usual habit was to fade away from domestic scenes, melting into the shadows when no one was looking. Tonight he found himself lingering. He needed to stay until Inspector Roth returned, he'd told himself, in case a further statement was required of him. He wanted to see and read the various reactions. To make sure no one was going to do anything foolish. But if he was truthful—and really, no matter how adept one was at lying, what was the point of lying to oneself?—he also wanted to make sure Malcolm hadn't given way to quite unnecessary guilt. That Kitty was holding on to her equilibrium. And it was interesting, for reasons he couldn't quite articulate, simply to hear them all talk. Not to mention, to have a chance to observe Kitty and Malcolm together. And Mélanie, who was holding Malcolm's hand and looked fairly secure, given the circumstances.
When the evening at last broke up, he offered to escort Kitty to her hotel. To his relief, she didn't protest, a tacit acknowledgement that they had things to discuss.
O'Roarke moved to his side as the company rose and made their farewells. "I owe you a debt of gratitude, St. Juste." His gaze was open and direct as it seldom was.
"Don't go sentimental on me, O'Roarke. But I wouldn't have wanted your son to lose his life either. For any number of reasons."
Mélanie moved to join them and pressed his hand. "I'm glad you were where you were tonight, Julien."
"So am I, cara." He looked at her for a moment. "Though you're left in another tangle."
Mélanie cast a quick glance at Malcolm. "We'll survive. We always do."
It was possibly the first time he'd left the Rannoch house by the front door.
"Thank you," Kitty said when they were out of earshot of Fanny and Archie Davenport, who had left with them. "I didn't realize how great the danger was."
"I don't know when I've been thanked as much as I have been in the last few hours." Julien cast an automatic appraising glance up and down the street. "Quite a novelty. All things considered, I'm glad I was there at the time. I wouldn't care to see Malcolm killed, and considering what Edgar did to you, I can't claim to much grief for him."
Kitty's gaze flashed to his face. "I never wanted this."
"No, I know. You're much too rational. And at the same time, much too concerned for your friends."
"You have to admit Malcolm's been through a lot."
"No argument there." Julien cast a sideways glance at her, one eye still on the street. "You're wondering, aren't you?"
"Wondering?"
"What sort of life you'd have had with him."
"Don't talk sentimental twaddle, Julien. I know perfectly well what sort of life I'd have had with Malcolm. I'd have gone mad with boredom; he'd have heroically pretended not to care that I'd destroyed any chance of his having a career and cut him off from his home."
"And yet he and Mélanie have been managing."
"She isn't me."
"No, she certainly isn't. But she's equally complicated. They weathered exile. Not easily, but I think they could have managed if they'd had to stay away longer."
"My dear Julien. Are you saying you think I should have run off with Malcolm?"
"No. For a number of reasons, I'm glad you didn't. But I can see your wondering."
"We'd have quarreled over tactics. Probably disastrously."
"I imagine he and Mélanie do."
"And that may prove a problem for them." She tucked a strand of hair beneath the hood of her cloak. "I'm glad not to have it hanging over my head. The responsibility of making someone else happy. But you're right. That doesn't mean I don't wonder."
"There's a lot you didn't tell me." Until she'd asked for his help last night, he'd had no notion of her history with Edgar Rannoch.
"There was no need for you to know."
Julien regarded her for a moment. The eyes that hid even more than he'd realized, the curve of her mouth, the delicate line of her jaw. "You've been through a great deal."
"As have we all."
"It's not quite the same. If I'd known—"
"What?" She gave a laugh of tinkling mockery. "You'd have tried to protect me? Heal me? For heaven's sake, Julien. Whatever my past, I don't need to be wrapped in cotton wool."
"Not that. I'd have liked to settle scores for you."
"That really wouldn't have solved anything, you know. I'm immeasurably grateful for what you did tonight, but I wouldn't have wanted Edgar killed on my own account."
"Kitty—" He paused where he could see her face in the glow of a streetlamp.
"Julien, for the love of God, don't start treating me like a fragile creature. Your saving grace, if you had one, was always that you did nothing of the sort."
"Of course you aren't a fragile creature, my dear. But you can't blame me for wanting to share your burdens."
"That sounds entirely too commonplace for you. Or me." She regarded him for a moment. "I needed to heal. Mostly, I needed to do that on my own. But you helped. More than any other man could have done, perhaps."
"I'm glad to hear it. I wish I could have done more. Could have done and could do."
"For God's sake, don't start sounding sentimental or I'll run screaming in the other direction."
Julien took her hand and turned it over in his own. "Kitty. How old is your youngest?"
She didn't snatch her hand back, but her fingers stiffened in his own. "Jenny turned one last month."
"Interesting."
"My dear Julien. Edward was still alive. We were still married in every sense of the word."
"Quite so."
"Anything else really isn't any concern of yours. You're a man without ties, after all."
"How very true." And yet the possibility—the novelty—perhaps something more—lingered in his mind. "Kitty—" He lifted his other hand and brushed the hair back from her cheek.
She caught his hand in her own, kissed his fingers, and drew his hand away from her face. "It's no concern of yours, Julien. I can look after myself. And anyone else dependent on me."
"I have no doubt you can do all that and more. That wasn't why I asked."
"Why, then?" Kitty's gaze scraped over his face. "Surely you, of all people, don't want to be burdened with a family?"
"To own the truth," Julien said, "I haven’t the least idea what I want."