Chapter 22
Sebastian came out of Connaught House’s snow-blanketed front gardens to find his tiger walking the chestnuts as far from the site of the old execution scaffold as he could get and still be within hailing distance.
At the sight of Sebastian, the boy swung the sleigh around with a swish that sent up an arc of fine snow crystals. He was just reining in before the house when Sebastian spotted Signor Valentino Vescovi’s lanky figure coming through the Tyburn turnpike to stride purposefully toward Princess Caroline’s gate.
“Hang on a minute,” Sebastian told Tom, and shifted to intercept the harpist.
The Italian had his head down, his attention all for the task of minding his footing on the slippery footpath. He remained utterly oblivious to Sebastian’s presence until he said cheerfully, “Good morning.”
The harpist’s head jerked up, one hand flashing out to grab the railing of the garden’s iron fence as his feet slid sideways in opposite directions. “Santo cielo! You startled me.”
Sebastian thought the man looked more frightened than startled, but all he said was “You’re Vescovi, aren’t you? I heard you play at one of Lady Farningham’s musical evenings last September. I’m Devlin.”
Vescovi licked his lower lip. “If this is about Signora Ambrose, your wife has already spoken to me. Yesterday.”
“I know.” Sebastian threw a significant glance toward Caroline’s tall stuccoed house. “What are you doing here?”
Vescovi swallowed. “Teaching the Princess of Wales to play the harp?” The excuse might have sounded more believable if the rising pitch of his voice hadn’t turned what should have been a statement into a question.
“Indeed?” said Sebastian.
“She is very musical, you know.”
“As is her daughter.”
The Italian nodded vigorously. “Yes, yes.”
“How convenient that mother and daughter share the same instructors. It must make it so much easier for them to pass letters back and forth with none the wiser.”
Vescovi stared at him in silence, his dark eyes watering and the tip of his long, thin nose red from the cold.
Sebastian said, “Do I take it Jane Ambrose also carried messages for Princess Charlotte?”
Vescovi blew out a harsh breath and looked unexpectedly troubled. “Not to my knowledge, no.”
“And would you know?”
“I think so, yes.”
“So why was Jane here last week, visiting Caroline?”
“Was she? I’ve no notion.” He tried to sidle around Sebastian toward the garden gate but had to draw up again when Sebastian shifted to cut him off.
Sebastian said, “Tell me what happened last week between Jane Ambrose and the Dutch courtier Peter van der Pals.”
He thought the Italian might try to deny all knowledge of the incident. Instead he frowned and said, “Why?”
“Because there’s a good possibility it may have something to do with Jane’s death. Was she in love with him?”
“Jane? Of course not. I suppose she was amused by him at first. He’s a clever, witty young man, and he made her laugh. But if he believed her to be captivated by him, he was mistaken. She was shocked when he tried to coax her into spying on Charlotte.”
“How do you know this? Did she tell you?”
The harpist’s thin, bony body swayed from side to side as he shifted his feet in the snow. “It’s . . . complicated.”
“Court intrigues generally are,” said Sebastian.
Vescovi nodded and sighed. “Jane Ambrose was a talented, good-hearted woman. But she was too naive, too trusting to survive at court. She made the mistake of telling one of the Princess’s subgovernesses about the entire incident with van der Pals.”
“You mean Miss Ella Kinsworth?”
“Yes.”
“And Ella Kinsworth told you?”
“Signorina Kinsworth? Ah, no. That woman is as determinedly upright and fiercely loyal as Signora Ambrose. But they weren’t as careful as they should have been. They were overheard.”
“By you?”
Vescovi gave a sharp shake of his head. “Me? No. By Lady Arabella.”
“Who the blazes is Lady Arabella?”
“The Duchess of Leeds’s daughter.”
“And this Lady Arabella told you about the conversation between the two women?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Vescovi looked confused. “Pardon?”
“Why would Lady Arabella pass this information on to you?”
“Because I am teaching her Italian.”
Sebastian studied the harpist’s thin, bony face. “That doesn’t explain why she would think you’d be interested.”
Vescovi brought up one hand to scratch his forehead with the seam of his thick woolen mitten. “She knew I’d be interested because in addition to everything else, Jane told Miss Kinsworth that Peter van der Pals said I spy for Caroline.”
“Why would van der Pals tell her that?”
“Because Jane was so shocked by what he was proposing that he laughed at her. Called her a fool and told her everyone at Warwick House spies for someone.” Vescovi scowled. “He illustrated that point with me.”
“So whom does Ella Kinsworth spy for?”
Vescovi shrugged one shoulder. “The Regent assumes she is his creature, but she’s not. Her loyalty is to Charlotte.”
“As yours is to Caroline?”
Vescovi’s eyes narrowed. “I serve both Princesses.”
“And if their interests don’t align? Who do you serve then?”
Vescovi remained silent.
Sebastian said, “You do realize you’ve just admitted you had a motive to kill Jane Ambrose.”
The Italian’s jaw sagged. “Me? What? But . . . how?”
“She knew you spy for the Princess of Wales, and she told Charlotte’s subgoverness.”
“But I didn’t hold that against her!”
“No? You resented it enough to have words with her about it. I assume that was the subject of your quarrel by the canal in the park?”
Vescovi was breathing hard, his chest jerking with his agitation. “I simply wished to make certain she understood the situation.”
“And what is the situation?”
“I pass letters between the Princesses and help keep Her Highness informed about her daughter. That is all. All!”
“You explained this to Jane Ambrose?”
“I did, yes. So you see, I had no reason to kill her.” Vescovi stared back at him owlishly. “None.”
“Then you should have no difficulty in telling me where you were Thursday afternoon and evening.”
Vescovi focused his attention on neatening the bright red scarf he wore wrapped around his neck.
“Signor?” prompted Sebastian.
The Italian carefully aligned the ends of his scarf. “I was in my room at the Percy Arms in Red Lion Square. I—I was unwell that day.”
“I can check on that, you know.”
“Sicuro,” said the harpist with solemn dignity.
But Sebastian noticed his hands were now shaking so badly that he gave up trying to arrange his scarf.
As they drove away from Connaught House, Sebastian said to his tiger, “Valentino Vescovi claims he was in his room at the Percy Arms on Red Lion Square all afternoon and evening last Thursday. After you take care of the horses, why don’t you go around there and see if you can find someone to verify that?”
Tom sat up noticeably straighter, his eyes shining with pride. “Aye, m’lord.”
“So van der Pals was the ‘figlio di puttana’ who told Jane some ‘unflattering truths’ about Valentino Vescovi,” said Hero as she and Devlin joined the crowds walking across Blackfriars Bridge to stare down at the frozen Thames.
“Apparently.” Devlin paused, his gaze on the snow-covered river below. Most of the spectators were content to watch from the safety of the bridge. But a few of the braver—or more foolhardy—were venturing out onto the ice itself, laughing and calling to others to join them.
“What a hideous hotbed of spying and backstabbing that household is. Poor Princess Charlotte. Imagine growing up alone in such an environment.”
“Poor Charlotte, indeed.”
Hero glanced over at him. “Do you believe Caroline’s tale? That Prinny tricked his daughter into agreeing to this vile betrothal?”
“It sounds like him, doesn’t it?”
“It does, rather.” She was silent for a moment. “Just when you think you can’t despise Prinny any more, you learn one more disgusting detail about his treatment of his wife and daughter.”
“When a prince pays people to stand up in court and swear to a vile collection of lies about his own wife, I suspect there is little he wouldn’t do.”
Out on the ice, a bagpipe player began to play a jig, and a laugh went up along the bridge as a man near him began to dance. Hero said, “How deeply involved in this tangled mess do you think Jane Ambrose was?”
Devlin shook his head. “I’m not sure. But her visit to Caroline last week is more than a bit suggestive. First Caroline, then Lord Wallace.”
Hero watched an acrobat turning handstands in the middle of the river. “I wonder what else my friend Miss Kinsworth didn’t tell me.”
“If she’s protecting Charlotte, it could be a great deal.”