S ir Lindsey Forbes’s impressive town house in St. James’s Square was famous as a showcase for his extensive collection of artifacts, mainly Indian brasses, religious sculptures, and silk paintings but also an impressive number of priceless Chinese porcelains, for the East India Company had long enjoyed a monopoly over British trade with China as well as with India.
Although Hero knew Lady Forbes from Annabelle Hershey’s salon, she had never visited the former Kate Brownbeck at home. When Hero arrived at the square shortly after nuncheon, she half expected Lady Forbes to decline to see her. But a few minutes after Hero sent up her card, the butler returned with a bow to say, “This way, my lady, if you please.”
She followed him up a gleaming broad staircase to a cabinet lined with mahogany shelves filled with row after row of colorful Chinese porcelain jars. Lady Forbes herself stood at the red lacquered table in the center of the room. She had a crisp white apron pinned over her fine muslin gown and was carefully measuring out a portion of what Hero realized must be tea leaves. The rich aroma of fine teas filled the air.
The former Miss Kate Brownbeck was an attractive woman somewhere in her mid- to late thirties, her fair hair as yet untouched by gray, her features strong and even. She had a reputation for grace, poise, composure, and calm self-mastery. But today her eyes were red and puffy, her expression that of a grief-stricken woman struggling to maintain a facade of equanimity. “I hope you’ll pardon me for receiving you like this,” she said, “but I didn’t want to interrupt the process.”
Hero perched on a nearby stool indicated by her hostess. “You’re mixing tea?”
“I am, yes. I’ve made my own blends for years.”
“Thank you for agreeing to see me,” said Hero, watching her.
Lady Forbes carefully poured the measure of tea into a larger container, then glanced over at her. “You say that as if you thought I might not.”
“I take it you know why I’m here?”
“I can guess. I’ve heard Lord Devlin is looking into the murder of Nicholas Hayes, and your presence here suggests he’s discovered that Nicholas and I once . . . knew each other.”
“Did you know Hayes had returned to London?”
“No.” The denial came quick and decisive.
“Do you have any idea why he came back?”
“No. How could I?” She turned to select another jar from one of the shelves, her voice airy and calm and everything Hero knew she was not. “Does Lord Devlin have any idea as to who might have killed him?”
“Not yet.” Hero hesitated a moment, but she could think of no delicate way to phrase it and so simply said bluntly, “Do you think his return could have been motivated by revenge?”
Lady Forbes froze with her arms extended over her head, then slowly lifted the jar she’d been reaching for from the shelf and turned. “What do you mean?”
“Could he have come back here to kill someone?”
She was silent for a moment, obviously giving the idea—or at least her response to it—some thought. “No. Nicholas wasn’t like that.”
“Twenty years ago, perhaps not. But a brutal life can change people. I notice you don’t say you can’t think of anyone he might have had reason to kill.”
Lady Forbes’s face hardened unexpectedly. “Who wouldn’t be tempted to kill the man who destroyed his life?”
“You mean the Count de Compans?”
“Yes.”
“You’re suggesting Hayes didn’t actually kill the Count’s wife?”
“Of course he didn’t.”
“How can you be so certain?”
“Because I know him.” She paused, then said more softly, “Knew him.”
The sound of the entry door opening floated up from below, followed by a man’s crisp voice asking something Hero didn’t catch and the butler’s murmured reply.
Hero said, “Can you think of any other reason he would risk coming back to England?”
Kate Forbes shook her head as approaching footsteps sounded on the stairs. The anxious fear in her eyes was unmistakable. “No. It makes no sense. But please—”
She broke off as Sir Lindsey Forbes appeared in the open doorway. “Ah, there you are, my dear. I was—” He gave a faint start, as if only becoming aware of Hero’s presence even though she knew he must surely have learned of it from his butler. “I do beg your pardon, Lady Devlin. Am I interrupting?”
He was a good-looking man, probably in his late forties or early fifties, with thick, prematurely silver hair, dark eyebrows, and a strong chin. The fourth son of a Devonshire reverend, he had joined the East India Company as a simple cadet at the tender age of sixteen and distinguished himself in the campaign against Hyder Ali on the Malabar Coast. After that, he’d risen quickly to become quartermaster general of the Bombay Army. It was the kind of position that enabled a man to accumulate an extraordinary fortune in a short time, if he was ruthless enough—and from everything Hero had heard, Forbes was more than ruthless. Under his stewardship, the company had forced the area’s farmers to shift from growing grain to the production of opium. When a famine hit, close to a million people starved to death. But whenever the topic came up, Forbes would simply shrug and say India was overpopulated anyway. As far as Hero was concerned, that sentiment told her all she needed to know about the man.
“I saw your father at this morning’s reception for the Allied Sovereigns at the Bank of England,” he told Hero with a smile.
“Was the Bank on today’s schedule of events?” said Hero pleasantly. He had the soft blue eyes and ageless, angelic face of a choirboy, and it was all so disconcertingly misleading that she found it chilling.
“It was—along with a banquet this afternoon and a visit to the Opera this evening. Do you and Devlin attend?”
“Probably not.”
“It should be entertaining. There’s a rumor the Princess of Wales plans to put in an appearance. Needless to say, the Regent is in a pother over the possibility. If he could have his way, I suspect he’d have her locked up for the rest of the Allied Sovereigns’ visit.”
“Well, he’s managed to bar his wife from Court and from all official receptions and banquets. But I doubt he’ll succeed in keeping her from the Opera.”
Forbes caught his wife’s eye and something passed between them, a silent exchange that Hero couldn’t begin to decipher. Then he said, “Has Kate been showing you our selection of teas? We have samples from nearly all the tea-growing regions of China. One of these days the company is going to get its hands on the secret process the Chinese use to make the stuff, along with some seedlings of their precious Camellia sinensis, and then we’ll be able to grow and produce tea ourselves in India. No more having to deal with these ridiculous Qing emperors and their grasping Cantonese Hong merchants. It’s either that, or send in the British Navy and force them to be more reasonable in their trade with us.”
Hero looked at him with interest. “Have you been to Canton?”
“A few times, when I was in Bombay. They’re impossible people to deal with, you know—the Chinese, I mean. They insist we pay for their silks, porcelains, and tea with silver because they have no interest in anything Europe produces. And the one thing we could use to trade with them, opium, they refuse to allow into the country.”
“Rather understandable, is it not?”
“It’s outrageous—that’s what it is. They can’t deny the market is there. The Chinese people can’t get enough of it, and we could produce tons of the stuff in India. But we have to smuggle it in, which the emperors have made shockingly risky.”
“Shocking, indeed,” said Hero with a tight smile. To Lady Forbes, she said, “It was good seeing you again. No need to ring for a footman; I can show myself out.”
She thought Sir Lindsey might offer to walk with her to the door, but he did not. Instead he stood at the entrance to the tea-blending room and watched her walk away with such intensity, she fancied that she could feel his gaze boring into her back.