“It’s one of those damned revolutionaries,” the Regent said. “Arrest ’em all!” Braydon must have moved, for the Regent’s eyes turned on him. “You think that unwise?”
Now, there is a tricky question.“Not in principle, sir,” Braydon said carefully, “but the recent tragic event has reminded everyone of their devotion to the royal family and particularly to yourself, and strengthened their desire for peace and good order. Anyone speaking treason now is chastised by those around. To arrest people without explanation would disturb that situation, but would it be wise to explain? Might it not be best to keep the event from public knowledge?”
“Don’t want to create new fear and uncertainty, eh?” The Regent pouted, but didn’t repeat his command.“Leave it in your hands, gentlemen. Find the culprit and ensurethere’s no repetition. I hold court tomorrow. Excuse for coming, don’t you know, in order to keep this quiet.” It was the Regent’s way to make good decisions his own. He’d even been known to claim a part in the victory at Waterloo.
They were dismissed, and Braydon was glad to escape. He and Sidmouth left in silence, aware of listening ears, but Braydon was rearranging the pieces.
They’d ignored the princesses. They were probably all past childbearing age, and only two were married, but if their brothers all died, they would ascend the throne, one after the other. The royal dukes might not make old bones, but some of the princesses might. Even if there were no new legitimate grandchildren for the king, it could be forty years or more before the Hanoverian line was exhausted.
So what would have been the point of killing Kent, Clarence, and Sussex?
Once in the coach and on their way, Sidmouth said, “Insurrectionists after all. I thought so. Hawkinville’s staff is still in place in his house. Use them.”
Does Sidmouth not trust his own Home Office or the military in this matter? Paranoia or reason?“If you’ll let me down at Mrs. Courtenay’s house I’ll begin my enquiries.”
“This late?”
“Carelessness with gunpowder deserves some inconvenience.”
Sidmouth shrugged, and soon Braydon was ruthlessly knocking until a sleepy servant opened to him. He learned that the lady had fled to the country.Or fled the country?That could be discovered.
Her absence gave Braydon free rein to tour the house and ask questions, though she seemed an unlikely conspirator. The Regent had confirmed her royal service,and her servants described an elderly widow of a sober, religious disposition.
There was nothing informative about the three-story house. Its elegance was rather faded, but it spoke of conventional tastes and deep propriety. The hatch into the basement was as described, accessed from a small backyard that had a gate into a delivery lane. The hatch was near the kitchen, and two servants slept nearby. Could anyone trundle a beer barrel into the basement unheard?
“Oh no, milord,” the butler said. “It was delivered, regular, in a manner of speaking. That is, the usual people, but we weren’t expecting it.”
“Yet you took delivery.”
“Danny, the footman did. We were in such a flurry of preparation for the royal dinner, so Danny said no one had time to stow it properly. When the delivery men offered to do that instead of carrying it back to their cart, he agreed.”
“The usual delivery men, you said?”
“I didn’t see them, milord, but different men come every time. Waller Brothers supply half the town.”
Braydon nodded, but he’d be astonished if Waller Brothers had anything to do with it. “When did you learn that the royal dukes were coming to dine?”
“That morning, my lord. Which is why we were at sixes and sevens.”
“Have members of the royal family gathered here before?”
“No, my lord. That is, the princesses Mary and Sophia have visited a time or two, without ceremony, for Mrs. Courtenay was in the royal household when they were younger. But not recently.”
“Have you hired new servants within the last year, or even sooner?”
“The footman, milord. Danny.”
“Send him to me. And prepare a list of all your servants and when they were hired.”
It was possible that in a few hours, one of the servants had passed on word of the opportunity, but Braydon found it hard to believe. That would imply that a potential spy had been conveniently in place in an old lady’s house. He’d known luck to settle more momentous events than this, but it ranked unlikely.
He spoke to the nervous young footman and crossed him off the list. Danny Onslow was nineteen and had worked in the house for only three months. He’d been new in London then, up from Essex, where he’d worked for a Sir Dillerby Vernon from the age of fourteen.
Braydon would check all the details, but it seemed more likely that the informant was in one of the princes’ households. One or more treasonous factions might have infiltrated servants there, but that would be hard to investigate. One household was in Brussels, and at the moment Clarence lived as part of the queen’s household in Bath. Sussex had apartments in Kensington Palace, but even his liberal principles wouldn’t make him happy about being questioned.
Braydon left the house, thinking that even if he found the source of the information, the culprit could merely be a gossip, as had been the case with a government leak earlier in the year. It might provide a salutary lesson to hang, draw, and quarter a few gossips!
Clocks struck eleven disjointedly. Unreasonable to wish that the London clocks were adjusted to strike in synchrony. He could return to his rooms, where bed beckoned, even without a wife in it. However, he dutifully detoured to visit a place where he might encounter unruly gossip.
