“She’d had other offers to marry,” Brandon said darkly. “But she wanted Armitage. They say she even encouraged Armitage to kill his brother and pretend a stray bullet did it.”
I grimaced. “That is a fairly monstrous accusation.”
“Monstrous is the word. Which is why I rose at an ungodly hour and rode to Brighton to tell you.” Brandon finished off another forkful. “Damn fine cook you’ve found here, Lacey.”
I, for one, had lost my appetite. “Lady Armitage had the child.”
“A daughter, which was a mercy for the poor mite. No worries about the entail. She gave Armitage a son a year after that, so all is well in Armitage’s world.”
I drew a pattern on the tablecloth with the back of my knife. “What perfidy did Armitage commit at Salamanca?”
Brandon chewed and swallowed. “You recall that a large part of the French battalions we fought escaped during their retreat? That Wellington pursued them but had to give up?”
“I do remember chasing them, fruitlessly, over hills full of olive trees and being dead tired when I finally returned. Armitage tried to tell me last night that Marguerite caused this by passing information stolen from Isherwood to the French marshals.”
“Ha. Isherwood did that himself,” Brandon said. “Aided and abetted by Lord Armitage.”
I froze, my lazy patterns coming to an end. “Isherwooddid? I’d believe it of Armitage, but I thought Isherwood was a stickler for the rules, very upright. He had a long career as an officer. If his name was tarnished, I would have heard. Wouldn’t I?”
“He was also head over arse in debt. His commission cost money, his fine house in Derbyshire cost money, not to mention the one here in Brighton, and the keeping of his wife cost money. Probably he wagered heavily at cards—who knows?” Brandon spoke with the virtuous air of one who’d never been in debt. “Armitage gave Isherwood money to help him pay up. They spoke of it quite openly over cheroots one night. Isherwood expressed a wish for the war to go on forever, as he was too worried about his creditors to return to England. He said it jokingly, but Armitage told him he need have no fears—Armitage would pay the debts and make an arrangement with Isherwood to return the money when he could.”
“Devilish generous,” I said in surprise. “From my brief acquaintance with Armitage, I cannot believe he’d pass Isherwood money out of the goodness of his heart.”
“Of course not.” Brandon scraped his plate clean, took a final bite, and laid down his fork with satisfaction. “Armitage exacted a price, and I believe that price was letting the French retreat without hindrance. Isherwood was to have issued commands that day—the story is that the commands went astray or were misunderstood, but I don’t believe that. Wellington doesn’t either, but he had no proof that Isherwood deliberately disobeyed.”
I stared at him, mystified. “I dislike Armitage intensely, but I cannot fathom a reason for him to help Bonaparte, and drag Isherwood into the mess. Armitage comes from an old lineage and a family with plenty of blunt. Lady Aline told me a bit about him, and her information is always spot on. And anyway, the tide was turning for Napoleon at that point. Russia was already going badly for him, and Wellington rode into Madrid soon after Salamanca, overturning Bonaparte’s best-laid plans. Armitage had no reason to betray us.”
Brandon shrugged and lifted his coffee. “I’m not certain of all the twists and turns, but the money Armitage gave Isherwood came actually from Desjardins, who has pots of it. He keeps those pots by playing all sides of the fence. He’d be all for Bonaparte one day, all for Louis the Eighteenth the next. Now, I believe, he’s backing the Duc d’Orleans, reasoning that the duke is the strongest man to take over whenever Louis dies, never mind he’s a few steps down in the line of succession. Desjardins does not try very hard to keep this a secret. Armitage is in his pocket, believe me. Perhaps Armitage’s finances are worse off than he lets the world believe.”
“So Armitage owed Desjardins, and Desjardins found a way Armitage could pay, using Isherwood. This way Isherwood would stand in the debt of both men.” I laid down my knife. “If you are saying you believe the pair of them killed Isherwood, I can see them doing such a thing, though I’m not certain why they should. If Isherwood owed them, and they had him doing as they pleased, why murder him?”
Brandon swirled the dregs of his coffee. “Perhaps they feared he’d grown a conscience and wanted to confess. Perhaps Isherwood threatened them with this.”
“They could easily deny everything. It was Isherwood who gave the orders.” I pondered. “Or were they fools and kept a written record of all they did?”
“No idea. I can only tell you what I heard, and what I think.”
I warmed with anger. “I wonder if Marguerite knew. Perhaps that is why Isherwood abandoned her. If she went to Wellington and told him what her husband had done, her accusations might be dismissed as the bitterness of a woman who’d been set aside.”
“Wellington is no fool,” Brandon said. “He’d have at least listened.”
“If she was even allowed to speak to him.” I growled. “Damnation. That is why Armitage insisted she was a spy and a liar. They feared shehadknown everything and had relayed it to me. They have been waiting for me to denounce them.”
“And did she tell you?”
I cast my mind back to the warm days in Salamanca, the heady laziness inside the high stone house while I celebrated being alive after fierce battle.
“Nothing at all of this. If anything, Marguerite was happy to be free of Isherwood. If she did know what he’d done, I doubt she’d think I could help. But later, if she threatened to use the knowledge against him …” I let out a breath. “I am happy I convinced her to return to England. That was a dangerous secret to hold.”
“Still is,” Brandon pointed out. “But it was a long time ago, Isherwood is dead now, and nothing can be proved. I only know of it because of overheard conversations and whispers afterward—put two and two together, don’t you know. But no one has evidence of it. It would be Marguerite’s word against Armitage’s, and as you point out, his is an old name, and he’s a trusted diplomat.”
“Unless Isherwood left a confession.” I tapped the table, lost in thought. “Perhaps he threatened to betray Armitage or Desjardins—both of them. They decided to lure him to the Pavilion, and there they cornered him and killed him.” And tried to fit me up for the murder, in case Ididknow something about the Salamanca business, damn them. “But what if Isherwood already passed on this knowledge? To Major Forbes, his most trusted man? Or his son …” I rose in agitation. “Good Lord. I need to warn him.”
“If Isherwood left a letter about it, his son already knows,” Brandon said reasonably, remaining in his seat. “He must guess they are the culprits, but how to prove it?”
“Young Isherwood askedmeto prove it.” I began to pace. “He might not know—Isherwood did not necessarily tell him, but would Armitage realize this? And Marguerite must be warned.”
“Racing around half-cocked only brings you trouble,” Brandon said, too calm for my taste. “As usual.”
