Chapter Nine
As Flynn walkeddown the steps from Lady Brookwood’s house, he noticed a shabbily dressed fellow over the road. He lounged against a garden wall with his hat pulled down to obscure his face. Flynn didn’t like the look of him. He didn’t strike him as a workman and was clearly no Mayfair inhabitant.
When Flynn crossed the road, the man turned and hurried away around the corner. Flynn broke into a run but, on reaching the next street, found no sign of him. He might have taken several paths, and Flynn didn’t have time to engage in a pursuit even if he could pick up his trail. Was the fellow watching Lady Brookwood’s home? If so, for what purpose? His furtive behavior nagged at Flynn as he went in search of a hackney.
As he was driven to Carlton House, Flynn considered possible methods of removing Lady Brookwood from London. Over his shoulder in the dead of night? He recalled how shapely her body felt in his arms. He would welcome a chance to discover more of her charms, but right now he was more concerned with the threat to her life. If only there was somewhere he might persuade her to go. At least until he removed the danger, which she refused to take seriously.
He shelved his thoughts when he found the monarch out of sorts at Carlton House. A plot to murder the Cabinet had been exposed, which was labeled the Cato Street Conspiracy. The king then launched into a diatribe against the queen. Caroline had been angered by the Milan investigation’s attempt to discredit her through her association with her butler, Bartolemeo Pergami. She declared her intention to return to England and challenge her husband.
The king wanted her stopped at all costs.
“When her chief legal adviser, Henry Brougham, failed to meet her in Lyon, she fled back to Pesaro.” The king shook his head. “But it won’t deter the woman. She’s a shrew and tough as shoe leather. I want you to ensure that Castlereagh’s instructions are carried out. Caroline is not to be given any special attention while traveling in France. Find a way to prevent her crossing the channel, use the French police.”
“I doubt that’s possible, Your Majesty.” Alarmed, Flynn imagined what a furor that would cause.
“Caroline will be barred from my coronation.” George pointed to his green bag stuffed with papers. “I’ve collected damaging documents from witnesses in Milan for my ministers to use against her. Those Italians, they are as fond of gossip as an old woman, and her relationship with Pergami provides us with enough fuel to draw Caroline into an imbroglio.”
“I fear rumor will rebound on you, Your Majesty.”
His eyes narrowed. “I am the king. Lord Liverpool is studying the law and talks of an old parliamentary maneuver, a Bill of Pains and Penalties. Ha! Let her defend her Italian at trial. Explain why she bought him an estate in Sicily–made him a baron.”
Patently aware of Queen Caroline’s actions, Flynn tactfully refrained from referring to the king’s own indiscretions, which, amongst other extravagances, made many of the people disapprove of him. “Nevertheless, the queen remains a popular figure in England.”
King George glowered at him as the footman refilled their glasses.
Flynn expected gossip to return like a swarm of bluebottles to settle on His Majesty, and like his ministers, he feared the monarchy would suffer. He sorely wished to wipe his hands of the whole affair. “You plan to delay the coronation?”
“Yes, until next year.” The king rubbed his plump hands together. “It’s going to be a splendid affair, and I won’t have it spoiled by that harpy.”
Flynn tamped down a sigh of relief. “Excellent. I need time to come to grips with this new development.”
“What development?” King George asked idly, poking the green bag.
“You wished me to investigate the possible plot against the crown, Your Majesty.”
King George looked up, his gaze suddenly clear and sharp. “You’ve learned something?”
Flynn told him the precious little he had, making no mention of Lady Brookwood. “This investigation may take me away from London for a time.” He surprised himself. There seemed little likelihood of it, apart from his visit to Canterbury; but he supposed he was testing the waters. To be free to leave town should he need to. In the back of his mind, Lady Brookwood’s plight returned.
King George scowled. “It might be prudent, at some stage, for you to go to France and bring back evidence of my wife’s infidelity.”
Flynn swallowed on a sigh. “If it should prove necessary, Your Majesty. In the meantime, I’ll arrange for the French police to investigate Pergami.”
King George’s restless eyes settled on a painting on the wall, Turner’sThe Rise of the Carthaginian Empire. “Have I informed you of the latest plans for the redevelopment of the Queen’s House?”
Flynn tamped down a sigh and adopted an expression of interest. “It goes well, Your Majesty?”
Two hours later, Flynn rode his horse along Rotten Row. There was a crisp bite to the air but no snow on the horizon, only sludge piled up in the shadows. The park was almost deserted, a shade early for thetonto appear, which suited their purpose perfectly.
Barraclough approached, ungainly atop a small roan gelding. He reined his mount in alongside Flynn’s horse.
Flynn grinned at him as they trotted together down the Row.
The big man grimaced. “Yes, I know. Little to choose from at the stables.”
“What news?”
“It could well be that Goodrich and Wensley are leading us on a wild goose chase,” Barraclough said. “They meet at the Old Gate Inn in Canterbury, noon tomorrow.”
