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“Put it all away, Towne.” Crane’s voice startled him out of his thoughts.
“Sir?”
“All away,” Crane repeated quietly. “I shan’t wish to do any more today.”
Surprised, Harry put away the journals and instruments. Crane rarely stopped his botanical work before late afternoon. Perhaps Lord Liverpool’s brush with death was more unsettling than expected.
“May I bring you anything, my lord?” Harry asked.
Crane didn’t move. “No. Nothing.”
Harry hesitated. “Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?”
“No, nothing,” Crane said again. “It all seems rather pointless now.” He looked up. “You might go protect the kitchen staff from my nephew. He seems determined to expose another poisoner in our midst, and I should hate to lose my chef. I assume if he had wished to poison me, it would have been done long ago.”
“Mr. Crane means well, sir.”
“He may mean well, but Liverpool might as well have sent a notice to the Times. Tobias cannot keep a secret. How gleefully he rushed up here to tell me!” Crane sighed. “He means to do well for himself. Perhaps he will get the idea to poison me, since my death would be a great aid to him in that ambition.”
“I’m sure Mr. Crane meant nothing like that, sir,” Harry murmured diplomatically. “No doubt he’s merely carried away in his relief that the Prime Minister and his companions were fortunately unharmed.”
“Fortunate?” Crane looked up from under his brows. “Yes, fortunate for the Prime Minister, indeed.”
That was spiteful, even for Crane, but for some reason Harry couldn’t leave it alone. Just a few months past, a band of radicals had plotted to assassinate the entire Cabinet over dinner and overthrow the government. They had planned to behead the ministers and set Sidmouth’s and Castlereagh’s heads on pikes. Stafford had a hand in foiling that plan. Harry couldn’t imagine it hadn’t been of significant interest to Lord Crane, as it had rippled through the town like a clap of thunder, far off and muted but threatening nonetheless.
“It would have thrown the country into a crisis,” he said to Crane now. “Any attack on the government in these times must cause alarm.”
“There would not have been a crisis England could not withstand,” Crane retorted, some of his color returning.
Harry straightened the journals on the shelf; something about Crane’s reply was not right. He knew the viscount did not agree with Lord Liverpool, but it was a different level of dislike entirely to say England would be just as well without him.
“But then, it does not matter,” said Crane, subsiding again. “Liverpool is alive and well—completely unharmed, Tobias assures me. England can sleep easy tonight.”
Harry wondered again, but Crane said no more. His chores complete, he had no choice but to leave.
Tobias had been to the kitchen, but the butler was able to soothe the chef’s ruffled feelings. Harry thanked him on behalf of Lord Crane, who did not suspect his staff of poisoning, indeed not. Mr. Crane had been unduly alarmed by rumors of poisonings, which would doubtless prove false. Lord Crane was very satisfied no one in his household would be so disloyal, and no one was so accused. Then, unneeded by Crane and having done his part to restore calm to the household, Harry put on his hat and left.
* * *
White-faced and somber, Papa came in while Mariah was having tea with her mother. “There has been an assassination attempt on Lord Liverpool.”
Mama put down her cup. “Charles, no!”
He nodded, sinking into the chair beside her. “A cook in Lord Bethwell’s house attempted to add a large dose of toxic herbs to the soup. By a singular stroke of fortune, a maid observed him doing it, recognized it was not parsley as it should have been, and raised the alarm in time to have the soup recalled. If not for her, Bethwell and all his guests, including Liverpool, might have been poisoned and killed.”
“Good heavens.” Mama reached out her hand and Papa grasped it. “The Bethwells shall be outcasts. No one will dine with them again, even if they sack their entire staff. Who is responsible? Surely no mere servant would have done such a thing on his own.”
Papa glanced at her with admiration in his eyes. “You have put your finger on it as usual, Cassandra. It’s not entirely certain yet, but it appears the man may have been related to one of the murderers who attempted to assassinate the Cabinet this spring. Under interrogation, he claimed he was fulfilling the mission of the Cato Street conspirators and avenging their deaths at the hands of Liverpool’s government.”
Mariah sat very still in her chair. Mostly she didn’t want to call attention to herself and risk being sent away while her parents discussed this shocking event, but partly she was thinking of a man who spied and watched after people and lurked in the shadows with a knife under his coat. Could this be the reason for all of Harry’s secrets? Had he been involved? She had heard the Cato Street plot was discovered by a spy... like Harry? Might he have been involved? Her heart seized at the thought.
“What a relief it all came to naught.” Seeming to recall her presence, Mama threw a significant look in Mariah’s direction. “You may go, dearest.”
Her father glanced at her. “No, let her know, Cassandra. Mariah will be discreet, and there is no reason she shouldn’t hear. It will be whispered about everywhere, I have no doubt.”
“Thank you, Papa,” she murmured, thankful as ever for an indulgent father. “What will happen now?”
He sighed, taking the glass of port a servant had brought at her mother’s signal. “I don’t know. The Cabinet has been under enormous strain lately, thanks to this business with the Queen, and this won’t make things easier. It will be common knowledge in London by the end of the week, I daresay, and only embolden those who mutter against the government. Liverpool already has his hands full, and now he must walk about in fear of his very life, even in the homes of trusted friends. I would not have his place for all the world at this moment.”
