Page 85

But Livie was watching Cassio, and she saw his body still. In her imagination, he suddenly looked less like a put-upon subordinate and more like a predator.

Lord Devin left the room. When he pushed the door open again, Bernadette entered, her arm firmly held by Joshua. An unquenchable longing surged in Livie’s blood at a mere glimpse of his face.

She forced herself to look at her former maid instead. Bernadette’s head was high—and her ringlets in perfect order—but her eyes were darting from face to face. Her bosom was rising and falling rapidly; she was clearly close to panic.

“I recognize Major FitzRoy-Paget,” Lord Paget said dryly, his eyes resting on his son’s face. “Introduce your new witness.”

“Bernadette Fournier was employed in the Wharton household for a number of years,” Joshua stated. “As everyone surely knows, the Crown’s investigation of the incident on French soil took two years. She left her post only after Captain Sir Tyron’s arrest was made public.”

“I fail to see the significance of such household trivia,” Lord Paget said.

“Miss Tyron can confirm that during Miss Fournier’s tenure as a personal maid, she had ready access to all letters sent by Captain Sir Tyron, including the coded letters.”

“It is our contention that Miss Fournier was responsible for recovering those letters, deciphering the code, and passing on messages to her co-conspirators, affixing those letters with Captain Sir Tyron’s stolen seal.”

“What is the evidence for your accusation?” Lord Paget inquired.

“This seal was found in her trunk,” Joshua said, pulling a seal from his pocket.

Bernadette gasped, the air rattling in her throat.

Lord Devin stepped forward. “You shall hang for this conspiracy,” he informed Bernadette, “unless you tell us who is the mastermind of this plot.”

“Captain Sir Tyron,” she gasped.

“Mr. Cassio is about to be released,” Lord Devin said, his voice dry. “Like you, he is in possession of a seal and has thrown blame on Captain Sir Tyron. Unlike you, he has successfully argued that he had no knowledge of the seal’s existence. You cannot argue the same. Your innocence is not in question.”

Bernadette’s gaze flew to Cassio’s face; Lord Devin allowed himself a smile. “May I ask how you know which man I am referring to, Miss Fournier? I was careful not to look at Mr. Cassio when I mentioned his name.”

“I must have seen him while I served in the Wharton household,” Bernadette said.

“Cassio has never entered my house,” Lady Wharton said, rising and then seating herself immediately.

Lord Devin nodded at her. “I wish to make certain that you understand the outlines of the plot as we have uncovered it, Miss Fournier,” he said. “The captain or another man sent coded letters to the Wharton household, where you were serving as maid. You marshaled these letters and arranged for a number of Frenchmen to be waiting on shore one particular evening, when a boat was sent to shore from the Royal Oak. The prosecutor for the Crown suggests that the men were meant to infiltrate the boat, return to the ship, and then make their way to London in order to assassinate His Majesty.”

Bernadette made a small noise, like a cough.

“Perhaps you find this plot as unlikely as I do,” Lord Devin said peaceably. “Miss Fournier, it is my contention that this plot had nothing to do with the king, and was never an assassination attempt. Do you agree with my surmise?”

Bernadette gulped again.

“Because if you do,” he said, “the charges against you would cease to be high treason, and you would face imprisonment rather than execution. I’ll remind you again, Miss Fournier, that the seal was found in your possession.”

“They meant to take the ship,” she blurted out.

Livie gaped. Bernadette’s French accent had vanished, replaced by a Liverpool twang.

Mr. Cassio made a sharp movement.

“What did the conspirators plan to do with the Royal Oak?” Lord Devin asked. He held every person in the chamber in the palm of his hand; his polished, urbane tones were at once intimate, as if he were speaking only to Bernadette, and yet loud enough to be heard by all.

“Pirates!” Bernadette cried. “They were to be pirates. With the Frenchmen and others on the ship already.”

“Mutiny?” Lord Devin asked.

Bernadette nodded, though her chin was trembling so hard that her assent was difficult to confirm. “He … the captain isn’t a decent man. They meant to take the ship from him. ‘Twas nothing to do with His Majesty,” she said in a burst. “He is a good king, and sick in the bargain!”

“I see you are a patriot,” Lord Devin said soothingly. “Is that why you stayed on in employment at the Wharton household after the plan failed?”