When Gods Die

He hesitated, then pushed on. “Two years ago, I suggested she take a lover, someone who could father the heir I couldn’t.” He swung his head to look back at Sebastian. “You think it a vile thing, for a man to push his wife into infidelity, to seek to disinherit his own nephew by putting another man’s bastard in his place?”

“I know Bevan Ellsworth,” said Sebastian simply.

“Ah.” Anglessey moved on to a shelf of orchids. “It’s the only time I can remember Guinevere ever being truly angry with me. It was too much to ask of her—too much for any man to ask of his wife. She made me feel as if I’d asked her to prostitute herself, which I suppose in a way is precisely what I had done.

“But then, last winter…’’ His voice trailed away as he gazed out over the lush groupings of exotic ferns and jasmines, gardenias and tender China roses. He tried again. “Last winter, she came to me. She said…”

“She said she would do it?” Sebastian prompted when it became obvious the old man could not go on.

“Yes.” It was little more than a whisper.

Sebastian stood in the center of the conservatory, breathed in the hot, fetid air. From the far corner came the sound of a fountain bubbling into a small pond with flickering goldfish. Beside it, a caged canary filled the morning with a song that should have been cheerful, but instead sounded mournful, despairing.

“The name of her lover. What was it?”

Anglessey emptied his watering can, then simply stood there, staring down at the moist, dark earth before him. “I thought it better never to ask. I didn’t want to know.”

“Could it have been the man she was in love with before you married?”

He was silent for a moment. It was obvious the possibility had occurred to him. “Perhaps. But I honestly don’t know.”

By last winter, Sebastian thought, the Chevalier would have completed his studies at Oxford. Had the two former lovers met again in London and decided to begin a physical relationship? A relationship to which her husband had already consented?

“Do you know where they used to meet?” Sebastian asked.

“No. Of course not.” Anglessey paused. “You think this man—the one Guinevere took as her lover—is the one who killed her?”

“It’s possible. Can you think of any other reason your wife would go to Giltspur Street in Smithfield?”

“Smithfield? Good heavens, no. Why?”

Sebastian held the old man’s gaze. “She took a hackney there the afternoon she was killed.”

There was no sign of dissembling, no indication that Anglessey had known of his wife’s visit to Smithfield but had hoped to keep it concealed. Sebastian tried another tack. “Did your wife have much interest in the affairs of government?”

“Guin?” A faint smile touched the old man’s lips. “Hardly. Guin was passionate about many things, but government wasn’t one of them. As far as she was concerned, one crowned puppet is pretty much the same as the next. It’s the sycophants and thieves with which they surround themselves that you need to watch out for.” His smile deepened as he studied Sebastian’s face. “Does that surprise you?”

Sebastian shook his head, although if truth were told, he was surprised—not so much by the sentiment itself as by who had aired it. It was hardly a typical opinion for a woman who was the gently bred, privileged daughter of an earl and wife to a marquis. More unexpected still was the realization that the Marquis himself found his wife’s opinion amusing, even endearing. Such an expression of heresy would have thrown Hendon into an apoplectic fit.

“What about your nephew, Bevan Ellsworth? What are his politics?”

“I would be seriously surprised if Bevan has ever given a thought to politics in his life. His mind is occupied with far weightier matters, the chief amongst them being women and wagers and the set of his coat. Why?”

Sebastian walked over to where the Marquis stood, the watering can hanging empty at his side. “What can you tell me about this necklace?”

Anglessey’s gaze dropped from Sebastian’s face to the silver-and-bluestone pendant he now held in his hand. “Nothing,” said Anglessey, his age-spotted brow wrinkling as if the sudden change of topic confused him. “Why? Where did it come from?”

“Your wife was wearing it when she died. Do you know where she got it?”

Confusion had given way to mild puzzlement and a blank stare of ignorance that was utterly convincing. “No. I’ve no notion. I’ve never seen it before in my life.”

SEBASTIAN WALKED THE STREETS OF LONDON, from Oxford to Edgeware Road and beyond, to where the neat town houses and paved streets gave way to massive construction sites and, beyond that, the green fields and market gardens of Paddington.