When Gods Die

“Not exactly. But perhaps someone else brought her to the Pavilion, someone who knew what the Prince had done and was determined not to allow the Regent to get away with murder the same way his brother Cumberland did.”

Jarvis faced him, the gravel spraying out from under his heels. “You are supposed to be finding a way to scotch these ridiculous rumors. Not start new ones yourself.”

Sebastian calmly held his ground. “It’s what everyone will be saying when the Prince’s presence in London that day becomes known. And it will become known, have no doubt of that. These sorts of things always do.”

Wordlessly, Jarvis turned and continued up the walk.

After a moment Sebastian remarked almost conversationally, “Did you know the Stuart dagger is back in its rightful place in His Highness’s collection? But, of course, you knew. You’re the one who put it there, aren’t you?”

Jarvis swiped one hand through the air in a dismissive gesture. “Enough of this. I have decided your assistance in this matter is no longer required. You are to have nothing further to do with it.”

Sebastian smiled. “You should have hired the Bow Street Runners after all. Them, you could have dismissed. Not me.”

They were passing through a long, arched passage open at the sides and illuminated by dozens of brilliantly hued lanterns. Two young women strolling arm in arm glanced their way in passing, and Jarvis significantly dropped his voice. “If you understood—”

Sebastian cut him off. “How vulnerable the Prince’s position is at the moment? Ah, but I rather think I do.” A rocket exploded overhead, showering the darkened gardens with a rain of light as the fireworks exhibition began. “Tell me what you know about the Stuart threat to the dynasty.”

“There are no more Stuarts,” said Jarvis blandly. “They died out with Henry four years ago.”

“But there are still those with a better claim to the English throne than King George and his sons. And you’ll never convince me you don’t know their supporters have become active.”

His hands clasped behind his back, Jarvis turned again to walk toward the Colonnade. After a moment, he said, “How did you come to know of this? Has it something to do with Lady Anglessey’s death?”

“Possibly. It would help if I knew who is involved.”

Sebastian didn’t expect an answer. But to his surprise, Jarvis pursed his lips and blew out a long breath. “We don’t know who’s involved. Oh, we’ve managed to get our hands on a few individuals, but they’ve all been at the lowest levels and they’ve known nothing of any real importance. Whoever these people are, they’re very clever, and very well organized.” Jarvis dropped his voice even lower. “There are suggestions that they have managed to attract supporters in the army as well as in the highest reaches of the government, but no one seems to know precisely who.”

It was disquieting information. “I find it difficult to believe anyone could seriously expect a scheme of this type to succeed,” said Sebastian. “It wasn’t that long ago that the people of London reacted to the Catholic Relief Act with the Gordon Riots. They’d never accept a Catholic monarch.”

“Ah. But you see the current claimant, the King of Savoy, has a daughter, Anne, married to a prince of Denmark. She’s a Protestant. If Savoy were to resign his claim to the throne in her favor…”

“Is that likely to happen?”

“There has been some suggestion of it, yes. The Prince of Denmark has a claim of his own to the English throne. It’s weak, of course, but not much weaker than that of William in 1688.”

A second rocket exploded overhead, filling the night sky with a cascade of colored light. Jarvis paused to look up, his head tilting back. “The times are unsettled,” he said as another rocket burst into clusters of fire. “One rip in the fabric of tradition and legitimacy, and who knows where it might end? Killing is always much easier to start than it is to stop.”

Sebastian watched the colored stream of fire pour back to earth. “If the Prince truly is mad, you would do better to admit it now, while the damage might still be contained and a new Regent named. If you leave it too long, when he does go down, he might very well take the entire monarchy with him.”

“The Prince is not mad,” said Jarvis in a low, steady tone. Then he said it again, as if by repeating it he might make it so. “He is not mad, and he did not kill that woman.”

“Guinevere,” said Sebastian. “Her name was Guinevere.”

Jarvis brought his gaze to Sebastian’s face. “Leave it, my lord. I’m warning you—”

Sebastian took a hasty step toward him, only to draw himself up short. “Don’t. Don’t even think about threatening me.”

SEBASTIAN WAS CROSSING THE GROVE with long strides when his gaze fell on another party seated at a table snuggled beneath the elms, a party consisting of Lord Portland, his wife, Claire, and his wife’s mother, the widowed Lady Audley. Sebastian hesitated, then turned his steps toward them.