Chapter 29
“Act well your part; there all the honour lies.”
― Alexander Pope, An Essay on Man
Sidmouth did not get his wish to avoid involving more people. But he was correct that they needed to be careful about who they recruited to the cause.
The Propagandist, unsurprisingly, accepted his role immediately.
“All I must do is pay close attention to the men at the table? What a terrible inconvenience,” he said with amusement, the irony in his voice heavy.
“What other task might earn me the gratitude of a Tsar and the Prince Regent both, and a debt that no one would dare put in writing?”
Thinking of debts had reminded Perry of Croft and the fact that General Rowland Hill owed him a rather large favour for employing his former batman.
‘Daddy Hill’ was tickled to be part of such a secret endeavour and had promised a veritable platoon of trustworthy former military men to help augment the guards on duty.
Some would be positioned in a loose ring around the GuildHall, and would be given a description of Moxley, in the hopes of catching him before he ever entered the building.
As soon as the assassin was in hand, Hodges and Red Hand would be there to do whatever was necessary to get information from Moxley about the identity of his target.
The rest of Hill’s men would don the uniforms of the footmen. Those would remain near the head table to assist with capturing the traitor, in case the Propagandist was not enough.
Everyone agreed this seemed a wise precaution.
Perry knew several of the men circulating in the room, allowing him to communicate discreetly. It was imperative that he remain well out of his mother’s sight, given she expected him to be at the estate mourning Charity’s illness.
During the first part of the banquet, his mother would be up in the balcony to the left of the head table, together with the Grand Duchess, Countess Orlova, and the other Russian women.
Peregrine would remain behind the curtains, below them on the same side, where he could watch without risk of being seen from above.
The Grand Duchess remained determined to keep a close eye on Marian while they were together.
It fell to Perry to caution her. His mother might attempt to poison or enact some other form of sabotage against her.
Particularly since she was the most likely to question the circumstances of the Tsar’s death.
As for the others… the royal women would retire to separate residences.
The Princess would be under guard at Carlton House, kept company by Lark.
The Tsar, as a show of faith in the British guards, sent Prince Nicholas to Carlton House as well, trusting his and the Grand Duchess’s safety to the Cossacks.
The Queen would be secured at Buckingham House with her own private guards. The Marchioness of Normanby elected to stay with the Queen. But that came about, mostly, because Charity had refused to be there with her.
It was the closest thing to a real fight they’d had in weeks. Perry had wanted her nowhere near the Guildhall, but Charity, in all her infuriating resolve, seemed hell-bent on proving she was strong enough to go with him and sit in the gallery, somewhere his mother would not spot her.
Ever the peacemaker, Thorne volunteered to keep his eyes on her. He was less conspicuous than Perry, and could move more freely if necessary.
And that was the extent of the plans that could be made at such a remove. Like the gears of a giant machine, every wheel had spun purposefully towards one common goal. Dealing with any unexpected actions? That would be an exercise of trust in each other.
Now, it was time to see if their planning would be enough. Concealed in the deep shadow of the drapery, sweat trickled along Perry’s spine.
Already, the Guildhall was unbearably hot and noisy, even standing down here on the floor.
Above, in the balconies, the heat must be stifling.
The women there had been ushered in and seated well ahead of the official procession into the hall.
Marian had been among them, Thorne told him, chatting to the Grand Duchess and Countess Orlova with an insouciance difficult to believe.
The final guests were taking their seats now, and with the room so full and bustling, Perry felt safe to leave the narrow corridor made for the servants between the hanging drapery and the stone walls.
His building rage was adding to his temperature.
The first thing he did was peer upwards in search of Charity, where he knew she would be. But she was well hidden. Ironically, he did spot Lady Cresswell—Charity’s mother—seated with lower-ranked ladies, and mostly ignored.
And then he surveyed the room.
At the large head table, Prinny and the Tsar sat in the centre. Arrayed around them were all the expected faces. The Prussian monarch. Metternich. The lesser monarchs. And then other important faces as well, like Sidmouth and Castlereagh, the Propagandist, and other highest-ranking men.
“Everyone is here,” murmured Thorne, joining Peregrine in his spot near the wall. “Nothing so far seems out of place.”
Peregrine’s gut disagreed, but he could not immediately put his finger upon a reason. Nervous, he swept the room with his eyes again. “You have seen Charity?” he asked the man quietly.
“I looked for her right before I came back here,” he assured Perry. “She is on the upper level of the balcony, sitting behind a woman with ostrich plumes in her hair. She is difficult to see even knowing exactly where to find her.”
Perry resisted the urge to go looking, trusting Sir Nathaniel to take no risks with Charity’s life. “You say nothing is out of place, Sir Nathaniel,” he murmured, “but—”
“My instincts say otherwise,” the knight murmured. “I have this sense something isn’t quite right. Or that we have missed something important.”
That was all the confirmation that Peregrine needed to question what they knew. Again.
A guard—one of Hill’s—stepped into his alcove. “News, Lord Fitzroy. We caught Moxley outside, and your man Hodges put him to questioning. We were wrong about the target. Moxley was after the sister. He was moving toward a side entrance, where he intended to climb up to the balcony.”
Brows drawing together, Peregrine thanked the guard and sent him on his way.
“So Moxley was sent for the Grand Duchess.” Thorne shifted restlessly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Not the Tsar. You were right to warn her that your mother might strike.”
“Catherine Pavlovna is no fool. She has a lady-in-waiting and her personal guard with her.” Hopefully, that would be enough.
“I suppose Moxley attacking the Grand Duchess would serve just as well as a distraction.” But Thorne still looked uncomfortable. “I dislike how smug your mother was when I saw her earlier.”
Perry agreed. Something still felt… amiss.
You are so certain of yourself, Mother, he thought at her angrily. So calm as you wait for plans to unfurl. Never mind that your ambitions have such a cost. You are an abomination. I will see you fall for your crimes tonight, and I will pay the price to end your villainy, if that is required.
If he were mistaken about her plans, he would find a way to counter them, nonetheless. They would not fail. He refused to.
Enjoy your evening, you vile harpy, he shot at his mother. Your reckoning is at hand.
“Perhaps we are thinking too narrowly,” Thorne murmured in his low voice after a long moment.
“Clearly, your mother does not shirk away from the idea of serving her revenge for every slight, no matter how small. The moment we kidnapped Lark, she threatened all of us, right down to Antoine and the boy. Would she employ some other attack on the building to strike a wider range of enemies?”
Perry turned to the knight, finding him grim and pale.
“Would she set the building on fire?” Thorne asked him with as quiet a voice as he could manage.
“Surely not with herself in it, Sir Nathaniel,” Peregrine said in negation. But Thorne’s nervousness was catching. “But if she leaves…”
Thorne shrugged his shoulders, trying to relieve the tension building in them. “If your wife wasn’t bloodthirsty before, she is certainly developing a taste for it. Charity is watching Marian as if her very life depends on it. She would flag our attention if it was needed.”
“I don’t doubt she’d throw a slipper at one of our heads from the balcony if she thought the situation required it,” Perry said dryly, thinking about Charity’s litany of threats when he suggested leaving her with the Queen.
But Peregrine turned again, forcing his mind to work as he considered the knight’s words. He tallied a list in his head of everyone dangerous to his mother, who had either earned a place on his mother’s black books, or who needed to be eliminated.
She had threatened their cohort, yes. But she had already worked schemes to keep them from being here—at least, for everyone except for Ravenscroft. Charity was supposed to be dying, and Perry prostrated with grief.
The Queen had surely earned a spot, but she wasn’t here.
The Grand Duchess, targeted by Moxley, was above.
The Tsar, of course, was known. But… Prinny and Sidmouth would also be likely targets for his mother’s wrath, if for no other reason than because they had helped keep Peregrine alive.
Castlereagh too, if one considered the ambition of a hungry empire.
And then, of course, there was the possibility of her co-conspirator. A man who would surely need to die once he had outlived his usefulness.
Peregrine’s pulse quickened as he looked at the head table.
“Thorne,” he breathed, his lungs growing too tight. “Besides us, nearly every person my mother wants dead is sitting at that table tonight. All of them. Except for the Queen and the Grand Duchess.”
“God’s blood,” Sir Nathaniel swore softly. “All she would need is something to fall on their heads, or some sort of infernal machine, like they tried to use on Napoleon.”