Paying the Virgin's Price Read online

  Dante indicated with the barest nod of his head that he would find the Gypsy seated at their usual table. Nathan approached slowly, to assess the mood of the man. There was no sign of the headache of two weeks ago. And with a doxy on his knee and a drink in his hand, Stephano looked almost at ease. It seemed he had taken the two weeks as a holiday from his quest, as well. His usual dark mood was gone, and as Nathan watched, he leaned back his head and laughed at something the girl had whispered to him. It sounded nothing like the sour mirth Nathan had heard from him, when gloating over the misfortune of his victims. The girl responded with a kiss, and then tossed her head and laughed as well.

  She was rewarded with jealous glares from the other women in the room, who were looking at the Gypsy as though they would gladly change places with his chosen inamorata, the moment he lost interest in her.

  For a moment, it was as if Nate's old friend had grown to adulthood and sat before him, ready for a game of cards. Then Stephano looked up, and his good mood evaporated, as though it had not existed. The merriment disappeared and a cynically smiling mask covered his handsome features. He muttered something and pushed the girl from his lap, then raised his glass in a sarcastic salute. 'Nathan.'

  Nate dropped into the chair opposite, noting the absence of a surname in the greeting. The Gypsy had not yet decided if he had earned the right to hide behind the name Dale. He said nothing in response and placed the journal on the table between them.

  The Gypsy raised an eyebrow. 'What is this?'

  'Proof enough for you to leave me alone. The entries in this book show Narborough to be no real friend of my father, nor of you. If you wish for justice, get out of my chair and go to bother him.'

  Stephano opened the book at the marked page and began to read. When he came to the missing pages, he looked up. 'There is nothing at all here about the night of the murder.'

  'Is that not strange? Was the event not significant enough to record in detail? Or perhaps George Carlow wrote the whole truth in an impetuous moment and then thought the better of it and tore out the pages.'

  Stephen closed the book and offered it back to him. 'When you bring me the missing pages, I will tell you what I think.'

  'Until recently, I would have been unable to get this much information. If you want the missing parts? Then find them yourself. I have given you more than enough reason to doubt.'

  Beshaley gave him a sceptical look. 'Why would it matter to me what they say?'

  Perhaps it would have mattered to the man who had been sitting here as he had arrived. So Nate appealed to him. 'For a moment, let us ignore the nonsense of your mother's curse. Stephen Hebden, if you care who killed your father, then this journal could make us more allies than antagonists.'

  The man across the table from him did not respond, staring in response to his old name as though Nate had not spoken.

  'All right then. Stephano Beshaley.' Then he continued. 'If my father died for a murder he did not commit, do I not have as great a reason as you to be angry? I lost a father, a title and my reputation, just as you did. And my family as well. You seem to have found a new one, when you returned to your people. But my sisters are lost to me.'

  A shadow flitted across the face of his old friend, and then it was gone.

  'I have no love for the Carlows. I've proved as much for you. Can you not lift the curse from the Wardales?'

  'I tell you again, it is not for me to decide what happens. The curse is a test, Nathan. I have been called to administer it. You will pass or fail, according to your nature. If you are innocent, then nothing I do will truly harm you. There will be a period of hardship, and all will come right in the end. And perhaps it will bring me closer to my goal.'

  Nathan laughed bitterly. 'I knew you once, Stephen Hebden. For that is who you were, though you wish to reject it. And I liked you. You were a kind boy, a good friend, and had things been different, you would have grown to be a good man. And now you are willing to destroy my life on a perhaps.'

  The Gypsy shook his head. 'You give me too much power, Nathan. Only God can truly destroy a man, just as he created him. If I am not doing his work, then I cannot hurt you. It is up to him to decide your fate.'

  'Small comfort. I will only meet my end if God thinks I deserve to. Any number of horrible things have happened to me when we were young. And I did not deserve a one of them. They made me into the man I am, a person I take no pride in being. Now, after life has driven all the goodness from me, you seek me out and hope that God will find me wanting, so that I may be punished further?'

  The Gypsy gave him a wry smile. 'I'll take no joy in it, if that is the case. For once, I liked you as well. But take heart, Nathan. Whatever might occur, it will be over soon enough. For both of us.' He reached to pocket the book.

  Nathan held a hand out for it. 'Here, then. If this will not end things between us, then give that back.'

  The Gypsy shrugged, but returned the book. 'What do you mean to do with it? Confront Narborough?'

  'That would make me no better than you. If you think my fate is in the hands of God, then I will take the thing to the authorities and see if they can make anything of the contents.'

  Beshaley snorted. 'Because English justice has treated you fairly in the past?'

  'Because it is the right thing to do. And what my father would have done, if he were alive.' Nate straightened his back. 'If I truly believe that he was innocent, then I had best start behaving so. If I think there is truth to be revealed, then I do not mean to skulk in the bushes like a common criminal. I will go to Lord Keddinton with it and let him use the information as he sees fit. He knew both our fathers and is well placed in the Home Office. He will have the power to follow through on this, if anyone does.' The idea had been but a stray thought when he'd mentioned it to Diana. But spoken, Nate knew the rightness of it. For suddenly, he felt more like the true Earl of Leybourne than he had since the day his father had died.

  But Stephen was unimpressed. 'Good luck with it, old friend. I wish you success. I truly do. But if your father is innocent, you may find that the world is less interested in truth than you think.'

  'I am Nathan Wardale. I wish to see Lord Keddinton, on a matter of business, please.' It had been so long since he'd used it, his own name sounded strange in his ears.

  Perhaps the unfamiliarity showed in his tone. For the butler at Robert Veryan's country estate raised an eyebrow, as though doubting his word. Nate could offer no calling card to assure the man of his identity. So he stood his ground and gave the kind of cold stare that he might have given had he still been a peer, as though he was not accustomed to being kept waiting on the doorstep.

  At least there was no sneering response to the name Wardale. The man was certainly old enough to remember the scandal, but too disciplined to show distaste for his employer's business. After a chilly pause, the servant stood aside to allow him entrance, taking him to a receiving room not far from the front door. A short time later, a footman came to escort Nate the rest of the way to Keddinton's office.

  As he was presented, Nate resisted the urge to shift nervously on the carpet before the desk like an errant schoolboy called to the headmaster for punishment. Though Keddinton had been expecting him, now that Nate stood before his desk, the man kept him waiting in silence as the footman retreated, and continued to read the papers in front of him. It was a move designed to demonstrate that whatever business Nate might have, it could not be of sufficient importance to hold his full attention for more than a moment.

  Nate smiled to himself and relaxed, as he recognized the gambit for what it was. While some might take it for a masterstroke of manipulation, it was really no better than the bluff of an inexperienced card player. When did a man with a good hand need to work so hard? Lord Keddinton was wary of him. Perhaps even frightened. And knowing that made the waiting much easier.

  But what had Keddinton to fear from him? The man had been a friend of his father's at one time--long ago, before their disgrace. Th
ere had never been any indication that he was less than fair in his dealings before the trial or since. Surely an appeal based on that friendship would be heard.

  Robert Veryan need have no fear of vengeance from him, for he had done nothing to earn it. Let Beshaley harass everyone involved with his Gypsy nonsense, if he wished. If Nate wanted things settled, he had best start behaving as though he were a rational gentleman with nothing to fear. Vindication after all this time could mean a return of the title and his good name in a way so public that it would regain him his family.

  And lose him his love. If he was revealed as Nathan Wardale, Diana would hear of it. Perhaps a public attempt to clear his old name would show her that he had changed and meant her no harm. But at least he would be honest with her. And he suspected that the truth would be easier to accept if she heard it from the new Earl of Leybourne. She would certainly like that better than if it came from Nate Dale. Or worse yet, from the Gypsy.

  So Nate waited patiently in front of the desk, and at last, Keddinton looked up from his papers, showing little interest in the man before him. 'Mr Wardale.'

  'Lord Keddinton. I have news of an old matter.'

  'I assume it concerns the disgrace of your family.' Keddinton pursed his lips, as though the matter was distasteful to him.

  Nathan nodded. 'Fresh information has come to me concerning the death of Christopher Hebden.'

  'Concerning your father's part in the events?' Keddinton leaned forward.

  'My father had no part in the events, other than to place his trust in the wrong people. I think the same as I always have. There was a miscarriage of justice. My father did not commit the crime he was charged with.'

  Keddinton leaned back again. 'And you have waited twenty years to come forward with it?'

  'There have been difficulties that prevented me.' Would the man check his background and find the desertion? It was probably within his power. And from the disapproving look on his face, it was no different than he would expect from a Wardale. 'Recently, something has come to light that might change your view of the situation.'

  He pushed the book forward, onto the desk, so that Keddinton could see the title, in gold upon the spine.

  The man stared at it without interest. 'And what might this mean to me?'

  'Read it. Particularly the pages leading up to and following the day of Christopher Hebden's death.'

  Keddinton opened the book and paged through it, stopping as he got to the marked page, then pausing to read. Then he looked up, his expression unchanged. 'And you think there is significance in this?'

  'I should think it would be obvious. George Carlow's friends suspected him of being a traitor. And he says nothing to deny the claim.'

  'An innocent man would not feel the need.'

  'The missing pages imply guilt.'

  'Or spilled ink. Or damage by mice. Or nothing at all. For all I know, you removed them yourself before bringing me this, in an attempt to shift your father's guilt on to Lord Narborough. Did you ask him to explain them?'

  'Of course not.'

  'He did not give you this book, then?'

  'Why, no. I...'

  'Then how did you come by this?'

  Caught in the sudden barrage of questions, Nate understood how Lord Keddinton had gained a reputation as the most crafty of spymasters, for he was a difficult man to distract. 'That is not important.' And damn him if he hadn't tipped Keddinton to how important it must be by saying those words. But it had not occurred to him, when he had come here, how quickly blame might fall onto Diana.

  As suddenly as the questions started, they stopped. The other man pushed the book aside and sighed, his sternness evaporating into sympathy. 'I understand, Nathan, that you are eager to clear your father in the murder. You lost much by it and must wish to escape the disgrace. You loved him, as a good son should, and do not wish to believe him capable of evil. But I have seen no evidence, in twenty long years, that there was anyone else at work against the crown. Although you do not wish to believe it, the activities of the spy stopped conveniently after the death of your father. You must also understand that I cannot act on guesses and assumptions. I will look into the matter, of course. For if we were wrong, and the traitor escaped?' He shook his head. 'That would be a most serious thing, indeed.'

  He paused, watching Nathan for a bit, as though weighing out choices before speaking further. Then he leaned forward again and said, 'When you came to me, I had hoped...I should not even tell you this, for it is a fact that few know and a matter of state security. But you had no part in this crime. And I would like to believe you would help, if you could, whether your father was involved or not. You would put the good of the country before your own needs, would you not?'

  'Of course, sir.' And again he wondered how much Keddinton might know of his time in the Navy, for would he have so easily trusted a deserter?

  Keddinton paused again, still observing his reactions. Then he nodded, as though what he had seen satisfied him, and said, 'At the time of Kit Hebden's death, we were having a problem with confidential information being leaked regularly to our enemies abroad. The messages we intercepted were being transmitted in a code so difficult that only the most skilled cryptologist could have cracked the thing. Without knowing the key to the cipher, there was little way to even tell how to begin. We put Hebden to work on it, hoping that there would be progress. He had a keen mind and a fascination for such things.'

  'Perhaps he was the spy,' Nathan suggested. 'If the problem stopped after my father's death, it could as easily have been because Hebden was gone as well.'

  'True, I suppose,' Veryan conceded. 'But Hebden assured us all, when last we saw him at dinner the night before he died, that a solution was forthcoming. If he had been guilty, then why would he have bothered? He could have stalled indefinitely and told us the code was unbreakable. We'd have been none the wiser.'

  Nate tried to contain his impatience. 'So there was a code, and Hebden had cracked it. What is that to me?'

  'Possibly the key to it all, Nathan. I knew both men. I doubt that Hebden would have made a false boast that night. He did not speak the whole truth about the code because he felt the traitor was in the room with us. Perhaps he wished to give the man warning, expecting him to end his life with honour or flee the country. We were all friends, you know. I doubt he'd have wanted to see a friend hang.'

  'Then he was softer than the rest of you,' Nate responded. 'You and Carlow had no problem watching my father die.'

  The memory must have been a difficult one. For the implacable Keddinton almost seemed to flinch at it, before regaining composure. 'It was harder than you know, Nathan. But Kit Hebden was like a brother to us as well. What else could we do?'

  'You could have believed my father, when he said he was innocent. And while I might believe that it pained you to watch him die, I do not see the brotherly feeling recorded in George Carlow's journal.'

  Keddinton made a helpless gesture. 'These are the private rantings of a much younger man. And Carlow had a bit of a hot head, back in the day. He was a man given over to impulse.'

  'All the more likely that he was the killer.'

  Keddinton shook his head. 'Every man with a hot temper does not turn killer. I see nothing in the journal to persuade me otherwise.'

  'Then what would convince you?'

  'If you should turn up the code key, it would tell us much. I searched for it that night, expecting it to be on Hebden's person. But there was nothing in his pockets that might be a key. If your father stole it--' Keddinton held up a hand to forestall any argument from Nathan '--he would not have had time to destroy it. Carlow was there within moments of the blow being struck. And I searched the grate. The fire was still unlit and with no fresh ashes at all.' He looked seriously at Nathan. 'Surely your father had secret places, in his study or somewhere else in the house. If he had concealed it upon his person, he might have had time to hide it, before they took him to Newgate. Or maybe he gave something to yo
ur mother. Perhaps he slipped it between the pages of a book. I doubt it would be more than a single sheet of paper. Perhaps only a half sheet. Or even less, if the writing was small. Do you remember anything in his effects that might have seemed odd? An unintelligible thing, rows of numbers, or a language you did not understand?'

  'It has been so long.' And very little existed from that time before it had all gone bad. 'I remember nothing that was as you described. The contents of the house were sold at auction, just after the hanging. How can you expect me...'

  And then he remembered the torn pages of the journal. 'The only paper I bring to you is from Narborough's library. Maybe if we could find the missing pages, there would be some answer in them. Perhaps Carlow had written it there.'

  Veryan shook his head again. 'I will make inquiries as to why the book is damaged, but I am sure they will come to naught.'

  'But if they do not?'

  Keddinton stood to show that the interview was near its end, and came around the desk to put a fatherly hand upon Nate's shoulder. 'I am as interested in the truth as you are, but for a better reason. The safety of England is at stake. Leave your direction with my servant. I will contact you, if anything is found, just as you must contact me if you discover what your father did with the cipher key. But until that time, you must trust me to proceed in the way I see fit. And that will be with caution, and sensitivity. If there is any fresh truth to be gained, after all this time, it will not involve purloining journals, or making wild accusations. Do you understand?'

  In truth, Nate did not. What good did it do to employ spies, if they stuck at spying on the people they suspected? But he did not wish to lose the trust of so powerful a man. So he said, 'Of course.'