The Great Game (Royal Sorceress) (17 page)

“Ending his career as a secret diplomat,” Gwen said.

David nodded, shortly. “He was planning to get married,” he said. “After that, he was going to remain in London, probably taking up a more visible position with the Foreign Office. He didn’t have the seniority to become Ambassador to Turkey, but we might have sent him there as an assistant, someone who does the real work while the Ambassador attracts all the attention.”

Gwen heard the bitterness in his tone and concealed her amusement. David had been angling for a post in Paris, perhaps as the Ambassador’s special assistant. But Lord Holloway had rejected him in favour of his best friend’s young nephew.
She
could have arranged a position for him at Cavendish Hall, if she’d thought that he would accept it. But he would have hated working under his sister. It was a pity – she could trust David to handle the paperwork – but understandable. Besides, nepotism would have been used against her by her political enemies... even though everyone knew that everyone did it.

“He was intending to marry Lady Elizabeth Bracknell,” Gwen said. “Did you know that?”

David gave her a vaguely superior smile. “I was one of the witnesses when the marriage contract was signed,” he said, before sobering. “The poor girl really liked him, you know. She’s going to be broken-hearted.”

Gwen understood. “Was there anything... different about the marriage contract? Anything that might have come back to haunt them?”

“Dear God, Sis,” David said. “You
can’t
suspect Lord Bracknell. He’s a high court judge!”

“I think I have to explore all of the possibilities,” Gwen said, tartly. In her experience, judges tended to think twice about counter-signing any warrants signed by the Royal Sorceress. She had never met Lord Bracknell, but if he was anything like his fellows he was a violent, bigoted, narrow-minded old fool. “What about the contract?”

“There was nothing particularly special about it, apart from the clause that insisted that Lady Elizabeth had to complete her schooling before the banns were formally read,” David told her. “She was given a small dowry, which would be returned to her family in the event of the contract being broken, unless the affair damaged her reputation – and his. The money was held in trust at Great London Bank – there was a promise of a much larger dowry when the engagement was announced. If Lady Elizabeth did something to compromise herself, the dowry would be left with Sir Travis; however, if the parents broke the contract, they would be required to pay compensation in addition to surrendering the dowry. All fairly standard, really.”

Gwen considered it for a long moment. “Nothing about land, property or bank accounts?”

“There would have been a second contract drawn up closer to the wedding,” David reminded her. “The contract did state that land and suchlike would be settled on her, in the event of her being widowed, but there was no fixed agreement. As Sir Travis died
without
breaking the contract, I think the dowry would stay with her. There was certainly no provision for him dying before the marriage was... ah, sealed into law.”

He frowned, thoughtfully. “I don’t know who Sir Travis named as his principle heir,” he added. “If he didn’t name someone directly, there could be a lawsuit by what remains of his family to reclaim the dowry.” He snorted. “But the dowry was really only four hundred pounds. They’d have to spend that much just to reclaim it.”

“Poor Elizabeth,” Gwen said. She should consider herself lucky. “Were there any possible motives for the Bracknell Family to want to kill Sir Travis?”

“None,” David assured her. “If they discovered him... doing something that would invalidate the contract, they could have broken the engagement and kept the dowry. And, seeing that the contract was secret, they wouldn’t have been embarrassed in public either.”

“Unless Sir Travis made it public,” Gwen said, quietly.

“Anything that would serve as grounds for breaking the contract wouldn’t be something he’d want to make public,” David said, slowly. “Lady Elizabeth would be embarrassed, but it wouldn’t be as bad as it could be, later.”

“True,” Gwen agreed. She cursed mentally as an obvious question suggested itself to her. “Did Lady Elizabeth have other suitors? Maybe someone who decided to get his rival out of the way?”

“Not as far as I know,” David said. “But you would have to check with her. I was just the witness.”

Gwen shook her head, tiredly. Even if Lady Elizabeth had had another suitor, he would have had to somehow slip through Sir Travis’s magic and take him by surprise. Still, it would have to be investigated.

“I’ll need to see Sir Travis’s will,” she said. “Do you know where he kept it?”

“It should be in the Foreign Office,” David said. “I’ll have a copy sent to you – once he’s certified dead, his supervisor will have to see to locating the executor and giving him the will.”

“Thank you,” Gwen said. She looked up and held his eyes. “I have to ask – did you kill Sir Travis?”

David scowled at her, but shook his head. “No,” he said. “And I don’t know who did.”

Gwen stood up. “Thank you for your time,” she said, and meant it. “If you want to go home...”

“I have to go back to the office,” David said. “If Sir Travis is dead, someone has to start working on contingency plans.”

Gwen rolled her eyes, then walked out of the door, heading down the heavily-carpeted staircase to the bottom floor. The receptionist nodded at her, holding up a single white envelope. Puzzled, Gwen took it and pulled it open. Inside was a single card, with SIR CHARLES written in plain black text. Below, there was an address in Pall Mall. Turning the card over, she saw a handwritten note.

Lady Gwen
, it read.
Would you care to join me for a drive
?

Gwen stepped through the door and out onto the street. A single carriage was waiting just past the door, with Sir Charles standing beside it. Gwen felt flattered and confused – and alarmed – at the same time. Royal Sorceress or not, single men were not supposed to pick up single women in their carriages. But then... hadn’t she ridden with Lord Mycroft in
his
carriage?

“Please, Milady,” Sir Charles said, with another brilliant smile. “Would you care to join me?”

Gwen hesitated, then allowed him to help her up into the carriage.

Chapter Fourteen

I
must apologise for meeting you like this,” Sir Charles said, as the carriage rattled into life. “But Travis always did things in the most direct manner possible and I assume that you, a fellow magician, would do the same.”

Gwen couldn’t help feeling flattered. Most men – even magicians – treated her, at best, like a little sister. Talking with them forced her to wrap her head around an entire series of allusions and half-truths intended to keep unfortunate realities from delicate feminine ears. The idea of someone being
direct
with her was remarkable. Even Lord Mycroft was never direct.

“Sir Travis was my dearest friend,” Sir Charles added. “I will do whatever it takes to bring his killer to justice.”

“I certainly intend to find the murderer,” Gwen said. It was harder to concentrate than it should have been. Had he come to find her because he wanted to
court
her? And, coming to think of it,
how
had he known where to find her? “Do you know if Lady Elizabeth had any other suitors?”

Sir Charles considered it. “I do not believe that the young lady had many opportunities to meet young men,” he said, after a moment’s thought. “Her father was quite controlling, I fear. Indeed, her coming out was long delayed.”

Gwen frowned. Now that she’d had a chance to think about it, an unsuccessful suitor for Lady Elizabeth’s hand would make a plausible suspect – although it wouldn’t explain how the murderer had managed to get so close to a Sensitive with murderous intentions. Had he come in peace and turned murderous so quickly that Sir Travis had no time to react? It didn’t seem possible. There should still have been some reaction on the man’s face as he died.

And it was quite possible that there
would
be suitors. Even if Lady Elizabeth was an educated woman – and Gwen knew through bitter experience that men didn’t always want educated or powerful women – she was still the daughter of a judge. A man like that could open doors in London, boosting his son-in-law’s career. Lady Elizabeth might be the ugliest and least charming woman in the world and she would
still
have suitors. And if no one knew that she was engaged, the suitors would keep coming. Maybe her parents had found a better match for her and then had Sir Travis murdered, just to avoid having to break the contract.

But if that came out, it would destroy them...

Too complex
, she thought, remembering one of Lord Mycroft’s lectures. The more complex any given plan or concept was, the more likely it was to fail; he’d told her, several times, that the simplest solution was often the right one. And she couldn’t see the Bracknell Family risking their existence just to avoid the shame of breaking a marriage contract. Their position in society would be dented, but they would survive.

“I wouldn’t put anything past a high-ranking family,” Sir Charles said. There was an undertone of bitterness in his voice that surprised her. “But the young lady was a decent person and her father... wasn’t too bad. Her mother insisted on chaperoning, of course, but Travis never objected to it.”

He couldn’t
, Gwen thought. Being alone with a young man, even for a few moments, could be enough to wreck a young lady’s reputation. Sir Travis would have been wise to be relieved that Lady Bracknell was there, even if he did find her presence a little constraining. A smart husband wouldn’t want his wife to be the talk of the town, even if he
knew
that she was innocent.

She smiled up at Sir Charles. “Tell me about him,” she said. “What adventures did you and he have in India?”

“I shall have to order the coachman to keep circling the block,” Sir Charles said. He rubbed his hands together with delight. “This could take hours...”

His smile grew wider. “There was the time when we were attached to a regiment that was on garrison duty in the Punjab,” he said. “The Colonel in command spent most of his time trying to improve his mind by playing polo... he actually managed to get some of the natives interested in the game. Then he tried to play it on elephants, which was great fun but rather impractical. So when a tiger started menacing the local villagers, he sent us after it. I would have thought that the Colonel would have wanted the honour for himself, but... he was too lazy to hunt.”

Gwen snorted in amusement.

“So we went to the village and started trailing the tiger,” Sir Charles continued. “Not a hard task for a Sensitive, you see; we went into the jungle, completely without thinking. Travis keeps his eyes on the ground, right up until the moment the tiger pokes his head out of the bushes and growls at us. And poor Travis falls over with shock!

“The tiger seemed rather surprised by
that
result, giving me time to shoot him between the eyes,” he added, “then drag Travis out of the way. Luckily, I killed the tiger – or he would have mauled both of us.”

He hesitated. “No one else knows how close he came to fainting there,” he said. “Don’t tell anyone, all right?”

Gwen nodded. A Sensitive could be stunned by a sudden loud noise... although she was surprised that the tiger had managed to get so close without Sir Travis realising that it was there. But then, a jungle would have thousands of different impressions for a Sensitive to read – and if Sir Travis wasn’t used to hunting tigers, he might not have known what he was sensing until it was too late.

“After that, we started using Judas Goats instead,” Sir Charles added. “We tied a goat to a stake at the edge of the jungle, then took turns hiding in the tree with a hunting rifle. Once the tiger showed himself, whoever was on duty shot him – which turned very dangerous when one tiger was wounded rather than killed. I had to trail the blighter through the jungle to finish him off.”

Gwen knew very little about hunting, but that sounded odd. “Couldn’t you have left him to die?”

“A wounded beast makes a more dangerous enemy,” Sir Charles said. “If the tiger had been maddened by the wound, he might have become much more savage to the natives... and it was our job to protect them. No, we had to kill him before he could escape.”

He smiled again, then started to tell a different story. “A month or two later, we went on a mission to Bukhara, a state where both us and the Russians were competing for influence,” he said. “It was a remarkable city – do you know it dates all the way back to the time of Alexander the Great? But the current Emir was nothing like as capable as his predecessors and the Russians had managed to secure more influence than we’d realised in his court. They caught us and threw us into jail.”

Gwen had read part of the story in dispatches, but she had no idea how much of the public version was actually true.

“I told you that Sir Travis was
good
at talking to the natives,” Sir Charles continued. “We were both tortured, of course, and we told them nothing, but Sir Travis realised that the Emir’s younger son had doubts about his country’s attachment to Russia. He prevailed upon the young man to help us escape, then plotted a coup that allowed him to replace the Emir and purge his elder brothers. We were going to kill the Russian advisors, but apparently they had protested when the Emir arrested us. They thought that our deaths might bring the army to Bukhara.”

“
That
wasn’t the version you sent back home,” Gwen pointed out. The version of the story she’d read in the newspapers had stated that they’d made a daring escape, leaving Bukhara in the dead of night disguised as local traders. There certainly hadn’t been anything about helping a prince overthrow his father. “Why didn’t you tell the truth?”

Sir Charles shrugged. “You think the British Public wants to know the full truth of the Great Game? Our fear is the Russians seizing a land bridge to India... and they are trying to do just that, advancing their borders southwards kingdom by kingdom. We have to do whatever it takes to stop them, even if it means sponsoring coups and dealing with dishonourable men – or tribesmen who would stick a knife in our back as soon as it was turned. But the British Public doesn’t want to hear about that. They want to hear about heroics...”