The final hand

'Considering everything, a most successful evening.' Lord Hartworth allowed himself a slight smile as he leaned back against the luxuriously padded interior of the coach that carried the party away from St James's. 'I think our dear friend Guy Morellon understands that he must move soon, or not at all.'

'He did not look at all pleased after you had spoken to him,' remarked the countess, 'and I quite feared that some plot was being hatched when Lady Thurleigh walked off with Elinor. My dear, whatever did she wish to say to you?'

'Nothing to the point,' returned Elinor, puzzled. 'She asked me a little of my childhood, and if I had been happy, but all the time she seemed very nervous, and kept glancing towards her husband, as if she expected him to come over and drag her away. I confess I was a little surprised that he did not do so, after he had finished speaking with you, my lord, but instead he disappeared into the crowd, looking murderous.'

'Yes, I observed that,' remarked the earl. 'He immediately sought out Lord Thomas... I wonder?' he paused, then turned his attention back to Elinor. 'And Lady Thurleigh said nothing suspicious? She did not try to arrange a meeting, or ask you to call upon her?'

'No, for I was very much on my guard, as you can imagine, but she did not seem to wish me harm. Quite the reverse, in fact. She was quite concerned that I should be properly attended at all times. I found it very strange, for Lady Thurleigh has been described to me as a very different creature.'

'Perhaps the marquis put her up to it. I can imagine that he would be relieved to see his wife spending so much time talking with another woman it is more usual for her to be arranging an assignation with a gentleman,' observed the countess drily.

'You do not care much for the lady, my sweet?' murmured the earl.

'Emphatically I do not!' came his wife's swift retort. 'The woman has the soul of a strumpet. I should not wish a son of mine to have such a wife, although in Guy Morellon's case it is no better than he deserves.'

She broke off as the carriage drew to a halt outside the earl's town house and the ladies had scarcely reached the hall and shaken out their full skirts before they were informed that Lord Davenham awaited them in the morning room. Without waiting to take off her wrap Lady Hartworth led the way, greeting her son with a motherly kiss and demanding to know why he had not joined them at the reception.

'There was no time, Mama. I arrived here only minutes before you. And you are aware, dear ma'am, those receptions are not my style. How was it? Crowded as usual?'

'It was a sad crush.' My lady sighed. 'Too many people for comfort. I wonder why we make so much effort to dress for these Court functions? It is far too crowded to display a gown to advantage.'

'Well, there is ample space here, Mama, and I will say you look splendid both of you,' he added, smiling at Elinor.

'What did you learn tonight, Jonathan?' asked the earl, following the ladies into the room and closing the door.

'My man discovered that Thurleigh's people are in constant readiness to leave Town at a moment's notice. As you know, that is nothing out of the ordinary for the marquis, but this time his good lady must be ready to leave with him, and that has set the household by the ears.'

'I can well imagine it,' smiled the earl. 'We must watch him carefully. I don't want him to slip through our fingers. By the bye, what do you know of Lord Evelyn Thomas?'

The viscount shrugged.

'Very little, save that he is now a Lord of the Bedchamber and Thurleigh has struck up an acquaintance with him. They have a common taste in gambling hells.'

'A strange alliance,' mused the earl, 'especially as Thomas was Cumberland's protege. I think we should look more carefully at that young man.'

'But what of Thurleigh?' cried the countess impatiently, 'Surely you should lay your suspicions before the King's ministers, my lord. You alone cannot expect to thwart his wicked plans!'

'The marquis is a powerful man, my dear. I need proof of his treachery before I dare go to the King.'

'And the ruby would have provided it,' muttered Elinor, 'had I not let it go!'

Lord Davenham came across the room to take her hands.

'You must not blame yourself for that, Elinor. In fact, I have a plan, and if it works, the marquis can be arrested for treason.'

She looked up at him hopefully.

'Poyntz's list?'

He shook his head.

'That merely confirms that five men met together all those years ago, but they could have been meeting for any reason to agree to a plan of support for the King, for example. No, what we need is a written statement from the only other man mentioned on that list who is still alive. Bishop Furminger.'

'Will he confess, do you think?' murmured Lord Hartworth. The fellow lives in fear of Guy Morellon.'

'Oh I think I know a way to make him tell us what he knows,' Davenham smiled, turning his gaze towards Elinor. 'But I shall need your help, Madame de Sange.'

The viscount called at Hartworth House at an unseasonably early hour the following morning, and he was pleasantly surprised to find Elinor ready and waiting for him. She could not have had more than a few hours' sleep, yet he thought she looked more beautiful than ever in a simply-cut bronze walking dress with a serviceable cloak thrown over her arm. It was a bright, sunny morning and they made good time to the village of Islington, arriving at Bishop Furminger's hired residence just as that gentleman finished his substantial breakfast. A servant carried the news of their arrival to the little parlour, then silently gathered up the breakfast dishes onto a tray as his master studied the viscount's card.

'Davenham. I don't think I know the gentleman....'

'But you will see me, all the same.'

The bishop looked up in surprise to see that Lord Davenham had followed the footman into the room, at his side a tall lady wrapped from head to toe in a black domino. He dismissed his servant and smiled benignly upon the visitors. Doubtless a pair of star-crossed lovers wishing to be married at once a common story!

'Well now, what can I do for you? You must excuse me, ma'am, if I do not get up.' He waved at his bandaged foot. 'A touch of gout, you know! Pray be seated, both of you, and tell me how I can help you.'

'I think we prefer to stand.' The viscount's response was cool. 'We will not stay long. Our business concerns the Marquis of Thurleigh.'

The reverend gentleman's smile froze. He said cautiously, 'I know very little of my lord Thurleigh. In fact I have not seen him for quite some time.'

'But you know he is a supporter of the gentleman over the water.'

'I I have no idea what you mean, sir! I think it would be best if you were to leave...' the bishop's hand reached out for the bell-pull, but dropped again as the lady spoke for the first time.

'Can it have slipped your mind, sir, that you were one of a small group of traitors who were waiting to join Charles Stuart in 'forty-five? If he had not turned back at Derby, you would have marched with him to London.' She had pushed back her hood before speaking, and the bishop stared in horror at Elinor de Sange. The years had changed her from a pretty child to a beautiful woman, but there could be no mistaking the rich chestnut hair or the green eyes that now glittered as they stared at him. 'I see you remember me, Bishop Furminger.'

He licked his dry lips.

'My child, I was haunted by your face for months after that night I could not forget! But I was powerless to help you,' he cried in anguished tones. 'Thurleigh would have destroyed me!'

'Now you shall help us destroy him,' said Davenham. 'You will denounce him as a traitor.'

'Thurleigh will kill me if I do that!'

'And I shall kill you if you do not!

Furminger shrank back in his chair as Elinor drew an evil-looking knife from the folds of her cloak. He managed a shaky laugh.

'You mean to frighten me, Madame, but it will not work. You would not harm me.'

'I shouldn't be too sure of that, Furminger,' put in the viscount. 'Consider for a moment: Poyntz is dead. So too are Rowsell and Boreland.'

'And you, too, would be dead by now,' added Elinor, 'if Lord Davenham had not suggested you would give evidence against the marquis. I am willing to let you live, in exchange for his destruction.'

Furminger's naturally ruddy countenance grew pale and he looked imploringly at the viscount.

'The woman's mad! Davenham, I pray you take the knife from her, she is not safe!'

'Give me a written statement concerning Thurleigh's involvement with the Stuart cause and I will ensure Madame de Sange does not harm you.'

The bishop twisted in his chair, thinking quickly.

'I cannot accuse Lord Thurleigh without incriminating myself.'

Lord Davenham smoothed over the ruffles that covered his wrists, replying calmly, 'If you speak out against the King's enemies, I have no doubt the Crown will be merciful.'

There was silence; to Elinor's stretched nerves it seemed to go on for ever.

'Very well. I will tell you what I know.'

'Good.' Davenham crossed the room and tugged at the bell-pull. 'Call for some paper and ink. You can write it down immediately.'

'No! How can I be sure that once you have my statement you will not let this this madwoman murder me?'

'You have my word on it.' replied the viscount. 'Once I have your written statement I will return to Town, taking Madame de Sange with me.'

'And leave me here to Lord Thurleigh's mercy, once he discovers what I have done?' he cried, aghast.

The viscount regarded the gentleman of the cloth with undisguised contempt.

'Very well, I will take you to Town with me now, and deliver you into the hands of Henry Pelham. He is a sick man, but still the King's first minister. You may tell him of Thurleigh's treachery. Will you trust your safety to him?'

The servant was at the door. After a brief hesitation, the bishop sent him away with orders to pack an overnight bag.

'And pray you, Madam,' he said testily when the servant had departed, 'put away that fearsome blade, or I shall not travel in the same coach with you!'

It was well after noon when the viscount's carriage made its way back into London and the late spring sunshine had given way to grey clouds that spread across the sky from the west, promising rain before nightfall. They had reached High Holborn and the bishop was once again complaining that the jolting of the carriage caused unbearable pain to his gouty foot when they were hailed by a gentleman on horseback heading out of town. Davenham let down the window and looked out, whereupon the rider turned his horse to come alongside the carriage.

'Davenham, I thought I recognized your rig!' He glanced past the viscount into the carriage and raised his hat in a cheerful salute. 'Madame de Sange, ain't it? Servant, ma'am.'

'What is it, Derry? Have you a message for me?'

Lord Derry shook his head, saying with his usual insouciance: 'No, nothing like that, Jonathan. Just thought you might like to know the mob are on the move. They're rioting in St. Giles again. Lucky I ran into you or you'd have driven right into it. Best turn off if you want to avoid trouble.'

''Fore Gad, my lord, let us turn back at once!' cried the bishop, his voice rising.

'No need for that sir,' replied Lord Derry cheerfully, 'Just make a slight detour. You'll be safe enough.'

Davenham nodded and gave instructions to his coachman. With a friendly wave, Lord Derry turned his horse and rode off, while the viscount put up the window, his face grim.

'I say we should turn back,' declared the bishop. 'Unless you wish us all to be murdered.'

'Don't be such a fool, man,' retorted Davenham. 'We'll turn off towards Lincoln's Inn Fields and avoid St Giles.' He smiled at Elinor, sitting pale and quiet in her corner. 'Don't worry.'

Once off the main highway the carriage made its way slowly along the twisting streets, lurching and swaying over the uneven cobbles. Elinor gazed anxiously out of the window, expecting at any moment to see a ragged crowd appear and attack their carriage, but the roads were deserted and they saw no one until they reached St Martin's Lane, where they found houses and shops alike closed and shuttered, and looking north a cloud of black smoke darkened the sky. Davenham ordered the coach to stop, and leaned out of the window to speak to a young lad who was running down the road. The boy paused, breathing hard.

'Aye, my lord, they seem set to come this way. They've fired a tavern on the corner of Long Acre, and the Lord only knows what else beside! The King's dead and the Frenchies are even now on their way! By your leave, I must get home!'

The boy ran on, and Davenham gave the word to his coachman before resuming his seat.

'Doubtless you both heard what he said.'

'I did, sir!' Furminger's round face was suffused with fear and wonder. 'It puts matters in a completely different light! With the King dead I'll not speak against Thurleigh until I know how things stand.'

'Don't be ridiculous man. Do you believe everything you hear in the streets?'

Elinor turned anxious eyes towards him. 'You think it's not true?'

'In all honesty I don't know, but I'm taking you both to Hartworth House until the riot subsides. You will be safer there.'

The carriage moved on westwards, and as they rattled past one of the many narrow streets the viscount's eyes were drawn to a heavily laden travelling carriage waiting at one corner. For half a minute after they had rumbled past he sat frowning heavily, then with a smothered exclamation he jumped up and shouted new orders to the coachman.

'Good heavens, sir, what now?' cried Furminger, his voice a mixture of alarm and annoyance, but he was ignored. The coach gathered speed and they bounced and jolted over the rutted lane, before swinging around a corner and coming to a stand before the gates of Leicester House. Almost before the coach had stopped the viscount had leapt out, shouting over his shoulder for the others to wait there for him. After the briefest hesitation, the bishop hauled himself out of his seat and descended from the carriage as quickly as his bulk and bad foot would allow, muttering that nothing would persuade him to remain alone with a murderess.

It took Elinor but a second to decide to follow him, pausing only to take from its holster the horse-pistol that the viscount kept in his carriage. By the time she reached the flag-way, Davenham was coming away from the house and she ran up to him.

'What is it, sir, what do you suspect?'

'I'm not sure. Perhaps an attempt to kidnap the Princess and her children. I have just ascertained that the princes are here with their mother today. I'll wager 'tis no mere coincidence.'

'And the carriage we passed. You think - Thurleigh?'

'I'm sure of it,' he muttered grimly.

'Well, you have put the staff on their guard,' remarked Furminger, hobbling up to them, 'Let us continue to Hartworth House.'

The viscount shook his head, thinking rapidly.

'Take Elinor back to the carriage. I'll join you presently.' With that he set off back along the narrow street through which they had come, and soon found what he was looking for. A small plain door set in the wall, doubtless one of the service doors of Leicester House. He tried the handle and the door opened easily, startling the two footmen who were hurrying along the inner passage.

'My Lord!' cried one. 'After your warning we were just coming to check '

The viscount cut him short.

'Never mind the explanations. Lock the door behind me and make sure it stays locked.' He stepped back onto the street and heard the sound of heavy bolts being pushed into position on the inside of the door. Glancing down the street he allowed himself a grim smile as he saw the black bulk of the travelling carriage had pulled a little closer. A solitary figure in a grey frock-coat alighted and was approaching with an ungainly stride. The man checked when he saw the viscount, then his hand reached inside his coat to pull out a pistol.